Teaching Her a Lesson Pt. 01

She glanced back momentarily. "What, tomorrow? Like, I have to come in with some prepared apology?"

What the hell had I actually meant? Was that it? "No. Right now. Apologize."

"Uh, all right. Sorry, I guess." She didn't stop writing, and her tone and brevity both came across as patently insincere. But in spite of myself, I was so hard that my cock felt like it was about to lift my steel desk off the floor.

"Sorry for what, Taylor?"

"The whole chapstick thing, I guess." She was nearing the bottom of the board again; rather than squat, this time it appeared she was going to simply bend further. Maybe her thighs were sore from her workout. Maybe she was doing it on purpose to screw with me. Hell if I knew. But she was bent nearly ninety degrees now, and her tank top was hanging down enough that I could just barely make out the bottom of her sports bra clinging to the underside of her tits. Faded pink, almost the same color as that egg-shaped chapstick that had started all this.

"Like you mean it," I pressed. "A complete, sincere-sounding apology." I deserved this.She deserved this. An apology was only fair. If Louisa had drawn a different conclusion about what she'd walked in on, it might have ended my career. A heartfelt apology was the least I was owed.

"Jesus, fine. I'm very, very sorry I tried to get my chapstick back, Mr. Canon. And for teasing you."

"You were?" I blinked. She had been? Had it really been intentional?

"It's just too easy sometimes. I mean, you've been staring at my ass nonstop for like half an hour now. It's too easy to fuck with... sorry, to mess with you."

"What?! I... I was not...!"

"It's fine. I mean, I have an amazing ass. Stare if you want, I don't give a shit. Er, crap. Ugh, am I allowed to cuss after school? My filter shuts right the hell off right at three o'clock."

My volume dropped 90% as I looked to the classroom door in mortification. "Taylor, I have not,would not, look at a student's ass!"No matter how incredible it looks in those skimpy electric blue athletic shorts, my subconscious added. If she turned around, would they be riding up her slit the way it was her ass crack? What color were her panties?

Were they red, like the ones I'd kept seeing in those dreams?

Pink, like the sports bra?

Absent altogether, like all the warning alarms that ought to be stopping me from allowing this to go on a single additional second?

"If you say so," she replied. Was she rocking it side to side like that on purpose, or was that merely a side effect of her growing discomfort, working through cramped muscles from the repetitive motions in the awkward posture?

No. Time to put a stop to this. Just because she was standing there, apathetic to any ogling I might choose to partake in -- not that I was, or that I would! -- her incredible young body on display in an outfit that was painfully sexy even by the standards of a young woman who, I knew from eavesdroppings long ago, would change clothes after getting to school so her parents wouldn't know what skimpy things she was wearing out of the house...

Where had that thought been going?

Right. Stop staring.

I barely looked up as she completed the remaining lines, and other than grumbling about her hand getting sore, Taylor didn't make any effort to regain my attention either. It was only five minutes until five when she finished, turning to face me. There was that familiar posture of hers, hands on defiant hips, staring me down as if doing my job was an affront to her. I could see there was a blue smudge across the front-most portion of her chest where her breasts had rubbed against her own words. I could see the spot on the whiteboard where the mishap had occurred. She must have fixed it after the smudge.

"So... can I go? My sister's been waiting for me in the lot for like forty-five minutes. And if you think I'm a bitch, you don't even wanna know how bad she can get."

"Yeah, you can go. Oh, and language. But remember, tomorrow, three o'clock sharp. Understood?"

She snapped a half-hearted salute on her way to pick up her backpack, her marker-besmeared chest jutting forward as she arched her back to get it on. "Yes sir, Mr. Canon, sir."

Why was my heart beating so hard? When she squeezed past me to get out the door, her chest rubbed against mine. I checked, but there had been no marker transference. Good. So good. I mean, you know, just... regular good.

Briefcase in hand, I exited on her heels, pausing only to lock the door behind me. She was a dozen or so paces ahead of me as we made our way to the parking lot exit. Was it more teasing the way she tucked her index fingers into those unseen panties to fish her shorts and underwear out of her crack as she made her way out the door?

The email to Louisa was deleted. My plan had worked. Sure, I hadn't taught her anything today, maybe a little bit about showing remorse. More importantly, though, I'd made sure the Serenex worked as advertised. Not that there had been much cause for doubt. The UN wouldn't be condemning the stuff if the solution wasn't effective at its task, and my test over the weekend had sold me that I'd bought the real deal. Taylor had certainly confirmed the chemical was viable, even in such a small dose. And I hadn't even acted out on any of those impulses. Some looking, sure, but no touching.

I definitely could have touched. She wouldn't have stopped me. I easily could have touched her. But I wouldn't, of course.

I barely slept a wink that night. And my dreams were all electric blue and faded pink.