Malignity of Stone Ch. 04

Chapter Four: A Grand Display Of Sadistic Sport

Cathy

"I'm a worthless slut."

This guilty admission of failure -- personal and ideological, failure as a teacher and a feminist, failure as a member of my own gender -- was so etched into my brain at this point that I found myself repeating it like a mantra, without noticing.

Whenever I did notice, I cursed myself. I bit my lip in anger, drove my nails in my palms, anything to force my brain to focus.

Unfortunately, the moment I got distracted with anything -- grading homework, preparing lecture notes, doing chores... masturbating... any time at all; the mantra would resume.

"I'm a worthless slut."

My life was unravelling around me. I wasn't so far gone that I didn't realise as much. I had it all figured out, my academic career had proceeded like clockwork... and on the very first day, I let Burns put me on the back foot.

But even that was a compromise of sorts, wasn't it? I'd run into an unexpected problem, and was compromising on a few of my beliefs to deal with it. It was a way to maintain control in front of uncertainty.

And yet, I was now spiralling. Completely out of control.

"Because I'm a worthless slut."

Day after day, Burns would spank me. I would repeat the mantra, burning it into my mind. Day after day, I would suck his cock. He'd taken my virginity, my professional autonomy, and my dignity away from me with the ease of stealing candy off children.

To my students, I was little more than a joke. My own subconscious kept betraying me with this misogynistic drivel I couldn't purge out of my mind.

"I'm a worthless slut."

And Cindy... where first she had been standoffish and antagonistic, her behavior had now changed in ways I didn't fully understand. She spent a lot of time secluded in her own room, and in class, she largely stayed quiet and self-absorbed. Only Irene's taunts seemed to still get a rise out of her.

Whenever we did interact, however... it was further proof that I'd lost control of my life.

I had to call her Miss Cooper at all times, even at home. She left the dishes for me to clean, took my car without asking, and worse, her eyes betrayed a complete lack of respect for me. In many ways, I felt like I wasn't the big sister of the two any longer.

This was how I now found myself sitting in my office -- a place I ever saw these days, being in Burns' office all the time -- during afternoon appointment hours, after taking a bus to get there, because Cindy had denied me use of my own car.

Sitting in my office, before Nick fucking Foster.

He sat there like he owned the place, loudly chewing gum and wearing a delighted grin on his angular face, rocking back and forth in the chair as he leered at me.

My students saw me as a joke. But the two biggest challenges by far were Nick and Irene. And here was Nick, not in class but alone, face to face with me. Maybe he thought he was subtle, but I could see it from a mile away that he had some kind of plan in his head.

I needed to fend off his challenge. I needed to preserve at least the last modicum of authority I could preserve.

And yet, all I could rely on was my own brain, which was stuck on repeat over the same, traitorous admission.

"I'm a worthless slut."

"So, Mr Foster," I said, hating how naturally this demure and unassuming tone was coming to me by now. "What did you want to discuss with me today? Are you here to try and improve your English Lit grade?"

"That is the best class on offer right now," he said with a chuckle, chewing his gum louder, "but no. I'm here to talk about how to raise yours, Cathy."

His words made my heart sink. I gulped down, blinking slowly, waiting for him to mention that he was joking. He just kept chewing gum, throwing his self-satisfied grin in my face like a kind of challenge.

I knew my position was untenable. I depended on the students' good will to keep my job. Nick and Irene, above all, were testing the boundaries of how far they could leverage it. But this was new, dangerous, and scary territory.

I gulped down again, politely bowing my head in deference. "Of course, sir. What would you recommend for me to improve my performance?"

My cheeks burned so much I feared they were about to catch fire. Let alone the students' perception of me, how could I look myself in the mirror and feel like a professor when I was asking Nick Foster to review my performance?

"You can start by getting on deeze nuts," Nick said, laughing to himself and making obscene gestures towards his crotch.

The blood that had rushed to color my cheeks suddenly flushed back down, leaving me pale and cold like stone.

"Very funny, sir," I said nervously. "For real, though -- what do I need to do better?"

"I just told you," Nick said, drumming his fingers on his thigh, as if he was encouraging a pet to climb onto his lap. "Get to work." And then, venomously, "Bitch."

I stood up. It was meant to be a gesture of anger and intimidation, leveraging my nominal position as a teacher.

However... I looked ridiculous, sexy, available. My pantyhose complimented the curves of my legs, and my office skirt was way too short to be actually, well, an office skirt. Without a bra to contain them, my tits threatened to spill out of my blouse at any moment.

I looked like the sexed-up parody of a secretary in an office porn vid.

Nick clearly noticed, laughing openly at my failure to be the slightest bit assertive. No wonder Burns was reducing me to his toy, if this fresh-faced jock could brush away my ineffectual attempt at being taken seriously with such ease.

"Come here," he said, pointing to his lap. "Sit."

I gave a whelp of surprise as my body tried to do two different things at once -- walk towards Nick, and head for the door. Two competing impulses were clashing within me.

Burns had drilled a new set of values into me. I should always show deference towards men. I should be sexually open and available. I was a worthless slut, and deserved to resign myself to male authority in all aspects of life, especially in the workplace. My own students were the boss of me, and Burns incomparably more so.

However, I had to keep this job, and I had to protect Burns' as well. He had my allegiance. If I simply obeyed Nick and started having sex with a student, I'd put that all in jeopardy.

With a groan of anguish, I realised there was almost no room in this calculation for the simple fact that I didn't want to have sex with Nick, much less submit to him.

Burns' daily training was having an effect of me. I'd been narrowed down to a sliver of my former self. He was working me over like an expert craftsman.

But even his instructions weren't perfect. Right now, I was facing decision paralysis.

But the more I thought about it, the more the fear won out over Burns' training. Submitting to misogynistic treatment had to come after protecting my -- and his -- job.

I told myself that the fact I didn't want to debase myself sexually before a student helped push me in that direction.

I hoped that was the truth.

"No." I said, stepping away from Nick and towards the door.

I should have done so much more than this, of course. Slapped him. Had him expelled. Reported him to the authorities. Unleashed an entire #MeToo shitstorm on his ass. But those options were for free and autonomous women, and Burns held me on too tight a leash for that.

But I could say no. To me that was the most beautiful word in the English language at that moment. It made my voice sound so crystalline, so much more like my own, the one I used to have before this nightmare began.

Moreover, that one word was enough to throw Nick in confusion. He was clearly completely puzzled that I simply hadn't agreed to his request right away.

I may be a worthless slut, but you didn't entirely think this one through, did you, big boy?

As I rested my hand on the door handle, basking in gratitude for small victories, his voice cut me short.

"You do want a good grade, don't you?"

My hand started trembling.

I kept my back to him, willing myself with all my might to open the door and rush out, but terror kept me frozen in place.

I turned to face Nick, my legs quivering underneath me. His confidence was coming back. He was sure I'd buckle. I could clearly see the bulge building in his pants.

Was this truly my fate? To exist as a purely sexual being, perceived only as a pleasurable object for men? Was there nothing else about me -- my brain, my hobbies, my likes and dislikes, my own personhood? Was I destined to see man after man get an erection because of me, and then seek relief in my holes?

"I do," I said, choosing my words very carefully. "But that doesn't give you the right to sexually harass me, or even rape me, Mr Foster."

He waved my objections aside with a throw of his hand. "You'll do it," he said, gesturing once more to his budding erection. "That gives me the right."

I knew he came from old money, that his entire social environment was a bit of a boys' club. He probably thought women being at the beck and call of men was due course. That I kept yapping on like an annoying feminist, but eventually I would behave like one of his dad's secretaries.

"I don't consent," I said, my voice unsteady.

"I don't care."

I drew in breath, my hand still clasping the door handle. I had a decision to make, a binary one. No compromises or negotiations or rationalizations, not this time.

It was on or off. Stay on the ship, or jump. Surrender, or flee.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

If I defied him, I risked my job. If I succumbed, I risked both my job and Burns'.

Actually, when I put it that way, the choice became somewhat easier. Burns would appreciate that I picked the option that put him in the least amount of danger. He would protect me. He had the authority to do so. If I kept his job safe, he'd keep mine safe, too.

That was the one silver lining in the dehumanizing, patriarchal work environment I found myself mired in every day. That was the one good thing about being a plaything in the hands of a dominant male overlord.

He'd look after his property. Enforce the boundaries to his territory. He could afford to sexually harass me because his authority in the workplace went unchallenged. The prize of the alpha lion was not for the rest of the pride to share.

With that certainty animating me, I turned the handle, pushed against the door, and wheeled into the hallway, heading for Burns' office.

***

John

The precise workings of the stone remained a mystery, even to him.

He was acutely aware of this. He hadn't tested it on many people -- it was simply too dangerous. By far his largest data set, so to speak, came from Cathy.

Cindy, the younger sister, had reacted rather differently to the stone. He wondered why that was, exactly.

The key mechanism was clearly still fear. But it seemed to be different for everyone subjected to the stone. Not just in the specifics of the fear, but in intensity and outward manifestation, too. He wondered how the stone knew what to select for.

Did it identify chinks in a person's armor? Did it play on their worst fears, or on mere insecurities? Did it prey on their biggest personal weakness, or pull on the lure of personal taboos?

If only he had such information on hand now, things would proceed much more speedily.

The stone had scared Cathy -- but it had absolutely terrified Cindy. She'd started sobbing and trembling, right in the middle of the office, and by the time she started hyperventilating, Burns feared his whole plan might unravel.

Fortunately, she calmed down, after a fashion. Nevertheless, John had stepped into the unknown. The unprecedented intensity of Cindy's reaction had only driven home the point he already appreciated intellectually: he'd taken such a stupid risk, being nearly caught in the office like that.

He couldn't expect the stone to bail him out every time. Even with Cathy, it was only patient and methodical training, combined with a lifetime of fantasies about utterly controlling women, that was delivering such wondrous results.

He didn't like risk. He'd have to manage it better, in the future. Even if it meant taking extreme countermeasures.

As for Cindy, he hadn't laid a finger on her. Not yet. Not until he understood what exactly it was that she was afraid of. They'd held many sessions since the first, all in his office, all with careful and deliberate exposure to the stone.

He'd successfully convinced Cindy that it was her sister's fault she was now vulnerable before him. After all, the only reason why Cindy was in the office on that day was to try and bail her sister out.

It was working. There was simmering sisterly resentment there now that he could cultivate and exploit. But one step at a time. He needed to get inside Cindy's head first -- then he could do some real damage in there.

He preferred Cathy, but he supposed Cindy was a fine prize in her own right. Young, angry, rebellious, and probably a dyke if he hadn't missed his guess. The thought of breaking, manhandling, gaslighting, and sexually mastering a lesbian student made his cock strain against his pants.

But precisely because of all these factors, the risks were greater. So he'd take his time, and do it right -- while still keeping his primary focus firmly on Cathy.

Speak of the devil, he thought to himself as Cathy barged into his office, without knocking.

She was wearing what he'd instructed, looking like a slutty, leggy secretary out to do her boss's sexy business. He approved. What he didn't approve of was her lack of composure. She was breathing fast and hard, her hair disheveled as she ran hands nervously through it over and over.

He frowned. He'd drilled a clear discipline into her. She was supposed to knock, then stand demurely and wait for him to acknowledge her. She should only come when summoned. She should look prim and proper, been seen but not heard, and available for his pleasure.

Was something the matter?

"Sir," Cathy said, bowing so far forward she was basically doubling over. "I'm so sorry Sir. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Something definitely was the matter then. He sighed internally. First they got nearly caught by Cindy, and now this? The plan had been so simple, so flawless. What was he failing to consider?

"Spit it out, slut."

He loved the way she basically didn't even react to the insult. She was so used to answering to derogatory pet names by now. That made him beam with pride -- so much for gender equality.

Cathy gathered herself. "There's an emergency! Sir, I-"

Before she could continue, the door to his office opened. Burns nearly spit his cigar. What was it with the school today?

In stepped Nick Foster, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Burns' eyes narrowed, moving inquisitively from Nick to Cathy. He had an inkling what might be going on here.

More exposure. More risk.

He needed a way to manage it.

"Mr Burns," Nick said in a tone of half-mockery, while Cathy stared slack-jawed at him. "We need to talk."

***

Cathy

My boss would protect me.

I didn't know what Nick thought he'd achieve by following me into Burns' office, but his chase ended here. I knew Burns would watch over me.

As I droned on and on, detailing the humiliating encounter with Nick in my office, I found solace in this belief.

I had done everything he'd asked of me. Dressed for his entertainment, annihilated my own authority in the classroom, let him take me the way a dog takes a bitch, submitted to his deepthroating crash course.

Even now, I looked and behaved more like a school girl than a teacher. Here I was, in my ridiculous outfit, my hands crossed in submission before me, asking the school principal for arbitration like I was a naughty student complaining about a bully.

Free women reported sexual harassment to the authorities. I had to beg my serial sexual predator to defend me from another sexual predator. I was pathetic, and all for Burns' entertainment.

Surely that would entitle me to, at least, his protection.

Burns chewed pensively on his cigar as he took in my side of the story. Nick listened to it with exaggerated showmanship, now bringing a hand to his chin, now silently mocking my words with his eyebrows or faux-stunned expressions.

Thanks to Burns' grading system, Nick had authority over me. Thanks to his masculine upbringing, he considered it an inevitability that women would eventually accept second place to his wants and needs. But if he thought he could get one over Burns, he had a surprise coming. Nick was just a boy, and Burns was a man.

The kind of experienced, cunning, calculating, domineering man who could slowly and systematically deconstruct a proud female colleague until she was little more than his simpering coffee-fetcher, I thought to myself with a blush.

"I'm a worthless slut."

By the time I finished my tale, I bowed my head in deference, waiting for Burns' judgement. Only the tiniest craning of my neck gave me the opportunity to study his face.

His attention was focused on Nick. Even when ostensibly protecting me, he knew just how to make me feel worthless. I was a piece of office furniture to him at that point.

"So, Nick," he said with a voice raspy from smoke, speaking over his still-lit cigar. "What gave you the idea you could take such liberties with one of your own professors?"

The predatory grin never left Nick's face. He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket, grabbed his phone, and placed it theatrically on the desk.

The sounds coming from it were unmistakable. They were wet. Slutty. Sexy.

And, I thought as a wave of dread washed over me, familiar.

"Yes Sir," my voice said in the recording, in-between moans. "I'm wet, because I'm a worthless slut."

The floor gave way underneath me, and I fell to my knees, struggling to keep steady. My life was over. So over. Nick Foster had a recording of... of this. Not just me and Burns fucking, no. It was the moment I lost my virginity. It was my capitulation to the patriarchy.

"Feminism isn't welcome in this school," Burns said in the recording. That sent another bout of panicky, dizzy nausea coursing through me. He was recognizably in this recording too!

"I assume you didn't know about this," Burns said, pausing the audio file and looking down to meet my eyes. I lowered mine immediately, remaining demurely on my knees.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, my new apologetic habit ingrained into me even now. "I didn't, sir."

Burns gave a tiny nod, then turned to face Nick.

"Well played. Your dad would be proud. Him and I have done good business together in the past, I'm sure you're aware."

That steadied me a little. My head was spinning, but Burns was in control of the situation, just the way he was in control of me. By reminding Nick of their connections, he would make it clear that no-one fucked with him without consequences.

If I really had to subordinate myself to a man, I supposed I could have done worse than this.

"Just so we're clear," Burns continued, "if this is an attempt at blackmailing me, it isn't going to work. I know a thing or two about dealings in this town that you wouldn't want to be divulged either. Your dad, even less so. Am I being clear right now?"

"Crystal," Nick said, looking like he'd tasted something impossibly sour. I allowed myself the tiniest of smiles.

"Good. However, Nick, I want you to understand that I truly don't like taking risks. And there's no reason for us to damage our respective operations, when we can come to an amicable agreement instead."

My eyes darted to Burns.

What was he talking about?

Nick brought a hand to his chin, and not to put on a show this time. "I'm listening."