“Miss Conti, please see me after class.”

The message delivered, Mr. Desaulniers returned to the seat at his desk as the bell rang. As if a cord had been cut, twenty-seven twelfth graders leapt to their feet, reaching for their coats and their phones, already making plans for what little remained of the afternoon.

The twenty-eighth student sat frozen in her seat.

Behind her, Mona Abdullah whispered, “Ooh, Mika’s in trouble…”

Mika snarled in the direction of her sometime friend, but Mona was already gone, her laughter trailing behind her as she made her escape along with the rest of the class. Not even a minute later all of them were gone. The room was silent.

Mr. D was the cool teacher. The fun teacher. Some – certainly not Mika, but some – had called him the hot teacher.  He must have been in his early thirties, but dressed like an older man, in polo shirts and sweater vests. He had a beard that he kept neatly trimmed, and tattoos that sometimes slipped out from under his sleeves to the astonishment of his mostly Catholic students. He was chill compared to most of the faculty – he spoke casually, let his students take as long as they needed on tests, and didn’t get salty about them using their phones during quiet study.

And sure, maybe he had it easy because he taught an Academic class and all of his students wanted to be there. But he wasn’t a simp, either. She’d seen him go off on one of her classmates when he’d used the f-slur, and it had been… scary. Impressive. And…

…maybe a little hot.

He was looking at her, she could see. His lips curled into a disarming smile, and a wave of his hand beckoned her forward.

It had to be about the last test, thought Mika. She’d been so busy with university applications that she hadn’t even bothered to study. It wasn’t as though the admissions departments were paying attention, were they? They had the important information – Mika’s GPA, her essays, her reference letters…

Her heart dropped. Mr. D had written one of those reference letters. He’d called her diligent, talked up how much of a pleasure Mika was to teach. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t take it back, would he? Not even for a bad mark. Maybe she could do a make-up test? What good was being the cool teacher if you couldn’t help out one of your students in a moment of need?

She stepped up to his desk, hoping that he couldn’t see her knees shaking underneath her uniform skirt. As she got close, she could see his smile creep away. He bit his lip, like there was something he couldn’t bear to tell her. His eyes drifted towards the open door.

Whatever he had to tell her… it was bad. She was cooked. She’d never get into a top-ranked university. She might even have to go to a local college. Nanay would never forgive her.

Or maybe there was something else she could do.

Mika shuddered at the thought. It was a last resort, but if her academic future was on the line, she didn’t have any choice. She’d heard rumours, of course, all of the girls had, that some of the teachers would be more accommodating for a student willing to go down on her knees.

Mr. D cleared his throat.

There were group chats in the school where her friends and classmates had guessed at how big Mr. D might be. If spending his days trying to impress high-schoolers meant that he was compensating for something, or if his quiet confidence was a sign of big ‘D’ energy. It occurred to Mika that she herself might be the first to know for sure. Her. Not Justine or Kristi or any of those other sluts, the ones that said they’d smashed with a teacher once in the supply closet but everybody knew they were lying.

She’d never given a blowjob before. She’d seen them performed – there was such thing as an internet, after all – but those videos had left her cringing, those images of girls who looked like her, licking their goo-stained faces and promising ‘me love you long time’. Could she do that?

Mika opened her trembling lips and… nothing.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do Mr. D like that. As if he’d ever risk his career and reputation for a sloppy toppy from some skinny, nervous teenager. Not after all the time and effort she’d made to earn his respect, his approval. Her cheeks bloomed with shame. He’d put his faith in her, and she’d let him down. She didn’t deserve the easy out. She deserved to be punished.

Not for the first time, her gaze flickered toward the object dangling from the wall above Mr. D’s head.

She’d seen the paddle every day since starting his class the previous semester. How the administration let him keep it she would never know. But there it hung, its varnished surface shining in the sun, a constant reminder the way things had been, back in the day. Or was it a threat? A plaque underneath labeled it THE BOARD OF EDUCATION.

Teachers weren’t allowed to spank their students anymore, but there was a time that they could, and they did. Nanay liked to remind all of her children how she’d watched her own classmates get paddled when she was growing up in the Philippines, part of a familiar lecture on how Mika and her brothers had been coddled by their Canadian upbringing. That story always left Mika with a queasy feeling in her stomach, and an inexplicable hunger to know more.

“Miss Conti?”

Mr. D’s paddle was as long as her forearm and almost as thick. It looked like it would hurt, and she didn’t want to think about that. Instead she thought about how he would do it. Nanay told her that in her school they made students bend over and place their palms on the table – if they moved their hands, they’d get extras.

It really looked like it would hurt. Even if he only gave her a few swats, even if it was just over her skirt.

And if it wasn’t?

Mika’s shirt collar suddenly became too warm, too tight. The lining of her bra chafed. It was January and she was sweating. Because if he was going to spank her, there was no reason he should stop at her skirt. None whatsoever. She hadn’t been caught passing notes or chewing gum. Her offence was so much more worse. He’d spank her over her skirt first, then lift it up and repeat the same over her flimsy white panties until… what had Nanay said? Until her little booty was red like ripe rambutan.

Mr. D wouldn’t even be mean about it. He’d just remind her that she’d earned her punishment with her own overconfidence and laziness, in that calm voice with just a hint of anger. There was nothing she could do in the presence of that voice. Nothing but try to keep her hands flat on the table and count the swats. One, thank you sir. Two, thank you sir.

And she’d fail. She’d squirm, or lose count. Maybe he’d let it slide the first time. But then she’d hear that disappointed grunt, like she’d told him that she’d forgotten her homework. The paddle would lower, and for a second there’d be relief, that he’d taken mercy on her. Until she felt his thumbs reaching into the waistband of her panties…

Would he even close the door? Or would he let the whole school listen as she cried and begged, her naked ass glowing for everyone to see, an object lesson in what happened to bad little girls who took their teachers for granted?

“Mika.”

She snapped back to the present. She’d lost track of how long she’d been standing in front of him.

“I wanted to bring this up after our last class, but I wasn’t sure how to do it discreetly…” His hand reached under his desk, to the top drawer. Did he have something else in store, something even worse than the paddle?

Stay strong, Mika reminded herself. Whatever was going to happen to her in this room, she was going to see it through.

There was a crinkle. “This fell out of your bag as you left.”

He pushed the plastic-wrapped applicator across the desk. Mika picked it up with shaking hands. She saw Mr. D raise an eyebrow.

“Um, thanks,” she managed, her mouth dry. “I mean, thank you, sir.”

“No problem. I know they’re not cheap.”

From up close, Mika could see how high the paddle rested on the wall. Mr. D wasn’t that tall, he probably couldn’t even get it down without a stepladder. The image of him trying to look stern while straining to reach it came dangerously close to making her giggle.

She swallowed the impulse. “Mr. D? Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about? Maybe about the test?”

“Right. While I’m still marking them, I have finished with yours. You got a seventy-nine. Not as good as I’m used to expecting from you, but not too shabby.” He locked eyes with her. “You’ll do better next time, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

They held that gaze for a moment. Mika thought she might faint.

“Mika?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t you have a bus to catch?”

She nodded mutely and ran.

On the ride home, she tried to clear her mind, but every bump and rattle brought her back to Mr. D’s homeroom. Her skirt was knee-length, but she kept yanking it back into place, terrified at the thought of it riding up and exposing the wet patch she could feel in her panties.

A fellow student glanced back, a concerned look on her face.

Mika coughed. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

The scene she’d pictured in her mind had been so exciting, so vivid… so detailed. She wasn’t even sure where she’d come up with some parts of it. Nanay never mentioned anything about having to count the swats, for one. It was a question that deserved further study, and Mika decided that she would look into it…

…but maybe after graduation.