“I don’t need to hear your excuses, Maia. Maia’s intestines lit up in a flurry of shaking motors as she did a spot-on impression of a felon’s last moments in the electric chair. Most texters weren’t even there to watch her boobs jiggle as she squirmed on her chair, locking moans behind one hand and pushing her skirt against her pussy with the other to damper the disturbing vibrations quickly building up into a public orgasm. “Was that your plan?” Mr. Really, guys? But it did turn out to be your phone, didn’t it? Her anus clamped on the phone width without more than a few moans and groans. Upon her return from break, Mr. Even her ass might have been part of the group text that organized it all. Beardsley left class, everyone pulled out their secret phone to giggly send one-letter texts. “Not so fast, Maia. 93!” At least a few of these were caused by Maia’s frustration over the blatant bias; these boys had been allowed to speak 172 times without raising their hands. Her well-practiced walk minimized jiggling, but even the minimum was enough to turn boys into drooling dogs and send girls into unwarranted vengeful fits of jealousy.
