Sneak Into The Locker Room And Throw Away My Gym Clothes.

You're not totally sure those rumors about Ms. Reacher are true. And even if they are, there's no gaurenteed a little flirting would get you out of class. Besides, if they do have spare clothes or something you can always try to lay on the charm after ditching your gym clothes. You sprint through the halls in a **** bid to get to the locker room ahead of anyone else. You get more than a few nasty looks from other students you nearly topple but it's a small price to pay. You reach the girls locker room in record time and slip inside. No one else is here. Perfect! You rush over to your locker and input the combination as quickly as you can without fumbling and needing to start over. The lock comes undone and you open the small door. Inside is a red sports bra, blue cotton shorts, and a plain white t-shirt. You gather them all up into your hands and turn towards the door. Hopefully no one will notice you stuffing them into a trash can.

You turn and freeze. Standing by the door is the guy you saw earlier, the one who looked like rotting ****. He twitches, his back turned to you, and you hear a snapping sound. He faces you holding the doorknob in his right hand which he lets slip to the floor.

"You-You're not supposed to be in here!" you wail, voice cracking. "This is the girls locker room, perv!"

He smiles. It's awful. Your stomach feels like it's about to burst just from looking at the sick joy on his face. You drop your clothes, ready to make a run for it towards the door that leads into the gym. Before your clothes touch the ground he's crossed the fifteen or so feet and is standing right in front of you. You don't have time to blink before his hand is at your throat and pushing you against the lockers. You gasp for air and slap at his arm. It feels like hitting a steel beam coated in hard rubber. The absolute **** on your neck let's you know he could break it with a twitch of his wrist. His mouth moves as if he's snarling but no noise comes out. He works his jaw like he's forgotten how words work until finally he manages to speak. When he does it sounds like a rough stone sliding across sandpaper.

"I...I will...have...satisfaction."

With his free hand he starts ripping at your dress. Bare handed, he pulls off chunks of fabric until the whole thing lies in tatters on the floor. The air touches your naked flesh as you look into his dark, beady eyes. Whatever fear you felt before in the hall pales in comparison. That feeling made out want to run. This one makes you want to curl up into a ball until it's over. You're so certain of your terrible fate you can feel it under your skin. And yet you also feel something else. Lust. Arousal. Excitement. Excitement at the prospect of being taken with such raw passion. What the hell is wrong with you?

He grins, "You're going to enjoy this almost half as much as I will."

You take your eyes off of his, unwilling to give into whatever he's doing to you. You spot the door to the gym open as Ms. Reacher steps in. Her shadow shifts even as she stands still and gawks at what she finds. Wordlessly, she moves in quick silence behind your attacker and punches him right in the back of the head. Ms. Reacher isn't a stereotypical gym teacher, out of shape and in a windbreaker yelling at you to run laps they probably couldn't manage. She's tall and lean, her abs visible above her tight black yoga pants and beneath her black sports bra. Her dark hair is tied into a long braid she always wears during gym classes. The blow sends the man stumbling forward into the lockers, his hold on your windpipe suddenly breaking. You crumble to the floor coughing and gasping for air. Looking up, you see the man slowly turn to face Ms. Reacher. She has her fists up, ready to defend herself, and snaps her left out in a quick jab. In a blur the man has caught her fist and from the pained look on her face he's squeezing with that vice-like grip of his. He glances down at your limp form and then back to Ms. Reacher.

"How fortunate," he hisses with that sickening grin. "I will use you for the ritual. Afterward I will ravage the girl while you watch, knowing that you will be next."

Ms. Reacher punches him right in the nose. He barely seems to notice. He grabs hold of her and spins, throwing her into the lockers and knocking the wind out of her. He then launches himself at her and begins ripping her clothes apart with his bare hands. Even the durable material of her top is no match for his strength, her breasts bouncing free as she struggles against him. Next he tears her yoga pants at the seams to reveal sleek black panties beneath. You catch Ms. Reacher's gaze for a moment and can almost feel her fear and anger. You feel guilty at having dragged her into this. And yet...the lust is still there, stronger than before. Watching her there, all helpless and ready for the taking, you can't help but imagine yourself prying her legs apart and plunging into her depths. You don't remember standing up. You simply blink and find yourself standing behind the assailant. And with renewed vigor you know there's only one thing left to do.

"She isn't yours," you snarl.

He turns just in time to catch your fist with his jaw. The **** of the blow sends his head into a locker, denting and cracking the door like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. He stumbles off of Ms. Reacher and leaps across the room with his preternatural speed. He looks at you with confusion and fear in his eyes. It makes you smile. He slams through the door leading into the gym and you move to give chase. A hand on your wrist stops you.

"I think we ought to quit while we're ahead," says Ms. Reacher.

You blink a few times and feel yourself coming back to normal. What was that? You check on Ms. Reacher and yourself and realize that neither of you are in any state, or any state of dress, to go running through the halls to chase after him.

"Thanks for your help," she says as she stands up. "For a minute there I thought..."

Her eyes go wide. You follow her gaze to your throbbing hard cock. Shit. You look back at her and just stammer. She looks confused and a bit concerned but is trying to hold it all in for your sake.

"Um, Rebecca? What exactly is going on?"

You aren't sure where to begin. Although, looking over her flat stomach, her heaving breasts, you feel like you know exactly where to start. A little demonstration might be just what you both need. No! Stop it! You need help, not sex! Although, the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive...