Ducking Out

Meryl worked desperately to free herself, making wide, exaggerated movement to try and get back on her feet. It was no use, however. Rather than getting out, all she succeeded at was getting the Workman off - the motions making his cock slide up and down her butt crack. He had already cum, of course, but that didn't make him any less sensitive, it didn't make him any less able to feel and enjoy the feeling of the girl's warm, tight backside ensconced around his member. The man moaned quietly in response, and Meryl's eyes went wide as she realised what she was unwittingly doing to him. She looked up and saw Dwight approaching, hand outstretched and left leg planted forward at an awkward angle - a futile attempt at concealing his own raging erection - Meryl was loathe to take that hand, loathe to be seen at all in such a state of undress by just about anyone...but then, all she was managing to do on her own was keep bouncing up and down on the dick of the man beneath her, and that was just as bad for a girl like her.

Meryl nodded shakily, reaching up to accept the proffered hand. Dwight pulled her into a standing position, and as he did, she winced at the sensation of the Workman's cock withdrawing from the virtual pneumatic seal her arse cheeks had created in concert with it. To her further shame, she could feel a curious little twinge somewhere up past the space between them, as if...as if her anus was reacting negatively to a male member coming so tantalisingly close, only to be cruelly taken away. Her legs trembled, and she broke into a cold sweat at the thought of her own body being quite so eager to...receive. She was firmly mortified by the whole situation, she was adamant on that front, but her behind didn't seem to wholly agree with her feelings on it. She instinctively cupped her buttocks in her hands, pushing them slightly together as if trying to prevent anything else form making its way up past them. Even through the material of her skirt, she could feel their firmness, their warmth.

Meryl let out a defeated sigh, slumping forward against Dwight's chest, barely in control of her own limbs. Dwight, for his part, seemed utterly bewildered as to what he was even supposed to do in a situation like this. He looked down at her, and Meryl looked up at him. Her blouse had shifted a little so that the fabric of it was resting lightly over one of her pale, pink nipples, while the other was completely bare, pressing against Dwight's flabby, undefined pectorals. Her gaze was slightly glassy, not-quite comprehending at first, but then, as if dredged from an icy lake, her conscious mind returned, and a look of renewed horror manifested on her features. She wondered what she looked like from this angle, if anyone were to come past, or even to the person who was currently-

Meryl turned to look at the Workman, who had managed to free himself from the nest of exposed pipework and was now rising to his feet, the outline of softening cock still visible against his trousers. She thought she might say something, but all that came to mind was the feeling of his warmth, his...girth, trapped between her cheeks. Reddening at the memory, she turned back to Dwight and ran past him, hands leaving her butt to cover her breasts instead. She ran, fast and far down the hall away from them both, stopping only when she thought she saw an empty classroom, and ducking into it. She closed the door firmly behind her with her foot, then cast a glance round the room. The projector and whiteboard were turned off, the chairs and tables empty. On each table, a white cloth covered the surface and reached all the way down to the floor. Meryl felt a deep need for safety, a need to simply disappear and hide for a time, so she went over to the nearest table, got down on her knees and crawled under the cloth, secreting herself away beneath the table. Letting out a sigh of relief, she at last let go of her tits and shifted her legs so that they were crossed, then looked down to inspect the situation with her chest.

As always, they were both essentially perfect. Untouched by sunlight, unmarked in any way, shape or form, save for a small mole on the right one, about halfway down toward the areola. They were both a little sore, truth be told, from all that jostling and that little burst of unsupported running. She brought a finger up to the right, running it down the soft, supple surface. Kayla had once called her, 'Becky with the Good Tits' when Meryl taken her shirt off to get changed into her pyjamas. At the time, she hadn't known what that had meant, but Kayla had assured her it was among the highest compliments a girl's bust could receive - she smiled at the memory. Freed now from the constraints of her bra, her virtually flawless boobs hung there, high and proud, pert and perky as any girl could ever wish for. Though they weren't as _substantial _as she often heard a lot of boys were into, they were respectable enough to Meryl's thinking, and their smoothness couldn't be denied. She went to draw her blouse around them, but the lack of available material - on account of what had been burned away by the bunsen - made this quite impossible. Meryl felt a growing sense of dismay, and felt the sudden urge to yawn. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, and she realised that she was actually feeling very tired.

The day's events thus far had taken a lot out of her, the stress, the humiliation, certain physical exercises she'd accidentally undertaken; it was all catching up to her now. She shifted her sitting position to look at the table cloth behind her, concealing the room from her view and vice versa. Meryl wondered if she might not have the opportunity for quick, tiny little nap. Just for five, maybe ten minutes, just to get her energy back a little. It was, she noted, the perfect position to be in for it, hidden as she was beneath a table in an empty classroom. All she'd need to do was make sure she got out before the next class - whenever that was - arrived, which was unlikely to happen in the next fifteen minutes, surely. Meryl weighed up her options, then decided to go for it. The risk was relatively small, she just had to an alarm on her phone to wake her up. Taking her phone out, she did just that, setting it for roughly eighteen minutes from now, just to ensure she got a decent amount of rest, then she put it away and lowered herself into a resting position on her side.

The floor wasn't terribly comfortable, but it transpired that her tiredness was so intense that it didn't much matter; essentially, the moment her head hit the floor, she was out like a light. In her pocket, meanwhile, something curious happened to her phone: the battery level drained abnormally fast, the percentage indicator ticking down and down, until at last it died, taking the alarm Meryl had set with it...