Comfort Women

[knightwriter]

A blackmail story about a high school teacher and a student - comment if you'd like me to continue this one
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All together I have been a high school teacher for over ten years. After I tell you what I did you will probably think I have a long history of fantasizing about my students. But the truth is, until the situation with Christie, the thought never even crossed my mind. Before her I never once even gave them a second thought. In fact, the first time I saw her I didn’t think about her as anything but a history student. I’m not sure why it happened. I guess it was the perfect storm of events coming together.

As a teacher, I know things about all of my students. I overhear them talking. They chatter like birds in the morning. To them I am just a dispenser of boring lecture and a proctor of multiple choice fill in the bubble tests, which is why they talk around me like I am not even there. But I hear what they are saying. I know who got invited to what party, which couples are breaking up and which couples are getting together, and who went all the way with whom.

And honestly, I don’t care.

Christie Broward was one of my students. I knew she came from a poor family, and she was very bright. I know that she got a provisional scholarship to go to the University of Southern California, provided that she get at least a three-point six grade point average. For a girl as smart as her it would be an easy thing.

It was the last week of school, a hot and sultry week in June with vibrant blue skies and the smell of promise in the air. I walked down the aisles of my class handing back each student’s final essay. They chattered away at each other, laughing and joking, practically oblivious to my presence. On each thin stack of paper I had written the student’s grade. Most were C’s, with a sprinkling of B’s and D’s. Three students performed well enough to earn an A, and Christie was certainly one of them.

I was careful to not make eye contact with her, and not look at her any differently when I handed her a copy of her final with the letter F written in bold red marker on the front. The bell rang shortly after. As the students got up to file out of my class I intended to tell Christie, the one student I marked as failing, to wait but when I saw her sitting in her desk, looking through her test incredulously I knew it wasn’t going to be necessary. When the last student filed out, leaving Christie and I alone, I closed the classroom door and locked it. She didn’t even seem to notice.

I stood by the door for a long moment, leaning my back against it and crossing my arms over my chest. Christie had curly dishwater blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders and ran down her back like a frothing waterfall frozen in place. Her complexion was pale but not entirely alabaster. She had a cute upturned nose, dark blue eyes and long lashes. She was wearing an unbuttoned dark blue sweater over a white blouse and a dark blue mid-thigh length skirt. She had white stockings that came up to just below her knees and glossy black buckled shoes.

“Christie,” I said, “class is over.”

She pulled her gaze away from her paper and shot me a pained expression.
“An F?” she questioned.

I looked down and shuffled my feet to hide my guilt, for in truth her paper was outstanding.

“You completely missed the point of the entire essay,” I said.

“I can’t get an F Mr. Kowalski,” Christie said. “I need to get at least a B in this class or I’ll lose my scholarship to USC.”

I shrugged, “I can’t give you something you didn’t earn.”

“Please Mr. Kowalski, there has to be something I can do.”

“I’m afraid not,” I said.

“Extra credit?” she hoped. “Can I do some extra credit?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, “any extra credit assignment won’t be worth enough to move your grade up to a B anyway.”

“Please,” she said. “You have to help me.” She was close to crying. It was in this moment I knew I had her. I just had to string her along a while longer. She had to be desperate.

“It wouldn’t have to be really difficult assignment,” I said.
“I’ll do it!” she promised.

I shook my head, “I don’t think you’d be willing to do it. Besides, it’ll take a long time.”

“I don’t care,” she said, “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want me to do.” I paused for a long moment and studied the look of desperate hope on her face.

“Okay,” I said finally, “we can try this. But if you back out or refuse any part of the assignment this opportunity will be over, understand?”

She replied with a nod. I walked past her desk toward my back office. I beckoned her to follow me. She started to gather her things.

“You can leave your jacket and your book bag there,” I said. She complied. I guided her to my desk in the back office and put a World War Two history book in front of her. I opened the book to a passage I had marked in the middle.

“You can start by reading this,” I said. I waited patiently while she read through the section. I don’t know how I expected her to react to what she was reading. Perhaps I would have guessed expressions of revulsion or horror but her face was a blank and unreadable slate. Maybe she was just happy to be getting a chance to earn the grade she needed. When she finished the section she looked back at me.

“Summarize the section for me,” I said.

“It’s about how the Japanese army kidnapped women from Australia when they invaded Rabaul and raped them,” she said. I cleared my throat.

“What did they refer to them as?” I asked.

“Comfort women.”

“Your assignment,” I explained, “is oral. I want you to tell me what it felt like to be a comfort woman. In order to pass you have to understand what the experience was like.”

Christie thought for a moment before she said, “it must have been horrible.” She looked back to the text and then to me. “It says some of them were forced to have sex dozens of times a day.”

“No,” I said, feigning anger. “I don’t want you to guess. I want you to really tell me what it was like.” I could tell she was at least alarmed by my sudden outburst. It was the first time she had seen quiet Mr. Kowalski raise his voice.

“Take your sweater off,” I said.

Her answer came after a short pause.

“Why?”

“Remember,” I warned, “you agreed to do whatever I said. If you ask another question or fail to follow a direction you fail this extra credit assignment and I will ask you to leave.” I watched as she took off her sweater, folded it and put it on her lap. I reached out for it. She handed it to me and I set it on the table behind me. I walked behind her. She turned to look at me.

“Face forward,” I said. She obeyed. I reached down and began gently massaging her shoulders. “Maybe this is what it felt like,” I said, “having a strange man’s hands on them. Tell me how this feels Christie,” I said.
“Strange I guess,” she answered.

“Do you think if we interviewed the comfort women taken by Japan they would say it was a strange experience?”

“Well, no,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because, they got more than their shoulders touched.” I slid my hands down the front of her chest and began to fondle her breasts. She was remarkably well developed. She tensed up in surprise, as if someone threw a pail of cold water at her.

“Remember,” I warned, “if you fail to follow my directions you will fail not only this assignment but also my class.” Christie covered her face with her hands and began to cry. I continued to squeeze her breasts.
“Why are you doing this Mr. Kowalski?” she asked.

“Because,” I said, “I want you to learn something about the suffering that has gone on in this world. If you learn it, then I know you’ll have learned something in my class. Now how do you feel? She wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I feel dirty,” she said.

“Not enough,” I answered. “Take off your blouse.” She looked at me incredulously. “Do not hesitate,” I warned. “If you hesitate again you fail.” She dutifully began undoing the buttons on the front of her shirt. I saw the thin white lace of her bra revealed as she un-tucked the blouse from her skirt and pulled it off. She handed it to me and I set it on the table behind me.

“Now the bra,” I said.

“Mr. Kowalski!”

“I want you to really know how those women felt. I want you to have learned something this semester.” Christine hesitated for a moment. Her confusion cleared as she made a decision. I saw her face darken with blood. She reached behind her back and undid the clasp on her bra. She took it off both shoulders, only gracing me with a peek of a perfect pink nipple before she covered her breasts with her arm. She handed me the bra which I set down on the table.

“Good,” I said. “Do you feel humiliated?” Christie nodded. “Not enough,” I judged, “take off the rest of your clothes.” She stared at me. “Do you want to pass or not?”

Christie stood up and, with one arm covering her breasts, she undid the clasp on the front of her skirt and let it fall around her ankles. She stepped out of it and then kicked her shoes off. While I collected these items she expertly pulled down her stockings with one hand while still keeping her top covered with the other. She sat back down at the desk, hunching over out of sheer discomfort. I let a moment pass before I spoke.

“You’re still wearing your panties,” I said. She gasped. “Do you think the comfort women were given the right to wear panties?” I asked. Instead of answering she stood up and tried to pull her panties down and still keep herself covered. Finally she gave up and let her breasts fall free. She grabbed her panties at both hips and pulled them down to her ankles, stepping out of them. I watched as she bent over and saw her breasts jiggle in response to her movements. She threw the elastic panties at me and I set all of her remaining clothing down on the table. Christie stood before me completely naked. One hand covered her crotch and the other was back to covering her breasts.

[geist]

Please bend her over that desk and fuck the shit out of her. I like this so far.

[Malik18]

Really great story so far.. I'd loved to see where it goes.