Dropping the eaves

They had been going at it like rabbits in heat for several minutes when the fateful sound of an opening door cut through the pairs staggered breaths. Quickly, Mark lifted Stacy up onto the cistern and stepped up from the floor himself so not even his feet were visible under the door. Fortunately the new arrivals were too embroiled in their own conversation to hear the little involuntary moan Stacy gave as the cock inside of her shifted angles.

“You seen what Miss Palmer is wearing today?”

The voices came from the direction of the urinal, the deeper gruff tones of full grown men, not students. Both the teens currently entangled in each other recognised one as a burly, but jovial geography teacher, well liked among the student body in general. But who was the other? They strained their ears to listen for any movement towards them, while their body's screamed for nothing more than a continuation of their thrusting consultation.

“Of course I did. Me and every other red-blooded male in this place... staff or student. She’s got to do that on purpose right? She’s got to get some kinda kink out of all those eyes burning holes up her legs and down her top all day long?”

Was that the Head of Mathematics? He was a stern, slim man feared by almost everyone for his short temper and no-nonsense classes. Why were those two all the way over here, chatting like old friends? Stacy had a sudden, strange and self-destructive urge to burst out and ask them, blouse wide open and panties still dangling. She bit her tongue against it.

“Oh, definitely! Y’know I heard one of the upperclassman made a clay bust of her once, proper old fashioned roman-style, with all her… assets on show. She turned round to him when it was finished and said she was incredibly flattered. Asked him if she could take it home with her!”

This revelation seemed to draw a distinctly piqued interest from the second voice..

“Really? Did you see it? Did he get it pretty… accurate do you think?”

The first voice chuckled. “Accurate enough to earn him an A from the examiner’s I heard.” But then sighed as if beset by the sorrow of wasted follies. “Course next year word got out and the whole class did the same… Old Creaky put a stop to it then. Claimed it was ‘inappropriate’ to make projects in the likeness of anyone without permission after that. Though I expect if any of the horny blighter’s actually built up the courage to ask, she still would’ve let ‘em! Heard she received a whole host of the rejected ones as personal projects anyway, come the end of the year. All different mediums too… oil paintings, computer animations… everything. Think one punk even set up a website to display em all.”

There was definitely an almost salivating keenness to the second voice now. A lurid hope for the right answers to his leading questions. “So do you think she ever… went further with any of them? Clearly she knew what they were after with all those gifts and things.”

“Weeeelll… Obviously if I knew anything for sure, she’d be well out of a job by now. She’s smart enough to not let it get out of hand…” The first voice was clearly teasing his companion, holding him on tenterhooks. “Buuut… I did hear that first student who made the bust came back to ‘visit’ a few times after getting into college. Had a few ‘private art tutor sessions’ with her after classes. All perfectly innocent I’m sure…”

The way he said that last line made it very clear how much he believed it himself. In their constrained space Stacy felt Mark stiffen a little inside of her. Of course he would… these two voices of authority were confirming a thousand boy's wet dreams. She gave him a squeeze and a glare… He’d better remember whose pussy he was currently buried in! Outside, the questions continued:

“Have you ever thought about that? ...With any of your own… ‘impressionable young minds’?

The first voice went silent for a second, then dropped down a decibel or two. As if flashing a glance around for any unseen ears. Little did he know.

“Of course! Every day! …But only once they get old enough obviously… I’ve got this one little minx in my 3rd period… spends all lesson just staring me down, chewing on her pencil y’know. That’s the kind of ‘impressionable mind’ someone can work with, if you get what I’m saying… A few solo detentions… A few ‘private catch-up lessons’... Suddenly a young lady might find a way to bump her grades up… if she’s got the brains to keep a secret. Stop her chewing through so many pencils at least!”

The second voice almost squealed with laughter at this, but the sound was joined by the hiss of running water. Both voices began to drift away, until the sound of a closing door cut them short completely. The last thing the two concealed lovers heard was the second voice relaying:

“I’ve had this one young lady in my class for ages, but just lately something seems to have changed completely. She-”

And then they were alone once more, sighing with relief.