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Colonization Coursework [SnowSage x Jasmeen]

SnowSage

Moon
Joined
Oct 5, 2024
The classroom was spotless as Marcus Olson poured over the projects and tests which were strewn across his desk. His lips curled into a smile and a predatory gleam sparked in his dark eyes as they ran over the very first project that this student had brought in. A family tree assignment designed to help the students see the ways that their own lives connected to the history they would be learning throughout the year. In truth, the one sitting before him had been the best one in the entire class on its own merits. However, more importantly, the assignment had included pictures of all of this student's many relatives. Front and center of the board was a picture of the young man's mother, an intimate photo which she surely had not intended for him to even have, let alone share with his teacher. It was not truly a nude photo, but it revealed details of her enticing, curvy body and an expression which no man who recognized would ever get out of his head. It was not what any woman wanting to make a professional first impression would want. And yet the young man, clearly not yet having had a sex ed class or discovered pornography, had glued it to the center of his board and turned it in to Marcus on only the second week of class.

Spread across the desk were every project, every homework assignment, and every examination that the young man had taken since handing in his mother's photograph. The crisp fall air coming in from the slightly opened third floor window, carrying with it the scent of pumpkins and the crunch of brightly colored leaves, announced the impending end of the first of four grading periods that the school went through. For freshmen like Marcus' students, this was the first point at which their competitive potential in the race for college began to set into shape. There were almost a dozen analytic writing journals, three more projects besides the family tree, and four exams which lay in front of Marcus. Each had work that was truly exceptional for a 14 or 15 year old student, insightful, well written, citing to actual research sources, none of which were wikipedia. And yet, every last paper in front of him had a score below a 60%, etched in Marcus' own hand with red pen. The nuanced, intelligent essays that made up this student's exam answers were liberally sprinkled with terms such as 'debatable' 'overbroad' and 'generality'. Comparable projects which had put much less thought, talent, and effort in were hung around the walls of the room with glowing A and A+ marks publicly adorned as examples to aspire to. There was not a single one of the undersized public school desk chairs which could not clearly see some lesser work than what this student had achieved which had nonetheless been bestowed a laudatory mark. As a result, the gradebook he had sitting at the corner of his desk had that student's name highlighted in red. His current mark was only a 63% overall. Two percentage points below the required threshold to avoid an F being permanently etched on his transcript for his first semester of world history.

Marcus glanced up as the warm light of sunset poured through the window, accompanying the echoing click of shoes walking down the empty high school halls. It was close to 8:00 already, and even the last of the athletes and theater kids had torn down and headed home. He had let this student's mother believe that he agreed to such a late conference as an affordance to her job, but in truth, he didn't want anybody to be around to hear the indecent proposal he was about to make to the woman. He waited until he heard the knock on his classroom door, before standing and walking slowly across the room. His stride was short, deliberate and languid, making her wait for him just to set the tone of the relationship dynamic they were going to have. As he curled his muscular fingers around the doorknob, he took in a breath, and pulled the portal open, revealing him in his full six foot, three inch, broad shouldered, muscular glory to the young indian mother waiting on the other side. His tight white dress shirt left almost nothing of the well-maintained military physique to the imagination, and the unbuttoned spaces at the top of the garment allowed her to see the smooth caucasian skin beneath. Khaki slacks and a set of dressy-looking sneakers completed the business casual public school teacher uniform.

"Please. Come in." His voice was a full baritone with just the first hints of a raspy scratch to betray years of screaming himself hoarse in military exercises, deployments, and public school instruction. Those dark eyes still carried their predatory gleam as he made direct eye contact with the woman, turning his body to invite her into the classroom. There was one of the tiny desks already set up in front of his much larger, much more stable and authoritative office furniture. Waiting for her to enter past him, he slowly pushed the door closed, sliding the deadbolt subtly closed behind his back to lock the two inside the room together. This time, he crossed the classroom with decisive, powerful strides, overtaking her and coming to sit behind his desk before she even had a chance to sit down. "Before we get started with specifics, I'd like to know... How involved are you in your son's homework and projects? I need to knew what the current practice is before I can suggest improvements." He smiled a fake, customer service smile as he awaited her response, knowing full well that her answer was meaningless to the arrangement which he would be insisting upon if her son were to have any hope of attending a well-credentialed university, or even gaining entry to a history or social sciences program which matched his apparent skills so well.
 
It was just past 7pm when Esha Das finally switched her work computer off and was able to lean back in her creaky office chair, the heels of her small hands pressed against her closed brown eyes as if they could drive out the exhaustion from her. An elongated sigh lifted and dropped the ample curves of her breasts under the flowy white blouse she wore. Her last patient had been complex, and scoring their dense battery of tests had taken the better part of the day. But at last it was done. And the patient definitely had acute PTSD, meaning Esha would have to conduct a lengthy conversation with them tomorrow before she could approve them for one of the center's clinical trials.

It has been three years now that the thirty-four year old psychiatric nurse had been working with PTSD cases for drug trials, but the conversations with the patients never got any easier. However, she had to firmly remind herself that these were thoughts she had reserve for tomorrow, and right now she had to hurry over to Avan's school for a meeting with one of his teachers. As Esha rose from her chair she smoothed out any wrinkles in her wide legged black slacks, which were cinched at her trim waist. They provided an elongated look that the shapely yet petite woman appreciated. She also wore a pair of red ankle-strapped heels to add two inches to her paltry 5'3", and bring a pop of color to her outfit. Before she left the building she stopped in the washroom to tame any flyaways in her bun of glossy black hair, unruly curls neatly tucked back. As a finale, she swiped on a fresh coat of dark red lipstick that contrasted and complemented her latte brown skin. Typically she didn't care about refreshing her face at this hour but she did have one more stop before she could collapse at home. Today was unusually busy, and she already longed to be in her pj's with a pinot in her hand and a brooding murder mystery on TV.

At least this troublesome teacher of Avan's had been open to seeing her late. Esha did not think she was one of those hawkish self-proclaimed "boy moms" who thought their son could do no wrong. In fact, she was often correcting Avan's wrongs, from when he would pull other kids' hair as a toddler to most recently when she found a vape in his room. Her methods were gentle but firm, and Avan was typically quick to listen to her. He was a sweet and intelligent boy, always a little quiet, but he tried his hardest at everything he did, from being on the swim team to each of his homework assignments. So it came as a huge surprise when he had glumly told Esha that he was failing one of his classes. She had expected math or a science but to her puzzlement it had been social studies. Concerned, she had started to check his assignments before he submitted them, and they had all seemed fine to her, exemplary even. Her boy had a knack for writing and it showed in his thoughtfully written papers. Yet they would always return branded in red pen with substandard scores and unhelpful remarks. Over time her agitation at his teacher mounted. It almost seemed like the teacher was targeting Avan, or had a personal issue with the fourteen year old. She had even wondered if it could be racial bias. Concerned about how a failed class would impact Avan's eligibility for college, she had asked to meet with this harsh grader.

When Esha arrived at his classroom she was confused to find the door shut. Didn't they usually keep them open throughout the day? Perhaps it was different after hours. She glanced at the hallway to her left and right. Empty. Not even a janitor sweeping up. The quiet was slightly unsettling. Lips twisted slightly in uneasy irritation, Esha knocked on the door and waited. She could hear footsteps approaching but they took their sweet time. The door finally swung open and Esha had to tilt her head back. And back. The man was huge, monopolizing almost the whole door frame with his height and broad shoulders. Squaring her own shoulders and meeting his gaze Esha offered a tight polite smile.
"Mr. Olson? I'm Esha, Avan's mom." She introduced herself, her dulcet voice was normally soothing but right then it held an edge.

He welcomed her in with a voice that had a depth to match his height, and Esha caught a whiff of his woody masculine cologne as she passed him to enter the classroom. The first thing she noticed was the tiny desk situated in front of the much more roomy teacher's desk, as if it had been readied for her. She raised a thick, dark eyebrow at the display then turned to face him as he sat down. Esha remained standing, casually leaning back on the smaller desk so that the firm curve of her backside was nearly sat on top of it. Sitting was an option, she'd definitely fit but it almost seemed belittling. Though maybe it wasn't that deep and she was just feeling a little sensitive about Avan's unfair situation. Arms crossed over her chest, she did not return the teacher's smile, though managed to keep her expression neutral as he spoke.

"I look over his homework and offer advice when asked," she responded, keeping her tone light. "Which is why I'm confused about his grades, Mr Olson. They seem unusually low," she continued as her attention fell on the spread of paperwork on the teacher's desk. One caught her attention immediately and her already large eyes widened further. It looked to be a family tree but Avan, being somewhat naive still, had used a photo of her that definitely was not appropriate.

It was from last year's family vacation to Hawaii. She was wearing a strapless bikini top that flaunted the soft swells of her breasts and the smooth slope of her bare waist. She had been laughing at something, one hand in the curly volume of her hair, the sun making her skin glow almost golden. Esha's mouth fell open in surprise, and her eyes darted from the offending assignment back to the man's smiling face. She began to feel her blood simmer and bring an unwelcome heat to her face.
"Avan shouldn't have used that photo, I'd like it back please."
 
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Marcus' eyes ran over Esha's body as she stood in front of his desk, doing her best to appear casual and in control of her situation but betraying the insecurity and defensiveness that his power over her son had instilled in her through the crossing of her arms and the immediate edge to her voice. He appreciated the way that her defensive posture also presented the warm heft of her buxom chest for his enjoyment. In total, his appraising look had taken less than a full second before his eyes returned to her own, a time that left it plausible that he was just engaged in the typical drifting of eye contact during conversation to avoid coming off as overbearing rather than leering at her figure. Yet, the way that her posture and her tone had told him so much about her understanding of the situation had melted the customer service smile and replaced it with a more genuine, broader smile as he enjoyed this view.

He allowed her to state her position clearly and in full without interruption, his eyes holding her own as he nodded along quietly to communicate that he was hearing everything that she said. His eyes sparked slightly with mischief as she finally turned her attention to the inappropriate photo that Avan had turned in with his first project. The fluster of heat and color entering her face as she realized what the man sitting across from her had seen of her drew an almost palpable hunger to his gaze as he finally opened his mouth to respond. "You have no idea how right you are, Ms. Das." He replied, his tone low, knowing and carrying the casual assurance of someone who actually had the control Esha was trying to fake. His fingers reached forward, peeling the tape that kept the picture attached to the project off of its card stock. His other hand gestured behind him, to lesser family trees done by lesser students, yet nonetheless placed on the wall in spaces of honor. "You can see why I couldn't display his exemplary work for the class." With the photo peeled up off of the assignment, he drew it back to hold in hand as he continued on.

"Take a look around the room, Ms. Das..." He said, gesturing further to either side, showing off more recent projects from students who had stopped their analysis significantly short of Avan's. "I want you to understand something in no uncertain terms. I don't think Avan is dumb. Far from it. He has a gift for this material." His eyes returned to her own, after having cast sideways with his hand to coach her where to look to see the most infuriating examples. "He will be an exceptional historian or social scientist one day. Maybe even a senator or governor. Assuming he can get into the right program." His hand which was not holding her intimate photo tapped its fingers down twice on the most recent project Avan had turned in, a college-entry level essay on the lasting impact of the Brittish tea trade in India. "This paper would have earned a perfect score for any other student in my class. It would be hanging front and center above my whiteboard for all the students to see what they should aspire to. But Avan isn't graded like all the other ninth grade students in his class. I grade him the way that his professors will in his first year of college. Now... Why do you think I would do that to the boy?" He asked, leaning forward with a sly smirk as he held her gaze in a challenging, unblinking and unflinching stare.

"I could tell you that it's because I see potential in him, and that I'm trying to get him to rise to the challenge by living up to that potential. If this conversation we're having right now ever goes to anyone outside of the two of us, I will swear up and down that's why I'm doing it. And the people who matter will believe me. But it's horseshit." Marcus extrapolated, his voice dripping more and more each sentence with the self-assured playfulness of a cat whose claws were already in the spine of a helpless mouse. "You probably considered that it was because he's brown and I'm not, but..." He allowed his eyes to drift down her body, this time making no pretense that there was any innocent explanation, overtly allowing her to understand in no uncertain terms that he was undressing her with his eyes. As they finally returned to her own with a smirk, he shook his head gently. "That is very much not a problem for me."

He stood up from his seat and stepped around the desk in a single, easy motion, his assured way of carrying his body making clear just how closely familiar he was with the space and how precisely he knew where every corner of every desk ended. Holding her eyes in his gaze, he stepped into her personal space, using the fact that she had set herself up against the student desk with no avenue of escape to pen her in. The hand which was not holding her photo moved confidently to her hip, taking her lower back as he advanced much more aggressively into her space than she could have anticipated. "I'm grading him harshly because he is your son, and because he made the mistake of making me aware exactly how enticing his beautiful mother truly is." He whispered into Esha's ear, as he pressed the picture into her outstretched hand, releasing it to her. "Don't worry... I already made my own copy."

With that, he gave a smug, flirtatious wink, and released her hip, stepping back out of her personal aura after only a few scant moments. Turning to the board, he continued. "Now, I'm not so naive as to think that you're going to spred your legs or get under my desk just because I have a nice picture of you and your son's grades are in my hand. Even if you were that easy, I'm not interested in you being an unwilling participant in anything. So, here's my proposal: You want me to give your son the grades he has earned and deserve. I want access to see if I can tempt you into enthusiastically doing all the things I have in mind for you. So, for the rest of this year, you're going to be something of a kink submissive for me, with a twist." He picked up a dry erase marker, beginning to write numbers on the board. "I command, you obey, Avan gets graded fairly. I even go back and give him retroactive credit for what he should have gotten from the start. Here's the twist: That grab of your hip there? That's the last time I'll touch you or order you to touch me until and unless you ask me to do it again." As he turned, a phone number was written in its entirety across the board.

"This is my number. Program it into your phone. If you manage to go the whole school year without ever being tempted to ask for more, then I'm an annoying guy who sends you links to porn you're required to watch every so often, and Avan gets his A. But if you ever ask me to take another step of control over you, whether that's telling you how to touch yourself while you watch, telling you what to wear, or telling you to go somewhere so I can manhandle you... The first time you ask, I get to command that of you for the rest of the year. No take backs. So... Do we have a deal?" He asked, with a smirk. "Or do you think you'd succumb too quickly to be on the winning side of this arrangement?" He dropped the final goad in, baiting her to accept the challenge.
 
As Esha held her hand out expectantly, her eyes were unwavering while locked with the teacher's own darkly gleaming gaze. She had the faint realization that he could be considered handsome. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled were charming, and the subtle swoop of his dark hair gave him a relaxed, approachable look. Though, had she imagined it or had he checked her out while she had spoken? She had tensed when his attention had roved over her curves under their modest work attire, but perhaps it was just her imagination and brewing hostility. His gaze had returned to meet her own completely unabashed. In fact, he had only smiled more widely, the sentiment reaching his eyes, which danced with inexplicable mischief. Esha found herself bristling at his demeanor, and a frown tugged at the corner of her full lips, despite her attempt to seem as neutral and unfazed as possible. There was also a strange flutter in her stomach that she quickly attributed to nerves.

Now, as she stood with her palm faced upwards towards him, her face growing increasingly warm and her words hanging in the air between them, she was even more aware of his keen focus on her. Esha swallowed hard, the delicate slope of her slender throat shifting noticeably. As he spoke, she resisted the urge to squirm where she stood against the student desk, his voice had a timbre that seemed to unsettle her, likely because of how affronted she felt on behalf of her son.

He seemed to be intent on goading her as his fingers removed her photo from Avan's project and kept it firmly in his grasp, all the while he spoke of how he did not actually think Avan was lacking, and brazenly admitted to scoring him unfairly on purpose.
Rage began to lash out in Esha's chest, manifesting in how her breathing became more shallow, her brown eyes narrowed, and the glossy pout of her lower lip disappeared as her mouth thinned in displeasure. She wanted to snap at him so badly. How dare he stand there and openly admit he was intentionally trying to ruin her son's future. As if reading her mind and wanting to further unsettle her, the teacher asked her why she thought he was treating her child this way. Esha had every intention of flying off the handle but something about the intensity of his attention and the diabolical curve of his mouth had her pause with her mouth slightly open, knitting her brow in confusion, anger and a little bit of alarm. There was a stirring deep in her belly just below her navel, likely her mounting anger at this insufferable man.

"Why the fuck would you do something like that" She finally managed to ask, dropping all propriety and speaking just barely above a whisper.
As if this whole situation was by his own design and he had known what he would say and do, he continued with his unnervingly casual explanation, pausing only to very obviously consume her curves with his eyes. Even as another rush of blood reddened her face and her mouth opened with an offended scoff, her eyes flitted nervously to the door, which she noticed, with a sinking feeling, had been locked.

"That is very much not a problem for me."

"What are you getting at then? Fucking spit it out." She hissed between gritted teeth. At the same time she tilted back instinctively as his much larger frame began to move towards her with effortless confidence, the muscles of his arms visibly flexing under his shirt. And suddenly he was taking up almost her whole view as he stood in front of her, and towered above her. Esha swallowed again.

"Hey wh-" she outright gasped as the weight of his hand sank into her hip, sending an unexpected jolt through her. Heart thudding rapidly, she looked up at his looming, smirking face with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in deadly headlights. He radiated heat and masculinity, and up this close it was excruciatingly overwhelming.

"I'm grading him harshly because he is your son, and because he made the mistake of making me aware exactly how enticing his beautiful mother truly is."

His breath was hot on her ear and neck, causing her to shudder, and she barely registered when he placed the photo in her hand. As he drew back, Esha nervously licked her lips before trying to calm her shaky breath.
"Look, I'm...married...you can't just-" She managed to stammer once he drew back with an infuriating wink. But she faded out as he continued, and her stomach sank further with each word out of his smug mouth.

He gave her an obscene, incredibly puzzling proposal, one that left her mouth agape. Access to tempt her? Obey his commands without him touching her at all? And if she complied Avan would be graded like his peers. What kind of a twisted deal was this, and what did he possibly hope to get out of it? Esha had already briefly considered going to the school board, or the authorities but now this situation seemed even more farfetched. Any figure of authority would doubt her account of what was transpiring here.

Her attention darted to the board as he finished writing on it. They would communicate just by phone? That didn't sound...terrible. He could have demanded something much more sinister. And he was leaving further developments in her hands. Letting her control how much he could control her. Esha was completely baffled, again not understanding the motivation behind such odd demands. Of course she would be impervious to his attempts, there was no question about that. Did he expect her to fall head over heels for his authoritative charm? That was an absolutely ridiculous premise. She wouldn't need take backs because there could be nothing to take back. As he finished outlining his proposal and added in another prod at her pride, Esha scowled and rolled back her shoulders.

"You have some fucking nerve," she scoffed, almost laughing as she straightened where she stood. Rage had her blood pumping loudly in her ears.
"This is definitely illegal. You-you should be fucking ashamed." She took a step forward, her heel making a solitary click.
"But...it will be so much easier to take your number and just ignore your pathetic attempts to draw me in than it would be to spend my precious time and energy trying to get you fired." Another resounding step and she stood in front of him, forcing herself to not tremble from the combined force of her fury and her fear. She extended her left hand, the silver band on her finger glinting under the pale overhead lights.

"So we have a deal Mr. Olson."
 
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Esha's attempts to maintain her sense of power by blustering garnered absolutely no reaction from Marcus, as his eyes remained unflinchingly locked with her own. As she threw insults immediately prior to making her decision, he allowed them to flow over him without immediate response. When she finally announced her decision, he made his first statement in reaction to her words.

"That's the spirit. Tell yourself how easy it will be to deny me, right up until you ask me to claim you." He teased, glancing down at her offered hand with a quirked brow. His own strong hand reached up, enveloping her own hand and grasping it in a firm handshake which conveyed the overwhelming strength and precise muscular control that he had. However, after the shake had gone on for a beat longer than would be typical for a simple formalization of an oral contract, he very suddenly pulled inward, forcefully drawing Esha in closer to his orbit, making her invade his space as intimately as he had invaded her own before. His other hand remained by his side, not returning to the possessive hold it had imposed upon her moments before. His warm breath cascaded over her exposed nape as her position placed her ear just inches below his lips. The humid air of his voice filled her ear as he spoke in a hoarse, intimate whisper.

"I never told you to shake my hand. No take backs. When we are in person, your hand is mine to take and tease as I please. If you're going to be this easy, you should probably just get on your knees now." With an infuriating, condescendingly smug grin on his face, he pressed his thumb down on the back of her hand, providing a single full stroke of pressure massaging the woman's tense hand muscle, before releasing his grip and allowing her to regain her freedom of movement. While he took no motion to push further into her orbit or create difficulties for her as she disentangled herself from him, neither did he retreat or withdraw from the close, intimate space he had drawn her into. His eyes tracked her own with the playful confidence of a jungle cat observing its dinner, forcing her to distance herself from him in the flight of the wounded prey rather than claim any victory or power in the first round of their dance.

"Your first order is to text me before you leave here this evening, so that I have your number. After that, you are free to go, my lovely pet. Keep on the lookout for my instructions. You will hear from your master soon." He teased, openly enjoying the cringe-worthy, corny porn language coming out of his mouth, as well as her complete inability to do anything to stop it. Once she had lifted her phone to begin texting, he turned back to his desk, paying no mind to her whatsoever as he gathered her son's projects, neatly organizing them into a single file and tucking it away in his desk to ensure the space was clean before dumping a stack of the current day's schoolwork from his students onto the desk to begin grading. He made no move to hurry her out the door or to coax her into staying, as though now that their deal was struck, he was fully mentally moved on and focused on his next task.

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The next day, Avan came home from school almost two hours later than usual, but in substantially better spirits than he had been in some time. The young man was excited to report to his parents that his history teacher held him back after class to apologize to him for the bad grades he had been getting. According to Avan, Mr. Olson had accidentally put his file with all his projects in a group with his AP students who were getting college credit for their work, so he had been getting graded harder than he should have been. Mr. Olson had apparently changed his official grade to incomplete for now so he could go back and re-grade all Avan's work at the right difficulty level before submitting a grade that would stay with Avan. His chest puffed out as he showed his parents a project he had completed earlier that week, which had already been re-graded from an F to a 100%, and explained that Mr. Olson had told him that after having re-graded a couple of his assignments he felt that Avan had a remarkable talent for the humanities, considering his age. When asked why he had stayed so late after school, he explained that Mr. Olson had encouraged him to consider joining the school's Mock Trial team, since his talent for history could potentially make him a good lawyer someday if he wanted to. Apparently Avan had gone to a team meeting and observed, even making a couple of friends he was excited to talk to further.

Days passed in the anticipatory silence that followed Mr. Olson's indecent proposal. By the time a week had gone by, it would almost be believable that Avan's grades truly had been an innocent mistake, duly corrected by a responsible teacher, and Esha's recollection of their conference something of a stress-induced nightmare. However, exactly eight days after their conference, fresh from Avan coming home wearing his nice suit that he had asked to wear to school for Mock Trial practice and holding his first report that had been turned in and graded entirely post-agreement, an A+ which had earned extra credit and was being selected to be put up on the wall, Esha's phone finally lit up with a text message.

You have 10 minutes to find a private place. The text came from the same number that Esha had programmed in her phone during their meeting the week before. There was no explanation of what to expect she would be receiving in 10 minutes, or of what form it would come in.
 
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