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(Exhibitionism, Public Humiliation, BDSM)
Copyright 2016 Daisy Rose
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older. No part in this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without permission of the author or publisher.
I fanned myself with a particularly badly written essay as I glared daggers at the students in front of me. The heater was turned on at full blast even though the weather had warmed significantly. Couple that with the half dozen sweaty, annoyed young men, and we end up being surrounded by foul, unbreathable, and humid air.
They were carrying marked examination papers that was rightfully the job for some more experienced teacher. But Mrs. Burto was too lazy and incompetent to get her own work done, instead peddling off her paper work to her students, who came to me for help. They shouldn't be grading other student's work in the first place.
I wasn't staying well past closing hours in order to grade papers though. I was here to make sure that the students were caught up on their SATs. Never mind the fact that I had already given up my lunch break just to be able to fit everything into my schedule, they were making me work nights as well.
If I had to suffer, the students who got me into this mess in the first place had better suffer along with me. They were only a few years my junior but I felt a million years older.
"Just set the boxes by the door," I said, gazing around the empty hall.
"No problem, miss," Jack said through gritted teeth, eager to be done with it and out of my sight.
I held the same sentiment, but I maintained the steely expression and kept my gaze firmly on the boys. They weren't really boys now. Not anymore.
It was hard to believe they were only eighteen since they were all taller and bigger than me. They were football jocks, all eager on getting into the college of their dreams. They only had one more semester to go before they graduated high school.
Well, technically, they only had one more class to go before they graduated high school.
My class. I was the 'little bitch' who refused to roll over and bump their 'F's into a passing grade because I didn't think that they should be given special treatment just because they're good football players.
And that's really all they are. They're 'good'. Not spectacular and definitely not amazing, as their coach liked to tell them.
If they were really good, they would've been scouted for schools already. They were mediocre at best and needed to at least have a good command in the English language if they wanted to get anywhere in the world.
For now, they couldn't even differentiate between 'cynical' and 'clinical' and would tell me the words were too 'obscure' and anyone who used them were 'braggarts'. At least I was making some progress.
"Is there anything else we can do for you?"
"Of course," I turned to Jack with a polite smile. "Please make sure you read and memorize List 5 of your SAT vocabulary and I will quiz you on them tomorrow." I looked to his friends, making sure they knew the instruction was for all of them.
The glare in the young men's eyes told me that they were not happy with the assignment at all. They were in my mercy, regardless of the amount of attitude they gave me.
With a sigh of resignation, they rose and murmured their goodbyes. The double doors closed ominously behind them and I waited for five minutes before storming out of the building myself.
It was frustrating how little progress I was making on everything, both in life, and in my career. My boss only cared about numbers and couldn't care less if the students actually learned anything in school. As long as they graduated, then everything was fine.
I was stretched thin with all my classes and my temper was on a short fuse as the direct result of all the stress I was under. I stopped for a moment to dig through my purse for my car keys and couldn't help but smile a little at the little unicorn keychain attached to it. It was a gift from one of my students, whom I had worked especially hard with. English was her second language and she still managed to get a solid B+.
There was no excuse that the football players, whom I knew were capable of getting easy A's, were failing a class that should be second nature to them. English. How hard can English be? They spoke it every day, for god's sake.
I stopped cold in front of my car. "Shit."
The front driver's side headlight was smashed and my tires were punctured. I walked around the car and found that only two of the tires were punctured. Little mercies. They were deflated to the point where my car was visibly leaning forward. I looked around the empty parking lot and sighed.
I knew the students resented me for holding them back a semester, but it was for their own goods. Without good SAT scores, none of them had a chance in getting into any Universities, let alone ones with good football teams. I considered going to the custodian for help, but he was an old guy who walked to school every day.
I took a deep breath and looked around again. There were no security cameras in view, since the principal was a cheap asshole, and I didn't want to get my own students in trouble, no matter how shit-headed they may be.
I continued forcing air into my lungs to calm myself. It was okay. Cars can be fixed. I'd just need new... everything. I let out a frustrated scream and kicked the car, adding further damage to the already abused vehicle.
I grabbed the car to steady myself as I massaged the tip of my foot with my free hand. I swallowed angry tears. I couldn't go to the police, and I couldn't get anyone to come get the car now. Perhaps some of the teachers were willing to help me. I may not be a favorite amongst students, but I was reasonably liked amongst my colleagues.
Sighing, I unlocked the car and tossed my heavier book bag into the trunk. I would just have to do with public transportation until I can get someone to fix the car for me.
Thankfully, the train station was only a ten-minute walk away. I hadn't had to use the train to get around since I bought the car. My now useless car. For a split second, I worried about forgetting to lock the doors but reasoned that my luck couldn't possibly be that bad.
I fed another dollar into the ticket machine before it dawned on me that I had been absentmindedly giving it money without realizing that it's broken. I marched up to the front desk, thankful that there was still somebody sitting behind the little desk.