But not left undone...

The sound of the door swinging closed had barely echoed past them before Mark was back at it, slamming his way into Stacy even at their current unsuitable perch. The schoolgirl felt waves of delicious pleasure ripple through her, spurred on by the adrenaline and danger. That had definitely been her math teacher, the man who for years had droned her into a coma with quadratic equations, then seemed to delight in slamming a book down on her desk, or suddenly asking pointed questions, just to see her squirm. How many times had he patronized, belittled or punished her, just for wanting to keep quiet and to herself in class… not leaping for his attention like the teacher's pets or upfront challenging him like the jocks. He seemed to care far more whether she was paying attention than any of the airheaded douchebags that would actually struggle to catch up if they missed one of his awful math puns, yet would almost encourage them to poke fun at ‘Sleepy Stacy in her corner’. What would he do? Had he found out that he had been standing just feet away from where she was arrayed: panties round her ankle, knees spread wide, stuffed full of her best friend's man meat.

It all added up, somehow. Their unsanitary surroundings. Close shaves with a man she despised. Not being where they were supposed to… and doing something they were REALLY not supposed to. Stacy could hear her own voice echoing through her head, slipping between the fingers that Mark nervously tried to stifle it with. She moaned and yelped, sounding to herself like somewhere between a whining dog and excited parrot, yet so universally recognised as the sordid noise of sex. She laughed at the ridiculousness of her own thoughts and body, as the wet slap of it being pierced into rang off the close, metal walls around them. Mark’s every entrance was a pistoning marvel for them both. A sloppy, squeezing joy of teenage rebellion; rising and rising between their most sensitive of parts.

Stacy was still thinking about her godawful math classes as her climax began to peak. Up and down. Right and wrong. Pleasure and embarrassment all getting muddled up together in her head as surging hormones and nerves consumed her. For an instant she almost imagined she was draped across that wide teacher’s desk, head lolling back to see all those wide, unfriendly eyes as Mark poured spurt after spurt of unrestrained semen into her. Were they amazed or disgusted to see her: the quiet nerdy girl they all called a dry dyke, being filled with sticky seed right in front of them? She couldn't quite make out their faces… and then the vision faded. She was back in the toilet cubicle, with Mark’s spunk indeed now cooling within her. It was still a safe day... right? She certainly hoped so… The boy was looking nervously down at the mess he’d made of her.

“We should really get back to… I only said I was popping out to the loo…”

“You go.” She told him. “My excuse was better… and I need to clean up a bit first…”

He didn't need telling twice: the floppy, blonde muppet vanished, leaving Stacy in a puddle on the toilet seat. She stared up at the cubicle door he’d left open… that should really be closed… what if someone came in to find her like this?

...the girl remained sprawled. She didn't really feel like ‘cleaning up a bit’. Not when she could wallow in her own juices a bit longer… a discarded cumsack of a girl in an open stall of the boy's toilets. She shivered a little at her own description. Listening to the far off shouts of students on the sports fields. She fumbled out her phone. Scrolled through the names. Then sent Pete a message.