An exciting lunch

“So, how was your morning?” I ask a hungry Julian, channelling distant memories of my high school acting endeavours to try and hide my excitement at what she’s going to answer.

She takes in big breath of air and I realise I should’ve been more specific.

“Hm, well, I’ve been talking about genre fiction with the girls. It’s always an interesting topic to me. A lot of teachers look down on it, but it’s always been a breeding ground for new thought. I mean, even if we just focus on science fiction, there’s a lot to talk about. Voltaire’s Micromégas is a great example of philosophical fiction, and there’s no reason why it would be inferior to Candide just because it’s got aliens in it. Or how about Frankenstein? What a dissertation on the nature of life and the place of mankind in the universe. Can you believe Mary Shelley was only 18 when she wrote it? And we can even go back much further in time and find great examples. The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter is crucial to Japanese culture and has a lot of elements that can be likened to science fiction...” she stops her information dump to take a bite of food.

She often has this tendency to go off on tangents when she’s talking about things she’s passionate about. And then her tangents go on tangents. And then those tangents go on tangents.

It’s both a blessing and a curse. Her passion and culture are among the things I find so attractive about her, and you always learn something new when you talk to her, even if it’s never quite what you were looking for. But on the other hand, it can be a bit hard to actually participate in the conversation and steer it in the direction you want.

But to be fair, I’m not fully sure she can steer it herself. It sometimes sounds like her mouth is the captain of a ship, lost at sea, trying desperately to stay the course against the violent, fighting, contradictory winds of her thoughts.

Before she can go back to her explanation, I chip in to try and lead the conversation back to the topic I’m actually looking for.

“And did they seem to actually pay attention this time? It’s so hard to get them involved at times...” I ask as innocently as I can.

“Oh, yeah, it’s difficult... I know you’re good at keeping them in check by threatening to do things like, oh I don't know, plug their mouths shut with your penis if it’s the only thing that’ll keep them silent, but I’ve always struggled with negative reinforcement...”

“I get you. I really hate doing it too,” I lie. “But sometimes it’s the only way forwards. Positive reinforcement is definitely better when you can afford it, but you know... Hey, I’ve been wondering, what form of positive reinforcement would you recommend?”

It’s a weird question but I’m **** to get her to tell me who she groped.

“Oh, hmm, I’d say what I found to really work well is to stroke their genitals a little bit,” she says matter-of-factly, her formal choice of word showing how much she sees this as a simple sharing of professional insight. “Just a little bit though. You want them to want more, that way they’re motivated to keep going.”

Yes! This is what I’m talking about!

She even wiggled her index finger in front of me to show me how she does it!

“Ah, that’s a good one! I should do it more often. Still, it’s hard to get them to actually deserve rewards in the first place, so there aren’t that many opportunities to use positive reinforcement. I mean, when’s the last time you even got to stroke them?”

God, I’m such a bad actor. These are the least natural sounding questions I’ve heard since I watched a youtuber interviewing a politician.

“I did it today actually!”

Bingo.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, one of my students actually knew who Lord Byron was. I mentioned him the other day and she actually remembered!” She says excitedly.

She’s so disillusioned about her students’ interest in her passion that in the few cases where some actually do seem to give a modicum of a shit, she’s like a kid on Christmas day.

“Oh, I see why you’d want to reward her! I’d feel the same way if one of my students knew who Byron’s daughter was.”

“Yeah! Anyways, I thought she deserved a little reward, so I had her sit on my lap and I fingered her for a little bit during my lecture. The others looked so jealous! A few of them even looked a bit spaced out for a second. I bet they were daydreaming about being in Isabel’s place! That’s the name of the girl, by the way.”

She often tends to explain things a bit out of order, as you can see. It can be a bit confusing at times, but it’s cute to see her trying her best to keep things organised while her mind is racing at 100km/h in every direction at once.

I think that’s why she speaks with her hands so much, too. She’s like a conductor, and her myriad of conflicting thoughts are the orchestra: a hundred beautiful instruments honed to mastery, yet threatening to devolve into an incomprehensible cacophony should she ever let go of her control.

“Oh yeah, you know how schoolgirls are, all they can think of is getting molested by their teachers. Isabel’s one lucky girl.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I don’t do this more often. I mean, they love being treated that way and I love groping them too. I feel like I had a good reason not to do it until recently, but it’s probably nothing important,” she reflects.

Hm. Is this the app’s way of avoiding contradictions? Letting them remember that they used to act differently, without really caring about why it suddenly changed?

It certainly sounds better than the alternatives. Rewriting their memories could lead to a lot of contradictions, and simply not letting them access those memories at all could cause them a lot of distress.

“You know, now that you mention it,” I concede. “I should do it more often too. They must feel terrible when they answer a question and they don’t even get a little celebratory spank to congratulate them.”

“Exactly!” She replies excitedly. “I’m sure with good teaching ethics like these, we can turn this school around and actually let these girls learn something while they’re here.”

I spend my free period after lunch in my classroom, going over some files. I expect Rachel to come in a bit before everyone, as she usually does, but as the beginning of the class approaches, she is still nowhere to be seen.

The other students eventually fill in the room. I’m actually getting a bit worried about Rachel, but just as I’m about to start class, she finally comes in. She looks really uncomfortable, but she manages to look at me and edge out a greeting nod, before sitting down, a few seats away from everyone else.

She looks even more anxious than she usually does.

Is this because of what I told her yesterday? I really should’ve thought things through before I started threatening her.

Alright, let’s not get carried away. I’ll just try and see how she does during class, and then I’ll try and talk to her. For all I know, she could simply be anxious because she was almost late, rather than the other way around.

I get on with my teaching, keeping things normal, as this group no longer really gives me any reason to discipline them. I discreetly look at Rachel once in a while, to check up on her. She seems to have quieted down a bit, but she’s definitely still more stressed out than usual.

As the end of the class approaches, she starts fidgeting restlessly. Gnawing at her fingernails, looking all around her, avoiding eye contact.

It’s almost as if she was afraid about the class ending.

Maybe because... I’m going to expect her to come talk to me, and that frightens her.

... Shit.

Ugh, I need to stop reading into things so much. She could be stressed out about so many other things. I should just try and reassure her when we’re done.

I go over a few more points before finally dismissing the class.

Believe me, as someone who’s been on both sides of the school desk, it’s even more painful to restlessly wait for the end of a class when you’re the teacher.

The students gradually empty the room, chatting among themselves. I’m about to go talk to Rachel when I’m accosted by a familiar, whiny voice.

“I answered your questions today.”

“Ivy. Is anything the matter?” I ask dryly.

“I answered all your questions and you didn’t even reward me,” she states with the confident accusation of a prosecutor who just showed the court a gun covered in fingerprints.

I see Rachel leave the class from the corner of my eye. I’ll try and catch up to her in a minute. It’d be suspicious if I ignored a student to go talk to another one.

“Am I supposed to give out rewards to everyone who answers a question now?”

“Ms. Calpurnia gave Isabel one earlier...”

...

So that’s the kind of reward she had in mind. I hadn’t realised Ivy had been turned.

I can’t resist prying.

“And what kind of reward do you think would be appropriate?”

“I’m not asking for much. You could’ve just simply made me suck on your finger for a bit, or played with my nipples through my shirt. Just to show a bit of appreciation! It’s not like I’m asking you to make me cum in front of the whole class,” she pleads.

I can’t believe this. A student is criticising me for not having sexually harassed her enough.

She’s still trying to sound bossy, but it comes off as more **** than anything. I really think this girl simply craves validation from authority figures.

“But you’d like it if I did make you cum in front of everyone?”

“Well, duh! What girl wouldn’t want her teacher to finger her to an O while everybody’s looking?”

She rolls her eyes sarcastically before realising that acting too bitchy wouldn’t do much to plead her case and instead goes back to a more neutral expression.

As much as I want to push this, I really need to hurry if I want to catch up to Rachel. I saw her turn to the right after she left the room, and there’s only a couple of places that that corridor leads to, but even then, it’d still be easy to lose her.

That being said, Ivy and I are the only ones in the room right now.

I’ll just need a few seconds.

“Look, I’ll think about it for next week, but I’m in a hurry right now. The best I can do is a quick butt slap,” I offer, remembering my conversation with Julian.

“Thank you!.. Sir!” She exclaims.

She leans forward against a desk and lowers her skirt to just under her butt, leaving her panties completely exposed. They’re black, and they look expensive. Tell rich girls they all have to wear the same outfit and they’ll go all out on flexing wherever else they can. Including here. The lace at the hem seems to spell out a designer’s name, but I struggle to read it. You’re not supposed to have to read it. You’re supposed to just know who made them and how many human kidneys’ worth of money they cost.

I stay stunned for a second. Taking in the glorious sight in front of me. This beautiful young woman, baring her shapely ass in the middle of a classroom in hope of a spank.

She looks at me expectantly — almost beggingly, even — before arching her back slightly, to make her butt stand out a bit more.

She even wiggles it, almost imperceptibly.

I raise my hand, my eyes transfixed on the mesmerising mounds before me, and...

Slap

My motion was quick and sharp, but not violent. Enough to send a small ripple through her cheek, but not enough to hurt.

She gasps as she feels my hand against her skin, and lets out an almost inaudible moan when I grab her, squeezing her flesh into smooth ridges and valleys filling the gaps between my probing fingers.

“Hng, thank you... sir.”

Her voice snaps me back to reality. I let go of her body and she fixes her skirt, breaking the spell and finally letting me look back up at her face.

I’ve never seen her look so happy, she’s beaming a satisfied smile. Her expression a far cry from her usual imperious yet blasé attitude. She barely looks like the same person anymore.

This girl really lives off external validation, doesn’t she?

“Have a good day sir!” She chirps cheerfully before walking out of the room. She’s so joyful I expect her pace to break into a merry skip any second, but she does manage to keep that atom of restraint.

+10 BS. 74 Remaining.

Rachel! I almost forgot.

I leave the room, going the opposite way as Ivy did, to try and catch up with the shy girl.

I follow the corridor, not quite running but walking as briskly as I can without arousing suspicion, looking into each room I pass by in case she entered one of them. Eventually, I reach a staircase. If I follow it down, I’ll reach the music room. If I follow it up, I’ll reach another corridor full of classrooms. I don’t see why she’d go to the music room, so I step onto the stairs going up. Before stopping dead in my tracks.

There’s a noise coming from downstairs.

It sounds like crying.

Shit.

I turn around and rush down, trying to stay as silent as I can to avoid frightening her any more than she already must be.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see that the door to the music room is slightly ajar. I silently sneak up to the threshold and throw a quick glance inside.

There she is, kneeling down with her back against the opposite wall, sobbing loudly.

And right besides her, towering menacingly over the poor girl, a looming figure of a woman speaks in a low, threatening tone I can’t quite make out. She’s holding a lit cigarette, bringing it awfully close to Rachel, as if she wanted to put it out against her skin, before letting out a mocking snicker and lifting it to her own mouth instead. She raises her head to take a smoke, looking down on Rachel in disgust, as if she were a decomposing rat on the sidewalk. And as she does, I can finally see her face.

Tatiana.

I’m going to fucking **** her.

Hello everyone! Thank you for reading this new chapter.
The story's really been picking up speed lately. I won't give too many details, but there's a lot of stuff coming in the next few chapters that I've been setting up for a while, so stay tuned!
I wanted to once again thank the kind people who've tipped me on ko-fi, in this case especially Michy1290, who's been extremely generous in their support. It really means a lot, thank you so much!
See you all soon!