I knocked on the door softly, swallowing my nerves. "Enter." I pushed open the door and walked into the classroom. He was sat behind his desk stroking his pen across the books he was marking. I stood in front of him, smoothing down the short black pleats of my skirt. "Sit. You are to write out the phrase on the blackboard until I tell you to stop. Write neatly." He didn't even raise his head to look at me.
I moved over to the front desk and sat on the hard wooden chair behind it. A pile of paper and a pen lay in the middle of the desk. I looked up at the blackboard. 'I must follow my teacher's instructions immediately, exactly and at all times'. My heart skipped a beat and I sneaked a look at him. Even though he was my teacher and quite a bit older than my eighteen years I couldn't help but shiver with desire at the words. Perhaps he meant only that I should not answer back in class as I had done earlier that day. But I imagined that he meant more; much more. "Write." I jumped back to reality, picking up the pen and beginning to write, remembering to write as neatly as I could.
I don't know how long I wrote for. My hand cramped. I felt tired. My mind was struggling to focus. "Stop," he commanded. I dropped my pen, flexing my fingers. "Stand in the corner of the room facing the wall whilst I inspect your work. You will be punished for any mistakes I find." I stood and moved across the room. "Hands on your head," he ordered. I complied.
