The creak of the door opening made both women freeze.

“Shhhh,” Sheila whispered into Chelsea’s ear, her hand tightening over the girl’s mouth. “You don’t want anyone to hear.”

Chelsea nodded. Footsteps clattered on the tile floors, echoing in public bathroom.

“I can’t believe Ashley would do that.”

“I can. She’s so trashy.”

Chelsea pressed her feet harder against the stall door, realizing it wasn’t even locked. She recognized the voices of Jenny and Becca.

Chelsea stifled a gasp, biting down on the handful of paper towels stuffed in her mouth, as Sheila’s hand started moving again. She tried to close her legs, trapping the older girl’s hand between her thighs, but Sheila’s skilled fingers were already where she wanted them, rubbing gentle circles around Chelsea’s clit, her middle and index finger slowly curling up inside her sopping pussy and thrusting in and out. Chelsea looked down, past where Sheila’s hand disappeared down the front of her panties, seeing the girl whose lap she was being held on with her feet firmly planted on the ground, uncaring if the gossips who’d walked into the bathroom looked down and saw her distinctive, worn out Converse sneakers.

“Quiet,” Sheila whispered, her fingers digging into Chelsea’s cheek while her other hand did its best to make her cry out in unwanted ecstasy.

“I heard she gave Dylan Kendrick head at the—”

Chelsea held her breath, but Sheila kept going, playing with her, extricating those little involuntary moans from her plaything.

“Who’s in there?”

Chelsea’s eyes were riveted to the floor, watching the shadows on the tiled floor get closer to the stall door. She could see the heels of the two other girls in the bathroom from where she sat on Sheila’s lap.

“Ugh, it’s Sheila. What are you doing in here?”

“You wanna come in here and find out?” Sheila asked.

Chelsea pushed her feet harder against the stall door and tried to shake her head, but Sheila tightened her grip over her mouth again.

“Gross. Fucking dyke,” Becca said.

“We’re not interested, carpet muncher,” Jenny said.

“Suit yourself,” Sheila said.

Chelsea watched, still holding her breath, as the feet retreated from the stall door. The water turned off, and the automated blow dryers kicked on. Sheila timed the aggressive flick of Chelsea’s clit with the loud whoosh of air, and the wad of paper towels and Shiela’s hand weren’t enough to muffle Chelsea’s scream of pleasure. She was still crying out when the dryer shut off, and she was vaguely aware of the popular girls’ sarcastic gossip as they left the bathroom. When the door shut, Chelsea went limp on Sheila’s lap, her feet dropping to the floor, her hands falling to her sides, panting through her nose.

“Good girl,” Sheila whispered in her ear, brushing her sweaty hair out of her face before pulling the soggy wad of paper towels out of Chelsea’s mouth and dropping it between their legs into the toilet.

Chelsea stuck her tongue out, picking off dissolved bits of paper towel while Chelsea roughly shoved her to her feet.

“Imagine if they found out,” Sheila taunted, straightening her own skirt.

Chelsea spun around, mortified. In the small space, on her still shaky legs, she tripped and fell into Shiela’s arms. “You wouldn’t,” she whimpered, not coming from the position of power she’d hoped. She was never in a position of power with Sheila.

“I might. But not now. You’ve been a good girl. You can remain my secret slut.”

Chelsea’s blush deepened, and she tried to stand back up straight. She shrugged off Sheila’s hold and hiked up her skirt to straighten out her panties.

Sheila grabbed her hands, and then grabbed her crotch. “I can’t let you go back out in wet panties.”

“No. Don’t,” Chelsea protested, but she didn’t try to stop the older girl from yanking her damp underwear down her legs, and she obediently stepped out of them. Wistfully she watched her panties disappear down Sheila’s top and into her bra.

“Be careful,” Sheila playfully cautioned her, ruffling her short skirt.

Chelsea quickly pulled her skirt back down. “I can’t go out like this.”

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Sheila pushed past the smaller girl and opened the stall, slipping out. “Thanks for the test answers, by the way.” She waved the envelope Chelsea had given her. Their arrangement had started with Sheila paying her for the answers to the test. The arrangement had changed. Drastically. “Same time tomorrow.”

“But, we don’t have another test!” Chelsea protested.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun. Or I can tell the dean you’re selling test answers. Or I can just post all those pictures I have of you.”

Chelsea went white. The prospect of getting kicked out of school was bad, the mutually assured destruction that Chelsea would be expelled too not seeming to bother the older girl. Ruining her reputation, too, she hadn’t even considered. If Chelsea would turn her in for cheating, she really would have no problem letting everyone know that she’d been sexually assaulting Chelsea for weeks.

“Tomorrow?” Sheila asked again.

Chelsea nodded, unable to bring herself to speak.

“Good girl.” Sheila turned and exited the bathroom, not even bothering to wash her hands. The stall door banged closed, and Chelsea sat back down on the toilet, dropping her head into her hands. She was trapped.