Chapter Four: A Grand Display Of Sadistic Sport
Cathy
"I'm a worthless slut."
This guilty admission of failure -- personal and ideological, failure as a teacher and a feminist, failure as a member of my own gender -- was so etched into my brain at this point that I found myself repeating it like a mantra, without noticing.
Whenever I did notice, I cursed myself. I bit my lip in anger, drove my nails in my palms, anything to force my brain to focus.
Unfortunately, the moment I got distracted with anything -- grading homework, preparing lecture notes, doing chores... masturbating... any time at all; the mantra would resume.
"I'm a worthless slut."
My life was unravelling around me. I wasn't so far gone that I didn't realise as much. I had it all figured out, my academic career had proceeded like clockwork... and on the very first day, I let Burns put me on the back foot.
But even that was a compromise of sorts, wasn't it? I'd run into an unexpected problem, and was compromising on a few of my beliefs to deal with it. It was a way to maintain control in front of uncertainty.
And yet, I was now spiralling. Completely out of control.
"Because I'm a worthless slut."
Day after day, Burns would spank me. I would repeat the mantra, burning it into my mind. Day after day, I would suck his cock. He'd taken my virginity, my professional autonomy, and my dignity away from me with the ease of stealing candy off children.
To my students, I was little more than a joke. My own subconscious kept betraying me with this misogynistic drivel I couldn't purge out of my mind.
"I'm a worthless slut."
And Cindy... where first she had been standoffish and antagonistic, her behavior had now changed in ways I didn't fully understand. She spent a lot of time secluded in her own room, and in class, she largely stayed quiet and self-absorbed. Only Irene's taunts seemed to still get a rise out of her.
Whenever we did interact, however... it was further proof that I'd lost control of my life.
I had to call her Miss Cooper at all times, even at home. She left the dishes for me to clean, took my car without asking, and worse, her eyes betrayed a complete lack of respect for me. In many ways, I felt like I wasn't the big sister of the two any longer.
This was how I now found myself sitting in my office -- a place I ever saw these days, being in Burns' office all the time -- during afternoon appointment hours, after taking a bus to get there, because Cindy had denied me use of my own car.
Sitting in my office, before Nick fucking Foster.
He sat there like he owned the place, loudly chewing gum and wearing a delighted grin on his angular face, rocking back and forth in the chair as he leered at me.
My students saw me as a joke. But the two biggest challenges by far were Nick and Irene. And here was Nick, not in class but alone, face to face with me. Maybe he thought he was subtle, but I could see it from a mile away that he had some kind of plan in his head.
I needed to fend off his challenge. I needed to preserve at least the last modicum of authority I could preserve.
And yet, all I could rely on was my own brain, which was stuck on repeat over the same, traitorous admission.
"I'm a worthless slut."
"So, Mr Foster," I said, hating how naturally this demure and unassuming tone was coming to me by now. "What did you want to discuss with me today? Are you here to try and improve your English Lit grade?"
"That is the best class on offer right now," he said with a chuckle, chewing his gum louder, "but no. I'm here to talk about how to raise yours, Cathy."
His words made my heart sink. I gulped down, blinking slowly, waiting for him to mention that he was joking. He just kept chewing gum, throwing his self-satisfied grin in my face like a kind of challenge.
I knew my position was untenable. I depended on the students' good will to keep my job. Nick and Irene, above all, were testing the boundaries of how far they could leverage it. But this was new, dangerous, and scary territory.
I gulped down again, politely bowing my head in deference. "Of course, sir. What would you recommend for me to improve my performance?"
My cheeks burned so much I feared they were about to catch fire. Let alone the students' perception of me, how could I look myself in the mirror and feel like a professor when I was asking Nick Foster to review my performance?
"You can start by getting on deeze nuts," Nick said, laughing to himself and making obscene gestures towards his crotch.
The blood that had rushed to color my cheeks suddenly flushed back down, leaving me pale and cold like stone.
"Very funny, sir," I said nervously. "For real, though -- what do I need to do better?"
"I just told you," Nick said, drumming his fingers on his thigh, as if he was encouraging a pet to climb onto his lap. "Get to work." And then, venomously, "Bitch."
I stood up. It was meant to be a gesture of anger and intimidation, leveraging my nominal position as a teacher.
However... I looked ridiculous, sexy, available. My pantyhose complimented the curves of my legs, and my office skirt was way too short to be actually, well, an office skirt. Without a bra to contain them, my tits threatened to spill out of my blouse at any moment.
I looked like the sexed-up parody of a secretary in an office porn vid.
Nick clearly noticed, laughing openly at my failure to be the slightest bit assertive. No wonder Burns was reducing me to his toy, if this fresh-faced jock could brush away my ineffectual attempt at being taken seriously with such ease.
"Come here," he said, pointing to his lap. "Sit."
I gave a whelp of surprise as my body tried to do two different things at once -- walk towards Nick, and head for the door. Two competing impulses were clashing within me.
Burns had drilled a new set of values into me. I should always show deference towards men. I should be sexually open and available. I was a worthless slut, and deserved to resign myself to male authority in all aspects of life, especially in the workplace. My own students were the boss of me, and Burns incomparably more so.
However, I had to keep this job, and I had to protect Burns' as well. He had my allegiance. If I simply obeyed Nick and started having sex with a student, I'd put that all in jeopardy.
With a groan of anguish, I realised there was almost no room in this calculation for the simple fact that I didn't want to have sex with Nick, much less submit to him.
Burns' daily training was having an effect of me. I'd been narrowed down to a sliver of my former self. He was working me over like an expert craftsman.
But even his instructions weren't perfect. Right now, I was facing decision paralysis.
But the more I thought about it, the more the fear won out over Burns' training. Submitting to misogynistic treatment had to come after protecting my -- and his -- job.
