4 comments/ 53593 views/ 5 favorites Eros Academy By: StanislawKaslowski2 My parents died on my 18th birthday. Later that year I slept with three of my high school teachers. The roads were icy, we couldn't see and we were driving too fast on the way home from a family dinner. I never really dropped out of my last semester in high school; if you just stop going, they eventually stop calling your house. When she was around, the aunt who had taken me in was very understanding. But after a summer of video games and bad pizza, come fall, I found myself walking up a well-maintained brick path to the front entrance of a massive stone building built in the gothic style. Two stone gargoyles perched over an immaculate oak door and snarled down at passers-by. Well, they might have been snarling. The male seemed oddly...pleased, and the female's back was arched in a peculiar way. "Admiring our mascots, I take it?" I hadn't heard the door open. The voice, as hard and unyielding as the building's granite, came from a spindly, white-haired woman; she was laced up tight from the soles of her well-polished shoes to the large bun on the top of her head. "Oh, yeah. They seem pissed at me." She stared at me disapprovingly from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. The smile she flashed was thin, and when she offered me her hand to shake I thought the touch might kill me. "Mr. Roe. Welcome to Eros Academy. I'm Janice Mitchell, your counselor here." "Thanks. But Jeff is fine." The disapproving stare again. She motioned for me to enter the school. "We're not a first name establishment, Mr. Roe." I looked down. The floor was actual marble. We were in a long, narrow hallway, bounded on both sides by portraits of what I assumed were the school's very distinguished, very wealthy, very white, alumni. "Well, gosh, Janice. Does that mean I'm not invited to the cotillion?" She didn't even look back at me. The hallway ended in the school's main office; to the left and right branched off routes to the rest of the school. Mrs. LastName led me into the school's command center; it was light and airy, all glass and expensive computer equipment. Her office, on the other hand, was the domain of someone who cultivated and cherished an air of Spartan...well, nothingness. Her walls were bare, the chairs hard-backed and without cushions. I didn't wait for her permission to sit. She scowled, but said nothing and sat behind her cherry oak desk, the one ostentation she allowed herself; I could see my reflection in the polish. It was empty, save for a computer and a thin manila folder. Janice took her glasses off and put them on the folder; she folded her hands precisely on the desk and tried quite admirably to effect a look of concern. "Mr. Roe, I wish to express the Eros Academy's sincere regret at the tragic circumstances surrounding your-" "Thank you Janice, but that was six months ago. I'm done with condolences." She cleared her throat. "Yes, of course. But that doesn't mean-" "Move on, please." She looked about to press the issue, but thought better of it and pressed a few keys on her computer with precise, swift strokes. "Well, regardless of the circumstances of your entrance to our school, we are pleased to have you here. Tell me Mr. Roe, what do you know of Eros Academy?" "Well, you're rich and good and my aunt says you're waiving my tuition. Oh, and I imagine you've been shaping children into adults since 1673. Is there anything else I should know?" Again, her smile was not pleasant. The lines at the corner of her mouth hardened and she replaced her glasses. Those bony hands opened the folder on her desk. "Your transcript says you just need four classes to graduate," she said. "History, English and two electives?" "Sounds about right, Janice." "Might I be so presumptuous as to make a couple of suggestions?" "You may be so presumptuous." "For your electives, I would recommend drama with Miss Drosus and computer software with Miss Sharp. They're both fine teachers, and I think you can learn a lot under their supervision." I thought about that for a second. I also thought of putting my feet up on her desk, but that seemed over-the-top. "Well, drama would be fine," I said. "But I don't think I really need a computer course. I can type, run Microsoft Excel and find porn on the internet with the best of 'em." I made it a point to look her straight in the eye when I said "porn." She shook her head and looked at her watch. "Yes, well, those skills notwithstanding, Miss Sharp is really very good. And would I be incorrect in assuming that, during your time at Eros, you're not looking for the most stimulating educational experience?" Insight! "So," she continued, "can I sign you up for computer software?" I conceded the point with the slightest nod imaginable. She made a few more keystrokes and looked at my file again. "For English, I'd recommend Miss Wainwright. She's new here, and a bit unorthodox, but her student evaluations have been excellent." This time she didn't wait for me to say anything. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "And," she said, "for history, I would-" "Actually Janice, I had some thoughts there." She raised her eyebrows, clearly shocked that I had some thoughts anywhere. "Do you offer any sort of honors history? Advanced Placement, that kind of thing?" "Why, yes, we do, but our honors courses are much more difficult and not nearly as...pleasant for our students as the regular offerings." "I'm sure. Still, I want to take the class, and I think my transcript says I can do that." She shook her head gravely and made one last entry in the computer. She took another look at my record. "Now, Mr. Roe, it says here you played basketball at your old school. We have a pretty good team here. Were you interested in trying out?" I shook my head. "No. I'm here for my four classes and graduation. I don't need the other distractions." At that she smiled again, but this time, there was an actual hint of mirth on her face. She extended her hand across her desk. "Mr. Roe, you are now a student at Eros Academy. I trust your time here will be well-spent." "Well, you have more faith than I do, but whatever." She stood up, walked around her desk and beckoned me to follow her out the door. "I'm awfully busy Mr. Roe, and from now on I'll trust that the student sponsor I've assigned will take care of you. He's waiting for you in our cafeteria; I'll take you there." She didn't give me a chance to object. We took the left fork outside the main office; Janice explained to me that the school was basically a diamond, with the main office at the apex. The left and right wings jutted out and ran a parallel course before coming together at the top of the complex. That was the cafeteria. "So why the two wings," I asked. "Left wing for the gentlemen, right for the ladies," she responded. "They didn't tell me this was a sex-segregated school." "Oh, don't look so aggrieved Mr. Roe. Only the classrooms are single-sex. Everywhere else, you are free to mingle as you please. And most other schools of our caliber would make you wear a uniform and cut your hair." I ran a hand through my hair and jauntily raised my chin. We walked along in silence for awhile, the only sounds coming from the floor cleaners of the janitorial staff. (The floors were just tile here) Again, the hallways were bright and well-lit from the outside. The designers had built in stained glass windows every few steps; they struck me as somewhat extravagant. Janice cleared her throat again. "So Mr. Roe, do you have plans post-graduation?" "You mean college? Yeah, I'm going to Florida. Early entry in January. I'll tour the campus in a couple of months." "Uh-huh. Do you think that'll happen?" "I'm optimistic." We had, mercifully, reached the cafeteria, which was more of a cathedral than a dining hall. There were a few dozen large, oaken tables scattered around. A massive stained glass window dominated the front of the room. It was nothing complicated, just bright red glass, but it cast an eerie glow over the serving line. The cafeteria was empty, save for a couple of students making out in the far corner. I thought it was nice that they were in school during the summer. Janice checked her watch one last time. "Mr. Roe, classes start in two weeks. We have block scheduling here; classes are an hour and a half. You'll have history and your computer lab on Mondays and Wednesdays, drama and English Tuesdays and Thursdays. First and fourth period, respectively. What you do you with the time in-between classes is up to you." I nodded. "OK Mr. Roe, I believe that's all I need from you. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave you in the hands of your student supervisor?" "Yeah, quick question. Why the 'Eros Academy?'" "We're named after our founder, George Eros." "Nothing to do with it being the Greek name for Cupid?" I could see the muscles in her neck tighten. "No. Not at all." "You don't get that question all the time?" "Not usually from students, no." "Your students aren't big fans of books, huh?" She didn't say anything, but a vein in her neck began to throb. "Come on," I needled. "That was a little funny." "Mr. Roe, do I strike you as the type to laugh easily?" "Janice, you don't strike me as the type to laugh." With that, she turned on her heel and strode decisively out of the cafeteria. I could only hope I would never see her again. But at the moment, I was more concerned with finding my "student sponsor." I waited for a few minutes, but no one came in. It was just me and the couple making out. "Excuse me," I yelled across the room. "I hate to interrupt, but I'm looking for someone. Can you help me?" The man looked up from his girlfriend's lips. His eyes seemed to widen, and he started jogging across the room toward me, blond girl in tow. When he reached me, he extended his hand. The grip was like a vise. "Oh, hey man, sorry," he said. "Jeff, right?" "Yeah. You're my 'student sponsor?'" He nodded his head enthusiastically, and cast an apologetic glance back at his girlfriend. "I'm Brock. This is Tricia, my girlfriend. Sorry 'bout that. I got a little...distracted, I guess." The word "stereotype" might well have been tattooed on Tricia's forehead. Short, blond, bubbly, with a chest that just screamed "implants," she was every cheerleader cliche come to life. Her skirt was an inch too high and her shirt a size too small. On the other hand, I wasn't a snob, and hey, I'm a sucker for a nice pair of breasts. Even phony ones. "No, no, it's fine," I said. "If she was my girlfriend it would take everything I had to avoid having sex with her in the hallways." Brock just guffawed and Tricia giggled. She didn't even bother pretending to look offended. "Aw, now aren't you sweet," she purred. "If that's the word you want to use for it," I said. "You folks aren't easy to offend, are you?" Brock shook his head and flashed a toothy, All-American boy kind of smile. He kept his blond hair cropped low, and his strong jaw line just screamed "football player." We chatted a bit, and Brock said that, yes, he was a linebacker, and yes, Tricia was a cheerleader. In a way, it was comforting to see a perfect 50's couple. Plus saline. "So, why come here now," Tricia asked. Brock's eyes grew wide. Janice must have filled him in on the details. "I moved in the summer," I said. "I'm just here to finish my senior year." "Why'd you move?" Brock reached over to his girlfriend and pulled her close. She squirmed a bit in surprise, but then Brock whispered into her ear. Tricia's shoulders slumped and she looked up at me. To her everlasting credit, she hid the pity. Instead, she smiled; awkwardly, to be sure, but it was nice to see. Her boyfriend joined her in the expression. "What's your schedule," he asked. "History and a computer class on Mondays and Wednesdays, drama and English Tuesdays and Thursdays," I said. "Rigorous. Who are your teachers?" "I don't know about history; it's an honors class, and the Crypt Keeper didn't say who taught it. But English is Wainwright, drama is...Dawson? Drawsus? The computer lab is Miss Sharp." Tricia's eyes widened, and she giggled again. Brock grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "Josh, someone upstairs really likes you," he said. "They're good teachers?" "I've heard good things, yeah," he said. "But that's not really what I meant. Your teachers are...oh, what's the best way to say it? They're very...blessed in the chest." I nearly fell over laughing. "Really? 'Blessed in the chest?' That's the best way you could put it?" He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well, they don't ask me to write the school paper. Let's just say that if you're a breast man, school's going to be fun for you." "Considering how I'm digging your girlfriend right now, that seems like a safe bet." Tricia teasingly flipped me off and puffed out her chest. Brock seemed overcome with pride. These two were on my most favored people list. "OK kids, I've got two more weeks of nothing ahead of me and I'd like to get started on those," I said. "You know, before life intrudes. Quick question though. I parked in front of the school today. Where do I go during the year?" Brock smiled and led me over to a small door inconspicuously laid in the wall of the cafeteria. He opened it and made a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand. He looked ridiculous, but I didn't care much. For beyond the door was the most beautiful thing I had seen all day, including Tricia's surgically-enhanced chest. Acres and acres of wide-open concrete, divided into hundreds of parking spaces. "Oh, Brock," I sighed. "You've made me the happiest girl in the whole wide world. " He smiled and again clapped me on the shoulder. "Only the best at Eros," he said. "You got two weeks. Class starts at 9:00 in the morning. Meet me and Trish here at 8:30; we'll show you where you need to go. Don't be late to your first day of school. You wouldn't want to give a bad first impression, would you?" "Oh, no. Heaven forbid. I wouldn't want to miss any chance to ogle my teachers." *** The next two weeks passed as they usually do before school starts. I spent most of the time trying to ignore the looming deadline, staying up late, ordering pizza and playing video games. I did some back-to-school shopping a few days before the start of classes, by which I mean I bought a pen and three notebooks. I'd be damned if I was going to take notes for a drama class. But time moved on, and for the first time in seven months I woke up before noon to go to school. Eros Academy wasn't hidden, per se, but they clearly did not have convenience in mind when they built the thing. The diamond school was laid out deep in the Kansas boonies, a good 35 minute drive from any real center of civilization. Of course, that isolation gave them the luxury of plenty of cheap land, and that gave students the luxury of plenty of free parking. So it seemed like a fair trade. A cold wind howled as I opened my car door. It continued to howl as I bundled myself up as best I could and jogged toward the school. A dozen other stragglers shielded themselves from the weather with wool overcoats and leather gloves. I jammed my hands in my pockets. Brock and Tricia were cooling their heels against one of the cafeteria's walls when I came inside. I rubbed my hands and scowled. "OK, this shit won't work for me," I muttered. "What the hell is this? It's August. Why is there a wind chill? And I swear to God Brock, if you say, 'If you don't like the weather in Kansas, wait five minutes,' you're going to think football is a non-contact sport." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Slow down, turbo," he said. "Do you want to find your classroom, or do you want to rant?" "Honestly?" "Move it soldier." Brock gave Tricia a peck on the cheek, then, predictably, lingered. The two kissed again, and were a few seconds away from another make-out session when I grabbed Brock's sleeve and tugged him. Tricia sauntered away to the right hallway and the ladies' wing; Brock tilted his head and watched her leave for a few seconds, before my exaggerated eye rolls and loud sighs pulled him away from his girlfriend's admittedly perfect ass. "I've been with her a year and I still can't keep my eyes off her," he said, a slight smile slipping on his face. "I know what you mean," I said. "I've known her two weeks and I can barely keep my hands off her." He lightly pushed me into a wall. A blade of pain sliced into my shoulder. I pitied the innocent running back who actually pissed him off. We walked down the men's hall, Brock occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with a friend and introduce me as "the perverted new guy." I liked that, as it gave me cover to describe his girlfriend using sweeping hand gestures and various hip movements. Truth be told, I didn't really need the tour. It was a straight hallway with 30 classrooms, numbered, creatively enough, 1 to 30. I could find my room easily enough. But I enjoyed the back-and-forth with Brock, and when we reached the right room he clapped me on the shoulder. "And here you go," he said. "Honors history. Your first step toward graduation. Your first step toward freedom. Your first step toward-" "Brock, if you don't shut up and let me take the first step toward the classroom, I'm going to be late." "Yeah, yeah. Just a quick warning. Remember, this is an honors class. It's not exactly the best we've got here. Don't get discouraged. The...talent gets-" "More blessed in the chest?" "Bingo." "I'll keep it in my mind," I said. "Believe it or not, there are aspects to the educational experience above and beyond the quality of the teacher's rack. Now get going. Don't you have a math class to fail?" He scrunched up his nose, though I suspect it was less my questioning of his academic prowess and more the implication that a teacher's chest size wasn't all that important that offended him. But he looked at his watch, grimaced and jogged away. I was on my own, and class was about to start. *** An hour and a half later, I stepped out of the classroom about as sexually charged as a wet cat. The teacher, whose name has escaped my mind at some point over the years, was a Janice Mitchell clone, a throwback to a rightfully long-lost mold of educator. At some point during her youth, someone lodged a meter stick up her ass and she never bothered to get it removed. I was surprised she never got around to smacking her students on the hands with a ruler. I spent the vacant hour and a half I had in place of a second period class exploring the grounds. The main building wasn't built for anything other than classrooms and the school's office. Eros had a library and auditorium in separate buildings, both massive and ornate. When second period was finished, I spent the lunch hour with Brock, Tricia and a whole gaggle of their friends. Several of Tricia's cheerleader friends had suggestions for places where I could get my hair cut, and Brock's teammates were very disappointed that I wouldn't be going out for basketball. For a bunch of trust-fund kids at an elite private school, they were decent folks. Brock offered to escort me to my computer lab, but as I explained to him, I was capable of navigating a straight hallway with 30 classrooms. Room 3 was easy enough to track down, and I walked in talking with one of Brock's friends who was also in the class. I looked up, saw Miss Sharp and tripped over a power cord. Brock's friend helpfully stood off to the side and laughed uproariously. Cursing him under my breath, I stood up, brushed myself off, took another look at Miss Sharp and nearly fell down again. Eros Academy She sat at her desk, legs thrown up on its surface, her hands cupping the back of her head. She surveyed the incoming students with bright, glimmering green eyes, and the slight smile that played on her lips was enough to make every man in the room forsake all that was good and holy in the world. But as Brock promised, I found my eyes drawn irresistibly to her chest. The weather didn't allow for anything revealing, and I cursed God for that, but she had chosen a tight gray sweater, and it accentuated her curves. With her hands behind her head, her breasts were thrust out, and it didn't take much imagination to guess at their size. I found a vacant chair and prayed that she would get up and stand in profile at some point. No such luck. When the ball rang, the only way Miss Sharp recognized the start of class was to cough lightly. There were tombs that were louder than that classroom. When she spoke, her voice was deep and husky, like a 1940's movie starlet going toe-to-toe with Humphrey Bogart. "OK, if everyone's here we can get started," she said. "It's going to be light today, so if you screw this up it won't speak well of your ability. On your desktop there's an icon that says 'Eros Typing Test.' You can probably guess what that measures." "Our welding ability," I helpfully added. Miss Sharp ignored me. "Just click that icon and take the tests," she continued. "These are going to tell me where you are all at with your abilities. They should take you most of the class. When you're done, there'll be a button so you can electronically submit your results. If you get done early, try to find something productive to do on the internet." I had to admit, Eros went all-out with the computers. They had invested in some top-of-the-line models, real slick, fast-running machines. Their typing tests were similarly sophisticated; not a single "see Dick run" type of sentence. In fact, they were impressive enough to help me stay focused on the task at hand. I managed to keep my surreptitious peeks at Miss Sharp down to about a dozen or so during the class, though during one of those glances I just about fell in love with her hair, which was an almost illegally vibrant shade of crimson. My last keystroke fell with about 15 minutes left in the class; 65 words-per-minute wasn't my best, but considering the distractions, I was satisfied. I submitted the test and spent the rest of class tooling around on the 'net. The bell rang precisely at 2:30; there was another class period left, but I was done for the day. Miss Sharp was studying her computer screen, making mental notes of the students as they left class. She frowned and tapped her finger on the desk. "Mr. Roe, hold on a second," she said. I said my farewells to Brock's friend. The door closed behind him on the way out; I hadn't noticed, but we were the last two students in the room. I was alone with Miss Sharp. I smiled sweetly. "Yes ma'am, how can I help you," I asked. "Am I getting a certificate for my outstanding typing?" She smiled, and I just about melted into the carpet. To my credit, I kept my eyes fixed firmly on her face. "Not quite," she said. "It looks like there was a problem with your test." "Was the score too high? Did I tilt the system?" "Again, no. For some reason the test didn't go through; I've got a zero in your column. Sorry." She said all of this without moving an inch from her seat. I noticed then how fantastic her legs were, even when she was wearing pants. "Oh. That really kind of sucks." "Yep. If you want, you can re-take the test right now. Get it over with." I sighed and looked at my watch. I wasn't in the mood to spend another hour and a half in school. "Oh, like you have anything better to do," she added. "I know you don't have another class today, and we both know you don't have an after-school paper route. We've got a shorter test; should take you about half an hour." I shrugged and took a seat at one of the empty computers. "OK, same icon," she said. "You'll find the shorter version under the file menu." I found the program and started the test. It was easier than the first, the sentences simpler, easier to type. As I worked, I could hear Miss Sharp shuffling papers at her desk. "Hey, you're actually moving," I said. "I didn't know you could." "Focus, Mr. Roe," she responded. "Just type your words." I turned to say something, but the words caught in my mouth. She had taken her sweater off and was wearing a small white t-shirt that showed her navel. I thought I was going to poke a hole through the table when I saw the cotton cling to her chest. What little that had been left to the imagination earlier was all revealed now; her breasts were larger than Tricia's, and they didn't have the operated-on look. She was leaning on the desk, her legs crossed at the ankles. She smiled slightly and pointed at the computer. "You don't seem very focused, Mr. Roe," she said. "You wouldn't want to give a bad first impression." I swallowed hard and turned back to the monitor. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her push off the desk and stride slowly toward me, her hips swinging seductively. I felt her behind me, and she ran a finger across the base of my neck. I shuddered and spelled "daisy" with two g's and an x. "Oh, I don't think that's right, Mr. Roe," she cooed. "Would you like to start over? Maybe take a different test?" She was leaning over my shoulder, her breasts resting heavily on the back of my neck. I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead. "Back off, would you," I said. "I'm trying to work here." I'm not sure why I said that. "Oh, do I distract you, Mr. Roe," she whispered into my ear. "Can't you focus? Can't you type? Do I...excite you?" I practically hissed at her. "No, you silly little witch," I said. "Silicone-filled hags who dress like that in a school aren't my type. They disgust me. You disgust me." I'm not sure why I said that either. I knew any man my age would kill to be in this situation. But "hostile" was the only reaction I could muster. She laughed. I felt her reach around and grab my dick; I nearly jumped out of the chair. "Oh, yes," she said. "I can feel your...disgust for me growing. Your disgust is clearly rock hard." She squeezed me gently. The pressure was exquisite. I lost all sense of what was in front of me; I felt her breasts on my neck, smelled her perfume and could almost taste her. A light groan escaped my lips. "Yes, so disgusted," she whispered. She released me and backed off my shoulder. I finished the test, and she made a clucking noise with her tongue. "Wow, seven words a minute," she said. "That's impressive. I thought you might dip into negative numbers. Way to go." I was breathing heavily. I looked over my shoulder at Miss Sharp; her eyes and lips shimmered. They also mocked me. "What do you want?" She reached into her pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to me. An address was scrawled on it. "I trust you can find that," she said. "9:00 tonight. And don't ask me why, because you're not quite that stupid." I took the card. "I'm not coming," I said. "I told you, I-" "Stop right there. Don't finish that sentence; you believe it less than I do. Be there at 9:00. Oh, do me a favor and don't wear those jeans; they smell like you haven't washed them in years. Now get going. I have work to do." I opened my mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Without a word I stood up and walked out, pausing only to look over my shoulder. She shooed me out the door and closed it behind me. I leaned against a wall and collected my thoughts. I was still rock hard. "You're not going," I said to myself. "You're not going. Get yourself together. Don't let your dick do your thinking. Go home, do your homework, go to bed. That slut is bad news. This can only end badly." I had convinced myself; I was very persuasive. I wasn't going to end up being grilled by Nancy Grace. There was no way I going to Miss Sharp's home that evening. *** At 8:59 I knocked on the front door of the address she had given me. It seemed only proper that if I was going to reject her advances, I should do it in person. I didn't bother changing out of my jeans; that should show the woman that I was serious. Miss Sharp opened the door in a white plush robe. She had it cinched tightly, but I could see enough to know she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I had to shake my head to clear the dust out. "Ah, yes, hi Miss Sharp," I stammered. "Look, I just wanted to come by, you know, not for what you-" She interrupted me with uproarious laughter. Doubled over and convulsing like she was racked with pain, she waived me into the house. I waited a few seconds for Miss Sharp to stop laughing, but she didn't show any signs of letting up. "OK, look, I don't want to interrupt your merriment, but-" She held up her hand tried to rein in the laughter. She looked me in the eye and fell into another giggling fit, but after a few seconds she pulled it together. "The jeans," she said between chuckles. "The jeans. I knew you'd wear the jeans. God, but you're so damn predictable. All of you." "I'm sorry, but I'm confused," I said. "I thought you hated these jeans. You told me not to wear them." "And yet, here they are," she said. Her eyes suddenly lost their mirth. "And so are you. I couldn't care less about your damn jeans." She motioned me to follow her into the kitchen, and I did, trying to decipher what she had just said. "Did you want something to drink?" I shook my head. "Ah, Jeff, you're everything I thought you'd be. You know, life has a habit of making all of us feel pretty foolish. That makes these moments, these moments when we're proven completely, undeniably correct, all the more sublime. I love guys like you." I didn't know what she was talking about, but I knew I was offended. "You don't know any-" "Yes, Jeff, I know plenty of guys like you. Dozens of guys like you. Hundreds of guys like you. Guys who are convinced there aren't any guys like them. Yeah Jeff, I know you pretty well." "Well, congratulations. If you're done patting yourself on the back, I just came here to say-" "We both know why you came here, so you can cut it out right now." "Listen, that was the second straight time you interrupted me, and-" "This makes three," she said. Her voice was stone. "And I won't hesitate to make it four if you try and talk again. Now, listen to me. Without even knowing you I know you. "You try desperately to be the deadpan snarker. You try desperately to make everyone around you know that you're the smartest kid in the classroom. You fool most of them. You don't fool me, and you don't fool anyone else with an ounce of insight. You are not that smart, you are not that clever, and you're certainly not that cute. You are not better than your surroundings or the people surrounding you. You are not destined for greatness. When you die, the historians will not write books." She looked at me coldly. I stood there, frozen. "Do you have anything to say?" "I'm a little cute," I offered. She rolled her eyes and walked into the living room. This time I followed more confidently, my anger fueling my steps. "Are you out of bile? Because if there's more, I don't want to interrupt, really. You've got a whole head of steam worked up, and there's nothing cuter than a bimbo with illusions of intellect." She said nothing. I pushed on. "You can spare me the speech, because I know you don't believe it, and I know you don't because I'm here. And I'm here because you asked me here. So if that little blow-up is just guilt boiling up and escaping, fine, but don't think for one second that it fools me. "So that's it, I'm done. I came over here to tell you that I wasn't going to be your kept boy for the semester. I'll see you at school on Wednesday." Sharp was silent. I turned to leave. "Bullshit," she spat. "You came here for one thing, and you're not going to leave until you get it. Now turn around." I did. With her green eyes and flaming red hair she looked like a Celtic war goddess. "And as for why you're here...don't pretend to care. You're not led by your brain, any more than any other man is. You know what I'm offering, and you know you're begging for it. I'm going back to the bedroom for a minute. Either give in to yourself or slink away while I'm gone. It's on you." Without another word she turned on her heel and walked away. I had my choice. There was no question of leaving. Sharp was right; at heart, I was simply a horny teenager, and I had a woman offering herself to me who I didn't have the temerity to summon in my dreams. I could hate myself in the morning. This night, I'd satisfy myself. She made me wait. Not long, and I'm not sure if it was anything other than my own anxiousness. But she gave me just enough time to grow hard with anticipation. My imagination had failed me. Spectacularly. The robe was gone, and she strode into the living room naked, with the grace and confidence of a ballet dancer. Everything about her seemed to glow; her hair fell lightly on her bare shoulders, and her eyes shone fiercely. And oh, if Brock could have seen her chest. Greek goddesses did not have breasts so perfect. They were magnificent orbs; massive, with perfect nipples set amidst large areolas. But they hung high on her chest. They did not sag. And when she moved, they swayed like the real things; so far as I could tell, my teacher was all-natural. Her legs were long and slender; her thighs seemed to glisten with pure sex. I was awestruck, my mind locked with possibilities. There were perfect lips to kiss, perfect nipples to suck, perfect legs to caress. Everything I saw was flawless. Except for the black rubber penis she had strapped around her waist. And the handcuffs she held in her left hand. I saw them, and when she saw me see them, a smile crept across her face that was lust and evil in their purest forms. She jingled the cuffs at me. "A little clichéd, yes, but I do enjoy the old-fashioned things in life," she said. "And as for my strap-on friend...well, we all have our little sicknesses. I like to stand behind a man and thrust into him, to grab his shoulders and make him feel me." I gulped and said nothing. She laughed at my discomfort. "Oh, don't worry Jeff, tonight's all about you," she cooed. "What I'm talking about takes some preparation, and we have an entire semester for it. No, you'll be able to walk away from this evening a very pleased man." I still couldn't find any words. It was a discomfiting sensation. Sharp nodded at the cuffs. "And as for these...well, they're usually helpful for keeping young men in line," she said. She took a few steps and laid a silky hand on my cheek. "But you, Mr. Roe, you have no fight left. You won't struggle. You've already given in." She laid the handcuffs on an end table. I looked at them, then allowed my gaze to wander back to her body. I was about to burst. She sensed it. "I'm yours Jeff. You can have the greatest semester a student has ever had. I just require one, little piece of symbolism." She pointed at the carpet, and I understood. Pride and ego told me to run; everything else told me to fall on my knees. I had lost self-control; all I could see were those perfect breasts, those shimmering eyes. And I wanted everything I saw so much that I didn't even think about the choice. I got on my knees. Sharp was close now, close enough for me to smell her jasmine perfume and the rubber of her strap-on. Her pussy was shaved clean; I was inches from the treasure. Inches, and one brief, humiliating act. "You know what you want," she said softly. "Don't be afraid of it. One moment for five months." Then she laid her hand in my hair and ruffled it condescendingly. She grabbed it and tugged gently. "You really should get this cut, you know," she said. I'm not sure why that affected me the way it did. I'm not sure what inspired me, with this gorgeous woman's pussy at eye level, to choose that moment to stand up for myself. But I grabbed her by the wrist, and before she could say a word, pulled her down to the floor. Moving with a speed I didn't know I had, I ripped off the strap-on and threw it across the room. I grabbed hold of my teacher's left ankle and reached for the end table with the handcuffs. She began to struggle; she kept kicking me in the side. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder; she was biting me. I had never won a fight in my life, but then, all my other fights had been with men. The end table was knocked over, but I was able to grab the handcuffs and roll on top of Miss Sharp. I felt those perfect breasts rub against my shirt, and despite the moment, I got a chill down my spine. She slapped me hard on the face and tried to knee me in the groin. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed with fury. "You fucking bastard," she screamed. "Get off-" It took a tremendous exertion of strength, but somehow I was able to flip her on her stomach. She writhed and flopped like a fish, but I sat on her legs and brought her arms behind her. Before she could react, I had her handcuffed. There wasn't time to admire my work; I didn't want to find out what she could do with those feet. I tore my shirt off and used it to bind her legs together at the ankles. It was only then that I stood over her. Oh, what a sight she was. Hands and feet bound, she writhed like a banshee on the carpet. Her hair flew in her face, and those green eyes raged at me with an unquenchable fire. She was breathing hard, and her breasts rose and fell violently. She was even sexier than when I saw her naked a few minutes before. "You cock sucking piece of shit, I am going-" I lost her screams when I left for the bedroom. There were a few details left, and I guessed she had other tools that could help me. I didn't have time to contemplate the four-poster bed. Sharp had helpfully left her bag of toys on the bed, and it had exactly what I needed. I took a ballgag and a couple of leather straps. There was something else I found as well, a vibrator with two large, leather straps in the shape of an "o." I found her in much the same place I had left her, struggling futilely on the ground. The hatred in her eyes was, I'm ashamed to say, strangely arousing. When I knelt at her feet to replace my shirt with one of the straps, she kicked me straight in the stomach with both feet. After catching my breath, I was able to bind her ankles with the strap. A few moments later, I had a hogtied computer teacher lying on the floor. "One act for five months," I said. "I think you made a mistake in judgment, Miss Sharp." "It's your mistake you fu-" She was cut off when I tried to work the gag into her mouth. She bit one of my fingers, and the blood flowed down her chin, but again, I was able to get it strapped in successfully. She screamed into the gag, but it was well-made, and her sounds were muffled. I knelt at her side and ran a finger between her breasts. "God, but you are magnificent. I mean just fucking magnificent. You were right Miss Sharp; the next five months are going to be a hell of a lot of fun." Sighing, I pulled her on to the couch. "But that'll wait. It's late, I'm tired, and it's a school night. I'll spend the evening thinking about you, I can promise that. And you, I think, will spend it thinking of me." Her eyes screamed at me. I waved and found a light switch. In the darkness, I could hear her muffled screams. They followed me into her bedroom. *** I woke up a few minutes early the next morning, though I hadn't been able to get much sleep during the night. Far too many distracting mental images. On the floor I found the vibrator I had picked out last night. Eros Academy Somehow she had managed to fall asleep on the couch. I was able to remove the strap around her ankles without waking her up. The vibrator had those two charming, round leather straps attached. They slipped around Miss Sharp's legs and I was able to tighten them around her thighs before inserting the vibrator. I flipped it on before inserting it in her pussy; the sensation woke her up, but by the time she was lucid it was already firmly placed inside her. I was able to re-assemble the hogtie without too much resistance. She began to moan, the sound escaping around her gag. I knelt by the couch and brushed the hair away from her eyes. "This isn't going to a fun afternoon for either of us, I think," I said. "This wasn't what I wanted, believe me. When I get back this afternoon, we'll discuss our...situation." I took one, long, loving glance at those perfect breasts and walked away. When I reached her front door, I turned back and waved. "But now, I have to go to school."