Exposed

My name is Ivanna, I am 35 years old and I teach art.

I don't hate all the kids but some of the girls can be just the worst. Yael, for example, I had to spank the little brat cuz she was talking way to loud, she deserved it. The dumbass was wearing a glossy g string, the whole class saw her butt, it was so fun to humiliate her.

Yael's voice came out of nowhere. I remembered her, a year ago, her face flushed red. She had pantsed her classmate and nade fun of his small penis (it really was small), and I, in my infinite wisdom, had chosen that moment to make an example of her.

Next to her two other cheerleaders. Dorina, a wisp of a girl with eyes too large for her face, clutched a gym bag. Dorina, whom I’d once, unwisely, remarked upon her ‘lack of stage presence’ during a theater class critique, a thinly veiled jab at her flat chest. The irony, given my own physical insecurities, was not lost on me. The third girl, a towering blonde I vaguely recognized from the JV squad, smirked.

“Ms. Ivanna,” Yael purred, her voice sounded fake. “We were just looking for you.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning composure. “And now you’ve found me. Is there something I can help you with, Yael?”

“Oh, we think *we* can help *you*,” Dorina said while snapping her fingers. She stepped forward, her small hands fumbling with the zipper of the gym bag. A flash of pink caught my eye. My stomach clenched.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. A cold dread seeped into my bones.

Yael stepped closer. “You know, Ms. Ivanna, sometimes people aren’t who they seem to be. Sometimes, they hide things.” Her gaze dropped to my chest, then lingered on my hips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” My voice was cracking.

Dorina pulled out the familiar garment from the gym bag. Pink cotton, adorned with faded images of Cinderella and Ariel. My panties. My momi, bless her heart, still insisted on buying my underwear. My face flushed red.