In the Janitor's Closet

The footsteps drew closer. Isabel’s heart pounded as she clutched her arms tight across her chest, the thin cotton of her bra doing nothing to comfort her.

“The closet,” Ryan whispered urgently, his eyes flicking toward the small janitor’s closet tucked against the wall.

Isabel swallowed hard. It was barely wider than the door itself, more of a narrow compartment stuffed with brooms and shelves of cleaning supplies than a real walk-in space. But there was no other option.

She nodded quickly and scrambled inside, sucking in her stomach to wedge herself past a mop bucket and a broom handle that pressed against her thigh. The walls closed in on her immediately, the smell of bleach sharp in her nose. There was barely room to stand without pressing her bare skin against something.

Ryan eased the door shut, leaving only the thinnest line of light across her face. She hugged herself tighter, her ass brushing against a shelf of paper towels, her legs trembling as she listened to the break room door swing open.

Two men’s voices filled the room. The janitors.

“Long shift today,” one muttered. “Coffee machine’s still broken?”

“Always is,” the other replied with a tired laugh.

Isabel’s blood turned to fire. Of all people, it had to be the janitors, the ones who would obviously need access to the very closet she was stuffed inside of.

Ryan greeted them with **** casualness. “Evening, guys.”

The first janitor chuckled. “Hey, Ryan. You know if there’s any spray left in here, we’re running low.”

Isabel’s heart stopped. Her eyes went wide in the dark.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ryan said quickly. He stepped toward the closet, hand reaching for the handle. He looked back over his shoulder. “What do you need exactly, the cleaning spray?”

“Yeah, the citrus one if you got it.”

Ryan cracked the closet open just enough to slip his hand through, blocking the view with his body. Inside, Isabel pressed herself flat against the shelves, her breasts pushed tight into her crossed arms, her lower half completely bare in the cramped space.

Ryan’s hand brushed blindly over the shelves, knocking into a rag, then a bottle.

And then it brushed through hair. The tips of his fingers just slightly grazing her slit.

Isabel flinched violently, her body jolting at the sudden touch. He yanked his hand back instantly, his face tightening as he tried to keep his voice steady.

Isabel clamped her lips shut to stifle a gasp.

**** to avoid disaster, Isabel grabbed the nearest bottle she could reach and pressed it into Ryan’s searching hand.

He pulled it out smoothly, holding it up. “This one?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” one janitor said, taking it. “Thanks, man.”

The janitors exchanged a few more pleasantries with Ryan, their voices lazy and oblivious. At last, the door creaked shut behind them, their footsteps fading down the hallway.

Only when the silence returned did Ryan let out a long, shaky breath. He pulled the closet door open fully, and Isabel stumbled out, her cheeks (at least the top ones) flushed deep red, her body trembling from the panic of what just happened.

The janitor’s closet had felt like a coffin, and now stepping out into the empty break room felt like surfacing for air.

Her humiliation lingered, but for now, at least, they had avoided discovery.