She half heartedly tidied some loose prints on the desk near the darkroom, disappointment gripping her chest and for a while she fought the urge to cry. She tried the door to the darkroom and it swung open a fraction and she immediately closed it again; lacking the courage on her own to go in there where ‘it’ had happened. She turned around and leaned against the door, kicking it with her heel in frustration. Feeling foolish she hung around the classroom for a while trying to look busy but eventually she gave up and made her slow and heavy way home.
The next day was a repeat of the same process and she began to despair; he was obviously not coming back. A whole range of possibilities/fantasies ran through her head: That he had had an accident and was lying critically ill in hospital somewhere, uncared for and alone; That he had simply up and left and that it would force some kind of inquest at the school and what had happened in the darkroom would all come out and everyone would know and her would will be ruined; all the way through to that he had fallen in love with her and dare not face her because of some problem in his past that she does not know about. She ran the whole gamut of childish, romantic, scenarios through her head in turn as she waited.
The next day she turned up more out of routine than in hope of finding him there. She had already decided that she would steel herself and go into the darkroom and at least finish sorting out the prints that would by now have dried and be ready for labelling and cataloguing. She opened the door to the classroom and her stomach gave a sudden lurch when she suddenly saw him standing at one of the long rows of science lab benches sorting through large piles of prints. He smiled at her, obviously pleased to see her.
“Glad you turned up I could use some help,” he said holding up some loose prints as a means of explanation, “still a lot to finish off.” She hesitated in the doorway, taken by surprise and now unsure in the face of reality. She sees he is dressed for the darkroom again in shorts and an old t-shirt. He looked up at her quizzically. “Are you here to help or what?” he joked and pushed a pile of prints across the desk in her direction.
Gathering her courage she hesitantly walked down the length of the classroom and stood beside him. She looked sideways at him, unsure and nervous but her looked up and smiled again, putting her at her ease and she pulled the pile of prints across the desk towards her. Leafing through the first few prints she noticed that her hands were trembling. He looked sideways at her, pretending not to notice.
“Someone has already sorted them,” he said quietly and she nodded.
“I came in yesterday and finished them off,” she said, trying to control her voice.
He tapped a stack of prints by their edge on the top of the desk, straightening them, “I know,” he said placing them back on the desk, lining the stacks up with the tip of his finger, “and the day before that as well. Johnstone the caretaker told me.” She nodded, suddenly embarrassed as if caught out in a lie. “Wondered where I’d got to?” he asked and she shrugged. “I’m sorry Gwen,” he said and reached across and took one of her hands in his, “you deserved better than that.”
She shook her head, aware that must be able to hear her heart thudding in her chest. He turned her hand over and pulled it closer to him, palm up. She could feel the warmth of his body through her fingertips and he stroked her palm and mound of Venus with his thumb as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I had to get things straight in my head,” he said. “I needed a little time .. after what happened in there,” indicating the darkroom behind her. She looked hesitantly over her shoulder as if unsure of what he meant. He ploughed on, all the time his thumb stroking the sensitive palm of her hand, sending ripples of pleasure through her body. “I am a schoolteacher after all, I should know how to control myself, it should never have happened.” She nodded vaguely , his words drifting away. “And it won’t happen again,” he said and she looked up into his eyes, “will it?” he said with a finality that made her feel cold.
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. “Good,” he said releasing her hand, “a professional relationship if we can then,” he said with a heartiness that crushed her. “Think we can manage that?” He asked and she nodded, and she shivered slightly as if a winter chill had stolen into the room. “Good,” he said again, his bonhomie harsh and galling in the stillness that had fallen between them, “are you OK with helping me still or do you want me find someone else to help finish off?”
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling herself move slowly towards tears. “I really do want to help get this done.”
“Great,” he said, adding after a slight pause, “even in the darkroom?”
She looked over her shoulder again at the offending room and nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, “honestly, I can handle it.”
“Great,” he said, almost distractedly. “Let’s get on with it then.”
He led the way, ushering her before him. Once inside he locked the door before pulling the heavy blackout curtain across and turning on the exterior ‘Darkroom Occupied’ sign and switched on the red developing light.. As always it took her a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the deep velvet red lighting. When she looked up he was staring back at her smiling, just standing there looking at her. She half smiled back at him and looked sideways as if expecting him to say something. He stepped across the short gap between them and this time there were no preliminaries.
Without any preamble he gathered her up into his arms, bending her back over the workbench. She cried out in surprise but his mouth stifled her protests. He kissed her long and hard, his tongue deep in her mouth, the kiss continuing until she was gasping for breath. In one movement he placed her arm behind her back and held it there, his free hand moving up, under her blouse to take possession of her breast. He pulled her bra up and his fingers closed on her nipple, pulling it taut, squeezing the breath from her body. She cried out as his hand gripped her breast, squeezing and moulding it until her senses reeled, all the while his kisses, deep and devouring kept her silent and dazed.
Suddenly his hand was on her thigh, travelling upwards, taking her skirt with it, exposing her, laying her open. For an instant he dipped between her legs and cupped her sex and she called out at the sudden warmth and pressure from his fingers but his hand had already gone, moving on and up in its quest for even more intimacy. He tugged at the waistband of her knickers, drawing them down to allow his hand inside. His hand slid down across her taut, flat stomach, grazing quickly across her soft red pubic hair before pushing its way down between her legs, finding and touching her sex, briefly exploring the soft folds of her lips, orientating himself, feeling her wetness before opening her up.
She tried to open her legs to give him access but she struggled to keep her balance as he held her prone across the worktop. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against the front of her pubic bone and she gasped as he curled his palm down over her sex, his fingers slipping between her lips, travelling through her wetness, searching for and quickly finding her already erect clitoris, instantly stroking wild sensations up from her groin to explode behind her eyes. She cried out, she knew she would come in seconds; she has been ready to come for him for three days. His fingers pushed deeper into her and her legs began to tremble; she tried to stretch her legs apart to let him in. She could feel her juices beginning to seep down around his probing hand into the clean white material of her knickers and she was suddenly past caring about anything, she was about to cum; he was manipulating her masterfully yet again and she was happily, completely under his control; willing to be led wherever he would take her.
His fingers played softly, knowingly and insistently between her lips and she came quickly, her thighs squeezing together, trying to hold and contain the hand that was wreaking havoc with her senses and destroying her self control; but the fingers continued to move, causing her to cry out and to try to curl up around his hand as the waves of her climax continued to shake her.
Releasing the hand that he had been holding behind her he turned her around sideways to him. He kept the one hand down the front of her knickers, sliding the other down inside the back to find and mould itself to the shape of her bottom. He was manipulating her like a puppet, moving her to his will, his hands insistent and determined, his fingers hard, needy and softly resolute, pushing down between her legs, invading and overrunning her soft, warm, secret places. His eyes glinted hotly in the darkroom light, giving him the devilish appearance she had seen before, red skin and flashing red eyes. His breath sounded harsh in her ears.
With one hand he probed and caressed her wet and open sex while with the other he opened the cheeks of her arse, running his fingers between then, intimately caressing the soft brown rosebud that puckered at his touch. Sweat suddenly sprang from her and could fell it joining up and running down her back and down between her breasts, her clothes were already sticking to her. His finger slipped between her lips and moved deeper inside her and she cried out, trying to stop her legs from buckling. She was again instantly awash with sensation, a repeat performance of the other day. Like a drowning woman she suddenly recognised his ability to swamp her, to flood her senses, to unmast her. She was having difficulty in breathing; his fingers were driving the air from her lungs, sucking the oxygen out of the room. The heat was suddenly unbearable; she wanted him to take her clothes off, she wanted to lie down with him on the tiled floor and allow him to cool her feverish skin
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