Queen Bee’s Pedicure Deal

She showed up after lab still in that tiny white top and those little denim shorts, hair half-falling out of the ponytail, and just sat on the desk like she owned the whole room. Foot up on the stool, toes pointed right at him. No one else left. Just her and the old chemistry professor on his knees with the polish.

He keeps his eyes on her foot like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it. She’s got those soft, thick thighs spread just enough that the shorts are doing almost nothing, and every time he shifts he gets another look at the underside of her ass and the way her tits are spilling out of the cropped top. Hearts are practically floating off him. She knows it.

Peach’s been running the same quiet offer for weeks: act like her little bitch in front of the other students — carry her books, laugh at her jokes, let her cut him off in class, call her “miss” while everyone watches — and she’ll do things to him that would get him fired and her a permanent legend status. Today is just the latest test. He’s already kneeling. She’s already winning.

His head, while he steadies her ankle:

Fuck. She’s twenty. Barely. And she’s got me down here painting her goddamn toenails like some kind of servant. I can smell her from here. Every time she shifts I see right up those shorts. She said if I keep playing along she’ll… she said she’d let me fuck her face after class. Said she’d sit on my desk and make me eat her while she texted her friends about how pathetic I am. I shouldn’t want this. I really shouldn’t. But my cock’s been hard since she put her foot in my hand and I can feel how wet the tip of my thumb is getting against her sole.

Her head, watching him work:

Look at him. Big important professor on the floor with pink polish and a hard-on he thinks I can’t see. Every time he glances up I catch him staring at my tits like he’s gonna start drooling. He wants to shove his face between my legs so bad it’s pathetic. And the second I let him, he’s gonna stay mine. Next week he’ll be the one who gets my coffee and tells the other girls I’m the reason he’s giving them easier curves. All because I keep my legs open just a little wider when I talk to him.

She finally speaks, voice lazy and mean.

“You’re shaking, professor. That nail’s gonna come out crooked if you keep staring at my pussy instead of my toes.”

He freezes. His grip on her ankle tightens. “I’m not—”

“Yeah you are. You’ve been hard since I sat down. You can look. I don’t mind. Just finish the pink like I told you.” She wiggles her toes against his fingers, smirking. “And if you do a good job… maybe after you lock the door I’ll let you take these shorts off and put that mouth to work. I’ve been wet all class thinking about how loud you’re gonna get when I make you thank me for it.”

He swallows hard. The brush trembles. She just leans back on her hands, thighs spread wider, and waits for him to decide how far down he’s willing to go for her.