Can't Say No Ch. 08

Author's notes:

*The next chapter in the story. This one is the prelude to dinner with Mr. Lunder and includes some other character perspectives. I'm trying to flesh out the scope of the story a little bit, because I was toying with the idea of formatting this into a cohesive book. If that interests you at all please let me know in the comments.*

**This chapter doesn't include traditional sex scenes, but has plenty of erotic world-building. So, you can skip it if this doesn't interest you. The next chapter will have plenty of fireworks.**

*

Sending invoices was fun, it meant you got money. Receiving bills on the other hand, was painful. At the end of the day, it was all about revenues and expenses. If the revenues fell short of the expenses, you were in trouble. In the business world everyone knew that. Mrs. Gartner had been a part of that world, a lifetime ago.

The bill in question sat malevolently on her desk. Unopened. There was no need. Mrs. Gartner knew enough math to know she was fucked. In fact, considering the modern world, it was a miracle she'd lasted this long. Sixteen years was a damn long time as a single mom, it was unheard of. Her former colleagues had fallen by the wayside a decade ago.

Wherever he was, she hoped her ex-husband was choking on misery, but she knew that wasn't the case. Social media had denied her even that fantasy. She recalled feeling dumbstruck, sixteen years ago when the world had gone insane. Still exchanging flurries of worried texts with friends when Lucas came home. Barely able to maintain his façade of concern, as he quietly assessed his exciting new options. Turns out without her job, a high-powered businesswoman was just another woman. And those were in abundant supply.

She grimaced and sipped her wine--she'd always been craftier than her colleagues. Of course, that no longer mattered, her job was gone. After a long losing battle, she'd gone the same way as the other female professionals. Now she was a full-time mother. Hooray for me.

At long last she would fall firmly under the yoke society had envisioned for her. It was ironic, seeing as Lucas had promised to be the stay-at-home parent. Life always found creative ways to drop steaming piles of unfairness in her lap.

There was no use being sentimental. When a business was no longer profitable, you didn't cry about it. You either liquidated or you sold. She was broke. The time to sell had come. What were her assets?

She was unemployable. Smart, attractive, but old. The last few years hadn't been easy. There was no use kidding herself. Only one of her assets was particularly valuable. Fortunately--maybe unfortunately, depending on your perspective--Jessie had been blessed with great genes. Her daughter had grown strikingly beautiful. Today, at least, that might be helpful.

The new dress was a good style for Jessie--despite being a bit indecent--low cut and open around the shoulders. Exactly the type of thing she'd avoided buying Jess her entire life. Odd how quickly circumstances changed.

The idea of whoring out her daughter mortified her, but somehow, the idea of sending Jessie out on her own was worse. At least at home I can protect her. Jessie was too stubborn for her own good. Horrible at staying out of trouble, and far too young to handle herself. Letting her leave home now was out of the question.

If she wanted to protect her daughter, she needed to find a home over their heads. She downed the rest of her wine. There was a dinner to burn. Though the pig next door didn't need much fattening.

As a child, my rambunctious attitude had led to many a lecture. Still, the past two weeks had been something else. Once again, I was receiving a lecture, though the circumstances were much different. Mr. Carson was midway through a diatribe that could not end fast enough.

Our intercourse during the last ceramics class had been a confusing experience. Mr. Carson had aggressively propositioned me, then left without sparing me a word. Now he seemed determined to rehash what happened, but without actually talking about it.

Guiltily, I remembered touching myself under the table during class, the momentary sparks of pleasure, then the adrenaline of making eye contact with Mr. Carson. My face turned red at the memory. It was my fault. I did this to myself.

"Really, Jessie, I want you to think of me as just the same art teacher as before. If you are ever struggling with anything, speak up. The last thing I want, as your teacher, is to see you become less engaged with the coursework," said Mr. Carson, continuing his agonizing pep-talk.

"Really, like, I understand. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson, I shouldn't have. I crossed a line during last class. This is all my fault." I blurted, meaning what I said. I just wanted ceramics class to regain the sense of normalcy that had shattered.

Mr. Carson nodded along with my words. He seemed relieved to hear my apology. I just wanted things back to normal, hopefully I hadn't ruined our relationship.

"Yes, I accept your apology, Jessie, don't be too hard on yourself. It's not unusual, for a girl your age to make these kinds of mistakes. Please do your best to act as you normally would in the future."

To my relief, the conversation was over. Tucking my legs together, I slumped into my assigned seat. Students had begun to trickle into ceramics class, though there were still a few minutes left of break. My mind desperately needed a trip elsewhere. Tonight's dinner with Mr. Lunder was occupying most of my brain's real estate. I checked my phone, craving social media, but the first thing on my screen was a text from an unknown number.

'You are very pretty Jessie 😊. What's up?'

A random number. The simplest thing to do was ignore the message. Still, I didn't want to offend the sender. I winced, and realized I had been gnawing on my lip.

'Who is this?' I responded.

A dull ache settled in my temple as I pressed send. A stress headache was brewing. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Today, my phone had felt like a chore rather than a distraction.

Before I could return the phone to my bag, it buzzed. I glared at the back of my phone, and the Rose Gold case glinted back. My normally trusted confidant, had suddenly turned into a nuisance. I flipped it over with the enthusiasm of a math exam.

'This is Brett Ziegler. We saw each other in the weight room this morning.'

Brett, the name wasn't familiar. I read the rest of the text, and the context slunk into place, 'the weight room'. The chair creaked as I shifted uncomfortably. He was the specky boy from this morning, the one I had... No. No. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. I look away from the message and buried my face in my forearms.

Against my wishes, Brett's face swam into my mind, pasty and slick with sweat, shining above me in the weight room's fluorescent lights. He groaned, tilted back his head and--I pinched myself before the mental video could go any further.

Putting my phone away, I left his message unanswered. Hopefully Brett would understand, I didn't want to have to hurt his feelings.

During class the normal urge to be talkative was gone. Serious problems needed fixing, and they weren't the type I could discuss out loud. There were more men harassing me than one person could possibly ward off. Mr. Stephenson was the most urgent, he was the most persistent, and the least distractable. Left to his own devices, it was only a matter of time before his tiny prick succeeded in ruining my life. When someone had power over you, there was only so much you could do about it. This was a somber realization. But maybe there was a way to work that to my advantage?

Class ended and my steps took me on an unfamiliar route. I cut purposefully through the rush, and a few people even hopped out of my way. Resolve gave my steps added purpose, making my decision feel easier. Then someone popped out at me.

"Slap ass Friday!" Yelled a jubilant voice. The owner spanked me with jarring force.

I wheeled in bewilderment, as a cascade of laughter descended, searching wide-eyed for the source of the disruption. An auburn-haired boy stood boldly in front of me, squinting through a sea of freckles, not having even bothered to flee. He had the tense anticipatory look of a younger sibling weighing whether to run.

"What the fuck," I spat.

The culprit winced, distressed to see the ramifications of his plan. There was a cluster of juveniles behind him, watching in hushed tones, still giggling.

"It's slap ass Friday." The ginger shrugged his shoulders in a meant-to-be conciliatory way. "No big deal."

This caused a fresh round of giggles to break out. After a quick glance over his shoulder, the pasty oaf smiled apologetically. The asshole had probably decided his gamble paid off. Now he was basking in the adoration of his stupid, immature friends. I smiled along with them, trying to feel in on the joke. Hoping it would lessen my newfound embarrassment.

"Oh, right... Got it." Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms and marched away. A raucous celebration broke out behind my departure, which I chose graciously to ignore.

A hundred steps later and I reached my destination. I looked around. This was a place I never imagined I'd visit voluntarily. Uniquely uninteresting photos and certificates adorned the walls of the waiting room.

"Hi, is Principal Walker here? I need to see him."

"Hi Jessie," Rebecca, the secretary, smiled behind her desk. An impossibly wide smile. She was one of those people who could muster enthusiasm seemingly out of thin air. I knew her by her first name, because I was old enough to vaguely remember her being a student here. "He's in, but let me give him a quick buzz."

There was a brief exchange on the intercom. Then I was informed--with another smile--that I could have a seat to wait. Ridiculous. I didn't want to waste my lunch hour waiting. I exhaled before sitting down, and Rebecca shot me a sullen look. While seated, I studied her. She had a fashionable blue dress on accented by a thin black choker, which was an unusual choice. The style worked for her. Here was a lucky women who had found work after high school. Maybe I could get some advice from her. Then I could do better than her.

"Principal Walker will see you now."

I stood up. Finally. The way Rebecca put emphasis on his name was funny. I spared her only a brief look before pushing my way into the principal's office.

I walked in and let the door shut behind me. Just standing in the room triggered a bout of nerves. I'm not in trouble. I had to keep reminding myself as I approached the desk, trying to forget my last visit. Despite being seated, Principal Walker loomed above me. He hadn't looked up yet, he was writing something on his desk. I wasn't sure whether to feel offended or relieved he wasn't staring at me.

"Uh--um... Hello," I muttered.

He kept writing, a frown creasing his face. Could he somehow still be angry with me? Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. His pen nib scribbled across the paper. The expression on his face was inscrutable. Why had I decided to come here? This was a bad idea. I was going to be in trouble again. The dull ache in my temples was getting worse. Thump... Thump... Thump... Tonight mom and I had dinner with Mr. Lunder. THUMP... THUMP... THUMP... I couldn't stand the silence. All I could hear was the pounding in my head.

"I'm not in trouble!" I blurted out.

Principal Walker lifted an eyebrow and stared down at me. I stared back. His salt and pepper crew cut and perpetual frown were what I imagined a drill sergeant might look like. This revelation made his presence even more unsettling. He looked me over.

"Not in trouble? Well, you managed to wear an appropriate school uniform this time I see. However, judging by your Algebra scores, your statement might be presumptuous. I regard any failing student as in trouble. Even if they are not currently here for discipline. Now... Miss Gartner, what is your issue?"

"I..." His words stung my cheeks like a whip. During my last visit to his office, I had been forced to wear a blouse several sizes too small. To my relief mom had found me one in the right size. The humiliation resurfaced now. And failing algebra? There was no time to study for the last quiz. I had been distracted and... Discipline. Involuntarily my eyes shot towards the desk drawer. The one where I now knew he kept a wooden paddle. THWAP. I winced at the memory.

The glance did not go unnoticed by the principal. His eyes narrowed. "Answer me, Jessica."

"Mr. Stephenson..." I mumbled. Trying to recapture the purpose of my visit. "He's been, um, well... I was wondering--" Meeting Principal Walker's eyes was terrifying but I did my best. "I have to go to his office every day during third hour, and I... I don't want to go anymore. I thought you could maybe do something..."

Principal Walker's eyes widened fractionally as he absorbed this revelation. "Has Mr. Stephenson been conducting himself in any inappropriate way?"

I hesitated. "Well... I'm not sure. I don't think so necessarily, but--"

"So, you're simply being insubordinate, asking me to interfere with one of my instructors who, from what I gather, is merely exercising his adult rights?"

"No, Mr. Walker, I'm sorry, but--"

"Mr. Stephenson is an accredited counselor, why should I question the methods of one of my staff? Do you have an issue with the way I run this school, Miss Gartner?"

"Um, no... But--"

One of his female students reaching such a remarkable level of entitlement was frankly, astonishing. This girl would be much more appealing if she was gagged. Then there would be no need to entertain all this petulance. Yes, a gag would be much better. Wouldn't that be a nice addition to her dress code?

Principal Walker stared down over his desk at Jessie Gartner, subconsciously aware of how nicely she filled out her blouse. What did her breasts look like? Probably excellent. No woman his age had nice breasts anymore, and this made him sad. Sometime after thirty, women's breasts took an irreversible turn for the worse. He was well aware of this unfortunate fact, but such a grim reality seemed unthinkably distant for the supple woman in front of him. Jessie was the embodiment of youth, both physically and mentally.

"--If you could just get me out of it. I'll repay you, like, whatever... I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Watching this beautiful girl throw herself at his feet, not out of penitence, but voluntarily, was a delightful surprise. This was a debasing acknowledgement of his power. A personal plea to a superior. Not a week removed from being spanked raw, here she was, on her figurative knees, begging him. Suddenly his underwear was tight. In spite of himself, Principal Walker's imagination ran away from him. The same way any man's imagination runs away when certain women present themselves. He could have her in his basement by week's end, maybe sooner. Safely bridled in restraints, tucked away where only he could enjoy her. Put her in a collar maybe. Gagged too. Definitely gagged. At the moment it was everything he wanted in the world.

"No," said Principal Walker.

Jessie gaped at him. Her mouth hung open in a dim but slightly erotic sort of way. As though she couldn't conceive of someone not agreeing with her.

The simple fact was the circumstances were unacceptable. Jessie Gartner did not get to dictate terms to him, no matter how appealing they were. She needed to understand that. Better for him to ingrain those lessons in her early. He spoke. She obeyed. Not the other way around. Everyone had a position. If people ignored their roles, all organization would go out the window. As principal, order was his business.

Now, what was best for her? She needed to leave here disappointed, and his stinging rejection would only make her desire his favor all the more.

He strode around the desk and held open the door, "You will not disobey my faculty. There is nothing left to discuss. You are excused, Jessica. I have appointments to keep."

Jessica looked at him, wide green eyes suddenly lost. She nodded. When she passed by him, he admired her curves. From the slump of her shoulders to the conspicuous rotundity concealed by her departing skirt. Then he shut the door.

Seated at his desk, Principal Walker squeezed the erection in his trousers and gasped. Shaking his head, he focused himself once more, pressing the intercom.

"Rebecca, send Mr. Stephenson to see me. At once."

At least one thing was clear. Jessie was far too delectable to waste on Mr. Stephenson. The girl would get his favor. And she would spend a lot of time making it up to him.

Justin swerved the steering wheel and the car careened right. The scraping sound was unpleasant. Screech, crunch, thunk. Wherever he drove, the noise followed, reminding him and everyone nearby to watch out. There was a thrill to driving fast. In this car, however, you had to imagine it. Piece of garbage, he thought. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the wheel.

The inside was little better than the outside. Energy drink cans littered cupholders and crevices, leaving a careless trail to the driver.

A car idled at the stop sign in front of him, so Justin laid on the horn. He let it blare until the offending car was out of sight. Another moron. The road was filled with imbeciles who delighted in blocking his path. The world never ceased to inconvenience him.

So far, the road wasn't proving to be much better than work. Burger Palace was run by a bunch of cheapskates. If he was paid what he deserved, he would buy a real car. A car with a spoiler, a good engine and speed to match. Instead, here he was. Damn boss always screwed him. It didn't matter which boss, present or former, they didn't give Justin a lick of what he deserved. He stamped the accelerator with displeasure and the car jerked forward.

His shift at the burger joint had wrapped up around three, though truth be told, he'd hightailed out ten minutes early. In his estimation, he'd done more than enough work already. The only thing that had sustained him during the shit-work was knowledge of his after-work plans. Normally, he'd go back to his apartment, and spend the next several hours playing video games, but not today. Today he would get what he deserved.

As the car lurched over the hill, he caught a glimpse of his destination. Newland High School. He spat out the window. It was an even bigger shithole than when he'd left it. Fortunately, he wasn't going inside this time. He'd spent enough time in that prison. The car thumped past the high school.

A few days ago, he'd been minding his own business, manning the drive-thru lane at Burger Palace, when his world got picked up and thrown on its head. The cause? Jessie. Here he'd been minding his own business, doing his job, when this little shit-mouth pulls up to the delivery window, and sitting next to the shit-mouth in the passenger seat is this divine--and Justin thinks this is the right use of the word divine--specimen. The sexiest girl which has ever passed his eyeballs. What followed was a work day filled with the biggest set of blue balls Justin ever had to suffer through.

Justin had been greatly distressed by the idea he might not see this divine specimen ever again. Fortunately, he'd had the presence of mind to find out her name, and after a frenzied online investigation, he'd found her Instagram profile. Then in a formidable leap of intellect, Justin had made a great deduction. Jessie Gartner, the woman he'd seen at the drive-thru, went to Newland Prep. She'd posted a photo in her soccer uniform, and as luck had it, he'd attended Newland. To make matters better, he remembered where the soccer teams practiced.