Schadenfreude

I wondered whether I should get up and peek, but reasoned against it. If she was right and they'd been at this for ten minutes already, it would probably end soon. Her dragging gasps were punctuated now and then by longer, more drawn-out moans, and very occasionally by a vague smacking sound as though somebody was chewing gum with their mouth open. "Fuck," she said once, quite normally, and then her breathing grew noticeably more intense.

This went on for another minute, maybe more, before the laughter came back into her voice and she sighed again. I heard a sound like a dog getting patted. "Wow. You've got me so wet I'm ruining my dress."

"Shit." A low voice, masculine.

"Get up and take your cock out."

"What?"

"Come on." The laughter had faded away again; I recognized the sound of a woman in heat. "Get your clothes off. That's enough foreplay."

"Huh?" Another rustle. "You only told me to lick your pussy!"

"Right. And now I'm telling you to get your fucking clothes off. Now." A pause, and I could feel the tension in the little room. "Or I'll get you fired." That got my attention. Must be a waiter. "Chop chop."

I leaned sideways, looking along the line of stall doors, and saw a dark suit jacket come flying over the door of the last stall. "Come on..." Lucy's voice was low and urgent, hoarse. "Get 'em off."

"Shit!" A sharp exclamation, then a thud as someone stumbled against the walls of the stall, and then a shiny pair of men's shoes skittered out from under the door. "This is fucking insane," the man gasped. Pants, to match the jacket, and they came over the door in just the same way along with a pair of silk boxers. With polka dots on them.

"That's what I'm after." Lucy again, husky and wicked, and then her dress rustled again. A tearing sound, then shirt buttons scattering on the tile like pearls from a broken necklace. "There's that fucking cock! Jesus." She sounded surprised now. "Did I get it that hard?"

"You know you did." The man's voice was tight and very controlled, and suddenly quite familiar; I was starting up from the bench while the two of them were still getting ready. I should have guessed. "What... I mean, how..."

"Just get over here. We'll figure it out." Well, of course; Lucy Marsh had often figured this kind of thing out. I padded across the floor with the alert care of a ninja, holding my breath past the first stall door. "My fucking thong's already wrecked, anyway." A bright red scrap of silk came sailing over, landing on the tile with the sound of a damp handkerchief. "Fucking fifteen dollars at Secret Whispers." The second stall door, and now I caught the unmistakable wet sliding noise of flesh meeting flesh, then two people letting their breath out in a fervent, vibrato rush.

And then I reached the door of the handicapped stall, standing well back from the half-inch gap above the latch between door and partition. My phone was out automatically, my thumb flying across its face in the well-practiced maneuvers that got the camera app open and flipped to video mode.

What I saw through the phone lens was startling in its clarity and sheer naughtiness. A nude male ass, tensing and relaxing in a rhythm that made my mouth flop open; the left cheek was partly obscured by a torn shirt hanging from one shoulder like a flag of surrender, the right partly obscured by Lucy's knee and lower leg, wrapped tightly around the man's thrusting body. He had her jammed up against the tiled corner wall, her other leg tapering toward the ground and still pushed into its shoe.

Christ. Her ankle would be sore tomorrow.

I fiddled my fingers across my phone, zooming in, and now I saw the dark hair of my very own skills teacher David Dole, the tendons of his neck standing out sharply. His head was twisting and gyrating restlessly, and from what I was hearing Lucy was currently sucking her juices off his tongue.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'd never before watched two people have sex, live in front of me. What got to me most were the sounds: everything was wet, slippery noise, the sucking slaps of tongue and dick and pussy, sounding squalid and cheap in the basement bathroom. Their muscles flexed robotically against each other, and at last I heard words. "Holy fuck." That was Dole, mesmerized once she'd broken free of his mouth; he was looking straight down between them.

"I know, right?" Lucy's voice was deeper than usual, buoyant and reckless and oddly dangerous. "You're fucking me." I could see her face now, and I zoomed in on it: she wore a half-lidded expression of power, her mouth parted in an excited grin, her ruby lipstick smeared badly. She was staring sideways at Mr Dole's head, crafty and beautiful. "How long have you wanted this, Mr Dole?"

He laughed in response, that tight and giddy laugh that explodes from men when something funny strikes them while they're balls-deep. Her own laugh was shriller and, if anything, less breathless; in fairness, though, he was doing all the work here. And it really was hard work: Lucy was a pretty short chick, but she was not exactly petite. Already I saw sweat standing out on Dole's shoulders, running in a little trickle down toward the crack of his flexing ass...

I started getting aroused with a suddenness that blew me away. It's like puking, I suppose, or yawning: you're standing next to someone who does it, and you get the urge to do it yourself. Apparently, that's the way sex works too. A cracked, wrenching moan from Lucy nearly made me gasp, and without thinking much I stopped filming, flitted back to my bench, and started pulling up my skirts.

Like many young ladies of a vaguely antisocial disposition, I was an accomplished masturbator. I'd done it in beds, in chairs, on toilets; I'd done it while reading, watching TV, surfing the internet, and once even while driving. I'd done it with both hands and with objects, though that had never really caught on with me, and on no fewer than five occasions I'd had people do it to me: four times with guys, once out of curiosity with Heidi.

I can truthfully say that none of them did it as well as I did myself.

I had the thick, stiff purple silk up around my waist in moments, digging down into my underwear from the top; the side was awkward for me. My panties had a translucent, latex-glove appearance already, for I'm a pretty damp girl when I get horny. I felt them tighten around my body, thinking yet again how repulsive a thong would be at a time like this: the thought of the string pulling tight against my asshole would have killed my mood at once.

Sullenly I stared at Lucy's red g-string, lying forgotten beside Mr Dole's pathetic clothing, and as I dug into my slit with a sigh of relief, a wicked thought started to sprout in my overheated brain.

A first-class prick. That's what Dole was, and based on what I was hearing that's what he had.

I felt my clit spring out hard against my fingers, right in between the pointer and middle ones. I fluttered them rapidy, automatically, settling at once into the corner near the potted palm while I brooded over Dole's clothes. And all the while, my whirling fingers squished through my soupy vagina to the harsher, more thrilling soundtrack of the two shitheads in the handicapped stall fucking each other to pieces.

It was unexpected. You'd think that listening to that sort of thing from two people you hate would be disgusting. I found it didn't matter much, especially once Lucy started talking; the kissing stage was apparently over for good. "Keep fucking me, Mr Dole," she whined sexily. By that time, as near as I could tell, he was doing her from behind, probably bent over the toilet. "You going to cum in me? In my tight little cunt, hah?"

And all the while, Dole's clothes mocked me.

I finished myself off with my normal efficiency: four minutes was my usual. I was the sort of person who liked to time things like that. The two of them had staying power, that was for sure: they were still crashing loudly into each other when, my mouth open in a silent scream, I felt the usual thrilling, teeth-clenching wave of vibrating warmth come shivering through my body. I gulped a few harsh, calming breaths, stared once more at his cast-off clothes, and wiped my hand absently on a vinyl palm frond.

Such a first-class prick.

I made my decision at once, still panting slightly from my hasty orgasm. The two lovebirds fucked merrily and obliviously on, both now tired and silent but for the stifled groans and squishy slitherings that go along with really serious sex; I could have driven a tank through the room and they'd have never known it.

Clothes. Stairwell.

I scampered to pick all his shit up, pointedly ignoring the nasty thong, though I missed one of his shoes. I did glance once underneath the door, only to see the expected: four legs and four feet, hers in heels at the front and his in socks behind, the calves shifting and bulging with motion.

Stairwell. Loading dock.

My arms full, I ran lightly across the floor and kicked the door open. I left my shoes and my pocketbook on the bench; I didn't plan to be long. I felt myself grinning in ecstasy, though that might have simply been the recent orgasm.

Loading dock. Great outdoors.

When I passed through the steel double doors next to the stairwell, the fresh air smashed into me tinged with the sweet, familiar smell of weed. I had the presence of mind to make sure the doors weren't locked, and then I glanced around the dirty concrete pad and found what I was looking for. Beside every loading dock is a dumpster.

Great outdoors. Dumpster.

Clothes.

I raced past Justin Clamm and Jeremy Loring, who ironically enough were classmates of mine in Dole's skills block. They lounged on the ground wearing rented tuxes and blank expressions, thoroughly baked; no doubt they thought I was a hallucination. "Hello, boys," I giggled as I pitched the suit pants, jacket, boxers, and one shoe into the yawning metal opening, enjoying the clank as the shoe smacked into the side. I was back inside almost before the steel door had had time to close.

If I'm being honest, I was a little surprised and impressed they were still at it when I cautiously opened the bathroom door. Rustling had given way to dirty talk, dirty talk to groaning, and now groaning had given way to the harsh and raspy breaths that tell you semen will appear soon. That was my experience, at least. The lone remaining shoe sat forlorn beside Lucy's moistened thong as I sat back down on my bench, thoroughly thrilled, controlling my laughter with great difficulty.

Right on time. This time, when Lucy grated, "Come on. Chop chop," she was telling him she was done getting reamed; bitch had to be getting dry by this time. It was still an annoying thing to say, I reflected as I composed myself and got my phone ready. I heard strangled grunting from Mr Dole, one final almighty slap as a groin met an ass, and then assorted triumphant noises of the "Hunghh!" and "Fuck yeah!" variety.

He'd cum in her, the stupid bastard. Lucy Marsh was probably competent enough to go on the pill, but she was also stupid enough not to be too careful about it. I shook my head.

"Motherfucker!" It sounded like the two of them were having difficulty disentangling themselves. I imagined it was messy in there; sure enough, the sounds of ripping toilet paper and returning sanity began filling the space. "Are, uh, are you using birth control?" I rolled my eyes; a little late now.

"Shit, Mr Dole. Just because I get bad grades and have a special ed plan doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"No, of course not." Awkward pause; he'd be trying to clean himself hastily. "And, uh, you'd tell me if you... well, if you had any infections? Like..." He trailed off, and even I was embarrassed on his behalf; he had to be an absolute mental defective to ask a question like that, in that kind of way. After he'd already fucked her. Not for the first time, I wondered just how he'd gotten his teaching credential with a brain so poor.

Lucy stood up for women everywhere by laughing in his face. "Shut the fuck up," she advised him. "Shitty timing there, Mr Dole; should have asked first." The rustling was back as the dress, presumably, came down. "Goddamn. I'm leaking all over the lining. Give me some toilet paper." A different kind of rustling, then, and finally a sigh. "I should probably just shove a tampon in there," Lucy reflected. "I'm not done dancing yet, but your spooge is running all down my leg."

"Hey!" Dole sounded indignant, but also very troubled. "Is it my fault that you made me cum?"

"Ha ha ha." Lucy put him straight on that one at once. "Enough of that, Mr Dole. You're the grown-up here; I'm just a meek, innocent young lady who goes to Sunday school. I can claim you raped me. You could be a sex offender the minute I open my mouth about this. So, yes. Yes, it is your fault. This whole thing is your fault." That shut him right up, and I found myself nodding along with her logic. Lucy Marsh: not as dumb as she looked. "We obviously can't go back to the ballroom together. So, you stay put in the stall, in case some other bitch comes in to piss. I'll go take care of my makeup, then I'll leave you here. Lock the door after I go. That'll give you time to get yourself all put back together. Got it?" I glanced over at the door; I hadn't realized there was a lock.

"Right." I'd never heard such nervousness in a man's voice before, but he had good reason. I sat up and laid aside my pocketbook, smoothing my dress. Strangely, I wasn't concerned that Lucy and, presumably, Mr Dole were about to find out I'd been in that bathroom the whole time; Lucy and I were not friends, but she'd always been nice to me in an offhand fashion. She was an experienced slut, anyway, and everyone knew it; none of this would make her feel any shame.

And him? Fuck him. I hated David Dole; he had a right to be more worried about me than I was about him. I smirked to myself, glad I'd ditched his clothes. "What about my shirt?"

"God! You're pathetic." She came out carrying her shoes, the door smacking open against the neighboring stall before bouncing slowly back to bump into Lucy's casually outstretched arm. She moved with the saunter of the truly confident whore, and despite my general lack of give-a-shitness about how other people saw me I was surprised that I was just slightly jealous. To have a body like hers!

It just would have made adolescence easier.

She stopped short when she spotted me, just as Mr Dole pulled the stall door closed from within; in the sudden silence I could hear the latch rattle. We stared at each other, all four eyes wide, and then she cocked her head very slowly and precisely to the left.

We both smiled, very slowly and thinly.

"The buttons are all fucked up," he was bleating, and then Lucy and I had a moment of sympatico as we both rolled our eyes. She resumed her walk toward the sink, working her lips in and out as she stared critically at herself in the mirror. She ignored me as she leaned over the counter and dabbed at her cheek.

"Just do what you can," she advised absently, drawing her lipstick out of her clutch. "Once you get the tie and the jacket on, you'll be fine." I watched her make herself up, surprised that she wasn't more of a mess. She must have banned him from touching her hair. She looked over at me once in the mirror, curious, but she was fast and efficient and gorgeous and it wasn't more than a minute before she was sliding toward the door, her shoes still swinging from her thin fingers.

She stopped at her crumpled thong, then bent at the knees to hook it with a contemptuous finger. The motion turned into a smooth, accurate throw into the wastebasket by the sink, and then she was through the door and toward the stairwell without another backward glance. "Bye, Mr Dole! It's been fun!" she called out.

I had very little time to figure out how I wanted to handle this, but I remembered the shame of getting my book confiscated and I straightened my back. Dick. For shit's sake, he'd had a kid in his class reading literature! For pleasure! How dared he? I messed quickly with my phone, then propped it carefully against the pocketbook on the bench beside my thigh.

The words would come; I knew it. I crossed my legs.

He slunk out of the stall as though he knew I was there, but of course he didn't; he was halfway across the floor before his slowly rising eyes found mine, his face melting into a mask of horrified awareness more profound than I would have thought possible. And I tipped my head back against the tiled wall, my ankle swinging in lazy circles, and treated him to a slow grin as I looked down my nose at the little asshole.

He was naked but for a pair of thin black dress socks, the wrecked shirt hanging from his hand. I saw a fairly decent body, but nothing special: he couldn't have been more than twenty-five, but he didn't look like he worked out or anything. So yeah, an average body, a sprinkling of hair leading from the middle of his chest down to the dark thatch over his dick. Which now hung sticky-looking, thick with his and Lucy's gummy discharge, above a pair of tired balls.

It looked pretty big, though it's hard to tell on a dude who's just cum. Deflation happens differently for different guys, based on my limited experience.

In any case, there were only about three silent, simmering seconds before he whipped the torn shirt over his dangling penis, the confusion on his face switching quickly to anxiety. "What..."

I was already laughing, and it wasn't even an act. I really did find him silly. "He covers himself," I chuckled. "How cute. I've already seen it, Mr. Dole." My phone, propped against my pocketbook, had seen it too. "When you try to cover it up, you just look more pathetic."

"What the hell are you doing here?" he stammered. Anxiety was giving way to anger now, but he knew he didn't really have the right to be angry at me. "How long... I mean, did you just get here?"

"Get where? To the ladies' bathroom? Where you're just, you know, innocently hanging out nude?" I giggled. "No, Mr Dole. I've been here awhile. Might want to go lock the door; Lucy was right. It'd be a shame if anyone walked in on you like this." I gestured up and down his body. "It's bad enough that I know what happened here. Can you imagine what would happen if, you know, word of this spread a little..." He saw where I was going. I saw his eyes flicker worriedly around me, then fixate on my propped phone.

Shit. Of course I was filming this. He swallowed with effort. "But what are you doing here?"

"I just came in here to pee, Mr Dole." I smiled brightly at him. "Now, come on. Lock the door. We've got things to discuss here." We didn't, but it sounded like a cool phrase. "And really, drop the shirt. You'll have slightly more dignity if you just go ahead and let it hang out." I sighed. "Despite how I look, I've seen dicks before. And what are you going to do? Hold that shirt in front of you the whole time?"

He hesitated. He looked troubled, which I could understand. "This is just... it's a little weird. To say the least." He looked away, then tried to rally. "Look, can you give me some privacy here?"

"No." I was feeling confident. "This is my bathroom, not yours." I covered my mouth, letting him see my dimples. "The shirt really does look silly, Mr Dole."

He swallowed, then saw sense and scampered toward the door; the sliding of the deadbolt was a loud, sudden thok! I took the opportunity to study his butt which, as it turned out, was just a normal average male ass. Ordinary legs, though his calves were nice enough. I shook my head, genuinely curious. "What does she see in you, anyway?" I mused. When he turned, he paused again before wordlessly hanging his shirt on the doorknob. I met his eyes. "I mean, other than the power trip of fucking a teacher. What do you think?" I picked the phone up and held it casually for a better view. "Like, why you instead of, say, Mr Delp or Mr Yamaguchi?