Disturbing Abigail’s Class

“Let go of me,” Layla shouts. You’ve grasped her by the wrist and are holding on. She tries to tug herself free. All that does is make her clothing jiggle enticingly.

“Not until you tell me the truth. What were you doing going through my things.” Your response is just as loud.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. Let go. Let go.”

All this shouting was bound to disturb someone. The door to the classroom opposite is thrown open and Abigail storms out. A scowl dominates her beautiful face. Behind her you see a class straining to look beyond her.

“What’s going on here?” she shouts. For a small woman she has a very commanding voice. “Mr Smith, Miss Coventry, some of us are trying to teach.”

You let go of Layla and she stumbles forward, just catching herself with the wall before she falls.

“I caught Miss Coventry going through my stuff. When I asked what she was doing she came up with some nonsense excuse, and when I challenged her on that, she tried to run.”

“You frightened me,” Layla counters. “I thought you were going to do something inappropriate. I know men like you.”

What? Is she? Yes, she is. How? The very idea knocks you speechless. Thankfully Abigail doesn’t bite.

“I find that hard to believe. I’ve found Mr Smith a model gentleman.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“It’s not the first time you’ve accused male members of the faculty of such things.” That’s news. “And what were you doing in his classroom?”

“Not my classroom, my office. And she was going through my bags.”

“I’ve already explained myself to him.”

You repeat her weak excuse. It sounds even weaker coming from you, and it’s clear Abigail’s not buying it either. Layla tries to interject several times, tries to smooth the nonsense into something more believable, but her interjections only make your accusations bite deeper. When Abigail turns her brown eyes on Layla, you can see the secretary slump. The two women are of similar height, and they can look across the mountains of their bosoms into each other’s souls.

“Mr Smith, do you want to take this to Mrs Oversight?”

It’s the punishment Layla deserves, but what would that achieve? You’ve convinced Abigail that you’re telling the truth. You’re not convinced you could do the same with the old lady.

“And what do you think Mrs Oversight would do?”

Abigail purses her lips and considers. “Tell her off and let her go.”

Just what you thought. Nothing.

“I’ll let you off this time. But I don’t expect to see you in my office or classroom, unless you have genuine reason to be there.”

Layla’s gaze is full of daggers behind her glasses. It doesn’t diminish her beauty, just adds a chill to it. She spins on her high heels and stomps off. You pull your gaze away from her wiggling ass and to the serious face of Abigail.

“Be careful around her,” Abigail tells you. “If you two had made any more noise, you might have disturbed Mrs Oversight’s class, and she takes less kindly to that than I do.” Then she winks, turns back to her class and closes the door behind her.