Japanese studies

Continuing this story: https://chyoa.com/chapter/Yamanote.1684393 and https://chyoa.com/chapter/Ga%C3%AFjin.1684744

We were on vacation, yet Uzachi had no intention of leaving me alone. Since his sister couldn't stand me after discovering what we were doing, I spent all my time in a cell studying.

Uzachi came to see me.

• Would you like to go out and participate in a little project my sister agreed to?

I looked at him suspiciously. His smile told me he'd managed to find a way to exploit his sister's anger.

• I wish I could relax and not be the target of your sister's anger anymore. He nodded.
• Take your student outfit. You'll need it where we're going. You'll be helping a professor awaken his students during tutoring sessions.

I was intrigued. This wasn't Uzachi's style. I dressed as he'd asked. I loved this student outfit that made men fantasize so much.

Especially since a Gaijin dressed like this amplified their fantasies. I wasn't fooling myself about Uzachi's intentions. He watched me arrive.

"Hmm, it suits you very well. We want to **** you again and again. You'll be perfect." I pouted, letting him know I wasn't fooled.

He smiled. We got into his car. I took advantage of the drive to see the outside world; I'd missed it so much, having been cooped up studying or enduring Uzachi's sister's bullying. We drove for an hour before leaving Tokyo. We arrived at a sort of mansion. A man with a chiseled face and a hard gaze was accompanied by a beautiful woman with a merciless stare that made me shudder.

I greeted them politely, as was proper. They nodded, greeting me rather unfriendlyly. The man began to speak.

• You are in an elite program. We offer tomorrow's leaders prestigious courses in an elite boarding school. Uzachi has offered us your services. You will be a rather special model; you will serve as a guinea pig for our students. Ms. Imamura, the woman nodded, is the sex education teacher. She will give you instructions, and you will obey her and our student body in everything for one week. You will be paid 500,000 yen. You will keep what happens here secret. You will sign a contract for this and your services. One week for such a sum, I looked at Uzachi.
• Yes, I am one of the students, my dear.
• Okay, I accept.
• Good, follow us.

We entered the building, passing young men and women of about 18 or 19 years old who politely greeted the director and the teacher. We entered an office in a European style reminiscent of the 19th century.

I glanced down at the contract they were holding out to me, my fingers trembling slightly as they touched the glossy paper. The black ink was drawn with surgical precision, each clause outlining my future subjugation in cold, legal language. Uzachi, standing beside me, exuded an unhealthy satisfaction, his lips curled into a smile that chilled me.

Madame Imamura approached, her high heels clacking on the parquet floor like whips.

• I signed, seeing the more than strict disciplinary conditions. I would be housed in a single room and would eat alongside Madame Imamura.
• Very well, Uzachi. Take her to the classroom. She'll stay with you until your teacher instructs her to act.

I followed Uzachi down a long, wood-paneled corridor, my heels clicking on the polished parquet like a countdown. The air smelled of beeswax polish and something more pungent—perhaps male sweat, or anticipation.

Through the frosted glass of the closed doors, I glimpsed figures hunched over desks. A stifled laugh, then the sharp crack of a ruler against flesh, sent a shiver down my spine.

We arrived at a classroom of seven boys and three girls, deep in conversation. Their demeanor reeked of a sense of superiority. My red hair caught their attention, and their contemptuous smiles confirmed I was in for a difficult week, both with the students and the teachers. I sat down with Uzachi.

Ms. Imamura arrived, silence fell, and discipline settled in. She sat down and took attendance, not calling my name.

• Come to the board, Teyla, introduce yourselves. I stood up, went to the stage, and bowed as politely as possible toward the professor and then the students.
• Hello, my name is Teyla. I'm a student at a university in Tokyo. I've come here for two years to further my studies.

Ms. Imamura stood up.

• Teyla will be my model for a week to teach you about sexuality and related practices. Teyla, undress, I want you naked. We'll start with an anatomy lesson.

I felt a shiver run down my neck as my hesitant fingers touched the first button of my school blouse. The students' stares burned into my skin, their dilated pupils following every movement of my trembling hands. The fabric slid slowly from my shoulders, first revealing the paleness of my collarbone, then the black lace of my bra, which contrasted cruelly with the overly pure school uniform.

Madame Imamura's cold eyes pierced me as the last button gave way, letting my blouse fall to the floor with a humiliating rustle. Breaths quickened in the classroom as my fingers touched the clasp of my bra, the icy metal against my sweaty fingers.

"Faster," ordered Ms. Imamura, slamming her ruler against her palm.

The smack made me jump. My bra slipped, exposing my breasts to the cold classroom air.