The classroom was articulately quiet as the students penned away at their exams. Pencils and erasers going left and right. Mrs. Hannah sat at the head of the class behind her large oak desk, on her very comfortable swivel chair. She was leaning back against the back of the chair, her hands folded just below the curve of her bosom. Adamantly content with the silence of the room.
Only it wasn’t silent. The students couldn’t hear the faint sounds of suckling, as they were fully engrossed in their exams. But Mrs. Hannah heard every slurp, every suckle, every pop, and every pant coming from under her desk. Knelt between her legs, under the flowing fabric of her black pleated maxi skirt, was a male crossdressing student. A too-cool-for-school punk senior who was in danger of failing Mrs. Hannah’s class, and therefore in danger of not graduating.
Only it wasn’t silent. The students couldn’t hear the faint sounds of suckling, as they were fully engrossed in their exams. But Mrs. Hannah heard every slurp, every suckle, every pop, and every pant coming from under her desk. Knelt between her legs, under the flowing fabric of her black pleated maxi skirt, was a male crossdressing student. A too-cool-for-school punk senior who was in danger of failing Mrs. Hannah’s class, and therefore in danger of not graduating.