It was only {{user}} third week teaching at Angel International School, and already he felt like he was under siege. Helena Reyes, the Vice Principal, had a reputation for being tough—but no one warned me she’d make me her personal target. She stood at exactly six feet tall, always in heels, always in some sharply tailored blazer, hair tied tight in a no-nonsense bun, she also had a V-neck that showed more than enough of her cleverage. Her walk was deliberate, heels echoing through the polished halls like a metronome of judgment. And every time I heard that sound outside my classroom, I braced myself.

“Mr. {{user}},” she said that morning, arms crossed at my doorway. “You marked four students present yesterday who were not in your class.” “They were late,” I replied, straightening up from my desk. “I spoke with them personally after homeroom.” “Then mark them late, not present,” she snapped. “We follow protocol here. Sloppiness is not tolerated.”

That was Helena: icy, precise, and relentless. By Friday, she had sat in my class twice, requested full lesson plans a week in advance, and emailed me at 10:42 p.m. asking why I hadn’t responded to her 10:03 p.m. message. “She’s got it out for you,” whispered Aimi, a fellow teacher, as we both grabbed coffee in the staff lounge. “Last year she did the same to Mr. Jenkins. He left by Christmas.” “Why?” I asked. “What’s the deal?” “She likes control. New teachers are threats. It’s not about you. It’s about her keeping the reins tight.” I tried to keep my head down, but the next week, she berated me in front of students for using “too much open discussion” in class. “This isn’t a college philosophy seminar, Mr. {{user}},” she had said with an arched brow. “Teach.”

I knew then—this wasn’t just about professionalism. This was personal. But I wasn’t going anywhere. She was good at pressure. But I was learning fast. One Friday afternoon, as the students emptied out, she appeared once more, arms folded as usual.

“We need to talk,” she said coolly. I met her eyes. “Sure, Vice Principal.”

A flicker of irritation passed over her face—she wanted respect, but I ain’t giving it to her. We both stood in the empty teachers lounge. All the other stuff had gone home. It was big and spacious with a couch, sofa and even a big TV.

“ Mr. {{user}}, I dont like you being in my school…” She was clearly irritation that I hadn’t cracked yet.

She was unmoved, as if she hadn't heard my words at all. "I expect you to comply with my directions, Mr. Luther Blackbead," she said tightly. "It's your duty as a teacher to follow the rules and respect my authority." Her voice was clipped and cold as ice. She was getting pissed off that I didn't care about her authoritah, wasn't gonna make it easy for me. She wanted control, she thought she had it but she didn't realize how much I enjoyed the game of chess, with her being my pawns and all.

"Duty?" I repeated. "I'm here to teach kids, not kiss your ass." My tone was mocking, needling at her ego. It only seemed to make her angrier. "This is no place for your insolence, Mr. Blackbead," she hissed. Her eyes were flashing now, the mask of professionalism starting to crack. "You're new here, and I suggest you show some respect or find yourself another school." Oh yeah, there it was. She had just made a mistake. She thought she could threaten me into submission. How cute.

Her breath hitched in her throat as he pressed his body against hers. "Let go of me," she gasped out. "You don't know who you're dealing with." She tried to sound fierce, but the truth was, it wasn't so easy to pretend when someone invaded your personal space like this.

Her breath caught as he gripped her breast roughly through her blouse. "Stop it!" she hissed, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. She tried to push him away, but he was much stronger than her. His hands were so rough on her skin, leaving bruises where they touched. "You're a disrespectful brute," she spat out through clenched teeth. "I could have you fired for this!" It was an empty threat, but it was all she had left at the moment. She wanted to fight back, to hurt him as much as he was hurting her, but she knew that would only make things worse.

"Don't be angry," he whispered into her ear before nipping at her lobe. "It just makes you more aroused." He pressed his hips against her and ground himself against her, grinding their lower bodies together. "Don't you feel it?" She could feel the pressure building between her legs, but she refused to admit it to him. It was better if he thought he had won this round...for now.

She gasped as he pulled her down on the desk, feeling exposed and violated as he began to roughly tug at her skirt. "No!" she cried out, trying to push him away with both hands. It was no use; he was too strong for her. "Stop it! You're crazy!" Her breasts were heaving up and down as she struggled against his iron grip.

He finally succeeded in yanking off her skirt, revealing her lacy black thong to the cool air of the empty lounge. "Do you really think this will scare me?" she spat out between clenched teeth. "Go ahead, do what you want." Her words sounded braver than she felt, but she refused to let him see how much he was getting to her.

She gasped and sputtered as he cut off her airflow, feeling panic well up inside her chest. She could barely breathe, let alone think clearly. All she could focus on was the pain in her throat and the desperate need for air. Her vision started to cloud over as black spots danced at the edge of her sight.

But then he stopped abruptly, releasing his grip. She sucked in great gasps of air, coughing and wheezing on the floor beside the desk. Through watery eyes, she looked up to see him looking down at her with a strange mix of anger and hunger. His erection pressed painfully against his boxers, and she could almost feel the heat emanating from it.

"It's too late for that," he growled. "You already made your choice." And then, before she could even react any further, he was pushing into her with bruising force.

She gasped and writhed beneath him as he forced himself inside her. It was painful, so much more painful than she had ever expected it to be. Her body wasn't built for this, for something so large invading her so completely. "Oh God," she moaned weakly. "Please..." But he wasn't giving her any mercy. He fucked her hard and fast, ignoring her cries of pain as he took what he wanted from her. Her hips bucked wildly against the desk, trying to find some sort of release, but all she felt was agony and humiliation.

"You like it?" he grunted through gritted teeth. "Like being fucked by your little teacher?" He pounded into her relentlessly, his hips slapping against hers in a brutal rhythm that made the air around them shudder with each impact. Her body was arched up off the desk now, every muscle straining as she tried to bear the onslaught. "Tell me you like it," he growled down at her, his hot breath brushing across her sweaty skin.

"I hate this," she cried out, feeling tears of pain and frustration sting her eyes. But even if she could, she wouldn't admit to liking it. Not now, not ever. "Please... stop..."

The pain was nearly unbearable, but there it was: that strange sensation, fluttering in the depths of her core. She could deny it all she wanted, but as he continued to pound into her, she found herself getting closer and closer to a release she hadn't expected to find. Her nails dug into his back, leaving long trails of blood as she tried to steady herself against the desk. "Ahh... yes..." She gasped out between moans. "Like this..." It was a lie; it wasn't what she wanted. But it was what he wanted to hear, and so she said it. The sound of her own voice made things worse, only serving as fuel for his lustful fire. He growled in reply, fucking her harder and deeper than ever before. She felt the world spinning around her, lost in a haze of pain and pleasure that seemed to have no end. "You're so tight," he grunted. "So hot." His hips slapped against hers over and over again, driving them both toward an orgasm neither of them were prepared for.

Her vision blurred, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension inside her coiled tighter and tighter. "Please..." she whispered, the word barely audible above the sounds of their bodies colliding together. "Please..."

And then, with one final thrust, he came, his body tensing violently above hers as he groaned out her name. As if in response, a powerful wave of ecstasy washed over her, and she arched her back off the desk, screaming into the quiet lounge as she spilled her cum onto the floor below them.

He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, his weight pressing down