Interview with Lexy Little

Lexy Little should be studying. The book sits open in front of her, but the words won’t stick. She shifts in her chair, skirt riding up, and her fingers drift under the desk. Soon the pages are forgotten, her breath turning shallow as she strokes herself. The door opens. Her French teacher steps inside. She blushes, caught, yet she doesn’t stop. Instead, she turns toward him, legs parting wider, voice soft and teasing as she invites him closer. He hesitates, but her toes curl against his thigh, sliding higher. She hooks his belt, draws him in. Before long his cock is in her hand, then between her bare feet, warm skin working him in slow, measured strokes. His hands find her hips. She bends over the desk, book pushed aside, and he pushes into her—thick, steady thrusts that make the chair creak and her moans spill out. Every thrust shakes the desk, pages fluttering to the floor. She keeps her legs high so he can watch her feet flex while he drives deeper, the quiet room filling with the sound of skin meeting skin until neither can hold back.