Teaching Her a Lesson Pt. 16

"Oh yeah?" The sounds of students in the hallways was plain to all three of us. As Isa hastily donned her uniform, I considered. "Show me the tattoo."

Candy frowned. "You... you were serious about that? I thought you had to be teasing."

"I told you he wasn't teasing," Isa chimed in, buttoning as fast as she could.

"You should listen to your girlfriend."

"I'm not doing that," she insisted. "It's degrading."

A sharp knock at the door accompanied a query as to whether I was in here. The handle jiggled, but we locked it now out of habit. "Admirable. Isa, I'll see you Saturday at seven. See if we can't have more fun than we did last time out. Be ready to make good on that promise of hot new lingerie. Candy... you can have a quiet night alone with your integrity."

"Mr. Canon, be reasonable," she whined.

"Do you have a favorite color, Master?" Isa asked, eyes cast to the floor. Her girlfriend whimpered in unquenchable lust at the use of the term.

"I like surprises. Now get going. I have a job to do."

Following Taylor's after school session, in which she got fully caught up in missing work from her government class, I returned home with a light heart and a heavy briefcase. The night was spent in vigorous grading and enough texting to take me back to when I'd been a student myself.

Roddy wanted to know how things had gone with the babe from the bar. I told him we'd had a pleasant evening, and let him think what he would. The truth was far more salacious than his assumptions anyway.

Taylor proposed that she write her final essay for my class as a reflection on Emerson's "Self-Reliance." It was a text from second quarter, one which she'd not even bothered to plagiarize a submission and had instead taken a zero. Accordingly, I was hesitant to let her use it for a quarter four essay, but after some back and forth, I was persuaded to let her give it a go. At least she remembered the abstract treatise existed, which was more than could probably be said for a lot of her peers. Plus, I was genuinely impressed that she endured the negotiation without once resorting to her pussy, by far her best bargaining chip. True dedication right there.

Candy checked once more to see if I'd really meant it. I did. I had plenty of pussy in my life and most of it had never stabbed me in the back. If the woman wanted back in my good graces, that was the price. She told me it wasn't fair. I agreed.

Sean wanted to know what the hell he'd missed last night that Roddy and the gang were blowing up his inbox with word that I was Gooses' most successful new pickup artist. I told him that if he bought me a few rounds next time out, maybe I'd give him a couple tips.

Abbie wanted reassurance that I'd never fucked a girl with better tits than hers. I didn't have the heart to tell her she had but to look across the hall. (The girl was prodigious in that regard, yes, but if I were forced to establish a gradation of perfection, there could be such a thing as too big, if only slightly. The curves of Taylor's peaks were at the peak of that particular curve.)

Jacqui wanted to make sure that if that was how I was going to conduct my affairs -plowing chicks barely older than your students - that I knew to stock up on condoms and secure the number of a good babysitter. Her underestimation would have been the perfect example for when I had to teach situational irony next year, especially if Abbie were in my class, if not for that one niggling detail.

Isa sent out a snarky text asking if she would be reimbursed for the lingerie, or if she and her fellow sex slaves had expense accounts. I told her to come to school tomorrow with no underwear of any kind beneath her uniform. She told me to go fuck myself.

Amy Cook-Burfield asked if I had taken the senior portfolios from the supply closet. I had not.

Cassie wanted to talk about whether I had ever had anal sex before. How excited I was to try it on a 10-point scale. If I minded that she was nervous. If having a sexier butt made butt sex more interesting, even though the sex part didn't happen with the butt cheeks but just the hole between them. If it was sexier to call it a butt, an ass, a booty, or something else. If I'd ever thought about fucking her mom's butt. If I was intending to fuck her mom's pussy. How weird it would be if I knocked her mom up. Her realization that if I married her mom but kept fucking her daughter, and then if I knocked up my stepdaughter, then the child would be both Cassie's sister and her child at the same time. If there was a special tax credit for giving birth to your own brother or sister. How dumb it was that schools taught about mitochondria but not how to do your taxes. I assured her I had no intention of marrying Megan, or Cassie, or anyone else, or knocking up anyone. She agreed that marrying her booty caller would be weird, as would marrying her next door neighbor, as would marrying a teacher at her school, but noted that if it would bring me pleasure, she'd be down with it.

Megan casually inquired if I meant to marry her daughter. I assured her that had been Cassie's fit of delusion, and that I had never suggested any such thing. In text, it was hard to tell if she was relieved, or disappointed.

Isa texted again, this time apologizing for her outburst and swore she would wear anything I commanded. I told her to show our conversation to her girlfriend. Candy texted me a minute later, promising she'd get the tattoo after school tomorrow and asking if she could join us Saturday night.

I slept alone that night. But I didn't feel alone.

At last, Friday.