It was Friday, five thirty, and it was my turn to ensure that the school changing rooms were well and truly empty. All too often, students would gather there in the late afternoon to smoke, drink or plan something unsavoury for a fellow student.
All I had to do was ensure the cubicles and changing rooms were empty, lock the doors and go home.
Simple!
I was unaware of anyone’s presence in the changing rooms. They appeared empty. Devoid of life. Sometimes when they’re full they’re devoid of life too, but that’s another story.
I made my way towards the last changing cubicle and that was when I heard the sound.
Immediately I thought the girls would be smoking but I couldn’t smell or see anything resembling a cloud of smoke billow from the cubicle.
A sigh followed by a whimper caught me off guard and I immediately wondered what I had stumbled upon.
I stopped in my tracks and listened carefully.
Another whimper, this time followed by the word fuck.
I edged closer to the cubicle not wanting to announce my presence until I was certain that I knew what was happening.
I slowly peered around the slightly open door to see Angela Baker prostrate on the wooden bench facing the door, her clothes strewn about the floor in front of her, one of her heels tight against the wooden framework and her back resting against the wall; her naked pale skin on full display.
The teacher in me told me to knock the door, interrupt her, tell her to get dressed and make her way home as quickly as possible.
The voyeur in me prevented that from happening.
My lips curled up at the edge as I stood frozen to the spot – watching her. My pussy twitched in empathy and my nipples hardened beneath my bra. I could feel them poke through as I watched Angela moan and caress her body. She was in her zone, all alone, eyes closed, fingers and hands exploring.
The rectangular slit between the door and doorframe echoed the auburn landing strip that channelled her slender fingers along her folds.
My body was telling me to do the same. Act in unison. Join in.
My eyes couldn’t stop viewing her, causing my hands to shake. My ears corroborated what my eyes saw and even my nose was picking up the sweet smell of her sex.
I watched in awe as her finger slowly disappeared into her body before she pulled it back out and licked the juices from it.
When I closed my eyes, I could just about taste her fingers.
I was mesmerised by the subtle play of her fingertips on her nipples. The way she circled, pinched and suddenly pulled on them, sent shivers to my own sex. My own hand, of its own accord, secured my nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched eagerly at it; mirroring her actions.
I was mesmerised by the way her finger stroked in and out of her pussy, resting and circling on her clitoris for a few seconds, before delving back inside to collect more honey.
My own hand started to push between my top and jeans, into my knickers and I soon found it a wet and willing accomplice; oozing with juice as a result of my wanton behaviour.
I had heard so many stories about Angela Baker; labelled the school lesbian and slut. The former term was definitely warranted, because she had been caught seducing more than a few females in parks, the playground and the toilets on occasion. She had been caught passing sex notes to other girls in the classroom, the content of which would make your eyes water, and had, on more than one occasion, sat in detention with the head mistress.
Looking at her now, if she had sat in detention with me, I may well have lost my job.
Angela Baker stroked her slit and caressed her clit until she found herself on the brink of orgasm. Arching her back against the wall and pushing her sex to meet her thrusting fingers.
I was watching through the slit formed by the door and frame of the cubicle. My own hand firmly down my knickers and hunched up, fingering myself to the same conclusion.
I wanted to open the door, casually walk into the cubicle, kneel before her and lap unreservedly at her sex. I think Angela Baker would have loved that. Instead I came on my thrusting fingers, hampered by my tight knickers and jeans; my breath, shallow and restrained in the hope that she wouldn’t hear me; holding my orgasm inside.
I didn’t have the freedom that Angela was demonstrating. Her body rose from the bench as she circled and teased her clitoris. Her climax was loud and powerful.
With the image of Angela’s contorted face saved to memory I headed back to the entrance of the changing rooms. I tidied my clothes a little and licked my fingers clean. I waited a few moments.
“Anyone here,” I shouted, “I’m locking up.”
“Wait – I’m here,” a voice shouted from the cubicle at the back.
Angela Baker eventually met me half way as I walked into the changing room; her white shirt in disarray, her tie thrown around her neck and her short skirt riding up at the back. I could see her white knickers poke out of her satchel and all I could smell was sex.
“What are you doing in here, smoking?” I scolded her. “Come on time to get home.”
“You’re such a fucking chicken, Miss,” she chided back.
“Angela Baker you are heading for detention. What did you just say?”
“You’re such-a-fucking-chicken, Miss. You should have just come in and licked me senseless. I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
Angela Baker took the wind completely out of my sails as I watched her leave the changing rooms.
My eyes closed. I shook my head. I had been such a fool.
