Parent Teacher Conference: Part Two

Kate England dodged meetings all year. Then Ms. Mac showed up at the house with a folder of absences and phone logs that painted a big, ugly F. Upstairs, Kate grinned at the ceiling. Yesterday she had spread Tegan’s thighs open just long enough to snatch her step-mother’s phone and erase every email. Thought she was golden. Tegan’s heels struck wood as she climbed the stairs. Flunking history. Phone confiscated. That phone call hit like a slap. Down in the living room Abigail watched the tan-skinned older woman sink into the couch. The conservative silk blouse hid nothing once Tegan’s blazer dropped; soft, heavy tits swelled against the bra. Abigail’s knees shook. She stepped forward, cupped those warm mounds, straddled the bare lap and kissed like she meant to swallow Tegan whole. Kate padded to the doorway, slipped fingers inside her cut-offs. Shock lit through her like current watching them. A half-moaned laugh slipped out, her forehead knocked the frame, and three heads turned at once. Tegan didn’t hide a thing. Abigail scrambled to cover her pale nipples. Kate stepped in, voice steady, and floated the obvious suggestion: three instead of two. Abigail’s mouth twisted, said she would report them, then froze when the hallway camera blinked its red dot. Blackmail balanced on a sharp edge. The teacher unclenched. Breathing shaky, she made her line clear—fucking Kate’s mother was off-limits, everything else still on the table. Hands resumed their path. Mouths met again. Kate slid onto the arm of the couch, denim crumpled around one ankle, knuckles busy between spread legs while Abigail sucked a loud cry out of her step-mother. Kate climbed onto Tegan’s mouth next. Abigail buried herself between those tanned thighs until they shook. Then the swap—Kate grinding on Abigail’s tongue while Tegan fingered the teacher’s soaked curls open. Sweat-slick bodies changed angles again; Tegan straddled Abigail’s face, hips snapping, Kate between trembling knees licking until the teacher arched and came with a bitten-off shout. They kept trading places until no one could remember whose turn it had been. Kate set a hard, rolling rhythm on Abigail’s hip bone and didn’t let up till the teacher’s legs jerked and her fingers clawed the couch. Breathing slowed. Sweat cooled. The phone lay silent, the grade sheet still unsigned.