Don’t bother fixing your panties.

The school bathroom on the second floor was quiet after the last period. Most students had already left. Maya stood in the last stall, the one farthest from the door. She was eighteen, slim, with dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Her uniform skirt was still on, but she had pushed her panties down to her knees.

She locked the door and leaned back against the cool tile wall. Her hand slid between her legs. She was already wet. She had been thinking about it all through the last class—how the fabric rubbed her, how no one could see. Now she rubbed slow circles over her clit with two fingers. Soft at first. Then a little harder.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip so she wouldn’t make noise. Her breathing got heavier. One finger slipped inside. Then two. She pumped them slowly, the wet sound quiet but clear in the empty bathroom. Her other hand squeezed her breast through the white shirt. She imagined someone watching. Someone older. Someone who would tell her she was bad for doing this here.

She didn’t hear the outer door open.

Professor Kane walked in to wash his hands after the staff meeting. He was thirty-eight, tall, broad-shouldered, with a calm face that students respected and a little feared. He turned on the water. Then he heard it—a soft, wet sound and a small gasp from the last stall.

He froze. The faucet kept running. He turned it off carefully. Another small sound. A girl’s breath catching.

He walked closer. Quiet steps. He could see the gap under the stall door. A pair of white school shoes. Panties around the ankles. Fingers moving between her legs.

Maya didn’t know he was there until the stall door rattled.

“Open it.”

His voice was low and hard.

She froze. Fingers still inside herself. Heart slamming.

“I said open it.”

She pulled her hand out, wiped it quickly on her skirt, and unlocked the door with shaking fingers. The door swung open.

Professor Kane stood there looking down at her. His eyes went straight between her legs—skirt hiked up, panties at her knees, shiny wetness on her thighs and fingers. He didn’t look away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Maya’s face burned. She tried to pull her skirt down. He stepped into the stall and blocked her.

“Don’t. Leave it.”

She stood there, exposed, breathing fast. He stared at her cunt like he was studying it. The silence stretched.

“Eighteen years old and fingering yourself in a school bathroom like a desperate little slut,” he said slowly. “Anyone could have walked in. A student. Another teacher. And you just kept going.”

His voice was calm, but there was something dark under it. He reached out and took her wrist—the one that had been between her legs. He lifted it and looked at her wet fingers.

“Smell that.” He brought her hand closer to her own face. “That’s what you smell like when you’re being filthy.”

Maya’s legs felt weak. She didn’t pull away.

He pushed her back against the wall of the stall. The door stayed open behind him. Anyone walking in would see everything.

“You needed it that bad?” he asked. “Couldn’t wait until you got home?”

She shook her head, barely able to speak. “I… I just…”

“You just what?” He put his hand on her thigh and pushed her legs farther apart. “Show me how you were doing it.”

Her face went hotter. “Professor—”

“Show me.”

Slowly, she put her hand back between her legs. Two fingers on her clit. She rubbed the way she had been before. He watched every movement.

“Inside,” he ordered.

She pushed two fingers into herself. The wet sound was louder now. He stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His eyes never left the place where her fingers disappeared.

“Faster.”

She obeyed. Her hips started moving against her hand. Soft sounds slipped out of her mouth.

“Look at me while you do it.”

She lifted her eyes. His face was tight. His cock was hard against his trousers—she could see the thick shape of it.

He reached down and took her wrist again, guiding her fingers deeper, harder. “Like this. You were being gentle. That’s not how a girl who fingers herself in a school bathroom should touch her cunt.”

He made her fuck herself with her own fingers while he watched. When her legs started shaking he pulled her hand away and replaced it with his.

His fingers were thicker. Two of them slid into her easily because she was so wet. He curled them and rubbed the spot that made her knees buckle.

“Professor—ah—”

“Quiet.” He kept working his fingers in and out, slow and deep. “You’re going to come on my hand right here. Then we’re going to talk about what happens next.”

He didn’t rush. He kept the rhythm steady, thumb pressing her clit every few strokes. Maya’s head fell back against the tile. Her hips pushed against his hand. The wet sounds filled the small stall.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take it. This is what you wanted when you locked yourself in here.”

She came hard, clenching around his fingers, a broken moan escaping before she could stop it. He kept moving through it until her legs gave out and she had to grab his arm to stay upright.

He pulled his fingers out slowly and held them up in front of her face. Shiny and wet.

“Clean them.”

She opened her mouth. He pushed his fingers in. She tasted herself while he watched.

When he took them out he wiped the rest on her lips.

“You’re not going home yet,” he said. His voice was lower now. “My office. Five minutes. Don’t bother fixing your panties. Leave them where they are.”

He stepped back, adjusted the hard shape in his trousers, and walked out of the bathroom like nothing had happened.

Maya stood there shaking, skirt still up, panties around her knees, cunt still pulsing. The bathroom was quiet again except for her breathing.

She knew she should pull her clothes up and leave. Run. Pretend none of this happened.

Instead she fixed her skirt just enough to walk and followed him.