Ms Bethany

The classroom hummed with the low murmur of students taking notes as Ms. Bethany stood at the front, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her lesson planner. She had just begun discussing power dynamics in literature—how characters shift between dominance and submission—when her voice wavered slightly, her cheeks flushing as she imagined herself in the very roles she described.

Then, a hand rose.

It was Emily Carter, the sharp-eyed senior who always sat in the front row, her gaze just a little too knowing.

Emily’s fingers lingered in the air, her painted nails catching the fluorescent light. Ms. Bethany swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as she met the girl’s gaze—a flicker of amusement dancing behind Emily’s dark lashes.

“Yes, Emily?” Her voice was too soft, almost a plea.

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand. “You mentioned power shifts in 1984,” she began, her tone slow, deliberate. “But what if someone wants to be controlled? Like… enjoys it?”

A hush fell over the room. Ms. Bethany’s knuckles whitened around her planner.

Ms. Bethany’s breath hitched as warmth pooled between her thighs, the dampness seeping through her panties betraying her shameful arousal. Her cheeks burned crimson under Emily’s scrutiny, the girl’s smirk widening as she noticed the teacher’s trembling fingers fumble with her blazer buttons.

A slow, deliberate tap of Emily’s pen against her desk punctuated the heavy silence. "You didn’t answer my question, Ms. Bethany." Her voice dropped to a whisper only the front row could hear. "Does power… excite you?"