Teaching Her a Lesson Pt. 05

Part Five: Lesson Planning

Last year, I agreed to help chaperone the class trip to Mexico that the Spanish department put together. My own Spanish was negligible but the kids helped get me through it. I dare say I even learned a bit from them, as well as some of the (very patient) locals I interacted with. The whole trip was incredible. Amazing food, fascinating cultural and historic sites, and lots of opportunity to roam and play. I got a first rate vacation and a first degree sunburn. (Yo soy muy blanca.)

Back in the hotel, the kids all slept four to a room. After the first night or two, they even piped down with complaints about "sharing beds with other dudes," as the homophobic dude-bros put it. Some of the chaperones doubled up to save money, but as an introvert about to be thrust into non-stop company nearly every waking hour for over a week, I splurged and got my own room. It did me a lot of good to have somewhere to retreat to at the end of the day, and if I could still hear them down the halls and out the window, at least I could let my hair down, so to speak, and relax. To the extent I could.

I didn't masturbate once the entire trip.

Not for lack of inspiration. We hit up several beaches, thronging with bikini-clad women, and no matter where we went, I was surrounded by scores of horny teenage girls working double-time to advertise their interest in going home without their v card intact. (Or another hole punched in it, at least.) No, Taylor wasn't there; she threw quite the tantrum over her ineligibility, but her discipline record precluded her from going on a field trip across town to the bowling alley, much less international. Still, she was hardly the only pair of mouth-watering tits to be found in Mexico, imported or local.

By the time I got home, my balls had been ready to explode. A mild breeze was enough to induce an erection. It felt like I went through a bottle of lotion in a week while I caught up on lost time. But there's just something about being in an unfamiliar place that makes it hard for me to relax enough to enjoy myself. Always has been.

If Taylor and Abbie had taken thirty more seconds to get to Candy and Isa's house, I would have painted the ceiling of the living room pearlescent white.

I heard them before I saw them, even knew it was them and not Officer Barbour coming back unexpectedly early from the creak of the door opening and closing on that rustbucket car of theirs. I met them at the door, ushering them in quickly and keeping myself behind the door and out of sight of lookers-on. I doubted they were being followed, but I'd been burned enough already.

"What in god's name are you two wearing?"

It wasn't the most cordial welcome, I'll grant, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Abbie was dressed in a bulky sweatsuit. Her hair was still straightened from yesterday's flat ironing, up in the same high ponytail she'd had in yesterday's pictures, and she had a touch of makeup on. Very red lipstick. Otherwise, she looked like she was on her way to a slumber party. An all girl slumber party. Full of girls she felt completely and totally unthreatened by.

Taylor was little better in a baggy t-shirt and her own sweatpants. As they walked into the living room, studying their new environment warily, I saw she at least had the decency to pick a pair of sweats that clung to her behind nicely, even had the word "juicy" written in calligraphic script across the butt to give people an excuse to be looking. Still, compared to what I felt like I had been promised, they were both crushing disappointments.

"Tell me where the fuck we are first," said Abbie, frowning.

Taylor let out an exasperated breath. "I told you, we're--"

But Abbie put a finger to her sister's lips, and Taylor fell instantly silent. Looked like a hundred copies ofmy little sister is the boss of me had produced Abbie's desired results. If nothing else, it made my own commands feel humble by comparison. I was very glad I'd never had a boss like Abbie.

"We're at Ms. Salata's and Officer Barbour's house," I answered coolly. I didn't like her taking control of the conversation, but it was fair of her to ask. We had to keep our relationship a secret.

"So Dick-Breath over there was right." She removed her finger, allowing Taylor to sullenly mumble an I-told-you-I-googled-it under her breath. "All right, sowhy are we at their house?"

Another fair question, but trickier. "First off, let me stress that I have the situation well in hand."

"Situation? There's a situ-fucking-ation now? Pardon my French, but, dafuq?"

"Someone found out about us, see, and--"

Four eyes threatened to pop out of two heads. "Someone...! And we're just now finding out?! Is it Barbour? I will stone cold knife that little piglet!"

"No, and keep your voices down. So when I woke up yesterday--"

"Yesterday! And we're just now hearing about it!" exclaimed Taylor.

"Because like I said, I have the situation well in hand."

Abbie threw her hands in the air. "Well in hand, he says! Like when you were gonna let this back-stabber blab about us to the whole world? That kind of 'well in hand'?"

"Someone saw you at my house and got pictures of it! They want me to pay them twenty-five grand or they'll share them with the world. Now let's see, was it me who climbed out the window naked, or was that you? I forget."

"Don't put this shit on me! I was taking care of business, yo!"

"Abbie, you moron!"

"Kiss my cooch, Tay!"

"BUT!" I roared. These two were unraveling everything I knew about de-escalation. They did turn back to me though. "But, I'm handling it. I, ah, gained the services of Officer Barbour and Ms. Salata. They're going to help me find this son of a bitch, and then I'll make sure our secret stays safe."

They stared at me in silence. It was Abbie who finally broke it. "Now let me see if I got this straight, Mr. C. You're telling me, our secret got out, and your reaction to that was to involve TWO MORE PEOPLE in it?! Is THAT what I'm hearing?!"

"I'm sorry, do you know how to run a trace on a cell phone? Conduct an investigation? If needs be, subdue and detain someone? Because from what I hear, you make your sister's D average seem a work of genius. We needed the help of a professional, and Officer Barbour was the only one I knew!"

Taylor gestured to a photo hanging on the wall of the two residents of the house. It looked to be from the Winter Formal, actually. "And her rug-munching bitch of a girlfriend? What's she bring to the table?"

"Language, Taylor. Now as for Ms. Salata, she was... we..." I sighed. "It was an unavoidable necessity. But she's dealt with. Neither of them can spread word any more than you or I can. So we're fine. Officer Barbour is out right now looking into things for me. Forus. She seemed confident that she'll be able to trace the communication. When she does, we'll take care of that leak Abbie created, and that will be that. So going all the way back to your original question of why we're here and not elsewhere, since you alerted someone to the nature of our relationship, my house isn't secure any more. I figured your parents probably wouldn't love the idea of me swinging by to spend some quality time with their daughters, so it had to be here. There, now you're all caught up."

The girls glared at me, at each other, at the pictures on the wall, at the house they stood in. Really, though, there was nothing else to say, so I went on. "Let's get back now tomy question. I believe I asked why you two are dressed like you're heading out on a camping trip. When you professed to be my fantasy slut, Abbie, I have to say, this was not how I fantasized you looking."

Like that, Abbie's glare vanished, replaced immediately by a look so smug she could probably copyright it. I hadn't noticed the high-heeled platform sandals she was wearing, but as the girl stripped out of her sweatsuit to reveal the fetish schoolgirl outfit beneath it, I appreciated how prepared she'd been to get into costume. Thin white blouse tied off beneath her breasts, buttons straining to contain their bounty beneath. A bra, this time, easily discernible through the paper-thin fabric of the top. Navy blue? Black? I wasn't sure. I would be soon. The tartan skirt from the photo, though, that was navy. Once Abbie had adjusted it to where she wanted it, the waist was clear up over her belly button, which meant the bottom was struggling to cover anything it was meant to be covering.

To satisfy the itch of curiosity, I lifted the front to inspect. Plain white cotton panties. Like a good schoolgirl should wear.

"Teacher likey?" she asked, twisting to give me a good look from all angles.

My mouth was suddenly parched. "Very much. You get that just for me?"

"The top, yes. The skirt is from middle school when my cunt stepdad tried to force me to go to St. Mary's. Nuns couldn't handle me. Virgin-ass penguins held me back and everything. But what do you think? Still fits pretty good for what it's doing, right?"

"Yes, it certainly..." Somehow, mid-sentence it dawned on me that if she hadn't been held back a year, she'd be a senior. "Hang on, what?"

Abbie shrugged. "Nuns are cunts. They just don't know how to use 'em."

"No, you're... wait. That'd make you two the same age."

"I'm six weeks older," Taylor clarified ambiguously.

"But... but are you... twins can't..."

The girls shared a look, then broke into laughter. "You thought we were twins?" snorted Taylor.

"Not before thirty seconds ago! So then what--"

"Stepsisters. Duh. Her mom married my dad, like, six or seven years ago. How could you not know that? We don't even look anything alike." Taylor eyed her apparent stepsister with disdain.

"She wishes," retorted Abbie.

I looked back and forth between the two girls with their long blondish brown hair, curvy figures, tanned skin, beautiful faces. How could theynot be... but I supposed they weren't the only busty blonde girls with tans in school. "Huh. That's... I don't know. Huh."

Abbie dragged a fingernail in zigzags down my chest. "You thought I was seventeen, and you were gonna fuck me anyway?"

"Um, I wasn't... I mean, I was, but--"

This time, Abbie's giggling was pointed rather more directly at me. "Holy shit, Tay, I'm so hot I turned him into a fuckin' child molester!"

"You hit on me first!" I cried defensively.

Taylor was howling. "Right, so it would've only been statutory, see?"

I glared between the two of them until, after a bit too long for my dignity's sake, they finally stopped laughing. "Are you done?"

Abbie patted my shoulder. "Come on, Mr. C. A couple minutes' teasing is better than twenty to forty without parole, right?"

Before I could say something clever back at her, or more likely, the girls could continue mocking me, there was the pointed sound of a throat clearing behind me.

"Oh hey, Ms. Salata. You got a nice pad." Taylor's tone was as dry as Candy's shower had been wet. Her hair still was, somewhat, though the rest of her was now dry and covered in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a billowy shirt. It couldn't have been more of a pointed attempt to protect her shape from roving eyes than if she'd come out in a hazmat suit.

"Good afternoon, girls. I take it Mr. Canon has brought you up to speed on our arrangement?"

"Yeah, he said he made you his bitch, pretty much." Abbie helped herself to a seat on the sofa. She didn't bother crossing her legs, not that it would have done anything to preserve her modesty. "So how's it feel?"

The sight of a teacher mustering the resolve to show restraint despite a student trying their best to provoke a reaction engendered more empathy in me than all of her belly-aching and sass in the shower had. "Look. Abbie, Taylor, none of us are in a position we want to be in," their other teacher began.

Abbie shrugged. "I dunno, I'm kind of OK with it."

"OK, a situation none of us wanted to be in this time Thursday," continued Candy evenly. "Now it's going to make some things complicated, obviously. That said, I expect you two to remember that I am still your teacher, and presently, your hostess, and I expect you to act accordingly."

Taylor took her own seat in the armchair I'd used when I'd broken all this to Isa and Candy. "But like, you can't tell anybody about any of this, can you? Like, for instance, if I called you, say, a gash guzzling geezer... you can't actually do anything about, right?"

Always the age slams with these two -- and Candy was even newer to the profession than I was! She wasn't put off, though. "If I understand correctly, no one in this house is empowered to disclose the nature of your relationship, you included. So if I opted to assign you detention every day through graduation, my question is what exactlyyou think you're going to do to stop me."

"But Mr. Canon already has me with him every day after school."

My colleague glanced to me, and I nodded. "Fine, Saturday classes then. We still have time for a few of those."

Abbie giggled. "Oh no, don't lock us alone in a room with Mr. Canon for five hours. However would we fill the time?"

Candy sighed. "You do Saturday class?"

"Yeah. Most weeks. I had to call in a favor to cover it yesterday because of... well." All this chest-thumping was getting out of hand, though, and moreover interfering with my plan. "Look here, girls. You two are going to behave yourselves for Ms. Salata. Ms. Salata, you're not going to unjustly punish them either. The more out of character you behave, the more attention it calls to us, and the last thing we need is more people asking questions or looking for connections. Yes?"

One by one, they each sullenly conceded that I was right. Whatever our different opinions and compulsions, none of us wanted people to grow curious, however slightly. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse us, Candy, the girls and I have a lot to catch up on."

Abbie snickered. "Translation: piss off so we can fuck in your living room without you lezzing out on us."

"Hey, enough!" I snapped.

Taylor scrunched up her face. "What? We're just busting her girl balls, Mr. C, chill."

"That's not the first homophobic slur I've heard you girls utter since you entered Ms. Salata's home. Nor, frankly, is it the first outside of it for you, Taylor."

Taylor folded her arms. "I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

"Let's see. How about the time you spread a rumor that Deborah was, and I'm quoting it as it was revealed to me here, 'a dick-disdaining deep-diving diesel dyke'?"

Recognition bloomed on her face, followed by fresh gales of laughter. "Oh my god, I forgot about that! It wasn't a rumor -- remember, it was the day we did, what's it called... alliteration! Oh shit, Ryan fucking lost it over that. That shit's on you, Mr. Canon."

"And you don't see how you're making my point for me with your reaction, Taylor?"

Abbie rolled her eyes. "She's too used to guys who wanna fuck her so they laugh at all her dumbass jokes."

"Yes, well, nevertheless, 'it was just a joke' is not an acceptable excuse for bullying or mistreatment of others. Now apologize."

Taylor stroked her chin contemplatively. "Or... now I'm looking at this from all angles here, so bear with me. Or... get bent." More laughter. Abbie giggled along this time.

Quit letting her behave like this, Canon. Don't be a pussy.

"What you girls may or may not realize is that such displays of bigotry can often be a mask for latent homosexual urges in the person espousing them," I began.

Candy arched an eyebrow and addressed me in a low tone, meekly interjecting. "Actually, the science on that is not really confirmed..."

"Ms. Salata, I'm trying to teach these girls something, and you'redisrupting my lessonplan." The significant look that accompanied my words was totally unnecessary. Her eyes widened, mortified, and she mouthed a hasty apology.

"Though there have been numerous studies to suggest that very possibility," she amended.

"Nice save," said Abbie. "So can we fuck now or are we gonna get the whole SJW treatment?"

"My point being, how do we know you're not using these outbursts to cover for your own feelings of attraction to other women, Taylor?"

"What? Seriously? Look, I got nothing against her kind. But I'm not gonna tone it down just to spare some weak-ass bitch's feelings. I ain't built that way."

"Oh yes, we're all familiar with your capacity for 'keepin' it rull,' as the kids say," the social studies teacher replied dryly.

"Nobody ever says that," the two answered in unison.

I ignored all three of them. "So I think what we need to do, as a thought experiment, is to give Taylor an opportunity to engage in lesbian behavior and see whether or not her body responds."

This time, it was all three women who spoke together. "We need to what?!"

"Was I unclear?"

Taylor rose to her feet, hands wadded into fists. "Mr. Canon, you can't do that! She's... she's mysister!"

"I thought she was your stepsister?"

"Yeah, but like since we were twelve! We didn't even have tits back then! You can't!" Abbie, for her part, was objecting no less vociferously.

"Well, if the idea of being with one another makes you so uncomfortable, then perhaps we'll need a third party to assist us."

Candy was already back-pedaling as we all looked to her. "What? No. No way, Canon. You want me to... I don't even know, but no. If you're going to engage in sexual intercourse with students, I'll state once more for the record that I don't approve and I think you're sick, but I won't get in the way. But I will not stand idly by and let you involve me in--"

"It's part of the lesson plan."

Seven little syllables and her protest died on her lips. All she needed was that nudge, and her next breath was a sigh of resignation. "Fine, then. Just tell me what you need me to do."

Thank you, Serenex.

"For starts, go change into something less... that. See what Abbie did? Like that, but for teachers. Best you can do."

Now that it was part of the plan, there was no resistance, no sulking. She would never do anything to disrupt my plans, even made-up sex lessons with her students. Candy nodded and padded quickly down towards her bedroom without another word.

"And you," I said, walking over to Taylor. "You had to know what I had in mind for this afternoon. You might be lazy and disrespectful, but you're not stupid. And yet you dressed like this. Were you trying to provoke me, or what?"

"Abbie made me!" Taylor insisted. "But look, I--"

"Shh. Hush, Tay." Her sister cut her off quickly, rising from the couch and coming up behind me. Abbie's body pressed against my back, her pelvis grinding softly against my ass, hands massaging my chest. "I wanted her to look cas for the road. Low profile, keeping our secret and all. I willnever let anyone find out what happened in your room. But what you're looking at is just the gift wrapping. See, Mr. C? I brought my favy teacher a shiny red apple. You just gotta unwrap it."

Mixed metaphor aside, I have to say I was pleased. Abbie Stern was a lot of things, but I was fast learning that an incredibly generous sexual partner was chief among them. Or maybe her ego simply couldn't handle not having jaws drop at her handiwork. I looked over Taylor, and indeed, on closer consideration, there was something under that baggy tee. As for the sweats, I couldn't tell, but I suddenly had a good feeling.

A very, very good feeling.

It was happening. My god, at last it was happening! Taylor Stern, the unrepentant bitch who'd made my job hell for two long years, who'd bullied and lied and thrown tantrums and teased and frustrated me in every way a student and a woman could... It was happening. She was mine.