Weekend at Sophie's

The duel with Chen was won, but it's hard not to feel like I got cheated... and, worryingly, nearly caught. Neither Jane nor the app ever discussed consequences for my secret being discovered, or the app or phone being taken from me, so I have to assume my world ends if I ever let it happen. For all the danger I put myself through, Donna's idea of "making out" was a major let down... but it only bothers me for the few minutes it takes for me to get to the parking lot.

When I arrive, I almost forget why my car is missing... and why Ms. Lia is standing by hers with a blistering glare burning its way through me for the whole time it takes to reach her with my slow-growing, stupid grin.

“Glad you didn't leave without me.”

“As if I'd give you any excuse to escalate what's about to happen.”

What's about to happen is only the start of things, but I make my intention clear as I take her keys with one hand and crush her left tit with the other. “I heard you behaved today... didn't even try to masturbate after our time together this morning. Do you have any explanation for that, besides the one I guessed?”

“I... don't,” she gasps, “but that doesn't make it... true.”

It's going to be a long weekend for both of us, I think. “Get in the passenger seat... I'm driving.”

“I'll let you drive, just... don't grope me in public anymore, please Mr. Haines.”

I glance back at her, halfway to stepping into the luxurious seat of her ride, when I catch her earnest stare. She doesn't berate me, call me names, or otherwise talk down to me... she just... pleads. I'm not sure how I feel about how excited that makes me feel, but now's not the time to be a dick. “That's not your decision to make.” Her features drop, but I quickly add, “But since I care about you, I'll stop doing so until we get into your house, then... and then we'll start your discipline.”

She grimaces, but that's all the rebellion she can muster for now.

I could have figured from her sweet ride that she had cash from somewhere besides teaching at Richard Schnoz High, and the address she gives me only supports that guess. Hers is one of the nicer neighborhoods with generous lots. Save for the mansions that dot the area, her house is much like the rest: only one story tall, but wide and vast with square footage that rivals or outright beats that of my mom's house. As we approach, the car's proper owner taps a button overhead to open one of the two garage doors awaiting us. The spacious car storage is barren on the half we park in, while the other half has been transformed into a personal gym. I tuck her sleek sedan in as the automated garage door closes behind us. “Who lives with you or calls you?”

“No one lives with me, and my parents will call from time to time but I've told them I'm very busy this weekend and can't chat.” Her voice drips with resentment; I am, of course, what's keeping her "busy." She thought ahead, then... good.

“What have you prepared, hoped for, or requested in anticipation of me punishing you?”

“Nothing,” she spat.

“You didn't even prepare anything to try and stop me?”

“I wish I did... but that stupid bitch Hatts would probably make me suffer something worse.”

“But it's still possible... that you just held back to enjoy this, isn't it?”

“Not... at all,” she gasps as I reach over and give her left Miss a gentle massage. The door is closed behind us now; I've held up my end of the bargain, and now we're safely tucked away here for the weekend. Donna Chen would be contemplating her loss, Alice would be contemplating why she can't come without me, my mom wouldn't pay much mind at all to all the lewd compliments she'd get for the next 72 hours... ah, the reel of girls I've left in my wake keeps going, but nothing compares to the simple, animal pleasure I intend to draw out of the mound in my grip.

“I'm going to punish you while we share a shower.”

Like a resigned prisoner, she obeys. She can think of no reason this doesn't fit within Ms. Hatts' irresistible command, and soon she's guiding me through the generous house towards the master bedroom. A colossal living room with layers of curtains over its long, wrapping windows offers a cozy, private space that could be thrown open into an exhibitionist's dream room, and the couch and TV are both massive. Across from it, next to the garage, is a spacious kitchen out of some catalog, likely as she bought it. She walks me past a few curious rooms--a guest room with a single bed and simple furniture, an office, and two closed doors that are probably storage and guest bathroom--before I see the last three chambers at the end of the hall that make up the bulk of her life.

To the right is a second office set up like some kind of high-end, elaborate streaming room, complete with a laptop, face lamps, and some expensive-looking camera pointed at the chair and the regal bookshelves behind it. Before my mind can wander to the porn-making potential, I realize too quickly this must be for remote meetings or something similarly scholarly. To the left, just before reaching the master bedroom, is her actual study: an array of cheap IKEA bookshelves with disheveled, ear-marked, and postit-riddled tomes of literature, English studies, and histories of authors too great for me to know or care about them. A PC that looks older than me sits in this room across from a dingy office chair, but it is soundly beaten out for attention by a worn, cracked Laz-E-Boy that squats between shelves near the back.

And just ahead of us, wrapped in dull colors and smooth furniture, was my new slice of paradise: Sophia Lia's bedroom. A plush bed cover protected her mattress from sight with its puffy, white top-layer except near the far end of it where I could see the layers of towels she has arrayed on the bed proper. An armada of pillows, perhaps normally stacked nicely for her visual pleasure, now rest in a nova all about the foot of the bed as if lying in wait to ambush its occupants. A massive mirror over her plain vanity catches my eye: more sticky notes sit glued to its corners and edges, and pictures of her blasé family dot the vanity's surface where the colossal jewelry box does not consume the space. There, arrayed like guns in an evidence locker, wait some dozens of gigantic, gaudy earrings of every precious metal, gemstone, and make save any that could be called "humble," "muted," or "quaint."

This is the forbidden bit of knowledge that I gather and assume from what I've seen: the home and lifestyle of Sophia Lia, such as it is when not at school, is every bit as miserly, self-absorbed, and full of shit as the owner. Smugly I conclude as much, and doing so reminds me why I picked on Ms. Lia in the first place. The bathroom waits at the other end of the bedroom, just by the vanity. “I could forgive what you've done until now, Mr. Haines,” my humbled English teacher whispers weakly, “because it was Hatts who-”

“If you ever forgive me, it'll be when you apologize for ignoring how we feel about each other until now.”

“Each oth-?” Her disbelief as she looks back at me slowly hardens into anger. “Such... bullshit...” But she doesn't stop her march... and now that we're in her bathroom proper, with the door closing behind us by my hand, I quickly strip my shirt off as I wait for her to do the same.