Four hours. I count them on my fingers as I stand in the empty corridor, the echo of my own breathing bouncing off the walls. Four goddamn hours since Principal Sir emptied his balls down my throat and sent me out like a used rag, and nobody — not one single person — has touched me since. My clit throbs against nothing, swollen and angry, my pussy lips sliding against each other with every step because I've got nothing underneath this skirt. Four hours of walking around with my torn shirt gaping open, my nipples stiff and rubbing against the ripped fabric, my thighs slick with the wetness that just won't stop. Four hours of being a wet, desperate mess with nothing inside me.

But tonight. Tonight is going to be different.