Option Two

The room is unnervingly still, every pair of eyes boring into you as Ms. Fox waits. Her ruler taps against her palm in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each sharp snap slicing through the taut silence like a countdown to your inevitable undoing. You can feel the weight of her gaze, her smirk barely containing the satisfaction of knowing she already has you cornered, and the growing tension from the girls only makes it worse.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as sandpaper, trying to gather your thoughts, but the buzzing anticipation in the room makes it impossible to think clearly. The suggestion of “broadening the scope”—of performing for an audience beyond these walls—is a nightmare you can barely wrap your head around, your mind flashing images of strangers gawking at your exposed body, whispering, laughing, while you stand there helpless.

And yet, the alternative is no better. Remaining here, at the mercy of your classmates—of Ms. Fox—as they dissect your exhibitionism and use you as their prop for today’s “lesson.” There’s no escape. No good choice. Only submission, in whatever form they demand.

The ruler’s rhythm stops suddenly, Ms. Fox lifting an eyebrow as she leans slightly forward. “Time’s up, John. We’re waiting.”

You **** yourself to look up, meeting her piercing gaze for a brief, agonizing moment. Your lips part, but the words seem caught in your throat. The girls are practically leaning forward in their seats now—Ruby’s grin spreading wickedly, Sara swinging her legs with gleeful anticipation, even Madison watching you with wide, nervous eyes full of curiosity. You can feel the heat rising to your face, to your chest, burning under the scrutiny, until finally, the words tumble out in a choked breath:

“I’ll... I’ll stay.”

The room erupts in sound—Ruby’s bark of laughter mingling with Sara’s delighted giggles, Sage’s soft, amused hum mixing with Madison’s sharp inhale. Even Michelle, cool and composed, tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Ruby purrs, resting her chin on her hand as her green eyes gleam. “Good choice, John. I like a man who knows his place.”

“Definitely the right call,” Sara agrees, swinging her legs faster. “Broadening your audience would’ve been... ambitious. You’d probably faint.”

“Not to mention,” Sage adds lazily, blowing a small bubble with her gum before letting it pop, “we’re way more interesting up close. You’re gonna love this, John. Promise.”

Ms. Fox silences them with a single raised hand, the room immediately falling still. Her smirk softens into something more clinical, more calculating, as she steps back to her desk, her heels clicking with each deliberate step. She sets the ruler down with a soft clack, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she addresses the class.

“Good. I expected nothing less,” she says, her tone calm but threaded with that familiar edge of authority. “Now, class, listen carefully. Today’s lesson is not just about defining fetishes—it’s about understanding how they can be reclaimed, reinterpreted, and wielded as a source of empowerment. As women, society often places us in boxes, assumes submission is our default position, that we exist to please rather than to command. Today, we will challenge those assumptions.”

Her gaze sweeps across the room, sharp and unrelenting, her words landing with weight. “Each of you has dressed to exemplify a fetish, whether it’s one you resonate with or one you’ve chosen to explore for the purposes of this exercise. The goal is to understand not just the fetish itself, but how its unique characteristics can reflect and amplify your personal power. How do you embody it? How do you wield it to demand attention, to control the narrative, to dominate the space around you?”

Ruby grins, twirling her crop between her fingers. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas.”

“Of course you do, Ruby,” Ms. Fox replies smoothly, her smirk deepening before she continues. “But this is not simply an opportunity to indulge in theatrics or shock value. It’s an exercise in ownership. You are to consider how you transform what might be traditionally seen as submissive or passive into something entirely your own—something commanding, authoritative, and undeniable.”

Madison shifts slightly in her seat, her cheeks tinged pink as she clutches her notebook closer to her chest. You can see the nervous energy radiating off her, her lips parting slightly like she wants to ask a question but doesn’t quite have the courage to raise her hand.

Ms. Fox glances at her briefly, her expression softening—not with warmth, but with a measured patience. “Yes, Madison, even shyness can be a form of power. The tension between what is seen and what is withheld can be intoxicating when wielded correctly.”

Madison’s blush deepens, and her gaze falls to her notebook, but there’s a flicker of understanding—or perhaps curiosity—in her wide eyes.

Ms. Fox turns her attention to the rest of the class. “Each of you will explain your chosen fetish, why it resonated with you, and how you’ve made it your own. And then, you will demonstrate it—on John.”

Your stomach twists violently, your breath catching in your throat as the words sink in. She says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. The girls’ reactions are immediate—Sara lets out a delighted giggle, while Ruby’s grin widens predatorily. Even Sage looks more engaged than usual, her lazy smile curling into something sharper.

“Don’t look so surprised, John,” Ms. Fox says, her tone almost teasing as she glances at you. “After all, exhibitionism is your forte, isn’t it? Consider this... an opportunity to lean into it. Fully.”

The heat crawling up your neck feels unbearable, your skin prickling under the weight of their gazes. You want to argue, to protest, to say something, but the sharp look Ms. Fox gives you silences any words before they can form.

“Before we begin,” she continues, her smirk returning as she steps closer to you, “I’ll demonstrate how it’s done.”

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening as she picks up the ruler again, tapping it lightly against her palm. The class falls silent, leaning forward in anticipation as Ms. Fox’s sharp gaze locks onto yours.

“Stand up, John,” she commands, her voice calm but unyielding. “Let’s show the class what empowerment looks like.”

The room buzzes with quiet excitement, and you can feel the heat of every gaze as you slowly rise to your feet, your legs trembling beneath you. Ms. Fox’s smirk widens ever so slightly, and you know—in your gut—that whatever comes next will strip you of more than just control.

It will strip you bare.