QUICKIE: THE JANITOR

Cheaters never prosper! Bull!

I saw Marcus in the locker hallway from a distance. 

Oh damn, I said to myself, not here, not now.

I mean, I had cheated on him, and he had found out last night. I had dreaded college today. Though I suspected the usual male double standards, it was okay for him to cheat as a guy, but not me. I would be labelled a senior college slut by lunchtime. How could I keep my head up?

I couldn't scoot into the girl's loo; it was farther along the corridor, behind an approaching Marcus, who thankfully hadn't seen me yet. The only exit available was the janitors' room on my immediate left. I hoped Old Cawthorne was scrubbing graffiti off a wall somewhere.

Luckily, the door was unlocked. I sidled in and closed it behind me.

I felt utter relief and exhaled deeply.

So, you must understand my surprise when I heard deeper breathing behind me.

I turned around. Cawthorne must have done a — Dorian Grey — because he looked awfully young.

"Well, I take it you're hiding," said the Janitor, who I realised was a sub—a really hot sub.

He was tall, with a chiselled jaw and cute chest hair through the opened top buttons of his work shirt.

"Yeah, from my boyfriend."

"Why?" he asked, looking me up and down, and there was plenty that was worth looking at: my great shaved legs, toned thighs, short plaid private college uniform, crisp white short-sleeved shirt that hugged and shaped my D cups, soft blue eyes, and a high brunette ponytail.

"Because I cheated on the cheater," I blurted.

"Oh, so you like to cheat," said the Janitor.

Then he added, "You've come to the right place; I like cheaters."

Oh, I liked cheating too.

"Let me keep you safe," he said, locking securely the door behind me and pinning me to the wall, where I wanted to be pinned. 

He was moving his hands to my most needy spots very quickly. At this moment, quick was good. Speed was of the essence. Fast was exciting. 

His mouth was enjoying my mouth. Two wet expanses explored each other rapidly. One of his hands, the grubby bugger, was already inside my open blouse and under my bra cup and enjoying making my nipple hard.

His other hand was suddenly under my skimpy skirt, under the elastic of my knickers and fondling around nicely with my wet pussy lips, then sliding a digit into my agitated slit. His aroused cock pressed into my thigh through his pants.

My tits were over my bra cups. Geez, did he lick my nipples quickly in turn. His hands were then squashing and squeezing my jugs together.

All I could do was coo at the boob attention.

I was more than polite, cooing as he dropped down and went under my skirt, yanking my panties to the side and getting his tongue lapping into and over my pussy like a thirsty dog.

"Ooh, yeah! Ooh, my! Ooh, Ah-Uh! Ooh!"

Wow, I was experiencing thigh shaking, maximum velocity, private girly, locker licking.

Luckily, I had a wall behind me. I mean, he was pussy hustling, and it was mind-blowing. My clitty enjoying the zoom and zip of his mouth down there.

Fuck it was good. Cock requiring good.

I was suddenly face-pressed to the wall. My knickers twisted over my arse cheek, my skirt flapping as a stiff hard dick banged straight into my soppy ready pussy. It was full-throttle thrusting.

A surging, pushing pecker was pounding into me. It was flash fucking like I had never experienced. I had the want, and I had the darting cock. At this rate of pussy bludgeoning, we were both high-speed, climax bound.

His body behind me jerked hard into my arse cheeks repeatedly. 

"Ugh! Ugh! Fugh!" I moaned.

Fuck, the plaster nearly cracked. 

My hands were spread high and open against the wall, and I slowly slid down it. My mouth was open, gasping in new-found heights of previously never-reached pleasure.

I was being fucked like I had never had sex before. Truly fucked. Pussy pummelled. Pussy pleased. Slut sated.

Then I groaned, " Orrgh! Orrgh!"

The bastard knew about spit and polish — well, he was a cleaner!

The spit part — gobs of warm sputum bushwhacked my cute starfish.

The polish — his probing tongue lacquered and buffed my sensitive balloon knot rills.

My expanded rosebud was candied in saliva — slick, slippery and silky. A first-rate mush in my tush.

Then his pecker grubbed and prospected in my arse. His beef bayonet surged, poked and jolted — rummaging, rooting and ransacking my freckle gape deeper than the famed Kola gold fields.

'Raah! Oof! Geez, you're frickin deep! Orrgh! Ugh! A - rrah!"

My kitty exploded pyroclastic, an internal detonation of sheer, unbridled ecstasy. Plumes of pleasure hazed my brain.

God, he filled my date locker with cum. Then, as he finally eased out, our juices dribbled over the tiled floor. My nails, I realised, had scratched into the paintwork down the wall.

The bell for the next class sounded in the hallway.

"You better clean up and go," he said, offering me a box of tissues.

The lewd bugger watched me wipe my butt, between my legs and adjust my underwear.

But hey, I decided he deserved the show.

As I went to leave, he said, "I'm rostered here — at St Michael's every Monday."

In my afterglow sex-filled head and still satisfied pussy, I smiled and said, "Monday, it is." 

And I re-entered the school hallway, proudly strutty slutty. Not worried about handling Marcus or any other gossip because pussy and a tight arse rules the world.