"She's not that scared," Sara said, pulling her had out and holding up her slick fingers for the rest of us to see. "She's soaking wet. This is turning her on something fierce."
Jolene tried to give Sara another withering look, but she was fighting a smile while doing it, so it wasn't very convincing or effective. She pulled the door open smoothly and we padded through into the sanctum of the enemy. The concrete floor was chilly under my feet and my heartbeat seemed loud enough to be heard for a mile or more. In my case, like Jolene's, it wasn't so much fear as excitement. The idea of being discovered naked in the boy's locker room, especially by a group of naked or half-naked boys, was making my pussy wet, too. In fact, I was so turned on by what we were doing that juice was running down the inside of my thighs. If they don't see us or hear us, I thought, they should certainly be able to smell all the hot pussy-juice.
"What's that sound?" Janice asked in a whisper. There was a hissing noise echoing through the room that wasn't there before.
"It's the shower," Sara said. "Someone is taking a shower."
As we crept cautiously up to the shower room entrance, it was very hard to keep my hands off my body. My nipples were so hard they hurt, and it felt like my areolas had crinkled up so tight that they must have been standing out two inches from the ends of my boobs. I knew Janice was in the same condition, because when I stopped short, she bumped into me and it felt like I had been poked in the back by a pitchfork.
Sticking our heads around the tiled corner, we peered into the cloud of steam filling the room. There were three boys in there. Two naked boys with hot soapy water running down their bodies and dripping off their cocks.
"Ummmm," Sara said. It was clear she had a sudden urge to take a nice hot shower. I slapped her on her bare bottom to get her to keep moving
We made it past the showers without being spotted and were passing between the rows of metal lockers with their wire baskets full of sweaty clothes, when we heard voices from the outside corridor. With several squeaks and some unnecessary pulling and pushing, we turned around and ran back to the end of the row of lockers and ducked around the end of a row to get out of sight. We all flattened ourselves against the row of hard metal baskets with their combination padlocks poking into our bottoms and tried to be as quiet as possible.
Peeking through the wire baskets and the metal bracing, I could see two boys walk into the locker room. They had on gym shorts and cropped t-shirts and carried towels. They looked like they had been working out. I realized that our assumption about the gym being empty during lunch was wrong. I remembered that members of the wrestling team who were over the limit for their weight-class were supposed to skip lunch and spend the time working out in the gym and the weight room down the hall.
Fortunately, these two were in a hurry and stripped out of their sweaty clothes and went straight to the shower. On the way, they walked right past the row of lockers we were hiding behind. They had almost passed us when there was a loud clink from where Jolene stood. She had turned around to watch the show and bumped against one of the hanging locks, knocking it against the metal shelf. To my ears, it sounded as loud as the clang of a hammer on an anvil. The boys ignored it and walked on past us and into the showers.
As soon as they were out of sight, we scurried around the row and headed for the entrance as quickly as we could go. As we negotiated the privacy wall at the entrance, we again stopped and peeked around the corner to see if there was anyone else coming.
No one was there, and we heard no more voices, so we ran for the stairs. We should have stopped to see if there was anyone in the gym lobby, but we had momentum and we dashed up the stairs and across the lobby and down the stairs on the other side without a pause.
We ran down the hall past the entrance to the girls' locker room as fast as we could go; hair, boobs, and elbows flying all over as we went. When we got to the side door that opened into the gap between buildings where Sara had thrown our clothes, we yanked it open and ran out into daylight, giggling with relief at having made it to our goal without being seen.
As we reached the spot where the bundle of clothes should be, we were brought up short by the appearance of a male figure stepping out from behind one of the overgrown bushes lining the side of the gym.
"Well, well. Look at this!" He said. "What are you? The Streaking Club?"
It was Steve Wojeski, the captain of the wrestling team and arguably the biggest stud on campus. He had on the same cropped t-shirt and running shorts as the wrestlers we had passed in the locker room, but Steve had something they didn't — he had our clothes. He also had a hard-on that was making a nice tent in his nylon shorts.
"Please give us our clothes, Steve!" Sara pleaded. She was responsible for the situation, so she had elected herself spokeswoman.
"Sure," he said, grinning an evil grin that said it wasn't going to be quite that easy to get our clothes from him. "But there's a price to pay for running around here naked. I've been listening to all the noise you bunch have been making in the storage room up there, and you've got me all horny and hard." To emphasize his condition, he rubbed his hard cock through his shorts. From the outline, it looked to be an impressive hunk of meat.