I see her almost every weekday at drop-off and pick-up. Petite, elegant, always in tidy workwear - heels clicking, dark hair swept into a loose bun, a soft Maltese accent smoothing out her already polite English. She always gave off the impression of the classic school mum: organised, discreet, content with her lot. And I never thought much beyond that - well, except for the one time I saw her crouch down to tie her kid’s shoe and caught a glimpse of white lace under her pencil skirt.

That image had stuck with me longer than I care to admit.

Even so, it was just a passing thought until the day the heavens opened. Despite weeks of sun, that morning turned into a downpour mid-jog. I was soaked, sprinting along the pavement, when her SUV rolled up beside me and slowed.

She wound the window down with a smirk.
“Need a lift?” she asked.
“Only if it comes with heated seats,” I joked, dripping onto the pavement.

She laughed, unlocked the door, and I jumped in.

As we drove, I thanked her in the usual polite way - until, for some reason, I added, “And if I can ever repay the favour, just let me know.”

That’s when she side-eyed me, something cheeky playing behind her lashes.
“I might hold you to that,” she said, stretching the words just enough to make me feel it.

I didn’t miss a beat. “Anything.”

There was a pause. She turned her attention to the next junction like she hadn’t heard me, but then -
“Maybe you could help me decide something... White lace or black?”
She giggled, then added, “I know you noticed the white.”

My cock twitched instantly. She had noticed. And she clearly didn’t mind.

“Hard to judge from such a brief glimpse,” I said, letting the tension rise.

“Mmhmm,” she said, tapping her fingers on the wheel. “Do you need to get home? Or should we go to mine... so you can dry off properly?”

“Yours sounds much better,” I said, my tone firm. We both knew drying off wasn’t the point anymore.