Jan. Week 3: Friday-Broken Condom-Leah is ambivelent

Leah sat perfectly still for a moment, ass and thighs numb from the relentless pounding, lungs fluttering with little panicked aftershocks. She didn’t move even as Mr. Bill, still looming over her, took a deliberate, lazy hand and slapped her ass hard—once for punctuation, because why not. There was no strength left in her to protest, no space in her head for outrage or even shame. There was only the sticky, warm sensation of his semen leaking out of her and the slow, mortifying slide of it down the backs of her thighs.

She tried to focus on something, anything else: the stench of that janitor’s closet, the mildew and Lysol and chemical tang that clung to the walls. But the only thing that really registered was the low, post-coital cackle from Mr. Bill as he watched her fall apart.

“Man, you a mess, Miss Williams,” he said, panting and satisfied, voice bright like he’d just finished a nice jog. “Ain’t nobody ever took me like that, you know.”

She managed to glare over her shoulder, but the effect was probably ruined by the way she looked, red-faced, hair matted to her cheek, eyes glassy and face splattered with tears and sweat.

“Lord, look at you,” he drawled, voice full of pride. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, girl. Bet you ain’t never had like that befo'.”

"This is such a fucking mess..." She grimaced, then smirked back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

“You gon' stop and get some Bee-Cee right? I mean, I ain't trying to have no scandal now.” his voice slightly tinged with worry.

That triggered her, a flurry of annoyance.

“Oh please. I’m on the pill, you moron,” she shot back, mopping up the last of it from her thighs. “You think I’d let a condom break slow me down?”

“Damn, girl. What you even want the rubber for, then?” He let out a wheezy, delighted laugh. She hesitated, tossing the shredded condom onto an already-overflowing trash can.

“Honestly? It’s just easier for cleanup. It’s not like I want your DNA dripping down my leg in front of my class.” Her mouth twisted with revolusion at the thought.

“You wild, Ms. Williams. But I respect it. Next time, I’ma just hit it raw. Since you ain’t worried about no babies.” He slapped his thigh and chuckled.

“There’s not going to be a next time, Mr. Bill.” She rolled her eyes, but even that little gesture was tainted with a needy, abashed delight.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, pretty lady. I's the one with that tape--not yous.”

She stood and yanked up her panties. Her skirt stuck to her thighs, and she could smell herself, could feel the way her pussy was still gaping a bit, oversensitized and ruined. She did a quick visual check in her compact mirror—mascara only lightly smudged, cheeks a devilish flush, hair wild but salvageable. She took a second to straighten her blouse and redo her buttons, hands still trembling.

"I've got to go." Leah said shortly.

"Have a nice long weekend and MLK day." he said blowing her a kiss.

“You’re the worst.” Leah huffed, a real laugh threatening to break through her mortified composure.

She slipped out of the janitor’s lair and back into the hallway, her legs weak as a newborn foal, skin sticky and tingling in all the wrong places. She felt the cool air bite at her thighs, and every step reminded her of what had just happened, the way she’d let herself be used, the way she felt like she was still leaking, probably leaving a little trail down the linoleum.

She’d never felt so filthy or so alive, and it confused her.

Leah made it back to her empty classroom just as the bell rang for the next period.