My Sweet Bully

“All right class, settle down.” Mrs. Gemstone sets her briefcase on the floor and claps her hands together. “I hope everyone had a good summer, but now it’s time to get back to learning. Who’s ready?” She holds out her hands, eyes bouncing around the class.

No one but her is excited. Everyone groans all at once, closing eyes, and slouching deeper into their seats.

Mrs. Gemstone smiles and lowers her eyes. “Oh come on, it isn’t that bad. It’s your last year, you should all be over the moon about that.”

Her gray hair is curled up at the ends as her Hawaiian flower dress moves easily around her legs. She teaches French, and every so often she yells something out I don’t understand.

“Quelqu’un?” she asks, looking for someone to agree with her. “Anyone?” she repeats in English and asks again. But no one answers. “Bien, bien, all right, I have my answer.” Taking out a clipboard, she starts going through the attendance. Mrs. Gemstone is checking off names as kids raise hands and say they’re present.

“Benjamin Summons?”

“Here.”

Her eyes look up for a second, then back to her list. “Cassandra Thompson?”

“Here.”

The door springs open, causing a big gust of wind to blow a small stack of papers off the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Gemstone lets out a small gasp as she whips her eyes to the door.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry I’m late, I got lost.”

My ears perk, and I lift my head to see Prairie standing in the doorway, her hands folded across her waist. Wearing a pair of tight jeans and combat boots, her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her baby doll t-shirt dips low, showing a peek of cleavage.

Dropping her eyes to the floor, she looks up at the ceiling, then over at the teacher. “I’m really sorry, I won’t be late again.”

The entire room stares at her. She put herself on display, like a fucking statue in the center of the fountain. She looks so vulnerable as she stands there with wide eyes, a nameless fawn in a room full of wolves.

This girl is going to get eaten alive.

And I can’t seem to fucking escape her.

I can’t escape her in my dreams. I can’t escape her in my memories. And now she’s here.

Why the fuck does it feel like she’s following me? Is the world out to screw me over? Is this some type of sick joke from the big man upstairs?

Mrs. Gemstone presses the tips of her fingers into her desk and smiles. “Come on in.” Standing up straight, she takes her by the shoulders and moves her further into the room. “You must be Prairie Westmin. Prairie, why don’t you take that open seat over there while I finish attendance.”

Prairie nods and smiles, taking a few steps toward the desk the teacher pointed at. Lifting her face to look around the room, her eyes meet mine and she pauses mid step. I see her inhale sharply, surprised just the same as I am to have her walk into my homeroom.

Her tits rise and fall, cleavage pillowing over the top of her shirt as she holds her breath. I won’t break eye contact first. I refuse to. I want her to see me. To feel me. To know I’m a presence, and not just a face she pointed out to the cops.

She’s in my world now. If I can’t escape her, she can’t escape me.

I’m going to make her life a living nightmare.

Her eyes flicker back and forth over my face until she finally drops them to the floor and takes her seat. Nervously, Prairie tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears, and clears her throat as she folds her hands on the desk and sits up straight.

Her back is stiff as a board as she shifts in her chair, uncomfortably aware that I’m so close. I know she wants to look back at me, I can see her eyes as they move, trying to catch a glimpse of me in her peripheral vision. Except, she’s afraid to actually look.

The principal’s voice crackles through the overhead speaker, welcoming all the students back for another year. His voice turns to mumbles as my attention falls on Prairie. I can’t stop watching her.

Her neck looks smooth, edible, and I can see the outline of her bra beneath the purple material. She really is fucking gorgeous. I can’t deny that. Her face is flawless. Ivory skin, rosy pink cheeks, lush lips.

She has curves that could bring any man to his knees. Legs that I’d happily have wrapped around my hips, and a mouth that would look amazing around my cock.

Growling to myself in my head, I have to stop. She’s trouble. She’s the reason I’m in this mess. Clenching the pencil firmly in my hand, it breaks in two.