Parent-Teacher Confluence

"Give it to me!" The triumphantly mounted blonde insisted in a tone which revealed her partly returning vigor. But even that tone. Even in that demand, and Katie's right to it, Riya found her mind too wracked and wrecked by pain and fatigue to act. And so it fell to the teacher who sat upon the defeated Indian mother's face to find it for her -- to drag it out of her.

But before one can drag, they must latch on -- they must snare, and Katie did, by arching back upon her victim. The race-focused and dominant blonde, rocking back on her healthy ass; an ass which sat atop Riya's bruised breasts, and breathless chest. On that fulcrum, and its below, the battle's victor leaned as far as she needed, to then reach back, down, and with a tight grip, grab ahold of her enemy's sex. A sex she at that moment claimed ownership of -- a sex she intended to use to force the compliance she wanted.

"Come on..." Katie said in a frustrated pant, just as her fingers began to drive in. Not claw-first or in a gouging manner, but instead rigid and pleasure-seeking. "Come on... Wake up..." The blonde prodded, almost as if the words were a mantra that must be spoken while casting that particular spell.

A spell of humiliation.

A spell of hatred.

A spell of forced-pleasure.

A spell of awakening.

"I know you want it, you dot-headed slut. Moan for me..." In the darkness, she felt fingers driving within her. And in the after-earned haze of scarcely dimming consciousness, she felt Katie's fingertips find her clit. Stirred in only the shallowest of ways, Riya opened her eyes. There, in her gray-scale sight, she found her enemy's unkempt droplet-strewn blonde bush, framed by powerful thighs closed in about her face. Above that, a small round of tummy -- one dwarfed by the pearl-hued breasts that hung above it.

After Riya's sight, two more sensations returned: smell and taste. The first, being of nothing other than her enemy's clit. An organ of pleasure and control that rested -- no, pressed against the defeated Indian mother's nose and nostrils. And the second, being the expectant juices of her conqueror. The very essence of the racist woman who had fought her -- struggled against her -- insulted her in the foulest of ways.

Though those thoughts alone were enough to impress upon Riya a sense of gut-wrenching humiliation, she felt something else coming with it. Worsening it, while at the same time dimming it, if for only a moment.

The most acute being pleasure. A sensation that ripped through her body like the sharpest of daggers taken to the softest of sheets, causing her to moan out low and deep, as instructed. The sound muffled almost completely by the watering sex into which it was delivered. Then along with it and shamefully, desire. A desire for Katie to go faster -- drive deeper -- and though it was contrary to almost everything she would think she would want, for her enemy to finger her to orgasm. Not just an orgasm, but the hardest, most terrible, and intensely nasty orgasm she had ever experienced in her life.

Just the thought of such an unwanted and unimaginable desire made Riya squirm -- made her whimper pathetically into Katie's sex, as the former tried to get free. But with each feeble attempt and every strengthless sounding of resistance, the blonde above only gave more. Took more. Using her fingers to do to Riya everything she would want done to her. All those things the blonde had imagined Riya doing, in those moments during their fight where the thick-thighed instructor let her mind wander astray from hate.

"Lick me! Do it! I won! Please..." Every word spoken by Katie, even as she sat atop her bested rival's face, sounded less and less confident, and instead more and more like pleas. She wanted it. Needed it. To feel her enemy's mouth and tongue rewarding her for her hard-fought victory. And just as that welling desperation brimmed on madness and in a way, it's own form of submission, Riya gave in. The pain of all that had been done to her and the pleasure of Katie fingering her without abandon, earning her submission -- both ultimate and complete.

That moment. That instant. That unity of time and temerity -- hate and want, felt like a hammer, or more accurately a lightning bolt. One that cracked upon the sky and hit both Katie and Riya, as they, together naked on that classroom floor, pleased each other. One with her mouth out of submission and subjugation, and the other with her fingers out of dominance and control.

"Mah god... Mah goddddddd..." Katie said without breath or sound, as she felt it stirring deep within her. Not caring, at that moment, about the Lord, his name, or what might be seen in vain. Instead just calling to the universe, telling them it was coming. An orgasm. One wild and uncontrolled -- devastating and incredible. One that hit not just she, but they. The orgasm seeming to sound in one, and like a shockwave spread out into both of them simultaneously. A release of mounted and malicious sexual frustration that had built for months -- begged for months to be let out and loosed from its chains.

Free of such bindings, the mutually destructive and satisfying orgasm tore them both apart. Such a seemingly linked state coming in both animalistic screams of ecstasy and intensely violent shaking. A shaking that ended in seized and spasming muscles and toes that though at first curled, came to an iron-wrought straighten.

An eternity, that moment seemed to last. A lifetime and more, it seemed to be that they two enemies -- they two rivals were bound. Tied. Dependent on each other for the pleasure they needed to satisfy them. But then it ended, somewhere in the final silence. As without the ability to do anything else, Katie collapsed forward and off of the defeated woman below her. The exhausted victor using her last ounce of strength to grab at Riya's disheveled black hair, and with it, wipe the coalesced secretions of them both from her kitten.

Able to do no more.

Give no more.

TAKE no more.

The two women slipped into the darkness together. Their thirsts quenched. The questions of dominance and control that flared between them having been answered.

It would be too simple to say that when Riya woke nude -- woke broken and alone, covered in thrown sheets of Aditya's homework, she just left. For she wept first. Then cursed; hating not only the racist teacher that had bested her but also herself for all that had transpired. But as the seven stages set in, and she picked up her clothing, she found laying upon her dress, transfer papers to a new class. A new school. One across town.

Knowing she had no choice or alternative, Riya signed the paper and left it on Ms. Saunders' desk. It would be hard to switch schools again. Leave his friends again. But better that, than leave him in the hands of her enemy.

The hands of an emboldened Ms. Saunders.