Aftercare... or not.

The detention room is a mess. Desks have been shoved to the side haphazardly, a couple chairs have been knocked over onto their backs, and the floor is damp with a vicious mixture of fluids. Ms. Spruce herself isn’t much better off - she’s covered head to toe in sweat, her makeup is dripping and her hair is tousled and tangled. You chuckle a little as she sits at her desk, trying to freshen up with a travel comb from her purse while using her phone’s selfie camera as a makeshift mirror. For your part, you’re having a great time watching her clean herself up as you lean back into your chair, feet up on the desk you marked earlier.

Both of you are dressed now - you were worried about anyone coming in and seeing something scandalous, so you’d gotten Spruce back into her clothes pretty quickly. She hasn’t said a word for a while, and she’s very intentionally avoiding your gaze as she scrutinizes her appearance on her phone screen. It’s almost strange to see her trying to look so prim and proper after the borderline burlesque show of a session you just had together.

As she redoes her lipgloss you take out your phone for the first time in a while and nearly ****. It’s almost five o’clock, and a series of missed calls from your mom affirm that she’s been wondering where you are. You’ll be missing dinner soon, and the longer you stay out the more questions she’s going to ask. Better to just go home now and keep up appearances. You imagine she’d get pretty pissed if she knew you were in detention this whole time.

You snap your fingers and Spruce immediately looks up. “So, I’m assuming I’m allowed to leave detention whenever?”

She gives you a weary look, before nodding. “I mean, it’s not like I can do anything to stop you.”

You clap your hands and flash an awkward grin, grabbing your bag from the floor. “Cool. Alrighty then, why don’t you go ahead and clean this all up, and I’m just gonna…” You make your way to the door, and a look of alarm washes over her face.

“Wait, no, there’s so much we still need to discuss! What am I supposed to do after? Where should I go?” She calls after you, a sudden desperation in her voice.

“I dunno? Go home?” Geez, why is she acting so clingy all of a sudden?

“But-“

You slam the door behind you. Sorry Sprucie, but you’ve taken up too much of my time already.

You make your way down the hall, making sure to stay under the speed limit this time. You’ll see Spruce tomorrow and you can sort everything out with her then, whatever needs to be done now that she’s… yours.

A wicked grin sets upon your face. You’re already dreaming up some fun ideas you can explore together, whether she likes it or not…

Natalie watched the door slam shut, heard the footsteps rattle down the hall. Bennet was gone.

“Great,” she muttered, looking around the detention room and scanning for what needed to be cleaned up. “Just fucking perfect. That hunky guy…”

She sighed. She couldn’t even insult him behind his back? Of course not - whatever black magic he had hit her with was clearly infallible. Looking back, it also hadn’t been the first time she’d had that spell cast on her, either.

The homework she had marked - the one with Bennet’s name on it. She understood now. Bennet had made it his, with the ink. Just like he had done with her. The dreamy, hypnotic feeling that had infiltrated her when her gaze fell upon his name on that page; to some extent she felt it everywhere now. Her eyes no longer needed to rest upon the ink, because now the ink was inside of her. It was strange - she had no doubt that she could still feel regular emotions, anger, sadness - in fact, she felt like bursting into tears right now. But it was subdued by this new baseline of pleasure that she could see no end to, one that permeated her being.

“Because I gave in,” Natalie whispered softly as she left the comfort of her chair to begin cleaning, though she wasn’t sure if she had said it of her own volition, or if the phrase had simply fallen from her lips. Either way, it answered her question. The pleasure was there as a reward, a permanent reward for her irresistible obedience.

She moved the desks back into position. She straightened out the chairs. She found a roll of paper towels in a nearby cabinet and set them on the puddles drenching the area where she'd just had the best orgasm of her life. She did this almost automatically, her body moving to clean with very little input required of her own, each task completed filling her with a pulse of bliss. The overarching command of CLEAN THIS ALL UP felt as if broadcasted on a neon sign within her mind as her body obeyed.

For a reason she could not identify, her body moving by itself didn’t feel foreign. She was essentially playing a spectator in her body and if anything, it felt comfortable, like she could just relax and her body would do all the work for her on autopilot.

The dissonance between what she was feeling and what she expected she should be feeling was starting to scare her. She needed to ask questions. She needed to gather her thoughts. What exactly had happened when she first saw the name on her arm?

The memory was hazy. It had all felt so strange, so distant. One moment she’d been at Bennet’s desk, feeling normal. Ready to, supposedly, help him with his homework. Then, she’d felt the cool bite of the ink settling into her skin. It had felt wet, slimy, but somehow… powerful. She’d looked down at her arm, out of shock. The name had settled into her eyes. There had been a sucking feeling, like being pulled down a drain, and then she’d been transported somewhere else.

For a moment she had found herself trapped in a swirling, spiraling vortex of pleasure, sexual and wonderful and all-encompassing. As she stared into the eye of that wonderful tornado she had felt something inside of her give in, let go. Something that might have felt important before, but now meant nothing to her as it faded away, allowing an infinite, holy pleasure to swell in. Filling her body and mind to the brim, like the climax and resulting afterglow of a million full-body orgasms. Tearing her apart, and building her back up again. Changing her.

And then, as soon as it had started, she was back in the classroom, staring at Bennet. Her new owner.

Unable to resist. His to toy with and command.

She fell to her knees and started scrubbing at a particularly large puddle of her own fluids.

She should have been furious. Her previous self would have never taken shit like this from any of her students. Sure, during the beginning she had protested and been angry - especially when Bennet humiliated her with that awful pose, that damn smile. Past her would have been cataclysmic at the very idea of being puppeteered like that. But now she was **** Natalie, and at that moment she had been made to feel so helpless and humiliated, and submissive… That nothing in the world could have stopped her from dropping that smile. Even if she could.

Submissive… Fuck. That word sent a shiver down her spine. She liked that word very much now. A word that filled her with pleasure, sexual pleasure but also a sense of… purpose. A word that gave voice to some ethereal, freeing need within her.

She noticed a small, dreamy smile creeping onto her face as her mind drifted to that feeling. Her hands were busy obeying and wiping the floor but she could feel a tug, like a magnet, pulling her attention towards her warming sensitive areas. Her thighs squeezed together, pushing her sizeable ass out for the yellowed wallpaper of the detention room to enjoy. Fuck. It had been a long time since she’d felt this aroused. Whatever spell the ink had cast on her was making her feel amazing, even during an act as demeaning as cleaning up her own fluids off the floor. It was like all of her drives, sexual, personal, social… They had all been reoriented, subsumed by a need to serve. To obey. It felt so good to do that, and those feelings were all around her mind as she relaxed and let her body do all the work.

As she let her brain marinate in those feelings, however, she could sense traces of another. One that made her smile falter. She could feel it deep inside her: a hollow, like something that had been there before no longer was. An emptiness that made her feel almost… doll-like. She was empty. Her personhood had been removed, as if her entire self had been replaced by facsimile, a toy - a toy that looked and sounded exactly like her - but a toy nonetheless.

A chill shuddered up her spine. She knew something very important had been taken from her, and she knew she would never get it back.

She was frightened by that, terrified by that.

But then, standing back as she admired her completed task, a nice, calming wave of pleasure soaked through her, pushing away those dark feelings like a bright light banishing away shadows. She forgot her worries for a moment. She’d obeyed like a good girl and feeling this wonderful was a reward for that and it had just felt so good to do what she’d been told. Her small, dreamy smile returned and she packed up her bag, ready to go home. It had been a very long day.

After rushing home you scan around your front porch, searching frantically for the package with your stamp inside. You check behind the bushes, the mailbox, anywhere the delivery person might have placed it, but no dice. The package isn’t here. Damn - maybe your mom brought it inside for you? Your heart is a kickdrum in your chest as you fumble for the keys in your bag.

As you swing open the door, your eyes lock onto something small and beige on the kitchen table. Aha! No doubt it’s the stamp, you can see the logo of the company you ordered it from emblazoned on the package. So mom did pick it up for you. Great.

But before you can grab it, a figure steps in front of you, blocking your sight of the stamp. It’s your mom, arms crossed, looking pissed off. “Bennet,” she says in a disappointed voice, “How was detention?”

You meet her eyes, and they look darker than they've been for a while. Whoops. Busted. “How did you know about that?” You ask, feeling heat rise to your face, a little embarrassed.

“The school sends notifications to the parents when a student is admitted into detention. I got an email on my phone.” She holds her phone up, the screen open on an official-looking message with your school’s logo displayed across the top.

Wow, damn. That must be a new system. Seems handy - Inconvenient in this case, but still, handy.

She shakes her head. “What did you do? Are you really getting into trouble this close to graduation?”

Jeez. You hate to see your mom so disappointed, but honestly, this time it wasn’t even your fault!

“Listen, mom, it’s total BS. I got caught running in the halls. I wasn’t even going that fast, I just wanted to get home to grab that package.”

You point at the table, but she doesn’t follow your gaze.

“I saw the package. What’s so important in there that it’s worth risking detention for?”

“It’s, um… A stamp? For a personal project.”

“A stamp.” Your mom tsks, one arm akimbo, as she cocks her hips to one side. “Really? What does a boy your age need a stamp for? Starting a collection?”

If only she knew. “No, but I need it for something. It’s important.”

“What’s important, young man, is staying out of trouble. What if this gets put on your permanent record? Deserved or not, universities look at this kind of thing!”

You sigh. “I know, but… It’s Spruce’s fault. Seriously, I swear she has something against me.” Well, now she definitely does...

Your mom just shakes her head. “Your math teacher again? Honestly Bennet, come on. I’ve told you before, you need to talk with her and sort things out! Besides, she can’t be that bad…”

Oh yes she can. “I’m telling you mom, she’s a total fucking bitch!”

You mom gasps and stares at you, mouth agape. “Bennet,” she whispers, glaring a hole in between your eyes. “What did you just call her?”

“I…” Woah, yeah. Why had you just said that? Obviously there’s no doubt about it - Spruce is a bitch, for sure, but... you know better than to use the B word in front of your mom.

Glaring, your mom huffs and turns towards the table. Snatching your package in one hand, she storms up the stairs, heading to her room. “You’re grounded. You can forget about seeing this until I see you write an apology to Ms. Spruce.”

“Wait, an apology for what?”

“For wasting her time in detention. And for calling her that horrible word.”

You hear her door slam and drop your shoulders. There it goes. Great, even without needing to be in the room, Ms. Spruce is still finding ways to ruin your day. She has quite the talent for it, it seems.

Shucking your backpack off, you toss it onto the floor and flop facedown onto the couch. So, the stamp’s gone. So what? You’ve done the test. You’ve found that the ink works just as well on a person as it does on an object. Shouldn’t you stop here?

That would be the logical option. The moral option, even. But, now that you… own a person, suddenly it feels like the world has opened up for you. So many possibilities. That stamp could be a ticket to a better life - a consistent and easy way to make anything yours.

Really, what's stopping you? You could claim anything. You could claim the whole world, just by writing your name on everything you come across. Claiming cars, houses, people, families...

A dark part of you activates as the thought crosses your mind, but you try your best to banish it. Jesus, you're not a supervillain! This is just... or it was just a science experiment. Now you're not quite sure what it is, but you're not going too crazy claiming stuff with the ink. Just a math teacher here or there...

Okay, so the 'science experiment' bit is pretty weak justification. You know why you want to claim things. It feels nice. The power is straight up unlike anything you've ever felt, a rush, a high that eclipses any of the illicit substances you've ever taken. Now that you've gotten a taste for it, a part of you knows that Spruce won't be the last person you claim. Strangely enough, that doesn't bother you as much as you expected it would. But it would probably be good to limit yourself with the ink, if only to not attract any unwanted attention.

For now.

Though, it would be nice to have the stamp. One thing’s for sure, you’re not going to apologize to Spruce for anything. Not to her.

An idea comes to mind: if your mom knew you owned Spruce, she might change her mind on being mad altogether. After all, you can call your property whatever you want, right?

But of course, you have no way of contacting Ms. Spruce. It’s not like they post teachers’ cell phone numbers anywhere, and you’d neglected to ask her for hers after you claimed her. Some owner you are.

So... figure this out tomorrow, then? You sigh. It does suck being blocked from the stamp twice in one day, but this is a minor setback, at most. You've already made one major acquisition today - your bitch teacher, a permanent plaything. That's gotta count for something, and you know that however bad you're feeling, she's undoubtedly feeling a LOT worse.