Ms. Evans’ steamy breath engulfed Tom in a cloud, greased with a touch of lunchtime pastrami and then singed on the end with a hint of black coffee bean. He sputtered, not quite on board with having his every lung refill consisting of bad Italian meats and the twin tangerine tic-tacs that were egregiously inadequate to cover up her digestive aroma at this proximity and scale. Almost immediately the hot puffs of air slicked him with a few condensing beads of spittle on his forehead and neck. Her massive fingers drew him close enough to her steadily parting lips that he could reached out and swiped off a lump of her sanguine knockoff-designer gloss if he was so inclined, though he suspected this would not be very appreciated.
“I want to make something clear to you, Mr. Baker, before you go today,” the woman whispered throatily as she held her three-inch student up to her lips, each syllable a fresh burst of that warm mist still continuing to assault Tom’s face with sticky sputum and his nose with stale rye bread from her sandwich. At this point, he’d all but forgotten about the soreness of being squeezed so tightly, when her breath was assaulting his senses. “Are you listening carefully?”
He flinched on each word not from terror but from revulsion, and tried to keep himself together and listen to what he was assured would be a reasonably important mortal threat. It seemed unlikely that he wasn’t listening, let alone carefully, given that she was gripping him so close to her titanic chin, but she demanded an answer. Tom nodded obediently.
“Fantastic. So at least you can answer some things with truth,” she commended sarcastically. Her fingers shifted on his sides, relenting marginally on their iron grip to allow him to focus less on the stinging sensation and more on her upcoming dangerous proclamation. “Make no mistake: what you went through today was but a taste of the kind of justice I am capable of imparting if the truth… my truth… is being threatened by someone like you.”
Tom blinked, wondering if he should try to nod in acknowledgment or just continuing doing his best to avoid gagging on the now-thickening gloss of his teacher’s fogged saliva clinging to his chin and shoulders.
“If you should falter again in my presence…” she continued gravely. “If you should so much as devolve by an inch where I can see you… then I’m grant you an extra-special lesson I haven’t had to use since I was your age when my siblings were running around like the heretic runts that they were and are.”
“Um… and what would that lesson be?” Tom questioned earnestly, actually genuinely curious about what he was already determined would be his fate whether he wanted it or not.
At this, rather than snarling and unleashing a flurry of harrowing insults due to his lack of fear, Ms. Evans’ crimson lips actually curled into the slimiest smile Tom had perhaps ever witnessed in his life, let alone close enough to study every individual gloopy crinkle in the makeup-caked flesh. Frankly, he much preferred a scowl from her. It wasn’t quite so foreign or terrifying. For perhaps the first time in the woman’s clutches this day, the three-inch Baker felt a twinge of fear rattle down the links of his spine.
“I’m glad you asked that,” she said, again shocking him. Apparently, she was indeed happy, which only doubled his apprehension and brought out a layer of nervous sweat on his neck to complement the now-congealing glob of Ms. Evans’ sprayed spit. “It’s really not so different from what we did today, only we take a brief trip to the lady’s room first. I have a little wardrobe alteration. And then…” Her fingers reared just a few fractions of an inch closer to her bulbous lips, such that her student’s head almost passed through the pink barrier and into the hollow and moist void beyond. The murmur she emitted could barely even parsed out, yet Tom knew exactly what she said as each piece slithered out: “…and then I throne you in the purest way possible.”
Instantly Tom was pulled away from Ms. Evans’ lips and given a fuller view of the winding landscape of her body. The woman’s free hand, so far below, snaked along the curvy mountainside of her black-clad body and wound down to her ass, jutted out just far enough to give Tom a clear view of his future holiday destination. Just to drive the point home, his teacher clasped her palm against the rounded hill of her left cheek, giving it a pat for good measure and drumming her fingers against it. Next, they traveled up the fabric wall and toward the waistband, which she proceeded to tug down a few centimeters with her powerful thumb, revealing the rim of her panties.
If the threat wasn’t clear yet, it was pretty crystal by this point. Tom could only shudder through every part of his simultaneously chilled and melted being, unsure if he was trembling out of fear or partial arousal or, in all likelihood, a troubling combination of both.
Idly, he wondered if his teacher ever applied any sort of perfume near the region of her butt or thighs. It seemed a relevant concern considering the inevitable next time he shrunk in front of the woman he was going to be squeezed between her bare cheeks and made to be close personal friends with her tightly puckered anus. However, he was willing to bet that broaching such a subject at this juncture would be unwise. Rude, even.
“Do we understand each other?” she uttered, bringing just close enough to her stiffly batting red lips to sample a final whiff of her lunch breath and throat gunk.
“Yep!” Tom declared, perhaps a little too spryly, though there most likely wasn’t a correct way to respond that would’ve avoided a lasting growl etching itself into his teacher’s pretty but often gargoyled face. He actually experienced a touch of calm to feel Ms. Evans’ hand descending again, bringing him roughly into contact with the table such that he was dragged for several uncomfortable paces on the surface along his knees until the woman at last released her grip on him.
By the time he’d managed to right himself, pump his lungs back up with a regular dose of air, and massage his vigorously imprinted hips now tattooed with the pink shape of the English teacher’s domineering fingers, she was already strutting away. Amazingly, her heels almost succeeded in clacking despite the fact that the room was carpeted. For a bracing moment, Tom accidentally imagined what it would be like to be speared on the spiked ends of one of those wiry supports, continually being shoved higher and higher up the black pole like a piece of kebob meat on every step the woman took. However, he quickly shook his head and gasped in another breath, resolving to just focus on the imminent threat of being utilized as a butt plug the next time he lied in the vicinity of Ms. Evans.
Emma arrived just as Ms. Evans sauntered back out through the glass entrance. Outside the bustling student body was thinning, meaning it was almost time to head out, so it was lucky she’d made it on time with backpack slung across one shoulder. The girl’s bright eyes fell instantly to the edge of the table on the precise corner she knew her brother would be waiting, as the statistically significant number of times she’d had to perform this errand of retrieving her misbehaving sibling had allowed her to encode it as muscle memory. Immediately her lips spread into a broad grin. A very particular twinkle was clearly alighting in her eyes at the realization that Tom had undergone at least one fairly major shrinking episode after leaving her custody that morning.
Which, as Tom knew very well, was an enormous source of joy to his youngest sibling. He supposed that was a plus, considering how often he relied on her by day’s end. The rare occasions where she’d been sick or at an away-game all day, forcing him to wait for Blake or, even worse, Alaina, hadn’t been especially comfortable rides home, as he’d spent them tangled in a bundle of gym shorts and stuffed into a raunchily pungent knee sock, respectively, by each.
“You lucked out, Tom-Tom,” Emma said with a half-smirk. She practically skipped across the carpet, allowing a slight rumble to emanate up through the desk and into her miniscule brother’s feet with each joyful bounce of her rubbery treads. “No tennis practice today. We’re going straight home. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
Sighing with relief, Tom had to admit that this day could’ve gone a lot worse, all things considered. Of course, it could’ve gone a lot better, considering he’d missed every single class in order to devote all those hours to being either worn, sat, or sucked on by a series of gargantuan human beings with especially self-serving senses of humor, but what was he supposed to do, anyway? Not lie about the secrets that lurked in the deepest and most embarrassing sub-basements of his soul? At least he got to go home now, rather than letting the sun cook him through the thin fabric of Emma’s increasingly damp sweat towel and dodging cannon-sized tennis balls fired at him at least somewhat on purpose by overzealous doubles partners.
“Yeah. Yeah, it does,” he said, uttering one of his few truths of the day. And Tom reflected that, yes, this was a pretty a-okay day as he thrust his arms out to the side like a farmer waiting to let the emerald beam of extraterrestrial visitors slurp him into the saucer. To the satisfied tune of Emma’s chuckling, he contentedly watched the arm-length shadow fall over the cusp of the desk and then his body, molding into the familiar sensation of his sister’s greedy fingers wadding him like an uncooperative jelly bean into her clammy fist.