St Mackenzie’s – Miss LaLay Tells You Exactly How To Jerk Your Cock For Her
Title: Miss LaLay’s Insinuating directions: A Sublime Seduction at St. Mackenzie’s
The late afternoon solar painted the partitions of the classroom in a heat, inviting hue as I entered, taking within the acquainted environment – the neatly organized desks, the blackboard cleaned of the day’s classes, the marginally ajar window by which the mild breeze carried hints of freedom. Yet, I knew I had no enterprise right here at this hour, particularly not within the apparel I now donned. The crisp white shirt, as soon as correct and conservative, now strained in opposition to the confines of its buttons, the trace of lace peeking out from beneath. The gray pencil skirt hugged my curves, brushing the tops of my thigh-high stockings, their sheer nylon a scrumptious distinction to the supple leather-based of my stilletos. My chestnut locks fell free round my face, framing my glasses and the refined software of make-up that accentuated my options. Even a glimpse of my thong strap peeking from the waistband was sufficient to raise this look from trainer to temptress.
I settled behind the trainer’s desk, folding my palms on the floor, the solar-powered watch on my wrist catching the sunshine. With a breath, I started the true lesson, letting my voice do the instructing because the digicam settled on me. “Good afternoon, class,” I began, my tone sultry and alluring. “I trust you’re all paying attention…” My hand reached up, fingers toying with a button. “Because today, I have a very special lesson planned.” Slowly, teasingly, I launched the button, permitting my shirt to fall open additional, revealing extra of my lacy bra and the trace of cleavage beneath. ” Middles are hard to resist, aren’t they? Like the pendulum action of a cock between two and three on a ruler.” A finger traced the uncovered lace, making the purpose.
“And what kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t provide some hands-on instruction?” I moist my lips, my tongue darting out to style the gloss, as my palms slid down my physique, caressing the swell of my breasts, the narrowing of my waist, the flare of my hips. I stood slowly, sensuously, and turned to face the whiteboard. “Now, when you’re jerking that cock for me,” I spoke as I wrote on the board, “you want a nice, steady tempo, like this.” My hand pumped the imaginary phallus as I described the motion. “Not too fast, not too slow. The key is…” I paused, bending on the waist to provide an ideal glimpse down my shirt. “… consistency.” I straightened, hand stilli on my chest. “Imagine my hand gripping you like this…”
Next, I leaned again on the desk, crossing one leg over the opposite, the skirt using up my thigh. “Another trick is a light, feather-like touch up and down the shaft. Flirty and teasing, letting you feel every finger.” I ran my palms up and down my very own legs, mimicking the motion, drawing the strokes out lengthy and tantalizing. “Work that frenulum, boys.”
Finally, I slipped the straps of my shirt down, releasing my palms to work my very own physique. “When you want the big finish, really get into it. Pump fast and furious, like…” I grabbed the wall for help and thrust my hips ahead, panting with simulated exertion. “…like I’m riding you into oblivion.” I set free a breathless moan, as if I used to be really being taken there after which. “Effort matters, gentlemen. Earn that cum.” I turned to the digicam, eyes heavy-lidded and alluring. “So are you ready to take these instructions and make the Dreaded Miss LaLay proud? I’ll be waiting…” I let the phrases cling within the air, whilst I reached for my shirt and probably extra, leaving the scholar – and the scene – on a scrumptious and unsatisfying cliffhanger. Lesson over.
