Sam had no classes to give after the afternoon recess so he'd grabbed a bunch of papers he needed to correct and found an empty classroom to work in while he did them. He could have worked in the staffroom but there'd be too many interruptions. He'd get twice as much done this way.
After half an hour of working on the papers with an emotional ride ranging from unqualified approval to shocked despair Sam was ready to stretch his legs a little. Getting to his feet he stretched and then ambled to the back of the classroom to see the art various students had left pinned to the board there. Some of it, he had to admit, was quite good. He was about to head back to the table and get back to work when Melanie came prancing into the room.
Sam smiled as he considered the girl. Young woman, really, he supposed, seeing she was a senior and over eighteen. She was a fit and pretty young thing, both these assets currently enhanced by the outfit she was wearing.
Now that he considered the matter Sam recollected that the senior classes had sport that afternoon. Melanie, it was plain to see, was in the netball team. An easy deduction to make seeing she was wearing the netball uniform, what there was of it. Why, Sam idly wondered, did they make those netball skirts so short? Not that he was objecting.
Melanie hadn't seen him, being busy typing on her phone, even while she flung herself down onto the nearest desk.
"Miss the turn and get lost, Melanie?" Sam asked, his voice oozing sympathy.
To his amusement she screamed and bounced back onto her feet, looking around to see who was there.
"Oh, Mr Sanders," she said. "I didn't see you there. Ah, what did you say?"
"I was wondering if you'd got lost," Sam explained. "You know, turning right after leaving the change room instead of turning left. This is a classroom, not a netball court."
"Oh," she said, sounding slightly flustered. "Ah, I've been sent off and told to rest my ankle," she explained, pointing to a very shapely ankle. "I twisted it on the court and the coach said I had to sit out the rest of the session."
"Ah, that explains the way you were limping and dragging one leg when you came in."
"What? No I wasn't," she said, confused. "It's feeling a lot better now."
She lifted her foot and rubbed the ankle a little.
"Oh, that's good. Ah, you're rubbing the wrong ankle."
"Excuse me?"
"You pointed to your right ankle as being twisted. You're massaging your left one."
Melanie dropped her foot back to the floor and glared at Sam.
"I twisted both of them when I came down from a jump," she stated. "My right ankle twisted as I landed and threw me to the side which caused my left ankle to also get twisted."
"Oh, poor you," Sam sympathised. "Do you need your ankles rubbed? A proper massage is excellent treatment for mildly twisted ankles. I'm sure I can do a marvellous job fixing them."
"No, thank you," she said quickly. "I'm sure they'll be fine."
"Pity. You've got lovely legs. I wouldn't mind massaging them. No excuse needed."
She looked at Sam askance after that comment.
"Please remember that you're a teacher," she said primly.
"What did I say?" asked Sam, spreading his hands and looking bewildered.
"Ha. You don't fool me. You were flirting. Teachers aren't supposed to flirt with students."
"They're not? I can't remember reading that in the teacher's handbook," Sam said with a grin. "However, I think you'll find that teachers do a lot of things that teachers aren't supposed to do. The same applies to students. The big difference is we don't get detention if we get caught."
"It's the principle of the thing," Melanie insisted.
"Ah, yes, but that only applies if someone has principles. Personally, I leave mine at home, locked in a magic bottle."
He smiled as Melanie gave him a female type look and there was nothing childish about that look. It was more adult to naughty boy, than student to teacher.
"Sometimes you'll find that the things that a teacher should or should not do conflict with each other. What is one supposed to do in a case like that?"
"What? I don't believe it. Give me an example."
"That's easy. As a teacher I'm supposed to keep an eye on the students to make sure they wear the correct uniform. Correct?"
Melanie nodded cautiously.
"But, as a teacher, I'm not supposed to lift up the front of your skirt like this to confirm that you're wearing the approved modesty shorts, but how can I check your uniform unless I do?"
Melanie's mouth fell open as Sam lifted the front of her skirt, showing off a pair of skimpy, lacy, panties.
"There, you see. Conflicting duties. Ah, these don't look like modesty shorts to me."
"They're not and you know it. I only need to wear the shorts if I'm playing. I have them in my pocket."
"No," said Sam. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to wear them with your netball uniform at all times. These," he started rubbing the front of her panties lightly with a couple of fingers, "while pretty, are the sort of clothing the school doesn't want you flashing at the boys. Um, I suspect that they're not even regulation approved panties."
"Yes, they are," Melanie said quickly, her breath coming slightly harder. "Um, you're not supposed to touch my clothes, you know."
