Tech Support

Kenna hunched over her laptop when the screen went black. Panic hit fast. She fumbled for her phone and punched in Ariana’s number, the tech-savvy friend of a friend who could maybe rescue her grade. Ariana arrived still wiping grease from her fingers. While she hunched over the Mac, Kenna stole an eyeful—slim waist, the swell of breasts pressing against faded black denim. Ariana’s inspection ended quick: nothing broken, just a loose cable. “I didn’t really do anything,” she mumbled. Kenna shook her head. “Bullshit. You showed up. Name your price.” Ariana’s gaze darted away, cheeks hot. Kenna moved in close, letting her own scent drift over her. “You fix shit, I give you whatever you want. Got it?” Ariana stayed silent, so Kenna pushed: a massage, fingers working tension. Ariana tried to decline, but Kenna caught her wrist, soft but sure. “If not that, then tell me what you do want. I owe you.” Ariana’s lips parted, nothing came out—virgin territory, every tremble visible. Kenna smiled, hungry. “Then I’ll choose. Sit.” Ariana obeyed, sinking back onto the couch. Kenna spread her thighs and dove in, tongue hot against shaved lips, teasing her clit until Ariana arched and came hard, thighs shaking. Kenna’s fingers dug deep into Ariana’s hips to keep her still. Before the aftershocks faded, Kenna stood, yanked her panties aside, and straddled Ariana’s startled mouth. Wet heat met virgin tongue; Kenna rocked her hips, slick folds riding that shy, eager pressure. The knowledge that she was Ariana’s first tipped her over fast—she grabbed the couch, choked out a moan, and came sharp and wet across Ariana’s tongue.