Poor Teacher

Stacy grew to regard all her male students as digital voyeurs and graded their papers more stringently. Mr. Bo began to greet her with a warm smile when she passed him in the hall.

Darren's departing words on Wednesday were, "Skirt and heels tomorrow, Stace." She ground her teeth at the diminutive of her name.

Stacy cursed as she rooted around in her closet. She didn't have any work appropriate skirts that were full length. After trying on several, she found one that settled a bit above her knees. She chided herself, if she had only thought to check her wardrobe last night instead of running until she was exhausted and then hitting the coffee. The day passed slowly and she felt self-conscious every second. Any wayward glance convinced her that the student knew the purpose of her clothing.

Darren tapped the door closed with the back of his heel and dropped his bag at his desk. "Picture time. Hop up on the corner of your desk. I've got some ideas."

Stacy started by sitting with her back straight, one leg crossed over the other with both hands resting on each other on her topmost knee. The pose transitioned in to one with her knees slightly parted and her body arched backwards.

"One last thing. The guys have a pool going guessing your panty color. I chose blue. Let's see if I won."

Her knees came together so hard the impact hurt.

Darren seemed amused. "Really? Do I have to go over everything again?"

"You didn't win," she said weakly.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Stace but I'd like to see for myself. Spread'em."

She bit back the words that rushed to spill out, closed her eyes, and turned her head away. Her face heated as her knees opened. Young men weren't impressionable souls looking for direction as her instructors had led her to believe. They were monsters.

"Yup, I didn't win. No need for proof then," he said as he tucked his camera away. He plopped down in his desk. "OK. Teach me."

Stacy's first impulse was to throw her marker at the smug young man. She swallowed her shame and proceeded with the lesson. His test on Friday was a perfect score. That night she discovered that Irish cream also gave an interesting kick to hot chocolate.

Despite the additional calories she was drinking Stacy found she was slimming down. Her running had expanded into the weekends. To help keep her mind quite she had fallen into a pattern of running in the morning and then taking a long walk in the evening.

The following Thursday it was once again time to pay for Friday's test results. She wore a skirt, posed, and showed Darren her underwear. Seated in the office lobby she suppressed the urge to sign. Another passed test rested in her hands.

Mr. Bo's voice shocked her out of her wool gathering. "Mr. Tate's test results have been consistent and encouraging for several weeks now."

"Yes sir, they have."

"Since you appear to have hit your stride, so to speak, I would like to attend one of your sessions. Say this Wednesday? There aren't many weeks left in the semester and I would like to see your approach first hand."

"Wednesday will be fine, sir. See you then." Her knees almost gave out when she attempted to leave the office. How could she convince Darren to help her? What would he demand? With a finger marking her place in the phonebook, she dialed a debt counselor and made an appointment while she sipped her coffee. She resolved that she was in a bad spot now but she would not allow it to continue. Her finances, unlike Darren, were something that she could gain the upper hand.

On Monday, Darren slumped in his desk and fixed her with bored eyes. She wrung her hands nervously as she explained the situation. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He rose and sauntered over to her.

"Since this is more than just the weekly checkpoint, you're going to need to do something extra for me," he said.

Stacy's mind raced. Would he demand pictures of her only in her underwear? Perhaps she would have to be naked? "What do you want?"

He eased her out of her chair and onto her knees. "Stace, you are going to suck my cock." A steady hand on her shoulder kept her from bolting upwards. "You know I can make your review humiliating right?" Stacy nodded weakly. "Then you know what you need to do to save your job. Hell, possibly even your career."

She closed her eyes as anger and desperation battled for a dominant position. The sound of each zipper tooth being undone thundered in her ears. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was face to face with her future teaching career in the form of a student's penis.

Stacy's mouth was dry. She worked her tongue around her mouth to get saliva flowing. Her emotional state solidified. With both hands she pushed against his thighs. His hand slipped off her shoulder and she tumbled backwards onto her bottom.

"Get the hell out," she roared as she pointed at the door. Darren shrugged, gathered his things, and departed.

"Is everything OK?"

The voice of Gary, the custodian, caused her to scramble to her feet.

"Yes, it is. I've taken care of it," Stacy replied as she pantomimed nonchalantly brushing dust from her pants. Worry was all over Gary's face. "Gary, I appreciate your concern. I'm OK." He returned her smile and moved down the hall. That night a hard run, a warm bath, and several cups of coffee didn't settle her nerves.

Darren didn't show up for his session the following day. She closed her eyes and slowly chewed two newly purchased antacids. Stacy chose not to report the absence lest it raise difficult questions.

She spent the next day in a cold sweat. The temperature in her classroom was pleasant but she could not escape the uneasy, clammy feeling or the cold dampness under her arms. Brief respites of getting lost in her work made the day manageable.

Finally, the dreaded time arrived. Her eyes were glued to the clock as the session time arrived. At five minutes past Darren had not arrived. Stacy felt sick. She moved her personal trashcan to a more convenient location in case it was needed suddenly. At ten past Mr. Bo knocked on her door.

"Mr. Bo I can explain," she blurted out in a hurried rush.

He held up a hand and fended off any further pleas. "I apologize for being late. I understand Mr. Tate is ill today and I apologize that I have kept you waiting."

The sudden departure of her anxiety left Stacy feeling weak.

"Let's reschedule for next Wednesday. Have a good evening Ms. Simm."

Stacy waved goodbye and spent the remainder of the evening in a daze. Darren arrived for his lesson the next day.

"Are you feeling better, Darren?"

He locked eyes with her. "I wasn't sick."

"That's not what I was told."

"I'll pass tomorrow. This one is a freebie. Do we understand each other now?"

Stacy found herself wringing her hands. "Yes."

"I'm impressed," thundered Mr. Bo, "even after missing two days you were able to cover the required material."

Stacy wiped her clammy hands on her skirt. "Thank you, sir. I won't lie. It was a difficult week." She smiled and hoped it didn't look as feeble as it felt.

"Relax this weekend. Unless something comes up, I'll see you on Wednesday."

Stacy didn't remember gathering her things or getting into her car. Her memory transitioned smoothly from her talk with Mr. Bo to her standing in the liquor store. She stared at the long, plain shelves filled with types of wine. "To hell with it," she growled and grabbed two large bottles.

Sunlight filtered through her curtains and made her groan. Stacy slipped out of bed and crawled into the bathroom. The hot water that streamed out of the showerhead offered little succor. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat as she sat, wrapped in her bathrobe, at her kitchen table. She stared into the dark contents of her coffee mug. The creamer sat in the refrigerator, while on the table in front of her sat a dark, brown bottle.

"Has it come to this?" she asked. With a shaking hand she poured the Irish cream into her mug. The routine repeated on Sunday morning. Two aspirin and a tall glass of water helped her out of the door on Monday. Forty-five minutes later another two aspirin and more water helped her face her first class.

Darren dropped his bag on the floor and leaned his hip against the edge of his desk. "Let's just get this out of the way shall we?"

Stacy's headache had faded to a dull pain nestled behind her eyes. In lucid moments during the weekend she had considered how to handle this situation. Over and over she had played scenarios out in her mind. Not a single one had an acceptable solution. She gestured him over and slid out of her chair and onto her knees. She grabbed water from her desk and took a sip. Her tongue still felt like it was covered in cotton.

The tick of the clock echoed loudly in the room while the tile under her knees felt hard and cold. Every aspect of her surroundings felt exaggerated. Undoubtedly this moment would be seared into her memory for the remainder of her life. For the second time she looked at Darren's manhood. With a sigh, she tentatively moved her head forward. She closed her eyes, staring at a student's navel didn't make her feel any better about what she was about to do, and tried to focus on the task at hand.

No matter how distasteful it was, the more effort she put into the task the sooner she believed it would be over. Wet sounds escaped her mouth and caused her to blush as she worked up and down. A hand cupped the back of her head and kept her moving. The fingers tightened in her hair and the tugging became more insistent. Pleased sounds escaped Darren as her head bobbed.

"Now, my little Stace, don't miss a drop," Darren ordered. His hand pulled her down and held her in place. Her tongue felt him pulse as her mouth filled with fluid. She found herself swallowing in self-defense more than a desire to adhere to his demand. When the hand departed, she pulled back and gulped in air. "Good girl," said Darren as he patted her head.

Tuesday's lesson ended with Darren departing without comment. Wednesday was a repeat of the previous week. The entire day was uncomfortable and downright nerve-wracking. She nibbled at her antacids as if they were candy. The only consolation was that she hadn't compounded her discomfort with a hangover. Her eyes were locked onto the clock when zero hour arrived.

Mr. Bo offered a polite wave as he entered and quietly took a seat at the rear of the room. His large frame crammed into the small desk looked comical. Darren entered a short time later.

Stacy took a long gulp of water from the mug on her desk and dove into the lesson. While drawing an explanatory diagram on her whiteboard, she glanced over her shoulder and almost dropped her marker. Darren had a notebook out, appeared attentive, and was taking notes. Throughout the rest of the lesson Darren appeared engaged, asked insight questions that allowed her to elaborate on key points, and once the lesson was completed her thanked her politely as he packed up. At the door he gave Stacy a wink and disappeared down the hall.

"Well, Ms. Simm I have to say I am quite pleased. It appears you've had quite an impact on the young man. It was a pleasure to watch you work. Have a good evening," said Mr. Bo. His voice shook her out of her confused state.

"Thank you. Have a good night," she stammered and offered her best, polite smile. After Mr. Bo left, she sat on the corner of her desk and sighed. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Darren had kept his word. She only had to persist and things would get better. Stacy slept well that night. She knew she had traded her dignity for a solution to her current situation but only three weeks remained and she would be free.

On Thursday Stacy was perched on the edge of her desk, resigned to the notion of displaying her underwear to her student. The requested style of clothing had threatened her newly formed budget. Thanks to several local second-hand stores, it had stretched but not broken. After some thought, she settled on a khaki-colored skirt matched with a navy blue cotton top. A lacy boy short hugged her hips. It was a tad daring for her taste, but had been on sale. Darren snapped a photo as he approached. A warm hand slid between her knees and pushed them apart.

"Yellow," he sighed. "Damn, I'm wrong again." He took her hand and gently pulled her from the desk. "You look very pretty Stace, but after last week do you think this would be enough?" Stacy suppressed a whimper. She couldn't bring herself to speak, so she shook her head. His hand on her shoulder guided her to her knees. A heartbeat later, Darren's penis pushed past her lips and into her mouth. The sound of his phone startled her. A hand cupped the back of her head and prevented her from pulling away.

"You look cute with my cock in your mouth," Darren said. "Here look." He turned his hand and offered up his phone's display.

Stacy blushed furiously. She felt used and exploited; certainly not cute.

"Don't worry. This is for my private collection."

She closed her eyes and moved her head forward.

"Open your eyes," Darren ordered.

Stacy obliged and found herself looking up into his camera. The click of the picture being taken made her stomach churn.

"Damn, that's hot. Keep looking at me."

She closed her ears to her surroundings and focused on the task. Her lips moved up and down while her tongue caressed the underside. With the tip of her tongue she traced the veins of Darren's manhood. In her mind they formed a line. A line that lead to career longevity.

The following Thursday found Stacy on her knees with Darren deep in her mouth. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to terms with the act being necessary to preserve her job. When his hand cupped her right breast, she didn't protest.

The money that used to buy meals from the little Chinese restaurant down the street was now being spent at a liquor store. Her evenings were fuzzy and blended together. She found herself constantly scrutinizing the people around her. Whenever she bent to grab an item off a low shelf or to retrieve a dropped item she expected to find a young man behind her with a cell phone in his hand.

A bottle of aspirin was ever present in her purse and another rested in a drawer of her desk. Drops to remove redness from her eyes kept both company. Each Friday Darren passed the test with flying colors.

On the final Friday of the semester Darren slipped into her room.

"So Darren, are you ready for your test tomorrow?" Stacy asked. He gave a lazy shrug. She extended her hand. "Well, I think it would be fair to say it's been a challenge but our time together is done. Good luck tomorrow."

Darren grinned. "Oh, we aren't done yet. I need a little motivation to make me show up for my test. Your place tonight, 8pm sharp. Wear this," Darren said. He placed a box on her desk and promptly left her room.

A heavy feeling settled into her stomach. With shaky hands she gathered up her purse, the box, and fled her classroom. At home Stacy gulped down a glass of wine and stared at the item on her kitchen table. Logic told her it was only simple cardboard, but she felt malice radiating from it.

Stacy glanced at the clock. It was 7:30pm. She had attempted to ignore the box as long as possible. After another glass of wine she held her breath and approached the box. Gently, she slipped off the lid. Inside was a bra and panty set.

They were both black and sheer. A small red bow was nestled between the cups of the bra, while another bow was present on the front of the panty. She was so close to saving her job. Just one night and the test remained. Stacy grabbed the items and headed to her bedroom. She shed her jeans and J. Crew button up, replaced her underwear with the contents from the box, and redressed. When her doorbell rang at 8 pm an empty wine bottle sat on her kitchen table alongside another that was half full.

Darren gave her a broad smile. "Hello Stace," he said. He made a gesture with his right hand. "Keys," he demanded.

Stacy fished the requested objects out of her purse and handed them over. She was a little grateful he didn't order her to drive. She felt wobbly. After several turns, she was hopelessly lost. They were in an unfamiliar part of town. Darren parked in front of a nondescript building. With a quick turn of the shiny brass knob, he shouldered the dark red door open and pulled her inside. Stacy was ushered past a drawn curtain into a small cubby. Questions filled her but Darren said nothing and fixed her with an icy stare. A thin man with greasy, black hair appeared.

"Drop'em and kneel here, Sugar," ordered the man as he patted a padded bar.

Her head was swimming and she found it hard to focus. Stacy looked at Darren. His face only showed impatience. She swallowed hard, unfastened her pants, and pushed them down her legs. She knelt on the indicated pad and found it pitched her weight slightly forward. Much to her relief, there was a pad where she could rest her elbows. Darren took a seat in front of her and took a firm grip on her wrists. A cool liquid was rubbed on her bottom. She realized there had been a purpose behind the thong she'd been given.

When Stacy heard the buzzing sound, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. All she had to do was just make it through the night and everything would be OK. She yelped at the first sting on her backside. The buzzing and pain felt like it went on forever. She was within a heartbeat of not being able to tolerate it anymore when room fell quiet. Darren patted her head. A curled finger cupped her chin and gently pulled her head to the side. In his other hand, he held up a mirror.

"Have a look."

Stacy felt her jaw drop. On each cheek was a five-point yellow star just like the kind a kindergarten teacher would give to a well behaved student.

"You've done such a good job I thought you deserved a memento of our time together. Especially since I have mine," Darren said as he patted the pocket that held his phone. A soothing ointment was rubbed over each star and a bandage taped over the top. At the front counter, she pulled the money from her wallet and handed it to the greasy-haired man.

"If you ever want anything else, you just drop by. I'll even give you a discount for being such a pretty thing," he offered.

"Thank you," she stammered. She blushed and felt a ball of ice form in her stomach. She had thanked a man that had decorated her backside without her consent. During the ride home, she constantly fidgeted in her seat. Her bottom was tender and it was difficult to find a comfortable position.

The whole situation seemed surreal. Darren unlocked her apartment door and gestured her inside. A glass of wine was pressed into her hand. Stacy drained it in two gulps. A second glass followed the first which was promptly replaced with a third.

The pain of the tattoos had sobered her up some, but now her head was once again swimming. When she turned it too quickly, the room spun. Darren pressed against her. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head backwards and pressed his lips against hers.

She closed her eyes tightly and did her best to pretend the lips that moved against hers belonged to a desirable lover rather than a conniving teenager. The chintzy fantasy was shattered when Darren's tongue slipped between her lips and explored her mouth.

Stacy twisted in his grasp and turned her back towards him. Relief was short lived as deft fingers unbuttoned her blouse and tugged it off her shoulders. Silently, she cursed the front hook bra as Darren defeated it skillfully with one hand.

Fingertips caressed her nipples as she desperately sought grounds on which to protest. Her head lolled against his chest as her wine-soaked inhibitions battled her battered sensibilities. As a child she used to sit in the rain and watch leaves circle the storm drain in front of her house. She was one of those leaves, buoyed by a force she could not control. Swept through displaying herself, pleasuring Darren orally, having her flesh marked, and now a final injustice was thrust upon her.