Miss Swagger, Do You Know Who’s Touching You? Part 1

"I crave sex in the dark because it turns every whisper into a moan, every brush of skin into a shock of electricity. When I can’t see, I feel more, the heat of a hand sliding up my thigh, the wetness of a tongue tracing my neck, the desperate friction of bodies moving in hungry moans.”

Part 1

The fluorescent lights flickered, once, twice, then slipped into darkness with a soft, fading hum. And just like that, everything disappeared.

The underground offices at my private school where I teach grade 12 French sank into a darkness that felt almost intimate, like it was brushing up against me… tracing the outline of my body instead of hiding it. Two floors beneath all the classes, the world narrowed to sensation, breath, fabric, skin and noises.

I stayed still for a beat since I was alone this late at school.

Then I shifted. My Givenchy black mini dress moved with me, smooth and close, hugging every line from my waist down to my thighs. The fabric was soft, holding me just enough, like it knew exactly where to cling and where to let go. The hem rested high on my legs, leaving them bare, exposed to the staff and some students. But now to the cool air that now felt sharper without the lights.

I stood and let my weight fall onto one hip, a slow, controlled and very feminine move.

My legs felt longer in the dark somehow, endless lines shaped by the curve of muscle and the lift of my heels. The stilettos pressed firmly into the floor, anchoring me, arching my posture just enough to change everything, the tilt of my hips, the tension through my calves, the quiet confidence in the way I stood.

Every movement felt different. My fingers trailed lightly along my thigh and up to my breasts, not rushed, just aware, until they reached my nipples, fully erected in the dark. My hands settled over twisting them for a second, not gripping, just feeling it, pleasing, grounding.

Pure danger and elegance… in the same breath at a private school like mine.

A slow inhale. The air was warmer now, brushing over my bare skin, slipping beneath the edge of the dress with a faint sexual sensation. It made everything more vivid, the line of my legs, the quiet rise and fall of my heavy chest, the way stillness could feel so… charged.

I adjusted my glasses out of habit, even though they reflected nothing but shadow. A small, almost amused exhale followed.

Then I turned my head quickly.

My ponytail slid across my shoulder, a soft whisper against my skin as I listened, really listened this time. Because the darkness didn’t feel empty. It felt close. And I had a distinct sense… Somebody or something was looking right back at me.

Then, a sound.

Not the usual creak of the old building settling. This was breathing. Slow. Deliberate. Close.
Way too close.

My pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding my veins.

"Hello?" My voice sounded thin, swallowed by the dark. No answer. Just the faintest rustle of fabric, the whisper of a man's shoe against the tiled floor.

Then…a touch.

Fingers, light as a spider’s web, brushed against my bare arm. I gasped, jerking back almost falling off my 5 inch heels, but the hand followed, tracing up to my shoulder, then my neck. A shiver ran down my spine, half terror, half something else, something hotter, very sexual. I could scream…But what difference would it make in the dark when alone at school?

"Who…who’s there?" My voice trembled, but the fingers didn’t stop. 

His fingers dragged up my skin, slow and deliberate, until they twisted into the hair at the base of my neck. With a sharp pull, he tilted my head back, exposing my throat to the heat of his breath. His other hand coiled around my neck, squeezing just enough to make my pulse race and my knees weaken. 

His lips hovered over mine, a hairsbreadth away, exhaling hot and wet, teasing, taunting, torturing. Every inch of me trembled from sexual excitement, aching for the collision of his mouth on mine, the promise of something darker, hungrier.

"Shhh." The voice was a murmur, rough and low, as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck. At first, it was soft, gentle kisses that made my pulse flutter. But then his teeth grazed me, a sharper bite that sent a jolt of heat between my legs and beautiful fear coursing through my veins.

"You’re not alone anymore, Miss Swagger, or should I call you Ashley?"

He knew my name. I should have screamed. I should have run. But in five-inch heels? Yeah, right.

My mind screamed for escape, but my body felt trapped. His touch shifted lower, his fingers skimming along my blouse. His hands caressed my breasts, his palms warm and possessive against my nipples. It was deliberate, soft, teasing strokes that made my breath catch, yet his grip tightened just enough to remind me he was in control.

Running wasn’t an option, not with my ankle in this condition just a few days since my doctor removed my leg cast. Trying to sprint, especially in heels, would have been reckless. I could trip, fall, or twist my ankle, a real danger… a sprained ankle. Maybe even with the force of impact or the awkward angle of a fall could fracture my ankle. A break would mean no mobility, no escape, for weeks, maybe months, of recovery.

But his fingers tightened, just enough to keep me still, and then…lips. Soft at first, barely there, then pressing harder, parting mine with a hunger that stole my breath. The kiss was deep, wet, demanding, and I found myself kissing back, my hands flying up to grip the stranger’s shoulders, broad, solid, male. Was he another teacher? A Parent? Or something else.

His tongue slid against mine, tasting a good wine and sin.

A moan escaped me before I could stop it, and the stranger laughed, the vibration rumbling against my lips. "Good girl." His free hand slid down my side, fingers splaying over the curve of my hip before dipping lower, teasing between my legs. Slowly rubbing against my vagina.

I spread my legs…

"You like that, don’t you? Being touched in the dark. Not knowing who I am. Just feeling your orgasm building up."

I should have pushed him away.
Should have demanded he stop.
But the words died in my throat as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, palm hot against my thigh. 

His fingers inched higher, and higher…

“Oh God…”

Part 2 to come
Ashley

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