A Mad Dash

Meryl was petrified as she waddled down the corridor away from that horrible, cramped Janitor's cupboard. She kept fearing she'd suddenly feel a hand on her shoulder, and a perverse, seductive whisper of, "Baby Doll!" in her ear, but it was just her wandering around alone, as most of her classmates had every reason to be in, well, class. She could still feel the liquid that had run down her legs, and the dampness in her socks, all of which had been caused by...god, she didn't even want to think about it. Of course, the more she tried not to, the more it kept popping back into her head. Cheryl's fingers...probing...everywhere! And the feeling of wetness down below, wetness she herself was causing, but not intentionally! The humiliating realisation that her body was responding in the affirmative, even if all she could manage was a pathetic little squeak.

She cringed, pressing the bunched-up material of her skirt a little more firmly into her exposed, moist privates. To go through all of that and not even have that horrible pair of panties to show for it, to be staggering down a hallway like this now, her lower half bearing all the signs of arousal, her previously unmolested butt feeling very much molested, and her feelings about all this no doubt being broadcasted loud and clear by her face. Meryl halted a moment at the sight of a drinking fountain, coming in close to it in the hopes of catching sight of her reflection. Sure enough, the girl staring back at her was bright red, her expression wide-eyed and fearful. She needed to calm down, cool down...she couldn't walk around Hartwell with a complexion like this — people would talk, more than they no doubt already were. She let her skirt drop and hang about her knees, then bent forward and activated the water tap, running her hands under it and then splashing some on her face. A few rounds of that seemed to help a little, as the intense flushing started to calm down and she began to resemble her usual, calm self. Although...

She looked down at her chest area, paying close attention to the exposure of her bra by the brief fire on her top back in Science. She picked at the ragged, blackened edges where it had started to burn away, trying vainly to cover some of her chest with them, but it was no use. Her white bra with its little pink polka dots was visible to all and sundry, and she saw now with a slight turn of her stomach that the bra itself — which she'd first been given by her mother a few years back — was now looking distinctly...undersized. She'd grown into herself since then, quite a bit in fact, and so to look at the cups now, one could see her breasts pushing insistently against them, the ample flesh threatening to overflow, so to speak. She shook herself a little to test something, and to her dismay her fears were proven right, as her barely-constrained boobs jiggled vigorously, looking as if they might spill out entirely once or twice. Meryl gulped, crossing her arms over her chest and looking around to confirm that she was still alone. She had also spotted that a few droplets of water had spilled onto her bra, rendering the material shockingly transparent in the few spots it had spilled onto. Meryl stepped away from the fountain, making a mental note to avoid any significant quantities of water for the rest of the day, then continued on up the corridor, hands keeping her breasts firmly in place as she picked up the pace into a light jog.

She needed to find Kayla. Kayla would know what to do, Kayla would help her come up with a strategy to stop anything else from going wrong today. She just needed to find out where she was...

She took out her phone and texted Kayla, waiting impatiently, refreshing over and over again, staring obsessively for the 'read' indicator to come through, and still walking forward all the while. Meryl was so preoccupied that she didn't notice another person walking out into the approaching junction ahead of her until it was too late, looking up a split second before bumping right into them. Meryl jumped back, not wanting a repeat of that...previous incident involving bumping into someone she'd experienced roughly twenty minutes prior. She put her phone away and went to apologise to the bumper — or were they the bumpee? — but her apology died on her lips as she recognised, with some dismay, the awkward, gangly form of Dwight McCulloch, snorting loudly in surprise, and adjusting his glasses to get a better look at her.

Dwight McCulloch had long carried a torch for Meryl Prentiss. In the time she'd been at Hartwell, he'd spent most of their respective first week's on campus essentially stalking her, repeatedly making the case for him to become her boyfriend and, failing that, to simply be her BFF. Meryl had a thousand and one reasons for why that could not be, most of which she kept to herself. Chief among them was his chronic lack of social skills, his bad fashion sense, and his tendency to refer to the girls at Hartwell (and in general) as 'females.' The problem was that Meryl had never been the kind of person to go around hurting people's feelings, so she'd ended up in the unfortunate position of constantly skirting around his advances, feeding him an endless list of excuses for why she couldn't hang out with him, or kiss him, or give him her professional opinion on whether or not he needed to buy a new set of trousers by 'feeling the fabric' around the region of his crotch. She was usually able to deal with him just fine, but Meryl was not her usual self today, not by a long shot. She drew her feet closer together, and kept her arms crosses firmly over her chest, as if pre-emptively trying to deny the slightest possibility of seeing something she'd rather keep hidden.

"Oh...Meryl, it's you. H-hi!" He raised a hand in greeting, she tried to focus on it instead of the sellotape scaffolding that was holding his glasses together. "Hey, Dwight!" She **** herself to smile. "Sorry to bump into you like that, I...I wasn't looking where I was going, I guess."

"No problem, Meryl, especially since it's you. In a hurry somewhere?" He lowered his voice in what appeared to be an attempt at emulating some arcane, out of reach standard of manliness. Meryl fought to keep the smile going. "Mhm...just...meeting a friend!"

"Ooh, which one?"

"You probably wouldn't know her."

"Is it Cheryl? It's Cheryl isn't it?"

Meryl felt a slight tingling sensation between her buttocks at the mention of the name. She shook her head slowly. "Nope, Cheryl's...indisposed. I'm just off to meet up with Kayla."

"Can I come?"

"Uh..." Meryl tried desperately to think of an excuse. Something, anything! Just as long as it wasn't 'No, actually Dwight, you see I'm trying not to freak out as I wander around sans underpants and with a burnt blouse revealing my too-small bra!'

"Kayla's...sick. I'm going to see if she needs help." She explained, letting her smile falter to convey the seriousness of the situation. "She might need to go home," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Dang," Dwight snapped his fingers for effect. "That does sound serious! Well...do you need any help with getting her home safe?"

Not in a million years, not if you were the last man on Earth. "I dunno, you know I think I can handle it, and Kayla's made of sterner stuff besides—"

"Come on! I insist! It's only right that I assist two beautiful females in distress!"

Meryl felt a migraine coming on, but did she really have time to stand here arguing with a perverted, gameless nerd?