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Wolverine was in her dance class. The tiny Cuban with dyed blonde hair shook her leotard clad bottom to the Brittney Spears song “toxic” blasting out of the speakers. Amazingly she no longer thought about the humiliation of the once deadly x-man in this
lithe but voluptuous latin maiden doing booty dances with the rest of the former superheroes but now in the body’s of sexy teenagers.
God, she hated dance class. You had to do every step Miss Grimmshanks wanted or risk another spanking in the hall closet. And she insisted on coming on to her in the creepiest way.
“ah, Miss Logan, the way you embody Brittney’s music is amazing! One would never believe that you were a weapon for anything but sex!”
Before Logan could move, the aged manicured hand had swatted her butt. She wanted to sneer and say something sarcastic but instead she giggled and whispered: “Aw, thanks, Ma’am.” Backtalk was sure to get you in the hall closet.
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