Ms. Haines

I take a wild stab at it and guess Ms. Lia again; she's out of range for most of the day, but that hardly means she can't get herself in trouble. Given the state I left her in, I'm kind of curious what hoops logic will jump through to keep Ms. Lia working... ah well, whatever. The app'll figure that out. I send back my guess... and I nearly shoot out of my chair when I get the reply.

Bulldog: None other than your sibling, I'm afraid. After that little stunt by Ms. Lia, I decided to patrol the bathrooms a bit myself... and now I see I've been too soft with the guards. I mean really? I found two boys smoking AND your sister having RELATIONS in the girl's restroom on the second floor? Unacceptable!

In any other situation, I'd be able to laugh that off; that was my sister to a T, all right, though I didn't think she'd be down to get her rocks off in a school toilet stall. But this is entirely different matter: the way things are, this means I'm the one who's going to to "discipline" her, and I can't imagine suggesting a solution that doesn't cross several lines with my sister. Unfortunately, that's not even in my control this time.

Bulldog: Your recommendation was appreciated earlier today, but I'm afraid student fornication on our grounds is too serious an offense to leave to novice solutions. I'm punishing the boys as we speak, but be sure to come in after last bell to carry out hers.

I look around guiltily, half-expecting to see someone spying on me. Am I even considering this? Swallowing hard, I try to get past my hesitation as I type my answer.

Meanwhile, in another English class...

The students shift in their seats as they do their best to follow instructions: they're to read quietly, in class, and to meditate on the meaning of the random page range Ms. Lia had assigned at the start of class with hardly a whisper. Most instead glanced repeatedly at the sight of Ms. Lia. She's wrapped in what looked like a thoroughly used towel and reeks of sweat or something more intimate, and she doesn't move from her desk. The towel is opened around her cleavage--it has to be, after all--but she is otherwise mummified in it from neck to feet as she sits and trembles. Her eyes glue themselves vacantly at the ruined desk calendar before her; the drying outlines of her milky tits being pushed upon it is visible to anyone who glances up from their phone upon walking in. She received the strangest, sternest lecture she ever had from the principal between lunch and this last class, and even now she can't be sure how it went: she was threatened with many administrative and employment consequences, each ephemeral and trailing off until, it seemed, she faced at most the disappointment of her employers and the parents.

Ms. Lia isn't going to be fired. She knows that a teacher doing what she did and still does would be national news before being fired on the spot, if not worse! Perhaps she was going to be famous later on, once the news of her behavior spread through the parent body like a bush fire. All this and more she dreads as she stares beyond her desk... but nothing twists in her more than her behavior towards Mr. Haines.

That infuriating young man was a thorn in her side and still is; trouble students like him, layabouts or hacks one and all, are hardly uncommon... but her response to him, to his gropings... why did she kiss him? Was she so gone in pleasure that she would find herself pressing lips on whoever was mauling her at the time? She doesn't want to find out... but she can't stop thinking about it, or about how tantalizing his touch had been. He offered her relief, the gall of the boy! She was his teacher! But that "boy" is a man, has been for more than a year now... and now, he was to carry out that fat assistant principal's next horrid punishment if she ever misbehaves again. The thought of that tempts her mind to another fantasy, one of behaving badly on purpose and-

She tightens the towel around herself. She's a Harvard graduate, an education specialist, and a disciplined instructor... so why is this happening to her now? She had avoided the snares of love or lust until now... now, until David Haines' class... and David Haines' touch... and David Haines' words... no. This isn't love. She repeats it mentally: she can not be in love with such an idiotic, undisciplined man-child a year too old for his grade. He is a deadbeat; she is a paragon of education. It just can't be!

Shakily she reaches for one of the nine protein bars she bought and begins unwrapping it; it would be her seventh in the last hour of **** hunger and thirst. The staff room vending machine was not going to survive her for much longer.

Her groin aches as if it had been pounded for hours (not that she knows what THAT'S like) just from the constant stimulation, and her nipples still ache from her attempts to correctly refer to her anatomy. She doesn't even reprimand the gawkers in the class anymore; it just means she'll call her breasts "sweater puppers" or something equally inane while in public. Water pools in her eyes as she rationalizes all of this as a perfectly normal, human affliction for just her... and yet wonders how she can be rid of it. What would spare her from doing it all again?

Those are questions for her therapy session, now an unbearable four days away. But maybe even her therapist wouldn't know... and that dreadful thought lingers longest of all in the sullen professor. Soon she'd be spending her last hours patrolling the hallway per her duties, towel and all... and knowing this did nothing for her deteriorating state.

User: Will it be alright to discipline my sister?

I'm being an idiot; of course it's not alright! But in the end, if it did happen... well, I'd at least want to know I wouldn't walk away looking like some kind of monster.

Bulldog: Under my direction? Of course. Without my direction, however, is strictly prohibited... and frankly inappropriate, but I can't imagine that's what you meant.

I'll never get used to how crazy people sound when the app fucks with their awareness. This is the moment of truth, then.