Student teacher meeting

Carla Cox ran night school with just one pupil—Rodney—and he never cracked a book. His eyes stayed glued to her leather pumps like they held the answers to life itself. After the third week of that nonsense she finally kicked off her shoe and tossed it on his desk. 'If you're so curious, take a good look.' Rodney held it like holy armor, sniffing the warm insole while Carla watched, eyebrows cocked. When he asked permission to touch the real thing, she swung her foot up, pressed the arch against his cheek, and felt his pulse race under her toes. His gasp made something feral wake up in her chest. She slid both feet free, wrapped them around the bulge in his jeans, and worked him slow and ruthless—heels squeezing, soles gliding, toes pinching just hard enough to make his breath catch. Rodney bucked and cursed, and Carla laughed, low and wicked, pumping harder until he spilled inside those schoolboy pants. By then she was soaked, aching, and already plotting the next private lesson.