"And just where do you think you're going?"
Jon and Karyn spun around to see Carl, one of the nerdier students in their class, glaring with his hands firmly on his hips, brandishing a bright orange strap across his chest that, with big, black letters, declared his role as hall monitor.
"By my watch," he said, actually examining his watch, "School still has 5.38 hours left before the final bell."
"Come on, man," begged Jon, "Give us a break. Karyn needs to go fix her shirt."
"Oh my," said Carl, a little flustered as he moved forward to examine Karyn's prominent chest, "What happened here?"
"She just tore it," said Jon angrily, moving in to ward off Carl's leering look.
"It's alright," said Kayrn, adding with a whisper to Jon, "I'll handle this."
Karyn took a step forward, almost sidling up along Carl.
"It just ripped," she said, with a mock pout, leaning in to give Carl a full view of her borrowed cleavage.
"Oh dear," mumbled Carl, who was turning bright red.
Karyn reached out and touched Carl's hand, lifting it and guiding it along the torn hem of her blouse.
"See? It's all broken."
Karyn finally let Carl's hand settle in a cup on her breast. As soon as the hand was in place, she inched forward, pushing it to his palm.
Carl was flabergasted. He sputtered and looked around nervously, unable to form any words.
"So maybe we can go?" Karyn asked.
Carl just nodded as the flesh moved away from his hand.
After they had made it out of earshot, Jon turned to Karyn.
"I can't believe you let him do that."
"So?" laughed Karyn, running her own hands across Sarah's breasts and getting a perverse delight from the tiny legs that kicked, unseen against her, "They're not my tits."
