Mrs. Nixon wasn’t much taller than Abbi, but like a lot of the other female Academy staff, she was fuller in the chest, hips, and butt in way that intimidated her. Just the way she stood casually in the doorway, she looked more at ease and confident than Abbi had ever felt in her life.

“Pleased to finally meet you, Miss Abbi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Where’s Mr. Cleveland?” Abbi regretted the rudeness of her tone the second the question escaped her naughty mouth.

Abbi was lounging on her bed, reading an old manga that Marty had given her. She relished every moment she got to spend in her otaku bedroom, and the small book was the cherry on top of the dream she was so privileged to be living.

“He’s been assigned to another student,” Mrs. Nixon explained. “We are supposed to rotate every couple of weeks, but he got special permission from the Principal for the extra two sessions that you two got together.”

“Did he get into trouble?”

“No,” Mrs. Nixon queried, suspicious. “Why, is there a reason he should be in trouble?”

“No! Mr. Cleveland was perfect,” Abbi relayed, wistfully. “So, so awesome.”

Mrs. Nixon sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“What are you reading?” the teacher asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Awkward. It was Abbi’s turn at suspicion.

“Um, something called Lone Wolf and Cub?” Abbi placed a bookmarker and showed her the cover. “It’s, like, a ninja thing.”

“Samurai.”

“What?”

“Ogami Itto and his son are samurai,” Mrs. Nixon expanded. “Ronin, really, if you want to get technical.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I like the art. It’s like, super violent, but really cool to look at.”

Abbi looked up at Mrs. Nixon, an argument between disappointment and novelty starting in her head. The memories of her romps with Mr. Cleveland would be cherished spank-bank material for years to come, but she’d begun to miss the attention of a mother figure.

She was pretty and sandy blonde and wore teacher’s attire of the pencil skirt, white shirt, and black blazer well. The tight cut of the suit, minimal makeup, and the severe bun were a sharp contrast to her familiar manner. Abbi felt that her guard was ready to drop, along with her panties, the moment Mrs. Nixon asserted herself.

“You have some science homework from Mr. Harding that need completing, but I want to talk about something else first.”

“Oh?” Abbi asked, trying to look as innocent as possible. Needing to ‘talk about something’ was usually the nicer teachers’ preamble to a punishment.

“Yes,” Mrs. Nixon hesitated, clearing her throat. “So…”

Abbi noticed then just how close in actual age to herself that Mrs. Nixon appeared to be. She also seemed far less confident than any of the other teachers as she struggled to overcome the internal hurdle holding back the conversation.

“So,” Mrs. Nixon tried again. “I want us to figure out how this tutoring session will go.”

“Um, okay?”

“Like, I’m going to be saying and doing some stuff to, I mean, with you, and I want to make sure we are on the same page before we begin.”

“Stuff?” Abbi asked. “I’m confused.”

“Sex. We’re going to have sex,” Mrs. Nixon asserted. “With your consent of course,” she promised, “but I also want to play with you a certain way, and before we do…it, I want to make sure you are ok with the plan, and…”

This manic-pixie-dream-teacher thing that Mrs. Nixon had going on was almost too much for Abbi.

“Oh!” Abbi exclaimed. “I get it. You want to, um…what do you want to do?”

“I want you to resist me. I want you to be as modest and virginal as possible, and I want you to do your best to, um, stop me. Stop my advances.”

“Really?”

“We don’t have to, I mean, it’s totally up to you. Not totally, but you know what I mean.”

Abbi didn’t exactly know what Mrs. Nixon meant, mostly because this pre-scene discussion was so out of the ordinary. She’d done pre-planning a couple of times with her online Daddy, but not with Mr. Cleveland and certainly never with any of the classroom teachers. She just went along the flow, taking her cues and giving consent when the questions were posed.

“What do you think?”

“You want me to, like,” Abbi paused. “You want me to fight you?”

“No!” Mrs. Nixon responded, stunned. “No, it’s like this…I’ve always wanted to do a scene where I had to, you know, convince my student to, I mean, to accept my advances. I want to be aggressive, not just dominant, and I want you to be…”

“You want me to resist? Like I’m not into girls, or I don’t like you?”

“Yes, at least until, I’ve, you know, convinced you.”

“This is weird.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, I’ve heard from the other teachers that you are the best in your class at, I guess you’d say, the best at playing little.”

“Really? They said that?” Abbi loved getting praise directly; indirect praise was a special kind of magic.

“Yes!” Mrs. Nixon said, a little too enthusiastically. Abbi could see her rethinking this whole situation right there on her face.

“I’ve always wanted to mersin escort be with a virgin and…”

“Yes?”

“Deflower a modest girl and turn her wild.” The whole crazy statement tumbled out as one long word.

“This is weird.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Nixon said, crestfallen.

“No, no, no. I like weird. Like, I love, love weird.”

“Oh,” her tutor recovered. “So, you are, you know, up to try this?”

“You want me to not be into it until you convince me?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Nixon breathed, hope and confidence returning.

“Deflower me.”

“Yes,” she pleaded.

“Alrighty, you’ve got a deal.”

–

The pod racing scene from Episode I kept flashing in Abbi’s head throughout her interaction with Mrs. Nixon. Maybe it was the idea that the scene was this quickly moving machine that was barely holding together, being driven by two amateurs, carefully threading the needle in order to come to a satisfying finish.

Abbi constantly fought the urge to be bratty and rude, sensing that Mrs. Nixon wanted to keep things playful rather than punitive. She also often felt that she was being too compliant and was risking disappointing her new tutor. The worst part though, was the math. Mr. Harding’s commitment to Spanking Academy fidelity had put algebra homework in front of her and she was not happy about it. Complicated.

“First, outer, inner, last,” Mrs. Nixon repeated.

“I know, Mrs. Nixon,” Abbi sighed. She had gotten away with some mild talk-back, which was refreshing. “But can you show me again?”

Mrs. Nixon mirrored her student’s sigh and went through the order again, helping Abbi every step through the simple equation.

“See? Easy,” she said, giving Abbi’s free hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I guess so.”

So far, her tutor had only moved that helping hand up her arm to her shoulder and back down again. As Abbi went on to the next problem, Mrs. Nixon had advanced to rubbing the tension out from the base of her neck. Abbi had to will herself into mild annoyance to be able to shrug that hand away from its labors.

“You should relax, Miss Abbi,” Mrs. Nixon advised, letting her hand drift down Abbi’s back. “You are doing fine. Just stay focused.”

“It’s hard to focus and relax at the same time, Mrs. Nixon.”

Abbi leaned back, trapping the woman’s hand between her back and the chair. Mrs. Nixon withdrew her hand, pulling Abbi’s shirt out of the back of her skirt in the process.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, but when am I ever going to use algebra?” Abbi whined.

“You aren’t, really,” Mrs. Nixon admitted.

“Seriously?” Abbi had never heard a teacher say such a thing, but maybe scholarly honesty was in short supply in Florida public schools.

“It’s true, but,” her tutor added, “Algebra, geometry, calculus, math in general, it’s all critical thinking. You know what I mean? Not just right and wrong, but how to work out problems and figure out the correct answer on your own based on the available evidence.”

“So, I’m not getting out of this, then.” Abbi had found her inner whiner. Abbi pushed back from the desk and swiveled toward her tutor.

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Nixon warned. “Especially if you don’t want to be punished by Mr. Harding again.”

“Oh, gosh, you are right.” The thought alone made her shift in her seat, remembering the recent intrusions by that horny reincarnation of Nikola Tesla.

“Listen, if you get through the next five problems, I’ll let you have a little break.”

“Oh? That would be nice, mam.”

“Mam? Really?” Mrs. Nixon asked, her tone genuinely hurt but her face showing something else.

There’s that ‘Academy Leer’ again, Abbi thought.

“Please, Abbi,” Mrs. Nixon turned on the charm. “While we’re here in your bedroom, you can call me Nikki.”

Mrs. Nixon emphasized this first foray into intimacy by putting both of her delicate hands onto Abbi’s stockinged knees. The spark between them in that moment was so real that Abbi was surprised that the lights didn’t flicker.

They both looked down at the line that had just been crossed.

Here it is, my chance to shine, Abbi thought.

“Um, Mrs. Nixon?” she asked. “I don’t think you’re supposed to, um, touch me like that.”

The older woman immediately reclaimed her hands, a sheepish look on her face that said, ‘my hands just did that on their own’.

“Sorry, sweetie, I just get carried away sometimes. Won’t happen again.”

Abbi had turned back to her desk and made her way through three problems with no help. In the meantime, Mrs. Nixon had moved her chair close enough to feel the woman’s warmth.

Despite Mrs. Nixon’s promise, it did happen again. The slightly sweaty hand seemed to have both a mind of its own and a clear mission to explore the undiscovered country hidden by Abbi’s skirt. Abbi would let it stay there for a moment or two before pushing it off, but it would return moments later, resume its perilous journey from her knees to the hem of her skirt.

The incursions into her personal space went unmentioned while the commentary on her homework mersin escort bayan never strayed far from positive encouragement.

“Good, Miss Abbi,” she said again. “Really, really good. You’re finally getting the hang of this.”

Abbi bushed some hair back and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Did you know that you stick out your tongue while you are concentrating hard?”

“What?” Abbi said, mortified. “No, I don’t.” She did know, but it felt weird to hear it anyway. It was the sort of thing that she had been teased relentlessly about until she learned to avoid moments of intense focus while in the presence of others.

“It’s super cute, I mean,” Mrs. Nixon swung for the fences. “You are…you’re really cute when you are concentrating.”

“Thanks, I think?” Abbi offered. Maybe I should have let her have that one. Abbi thought. Yes, I’ll give her the next one.

Mrs. Nixon bit her lower lip and Abbi subconsciously did the same.

“I’m sorry, Miss Abbi,” Mrs. Nixon apologized. “That was over the line.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Nix…um, Nikki,” Abbi said brightly. “I guess I’m just not used to compliments from girls.”

“I’m hardly a girl,” her tutor said, admonishing herself. “I’m an adult and a teacher and I should remember to act like one.”

“Aw, Mrs. um, Nikki, don’t say that. You are cute too! You’re not old like the other teachers.”

“You are so kind,” Mrs. Nixon cooed. “Ok, sweetie, two more problems and we can take a break.”

The reassuring hand returned to Abbi’s shoulder blade, rubbing a circle there. She rewarded her teacher by letting her tongue roam free. Her hair had also drifted down in front of her eyes again. Abbi fought the urge to brush it back in the hopes that Mrs. Nixon would do it for her.

“Well done! Okay, one more to go, Miss Abbi.”

Abbi half-looked at her tutor, giving her a small smile and a raised eyebrow. Mrs. Nixon took the bait and brushed a rogue lock back behind Abbi’s ear.

“I love your haircut,” the woman breathed. “I’d never have the courage to go that short though.”

“Maybe you should. I think it would look good on you. You’d look different from the other teachers with a bob for sure.”

“No,” she sighed. “No, I could never.”

“You’d probably get mistaken for a student. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

That did it. Mrs. Nixon leaned in and went for a hearty kiss on the cheek.

Sparks again, or lightning maybe. Abbi didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this game.

“Mrs. Nixon?”

“I’m so sorry Miss Abbi, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s ok, I just want to finish and take a break.”

Abbi tried her best to focus on the fifth problem, looking ahead to the break, and beyond that, another ten equations or so. Ugh.

It was a struggle, both getting through the math while anticipating Mrs. Nixon’s next move.

“First, Abbi,” she interrupted. “First, now outer…now inner, now, yes, last.”

Tutor torture, Abbi thought. “Did I do it right?”

“Yes! you got it.” Mrs. Nixon reached around to Abbi’s far shoulder and gave her an awkward side hug.

Abbi looked down past her desk at her lap. Her tutor’s other hand had returned to her thigh, now half-hidden by her skirt.

“So, how about that break,” Mrs. Nixon said, just a little too close to Abbi’s ear. The older woman’s tone was far from casual.

“Sounds good, what did you have in mind?”

“What did Mr. Cleveland do for your breaks?”

“Um, we uh,” Abbi stuttered. She flashed on the memory of his extra-curricular attention: the image of his pulsating cock, glistening with pre-cum, coming in fast for the sweet relief of the offered blowjob. “We, uh, didn’t really take breaks. He’d help me finish, um…and then we’d…”

“Finish?” Mrs. Nixon asked.

Innuendo. Good, Abbi thought. Innuendo is always a good sign.

“Massages,” Abbi blurted out. “He gave good massages.”

Abbi glanced over at the mirrored closet doors that hid her room’s bondage dungeon. There had been a new kind of kinky furniture in there every week, and like clockwork, she had been tied to it, massaged, spanked, and sodomized in new and creative ways. To her mind Mr. Cleveland wasn’t responsible for any of it, what happened to her in there was always the device’s fault, like the kinky configurations of metal, wood, vinyl, and rubber had a life of their own.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Nixon’s expression caught Abbi off guard. “That sounds really inappropriate.”

“Uh, yeah, oh dang,” Abbi tried to recover. “Oh, jeez, I hope I didn’t just get him into trouble.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Oh good!” Abbi said. Eager to change the subject, she followed it up with: “Too bad there isn’t a TV in here. It’d be nice to watch something.”

“I like the fact there aren’t any screens at the Academy. Fewer distractions,” Mrs. Nixon said. She held Abbi’s gaze. “More one on one interactions.”

“I think I saw a pack of cards in the nightstand with the, uh…” Abbi stopped before saying dildos. “We could play war, or, umm…solitaire? I don’t know many escort mersin card games.”

“War sounds good, I haven’t played that in years!”

–

Abbi had settled with her legs crossed by the head of the bed, alternately leaning back against the pillows and forward braced on her knees while Mrs. Nixon lay propped up on her side not too far away.

Their chatter was light, and the game went quick. All seemed so normal and calm that it felt like a trap to Abbi.

“How are you liking LA?”

“It’s nice! I love the weather here. Hollywood, the um, Strip is so dirty. The tips are nice, though.”

“Oh, so you are working as a server during the week?”

“Yes.”

The silences spoke more than the words until Mrs. Nixon made it weird again.

“Truth or Dare.”

“What?” Abbi had just won a long hand and was gathering the cards.

“Truth,” Mrs. Nixon repeated, “Or, you know, Dare.”

“Uh, Truth?”

“Have you ever been kissed? Was it a boy or a girl?”

“Um, can I switch?”

“Nope, but you can get revenge when it’s your turn to ask.”

“First special kiss? A boy. When I was 17. I was really shy? Shy. Kept to myself mostly before I started dating my first boyfriend.”

“Really? You’re probably a good kisser and super popular.”

The card game stopped. This unexpected game of Truth or Dare had just opened an ocean of pervy possibilities for them both.

Mrs. Nixon took advantage of the pause to put her hand on Abbi’s knee again.

“Um, no,” Abbi said. She pushed the offending hand off again before gesturing around her. “If we weren’t so poor, this is literally how I would have decorated my bedroom.”

“Including the closet?”

“You know about the closet?”

“Yes,” was all she needed to say. “But, anime is super popular now, right?”

“Not in Sarasota. Super nerd-geek-weirdo-outcast right here.”

“Ok, my turn,” Mrs. Nixon said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Um, truth.”

“We get punished a lot. Do you like punishing students, or is it, like, something you have to do?”

“I love being a teacher here and correcting a student’s bad behavior is part of a teacher’s duties.”

“That wasn’t a yes or no.”

“I love teaching here.”

“So, yes then.”

Mrs. Nixon said no more on the subject. They returned to the card game, which was drawing to a close with Abbi way ahead in cards. The real game, however, was just beginning.

“Your turn, Miss Abbi.”

“Truth.”

“Do you like wearing the Academy uniform?”

“Oh yes! It’s kinda sad that the boys just get dumb slacks. My favorite part is the skirt and stockings. All the girls just look so cute.”

“You think the boys would look good in skirts and stockings?”

“I don’t know, it’s just sad that girls get all the fun. Kyle would probably look great though.”

“You are soooo pretty in yours.”

“Aw, thanks Mrs. Nikki.”

“Just Nikki,” she reminded. “My turn again. Dare.”

“Um, ok, I dare you to let your hair down and undo your shirt collar.”

“You read my mind,” Mrs. Nixon said, undoing the regulation bun. Her sandy hair cascaded around her shoulders.

“Your hair is so pretty.”

“Thanks!” Mrs. Nixon accepted brightly. She struggled theatrically for a few seconds with the top button before asking for help.

Abbi crawled over to Mrs. Nixon and undid the button quickly. They’d been close for the whole session, but something had changed. Abbi sat back on her haunches, ready for the change to blossom into something sexy.

“My turn,” Abbi said. “Truth.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Oh gosh, are you supposed to ask stuff like that?”

“Probably not. If I was, would you answer?”

“I don’t think I should share that sort of stuff, Mrs. Nixon,” Abbi whispered.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to answer. I’ll ask you some thing else.”

“I, uh, I…” Abbi chewed on her lower lip again. “I am. My boyfriend tried to, um, we tried to have it, but I got too scared.” Abbi’s scalp tingled throughout that fictional revelation.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s ok,” Abbi said, her voice returning. “It’s ok, I know you are just trying to be friendly.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know, virginity.”

“I know. I just think it’s, like, not cool, or something.”

“My turn, Truth. You get one more turn, then we have to get back to homework.”

“Do you like having, um…like doing it?” Abbi felt like the devil himself had planted the seed of that question and it felt amazing to hear it come to life.

“You mean sex? It’s ok to say the word, you know.”

“Do you like having, um, S-E-X?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Nixon giggled. She seemed to want to say more but held back. “Your turn. You haven’t tried a dare yet.”

“Ok, Mrs. Nix,” Abbi paused, took a deep breath, and said it. “Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

“What? I can’t do that, you’re my teacher!”

“In this room, I’m just your tutor, really just a helpful friend,” Mrs. Nixon claimed. “I’m here to help. You. And I think I can best help you with a kiss.”

“Oh, I don’t know Mrs. Nix, it wouldn’t be right for me to kiss you.” Abbi wanted nothing more than to make out with her tutor but had found herself so invested in the woman’s fantasy that nothing but continued resistance would do.