Chapter Text
The light slanted in through the blinds, streaking the desk with floating dust and gilding the stack of exams she hadn't finished grading yet. Marcy was biting the cap of a red pen, a habit she'd never managed to shake, when the door swung open with that specific urgency that only her wife had: three sharp knocks against the frame, keys jingling in the pocket of her athletic sweatpants, and the whistle bouncing against her collarbone.
"Please, Mar-Mar," Anne begged, still not having closed the door behind her.
Marcy looked up slowly, without letting go of the pen.
"No."
"I haven't even told you what I need."
"I don't need you to, Anne. You come in with that face, the one that says 'I'm going to ask my adorable wife for something because I know she's going to give in.' I know it already, and the answer is no."
Anne shut the door with her heel and crossed the room in four strides. She planted her palms on the desk, leaning in close enough for Marcy to smell the sunscreen and the morning sweat from warm-ups with the team.
"Mar-Mar, please. Her parents are going to pull her off the cheer squad if she doesn't bring her grades up before Monday. They've set a minimum and she's two-tenths under. Two-tenths, Marce. Could you bump up her grade? Just this once."
"Anne." Marcy set the pen down on the exam carefully. "If I raise a student's grade just so a couple of brainless people with pom-poms will let her keep bouncing around at Friday's game, that would be a slap in the face to everyone else who actually studies. I've got students who stay up until two in the morning reviewing vocabulary, and I'm not going to hand anything out for free."
"Please." Anne brought her hands to her chest and, with a theatricality Marcy had learned to dread, bent her knees until she was kneeling on the other side of the desk, hands clasped as if in prayer. "It doesn't even have to be a good grade. As long as she passes, that's enough. A sixty, a sixty-one. Whatever."
Marcy looked down at her: eyebrows raised. She sighed.
Anne could only think: *if she keeps me kneeling one more second I'm gonna bite her thigh, I swear to God.*
"All right," Marcy said at last, and watched Anne's face light up as if she'd been handed a medal. "But! On two conditions."
"Anything, Mar-Mar. Tell me."
"First: Miss Waybright is going to come here, to this classroom, after school. I'm going to give her extra work. An essay, exercises, whatever I come up with. If she does it well, I'll raise her grade."
"Done. I'll make sure she comes." Anne stood up, brushing off the knees of her sweatpants. "And the second?"
Marcy allowed herself a small smile, almost shy, almost private.
"Tomorrow you make me lunch. And don't bring me a sad little sandwich from Subway, Anne. Something real. With the rice I like—I'm sure my mother-in-law would be happy to make me something."
"Easy."
"It better be."
"So you're going to change the grade?"
"Yes. I'm going to change the grade, after she comes in and does the work."
"You're the best, Mar-Mar." Anne leaned across the desk, brushing the exams with her sweatshirt, and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. "I'm gonna go give Sash the good news."
She practically ran out of the classroom. Marcy managed to get up out of her chair.
"Don't forget about lunch tomorrow!" she shouted down the hallway, not sure whether Anne had heard her over the racket of the lockers slamming open.
She loved Anne so much, even when she drove her up the wall.
---
"I can't believe she forgot," Marcy muttered through her teeth, her shoes clattering against the linoleum of the main hallway.
She carried an empty glass container in one hand and a dull anger that rose up from her stomach. *One thing*, she thought, dodging a group of students who reeked of Axe and cheap cafeteria pizza. *I ask her for one single damn thing in exchange for breaking my own professional ethics, and she forgets. She just forgets and that's that.* This time she wasn't going to play sweet. This time, no understanding Marcy Wu. She was going to walk into the gym, she was going to set the empty container on her desk, and Anne was going to have to look her in the eye and apologize like an adult. Changing a student's grade for a stupid sport—no, not anymore. The last time. The last, she swore.
She pushed through the gym's double doors and the smell hit her head-on: rubber from the mats, dried sweat soaked into the wooden bleachers, and the sweetish trace of Gatorade spilled months ago.
The space was empty.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, two of them flickering at uneven intervals. Marcy stood there, listening to her own breathing bounce off the ceiling.
Anne's office, at the far end, had its door ajar. Marcy headed toward it with a firm step and found it deserted. The computer was still on, displaying an Excel sheet of statistics that Marcy understood but didn't find exciting. Anne's coffee mug was half-finished, still warm to the touch.
*She was here a second ago. Where'd she go?*
Anne had come in to work, and Marcy knew it. It was her lunch hour, and this was the only place she could be. Unless they'd crossed paths in the hallway and missed each other, but no, Anne would have recognized her from forty meters away. Marcy left the office and circled the gym, looking toward the bleachers, toward the little referee's room, and even toward the weight room through the small rectangular window. Nothing. Not even a janitor.
She was about to leave when she heard it.
A dull, muffled thud, coming from the end of the side hallway, from the side where the old equipment storage room was. The coaches had stopped using it last semester because the lock didn't work and the air conditioning never functioned. Marcy approached, making less noise over the old hardwood, and heard something else: a breath, or rather, a whimper.
She pushed the storage room door open just two fingers' width, enough to peek one eye in, and that smell was the second thing to hit her: the stagnant air of the closed room, fresh sweat, and something else, something intimate and sour that she recognized before she wanted to recognize it.
Anne was there.
Leaning against a pile of old rolled-up mats, with her athletic sweatpants pulled down to her knees, the team shirt pushed up above her navel, and a hand stuck between her legs. Her head was thrown back against the green vinyl of the mats, neck taut, hair escaping from her ponytail in brown strands stuck to her neck with sweat. The other hand squeezed a breast over her sports bra. Her mouth open, tongue grazing her lower lip, and her eyes half-shut, glassy, fixed on the ceiling.
"Mmmh… nh, hah—"
Marcy stayed frozen with her hand on the door.
*Oh, no. Oh, God. No, no, no.* Marcy was going to faint.
Anne had always had her libido through the roof. Marcy knew that better than anyone; it was two years of marriage and five of being together. That was why Anne took a medication, a small white pill every morning with her coffee, so she wouldn't literally be hard all day at work. But apparently today it hadn't been enough, or she'd forgotten to take it, or both, because there she was: masturbating in a dusty storage room fifteen meters from her own office.
Marcy was about to step back and pretend she'd never seen anything—she'd talk about it later, at home—when Anne let out a long, guttural moan, and then a deep sigh of relief, and her whole body went slack against the mats.
*Well*, Marcy thought, *that's it. I'm leaving. I'm going to my classroom, I'm going to eat a yogurt, and we'll pretend this never happened.*
But then she heard the other voice.
"You're real pent up today, huh, coach?"
Marcy turned to stone.
The voice was feminine, youthful, with that lazy, defiant cadence Marcy recognized from the hallways. She peeked in again, this time with her whole body pressed against the frame, and her hand rose to her mouth on its own.
Sasha Waybright was kneeling between Anne's legs, her face covered in cum. Shining on her cheekbone, dripping down her chin, a strand hanging from her blond bangs. At eighteen, she was almost as tall as Anne, slender with long legs, and a narrow waist cinched into a red-and-white cheerleader skirt.
"I'm sorry, Sasha. The pressure from the team... Woah!" she sighed. "I haven't had a break," Anne said, holding out a towel to her with a familiarity that made Marcy's blood freeze. How long had they been having such an... intimate relationship?
"Owww..." the blonde mocked. "I see. Mar-Mar leaving you neglected again?" she joked, wiping herself off with an almost insulting calm.
Immediately after she'd cleaned her face, Sasha was slapped across her right cheek by the older woman.
"I told you not to talk about her like that." Anne's voice turned much more serious than before. "And it's not neglect, it's work, I doubt you even know what that means," she shot back, though her tone, now, lacked any real authority.
"What a waste," Sasha purred, closing the distance and sliding a hand across her coach's abdomen, ignoring how reddened her own face was from the earlier blow. "Lucky for me, I know how to appreciate what she ignores—just look at this..."
The blonde seemed genuinely amazed by Anne's body. She always had been, really. They'd known each other since Sasha was sixteen, but nothing important happened until she turned eighteen. Before that, there had only been flirting and suggestive looks on Miss Waybright's part, with no response from Coach Boonchuy beyond stammering and blushes impossible to hide. Everything changed after a surprise party the cheer squad and the football team threw for Sasha. When the party ended and the gym was empty, it wasn't hard to convince Anne to give her a gift. This gift was just a kiss, only one, nothing more, on the cheek.
If Anne had to explain how that innocent kiss on the cheek ended with a blowjob in the locker room and the blonde's loss of virginity, she wouldn't be able to.
Six months had passed since that first encounter, and since then, they hadn't stopped, no matter how many times the Thai woman said, every time, that it would be the last, because she couldn't do this to her wife.
"I told you, just once." Anne's voice broke mid-sentence, a moan held back between her teeth as Sasha's soft hands felt her up over the fabric. "We don't have time for another round, Sasha."
"Please, coach." Sasha nibbled her earlobe, whispering. "I know you've still got plenty left in there. How does that thing go that you always repeat to us at practice? That you've got to go all the way to the end, and whoever holds something back, loses." She turned around, bent over an old padded, cracked vaulting horse, and pulled her skirt up with both hands, opening herself for her. "So show me what you're capable of, and go all the way."
Marcy was still paralyzed behind the door, her heart hammering at her ribs, her hand still sealed over her mouth.
*No. No, no, no, this can't be happening*, she thought. She had to stop it. She had to walk in there and put an end to the situation, but if she did, what would happen to Anne? How do you explain this? She'd go to prison, and her whole career, her whole life, would be reduced to ashes because of this smiling girl with her skirt hiked up. Marcy wanted to scream, wanted them to stop, or better yet, wanted to turn around and erase the last five minutes from her memory, pretend she'd never followed that noise down the hallway, but her body wouldn't obey, keeping her feet nailed to the floor and her eyes wide open, fixed on the scene.
After an endless pause, Anne moved toward Sasha again, ready to accept the tempting invitation right in front of her.
"This is the last time, I've made up my mind." And she penetrated her with a single thrust, letting out a low moan that echoed through the cramped room.
"Mmmh… like that, coach," Sasha panted, arching her back, then leaning toward her coach's face, trying to give her a kiss that was dodged. "I bet your dumb wife doesn't compare to me even a little bit."
Anne grabbed her ponytail and yanked, jerking her head back, growing rougher with every collision of hip against hip, taking the chance to kiss the blonde's neck. The wet sound of skin against skin filled the space, mixed with the sharp, sweetish smell of sex.
"I told you to..." the Thai woman panted, "...respect her, I don't like you talking about her like that and you know it."
"I know…" Sasha moaned, with a twisted smile. "But you always fuck better when you're mad."
*Besides, it's true*, Sasha thought, *why do you kiss her and not me? I've got your cock, and fuck, I adore it, but...*
The blonde tried not to think about that. Refocusing on how much Anne was enjoying her tight pussy.
"Do it inside, coach, please," she begged, trapping her coach, wrapping her legs around her worked-out back. "I'm not even worried about getting pregnant," she smiled, biting her lip.
"You and I both know you take the pill, Waybright." Anne frowned, never stopping her thrusts, harder each time. "Don't you dare try to scare me with that."
"But coach… Ah... Shit—" Sasha tried to answer, her eyes shining with pure mischief. "What if I stopped taking them? What if I want to get pregnant and have a baby of yours? Imagine explaining to everyone how your star player, the one you spend so much time alone with in those one-on-one sessions, ended up like this. Fuck... Looks like you really like the idea," she moaned again, noticing how with every word she said, Anne increased her efforts. "How many times do you want to knock me up, huh?"
"Sasha." Anne went very still. "You know if that happens, I go to prison. You know that, right?"
Everything got so tense all of a sudden, and Marcy knew exactly why.
Even if Sasha didn't take her birth control pills, there was a very low probability she'd get pregnant, because Anne, even with all her efforts and her longing to be a mother, had never been able to give Marcy a child—Marcy, who also wanted to have offspring. The blonde supposed that was why Mrs. Wu was so grumpy, since in her thirties, the chances of pleasing Anne were getting slimmer and slimmer.
"I'm sorry..." Sasha said, with utter sincerity. "Better... better forget that."
"Yeah, better..." Anne whispered in response, resuming her thrusts, this time softer and slower, almost... romantic, the blonde wanted to think.
"I love you," she sighed, but got no answer at all.
Anne pushed one last time, all the way in, and emptied herself inside with a stifled groan against the back of the girl's neck. She pulled out slowly and watched the white thread that began to trickle out, panting a quiet "damn."
"You're unbelievable, Waybright." Anne let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. "Really... Goddamn it, we should stop doing this."
Anne pulled up her pants, breathless, looking at the blonde, this time without any trace of lust, waiting for her to pull her skirt down and fix her clothes.
"Yeah, we should stop..." the younger girl answered. "But that's exactly the whole point of it, coach." Sasha came closer, fixed the collar of her shirt with a chilling tenderness. "It's dangerous for both of us. Especially for you, and yet, here we are."
The two of them brushed off their clothes and headed toward the storage room exit. Marcy seized the moment, pulled away from the door and slipped along the wall, holding her breath, until she shot out through the side door of the gym into the open air of the parking lot.
She wanted to erase it all. To convince herself it had been a nightmare, a bad midday dream, having dozed off in the office. That her wife wasn't sleeping with a student, one much prettier than Marcy. That she wasn't cheating on her. That she hadn't just seen what she'd seen.
She didn't know how long she stood in the parking lot, hands covering her face, not knowing why she couldn't cry, but it was no doubt longer than she thought, for one simple reason: as she finished crossing the overheated asphalt and reached her car, she found a folded piece of paper under the windshield wiper, fluttering barely in the breeze, confirming to her that everything, absolutely everything, was real.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers:
"I hope you enjoyed the show. I certainly enjoyed it a whole lot. I guess there's no need to explain to you anymore why I didn't study for last week's math test—you of all people know how insatiable your wife is.
Next time, come and join us. I'm sure Anne won't mind, though you know how cranky she gets sometimes. Besides, you're super hot, Mar-Mar, and I'd love to get to know you a lot better—maybe you'll like me more than you think.
Your favorite student,
Sasha Waybright"