Locked Through the Whole Lecture

It started the night after Beverly leaked that half my midterm was AI. I called her a desperate little try-hard in front of the whole seminar and she just smiled like she’d already won. Hale watched and didn’t say a word.

He waited until we both had late office hours the same Thursday. Beverly went first. When she came out she wouldn’t look at me. Hale called me in, blinds already closed, and played the video. Me, alone after class, skirt hiked up fixing a slipped garter. High angle from the projector cart. I’d been wet the whole lecture. He paused on the frame where I tugged the fabric aside and checked.

“Beverly’s is worse,” he said. “She came in last month to argue her grade and ended up on her knees. I kept that one too. She doesn’t know.”

He slid a black bag across the desk. Locked panties already fastened, padlocks clicked shut. Mine cut higher. He’d already left the matching pair in her dorm with a spare department key. “Wear them tomorrow or both videos go to the group chat. She’ll know you knew. You’ll know she knew.”

I put them on that night. The metal settled right against me the second I stood up. At 11:47 Beverly texted: Did he show you yours too? I didn’t answer. Hale’s message hit both of us at 6:02 a.m.: Your usual seat. No exceptions.

Beverly was already there when I walked in, sitting too still, pen moving in tight little lines. Neither of us spoke. The locks made soft sounds against the chairs every time we shifted. Hale started the lecture like he’d never been in our rooms.

Three feet apart. Same thin locked panties. Every shift of our hips makes the metal kiss right against us. Her skirt’s bunched high enough that I can see the lace top of her stocking and the way her padlock sits lower than mine. She’s writing the same sentence over and over. I keep glancing. Every time I do, she catches me and the corner of her mouth twitches. My lock is sitting right on my clit. I crossed my legs once and the metal pulled so hard I almost made a sound. She heard it. Her pen stopped for a second.

If either of us stands up the lock will tap the chair and everyone will know. So we stay put, skirts hiked, buttons open, stockings cutting into our thighs while the metal keeps us both soaked and still. I can smell her perfume and something else underneath it. She’s wet too. I can tell by how still she’s holding her hips.

She’s counting how many times I shift. I’m counting how many times her pen stops. Every time I inhale the metal rests right against my clit and I have to decide whether to grind or hold still. If I grind, the chair might creak. If I hold still, she wins. She already thinks she’s winning.

Hale put us in these seats on purpose. Close enough that when one of us crosses her legs the other feels it. I keep thinking about the video. Did he film me after the lock went on, or before? Beverly doesn’t know he has one of her too. Or maybe she does. Maybe she’s sitting there thinking if she stays still long enough he’ll give her both keys and make me watch.

The metal is warm now. Every small movement makes it kiss and then pull away, and I hate that my body keeps leaning into the kiss. Hale turns. His gaze lands on both of us at once. Somewhere behind us someone coughs and we both flinch at the exact same time. The locks shift. Neither of us makes a sound.

The keys stay in his safe until the lecture’s over. Until then we just sit here, thighs tight under the desks, locks warm from how hard we’re trying not to grind, both of us pretending we aren’t thinking about the other one’s cunt the entire time