School Nurse
Two days later, Felishia stands in the training kitchen with a spray bottle of industrial degreaser, wiping down the stainless-steel prep tables where culinary students diced chickens that morning.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting that particular institutional glare that makes everything look slightly yellowed and exhausted.
She hums something tuneless under her breath—maybe Tom Petty, maybe just static from her own thoughts—when the nozzle catches, sputters, and releases a sudden jet of spray around her left eye.
"Fuck," she hisses, dropping the bottle.
It clatters against the tile and rolls under a table. Her eye burns like someone's holding a lit match to it, and she presses her palm against the socket, blinking furiously.
Tears stream down her cheek, mixing with the chemical residue, and she can taste something bitter at the back of her throat.
She stumbles to the mop sink, cranks the cold water, and splashes her face, leaning over the basin until her ponytail drips.
The burning subsides to a dull throb, but her vision in that eye stays blurred.
She dries her face on the edge of her top and decides the nurse's office is the move.
Not because she's worried—she's had worse, much worse—but because protocol demands documentation, and because Jodi Graham has been looking at her lately in a way that makes Felishia's stomach tighten in ways she doesn't fully examine.
The walk across campus takes several minutes. She keeps her injured eye squeezed shut against the afternoon glare.
Students pass her in clusters, laughing about whatever eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds laugh about, and she catches snippets of conversations about weekend plans and failed exams and who fucked who in which dorm.
The nurse's office smells like rubbing alcohol and the vanilla candle Jodi keeps burning on her desk.
Felishia pushes through the waiting area without knocking, finding the space empty except for the woman herself, bent over a filing cabinet in a way that stretches her navy-blue scrubs across her hips.
Jodi straightens, turns, and her face shifts through several expressions in quick succession—professional concern, recognition, then something warmer that lingers at the corners of her mouth.
"Felishia. What'd you do to yourself now?"
"Degreaser. Left eye." Felishia's voice comes out harsher, stripped of pleasantries. She wipes her palms on her thighs, a habit she can't break, leaving faint damp marks on the faded denim of her overalls.
"Sprayed myself like a frickin' amateur."
Jodi gestures to the examination table, paper crinkling as Felishia hoists herself up.
The nurse moves close—close enough that Felishia can smell her shampoo, something herbal and the faint sweetness of the coffee she must have finished.
Jodi's fingers are warm against her jaw, tilting her face toward the light, and Felishia forces herself to keep both eyes open now, to meet the examination with stoicism.
"Follow my finger," Jodi instructs, moving it left, right, up, down.
Her wedding ring catches the light, a thin gold band that Felishia finds herself staring at.
"Any lingering pain? Blurred vision?"
"Some blur. It's clearing."
"Conjunctival irritation, nothing serious." Jodi's thumb brushes Felishia's cheekbone, apparently checking for swelling, but the touch lingers half a second too long.
"You'll live. Rinse it again tonight if it bothers you."
"Thanks, doc."
Jodi laughs, a low sound that vibrates somewhere in Felishia's chest.
"I'm not a doctor. You know that."
She steps back, and Felishia thinks that's the end of it—professional courtesy concluded, return to work, another Tuesday afternoon dissolving into routine.
But then Jodi's hand drops, casual as anything, and taps the curve of Felishia's ass where her overalls hang loose at the waist, unclipped from her shoulders.
The touch lands sharp enough to feel intentional, soft enough to claim deniability.
Felishia's breath catches. She doesn't move. Doesn't pull away.
She turns her head slowly and finds Jodi watching her with an expression that contains open desire.
Felishia slides off the examination table. The paper tears beneath her. She steps into Jodi's space, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, and waits.
Jodi's eyes drop to her mouth, and Felishia tilts her chin up, offering, and Jodi takes—her lips pressing warm and certain against Felishia's, her hand sliding around to grip her waist with sudden urgency.
The kiss deepens fast. Jodi makes a sound in her throat, happy and relieved, and Felishia responds by opening her mouth, inviting Jodi's tongue inside.
They taste each other—coffee and mint and something sharper, needier.
The quick first dart of tongues, followed by the flicking, leisurely flutter and settling into a tango of combined felicity.
Jodi's hands move to Felishia's face, holding her still, and when they break apart, Jodi spits into her own palm and brings it to Felishia's mouth, painting her lips with saliva.
"Dirty," Felishia murmurs against the wetness, and Jodi laughs again, breathless now, and does it again—spitting directly into Felishia's open mouth this time, watching her swallow with dark fascination.
"You're filthy," Jodi whispers. "I knew you would be."
Felishia reaches for Jodi's scrub top, pulling it up and over her head in one motion.
Jodi's breasts fall heavy and real, nipples already tight, and Felishia cups them with her palms, feeling Jodi arch into the contact.
She bends her head, takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard enough to make Jodi gasp and grip her ponytail.
She switches sides, leaving wet trails across Jodi's chest, and Jodi pulls her back up by the hair, kissing her again with teeth and desperation.
"On the table," Jodi instructs, and Felishia scrambles, lying back against the crinkling paper.
Jodi unclips Felishia's overalls fully now, dragging them down her legs along with her boots, leaving her in just the tank top, hiked up to expose her stomach. Jodi spreads Felishia's thighs with her hands, thumbs pressing into the muscle, and looks down at her with an expression of pure appetite.
"You're shaved," Jodi observes, running a finger along Felishia's slit, finding her already wet, her clit straining for release.
"Practical. Less mess."
"Easier to create a mess," says the nurse.
Jodi positions herself above Felishia's face, her scrub pants gone somewhere, her mound bare and glistening and lowering directly onto Felishia's waiting mouth.
The weight of her settles heavy and absolute.
The mature nurse spits repeatedly over Felisha's folds.
Felishia's nose presses against Jodi's ass, her tongue finds Jodi's prominent clit immediately, and Jodi grinds down with a groan that sounds like she knows what she seeks.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm."
She rides Felishia's face without restraint, thighs clamping tight against her ears, cutting off sound until all Felishia can hear is the wet suction of her own mouth and Jodi's ragged breathing above.
She licks in broad strokes, then circles, then fucks her tongue into Jodi's hole, feeling the muscles contract around her.
Jodi's hands find the table's edge for leverage, and she lifts slightly, giving Felishia a gasp of air, before slamming back down, harder, demanding.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jodi chants, grinding in tight circles, and Felishia feels the first rush of wetness against her chin, Jodi's arousal dripping down her throat, smearing across her cheeks.
She reaches up to grip Jodi's ass, pulling her down harder, wanting to be buried in it, wanting to drown.
Jodi's thighs tremble, and she lifts again, hovering just out of reach, and Felishia whines, actually whines, chasing upward with her tongue, desperate.
"Beg," Jodi says.
"Please. Put it back. Let me—fuck, let me taste you—"
Jodi drops again, and this time she doesn't lift, grinding through her orgasm with Felishia's tongue pressed flat against her clit, coming in waves that Felishia feels pulsing against her lips, her chin, her whole face soaked and shining with it.
"Uhh! Ahh! Aah!"
Jodi shudders, still pressing down, riding the dulling spasms, before finally—finally—climbing off, her legs unsteady, her chest heaving.
Immediately she pulls Felishia up, turns her, positions her on her side along the narrow table, and climbs on, facing the opposite direction.
Their legs tangle, Jodi's left thigh sliding between Felishia's, Felishia's right hooking over Jodi's hip.
They adjust, shifting, until their flapettes align, slick and slippery, and Jodi reaches down to spread herself open, to guide Felishia's hips into position.
"Ready?" Jodi asks, though she's already rocking, already finding the angle where their clits press together.
The mother has a pink pearl.
"Fuck yes."
They grind. The friction is immediate and overwhelming—Jodi's pubic bone, still sensitive from her orgasm, dragging against Felishia's engorged clit, back and forth, a steady rhythm that builds fast.
Felishia grips Jodi's thigh, pulling her closer, harder, and they find a synchronised motion, hips rolling in opposition, pressure mounting between them.
The table creaks beneath their combined weight. Paper tears and crumples. Sweat gathers where their bodies press together, where their thighs slide against each other.
"Harder," Felishia gasps, and Jodi complies, shifting her angle to grind down with more force, their clits catching and dragging with each thrust. "Fuck, just like—there, right there—"
"You're dripping," Jodi pants, watching where they're joined, where their flesh slides together, juices mixing, soaking down onto the ruined paper beneath them.
"I can feel you. Feel how much you want this."
"Fuck me! I want it all—"
They chase it together, the rhythm becoming erratic, desperate, thighs shaking with effort.
Felishia feels the orgasm building from deep in her core, spreading outward in a rush of heat and pressure.
She locks eyes with Jodi, watching her face flush, her mouth fall open, and they come almost simultaneously—Jodi first, with a cry that sounds like breaking, her hips stuttering against Felishia's, and then Felishia follows, her whole body seizing, clit throbbing against Jodi's slick heat, pleasure radiating through her in pulses that seem to tingle into another tingle.
"Orrghh!"
"Raaghh!"
They lie there, trembling, breathing hard against each other's necks.
Jodi's hand finds Felishia's hair, stroking absently, and Felishia closes her eyes, letting the warmth roll through her, letting herself be held.
"Your eye," Jodi murmurs eventually, laughter in her voice.
"Still blurry," Felishia admits. "But not filling my thoughts."
They separate slowly, unwinding limbs, retrieving clothes from the floor.
Jodi pulls her scrubs back on with efficiency, but she keeps glancing at Felishia, something soft and complicated in her expression.
Felishia clips her overalls back at her waist, adjusts her tank top, and runs her fingers through her tangled ponytail.
"I better see that eye tomorrow?" Jodi says, casual, but her hands shake slightly as she relights her vanilla candle.
"You're the nurse," Felishia says. "I'll pop in."