Detention for Im

Chapter Three:

Brace Yourself

Classes had gone predictably poorly for me that Monday. I spent most of my time trying to make sure that my mouth was closed, afraid to open up and reveal to the others that I had been suited with braces over the weekend. In many ways it was an easy feat to accomplish; I didn't have many friends and none to speak of that would seek me out unless I made the first effort, so it wasn't a challenge for me to slink to the sidelines during lunch, or make sure that between classes I was snugly hidden away on the very outskirts of the halls. At a private school of the sort I attended, pretty much everyone dressed alike. A sea of pressed dress slacks for the boys and pleated skirts for the girls; hundreds of white dress shirts with a blue accessory if the student felt like standing out. It was a bit bland to look out over our student body, unless someone had a thing for finely dressed Catholic boys or schoolgirls with skirts that rose just above their knees. Then, well...then it was a delight to see, I imagine, but from my perspective after so many years it was a bit boring. And more than boring, everyone had a unified look, meaning anyone that was a little different from that nearly robotic lineup would be descended upon like a fish in the middle of a shark tank.

When I was just starting out in school, that identifying marker was my glasses. Thick lenses even as a child, I had a hard time seeing straight without them. As we all grew up and the other students learned a thing or two about different races, being Japanese was enough to single me out. Dark hair, almond eyes, fairly pale skin...I didn't look like the rest of them, in a very noticeable fashion. Those prejudices faded in time though, and the novelty of the Asian girl in class only came up when a new student arrived and wanted to pick on her to make themselves cool. That hadn't happened in a while, and I was starting to think that I'd be able to get through my senior year without incident, and could safely blend into the shadows and ignore all that nonsense until I graduated.

But as I walked the halls that day, I knew that wasn't going to be the case. The stigma of glasses went away as more students grew up and needed them. The prejudice against the Asian girl faded as kids grew up and realized that it was okay to be from a different culture. But one shame that would never fade, that would never go away?

Having braces when you were eighteen years old.

I was terrified of revealing it, and so my mouth remained knit shut tight throughout the day. Disappointing, considering how much I had recently learned that I enjoyed opening it. As I mentioned, it wasn't an issue with avoiding friends, but what truly set the tone for the day was my classes. I couldn't raise my hand to be first to answer, nor could I put my teachers through a litany of follow-up questions about the assigned homework. Several of them asked if I was all right, and I just nodded and smiled, eager to move on and get to my next lost opportunity. My mouth had ached throughout almost the entire day thanks to the braces, and I was very, very eager by the time the final bell came to be able to head home.

I hadn't had class with Mr. Poln that afternoon; my history lessons were replaced with a study hall on Mondays, and at the time I had considered that a blessing. I wouldn't have to sit through his class gazing at him, shifting in my seat and wondering if he'd be mad that my mouth wasn't in fitting condition for after class. Not that it didn't stop me from worrying about it, but it was easier not having to see him. But when the bell rang and the other students started to head home, I knew that I owed Mr. Poln at least a visit, and I made my way to his classroom at the end of one of the halls. I had barely made it halfway down the hall before the janitor shut the lights off for the night, leaving the hallway lit only by the emergency lightning and what sun was able to slip in through the blinds along the walls.

I loved school after hours; I always found it peaceful and relaxing. To take a place that was usually so full of noise and chaos, to strip it down to something calm and quiet was wonderfully refreshing. I took my time walking to Mr. Poln's office, one of my hands holding my bookbag over a shoulder, and the other idly stretched out, letting my fingers dance across the cold metal of the line of lockers. I wasn't in a hurry, but I also wasn't delaying unnecessarily. My pace was casual, and hinging somewhere in between timid and excited, a state Mr. Poln seemed to have a tendency to place me within.

I idly licked my tongue across the metal of the braces on my teeth, something I could already tell was becoming a nervous habit. As I moved to the front of his office and put my hand on the doorknob, I took a deep breath, steadying myself before opening up and slipping inside.

"Kim." Mr. Poln's voice greeted me as soon as I slipped inside, and my eyes passed over the dimly lit history room over to his desk. He was leaning back in his chair, making marks against a clipboard, while a nearby cup of coffee sat, filling the room with a freshly brewed scent. My eyes fell on my teacher, still finding him as handsome as I did before our interactions started, before he had begun helping himself to my body. For the first time since Friday I saw his strong jawline, and those experienced fingers that had so expertly brought me to a climax in his car. I tensed for a moment, the memories flooding back, but before too long I managed to force a nod, and address my teacher in kind.

"Mr. Poln," I offered, moving my backpack down to hold in both hands, walking forward casually. The rubber of my dress shoes squeaked against the tile floor, a simple sound that echoed like a gunshot in the otherwise empty silence of the room. Without wanting to delay the moment, I took a breath, and then blurted out the matter at hand. "Mr. Poln, I can't do that...that thing we usually do today, I-"

"You got braces?" Mr. Poln looked up from his clipboard, and gave me a coy smile. At my confused look regarding how he knew, he just laughed a little, and waggled the clipboard at me before tossing it onto his desk. "You didn't really think that it wouldn't be the talk of the town around here, did you? If someone wears the wrong color after Arbor Day, you can bet the Jennison girl will make sure the whole school knows it." He gave a chuckle at that, but the revealed secret didn't make me feel any more confident. I shifted in place, rubbing my legs together, and holding a tighter grip on the edge of my bookbag. Mr. Poln just continued, but he stood up from his seat as he did so, beginning to move around his desk and slowly work towards approaching me.

"Don't worry about it, Kim," his tone was comforting and kind, and he offered me a supportive smile that somehow made my own feel better. "I'm sure you're sore. We'll wait for a few days before we go back to it, give you some time to rest up."

I blinked, and gave a sudden nod, answering before my mind even had a chance to process the fact that we'd still be doing these things days from now.

"Wonderful!" I chirped up, tipping my hand far too early, and making Mr. Poln smirk in regards to it. "Thanks for understanding, Mr. Poln! I should head out then, maybe I can still catch the bu-"

"No, Kim, not so fast." Mr. Poln held out a hand, silencing me instantly like the obedient girl I was becoming. I stood there dumbstruck as my teacher continued, and he approached me like a tiger moving on prey, shifting back and forth until he stood but a foot away from me. Instantly I could pick up the scent of his cologne; something that had started to show up on my shirts and skirts, causing me no small amount of irritation as I had to launder all my clothes anew each night. Uniforms were a bit of a pain sometimes. As Mr. Poln stood before me my head tilted up, and I gazed through the lenses of my glasses to the man that was ever controlling my body with his mere presence. Already I could feel my pace quickening and my body heat; and I squeezed my thighs together involuntarily, as if reacting to something primal that my good girl sensibilities didn't want to admit.

"Just because you can't use your mouth," he continued, and reached forward with one of his hands. He allowed the back of his knuckles to brush down the slope of my cheek; a delicate touch that made my knees nearly buckle on the spot. I was staring now; with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a stunned expression on my face. Mr. Poln just continued with a confident touch to his voice. "That doesn't mean we can't continue your studies. Follow me, Kim."

I practically floated behind him as he walked back to the desk, my legs moving without my mind actually telling them to. I was pulled along almost entirely on instinct, as my body rejected my hesitations and profoundly, undeniable said "You need this, Kim." Before too long Mr. Poln had stood me just before the end of his desk, so close that my knees were touching the side of it. Curiously I glanced over at him, only to watch as he moved behind me, and lowered his strong grip to my waist.

"Ah..." A gasp slipped from my lips as my history teacher took hold, and my hands moved to rest atop his own. For all of the things we had done in the past week, I was still taken off guard by Mr. Poln's touch, still completely disarmed by being handled by a man more than twice my age. I wondered idly if it would be like that with every man, if every hand that would grip me in the future would make me gasp, make me hot, make me wet...or if it was simply the burning taboo nature of what Mr. Poln had drug me into. And if it really was a side effect of our illicit affair, I wondered if that rush of excitement would ever fade with time or overuse. Secretly, even secret to myself, I hoped that it wouldn't.

Mr. Poln's hands squeezed at my waist, and he pulled me back a bit, letting his lap roll against the back of my rear. I could feel his warmth, breathe his scent, and as his hips rolled I could certainly sense the presence of his length underneath the fabric of his slacks. Part of me wanted to instantly turn around, drop to my knees, and take him as I had been for the past week, but something much more powerful inside of me told me to behave and stand still. It told me that something greater was coming, if only my teenage body could be patient.

His hands slipped away from underneath my own, and Mr. Poln took the opportunity to begin exploring my body. I was left a gasping mess as one of his palms moved over my stomach and drifted up, finally closing over one of my breasts. His hand pressed in, through the fabric of my dress shirt and the cotton of my bra, and I could feel his grip tighten around me in a way no other man's ever had. My voice carried out into a muffled cry, one that would have been louder had I lacked the foresight to slide a hand over my mouth. After all, school had only just ended, and I could still hear the hissing rattle of idling school busses from through an opened window at a distant end of the room. My cry went into a muffled whimper, and I bit down on my fingers as I felt Mr. Poln's hand slowly massage my breast, squeezing it, rolling his grip, and all the while pushing into my back. I felt gloriously trapped, paralyzed by his possessive hold, and unable to do anything but control my reactions for both our sakes. His other hand soon moved up to take my other breast, and soon Mr. Poln's hands were full, squeezing me in a building hunger as he clutched me close to him. He was tall enough that laying flat against him brought the top of my head to just underneath his chin, and as I rested back, panting and whimpering, I felt a warmth that was frightening in its addictive sensation. There was security there, but also danger, the two flirting and dancing in a way that only my history teacher could force the elements to battle.

"Mr. Poln..." I whispered, my fingers leaving my mouth and my tongue briefly dancing across the front of my braces. "We...we shouldn't be doing this..." Words spoken purely from a good girl upbringing, a triggered response that I didn't believe for even a fraction of a second. Fortunately, Mr. Poln saw right through my programmed words, and he silenced me first with a squeeze of both my breasts, and then by lowering his head, and taking a deep, sensual breath of my hair. The sound of him taking in my shampoo's scent, and the shudder that went through his body afterwards, still stands as one of the most erotic moments of my life. Leaning back into him, letting him fondle, smell, and caress me...I knew then, what was to come. I was going to lose my virginity to Mr. Poln, right there, right then, and I couldn't imagine a reality in which I wouldn't want it to happen.

Mr. Poln said nothing, not even any words to reply to my feigned desire to stop. He read my body well, and let his hands further drag me into the web of arousal and desire that I was increasingly falling into. He kept one at my breast, while the other moved up, slipping against the collar of my shirt. One by one I could feel the buttons of my blouse open up, and in the stillness of the room I could even hear the snap of plastic as they came free of the fabric, exposing more and more of me to the open air. I was trembling hard, but he kept me grounded with that firm, doting hand on my breast, rolling his powerful grip, and once even teasing me through the bra with the back of his knuckle, experting pinpointing where my sensitive bud would be. My knees buckled, but they remained steady thanks to being pressed against the desk, a decision I now see as all part of Mr. Poln's master plan to have me that evening after class.

Before too long, my shirt was open, and my pale flesh was exposed to the curious fingers of my teacher. I was forced to bite my hand again as his touch went over my stomach, those calloused digits teasing my soft, light skin. I was never a supermodel, but I had done what I could to stay in shape, or at least, in shape enough to avoid any teasing from other girls in high school. As a result my body type was quite average, my rounded breasts a bit on the small side, but nowhere near to the point of one of my friends. I had a friend that went to college the year previous, who boasted an A-cup so small her frame was often mistaken for a boy's.

Poor Alice. She'd never know what it'd feel like to have her history teacher fondle her, preparing to make her a woman atop his desk. Mr. Poln's hands left my body only long enough to strip away my shirt entirely, and once it had fallen to the tile floor below, he let his fingers go to the back of my simple, department store bra. It wasn't sexy; and at the time I was ashamed at its plain white frame, but I'm sure that anything else would've been easy for Mr. Poln to see through; I wasn't the type of girl to wear sexy underthings. Yet.

I could feel his masculine hands toying with the snap at the back of my bra, and then there was the sudden release as it came free, my breasts falling a bit once the tension holding them to my chest was released. I closed my arms around them for a second, a brief shyness overtaking me, but by that point I had long-sinced been trained to know what was coming, and what was expected. I turned my shyness around rather quickly, and instead of covering myself up like some afraid little girl I owned the moment, and willingly pulled my bra away, exposing myself in the history classroom.

Mr. Poln seemed pleased, and he rewarded me for being so bold by letting his fingers shift down my body, drawing lines down both sides of my waist. I shuddered, rocking with him now as his hips started to sway, the promise of what was to come building up more and more. He took my hands into his own and lowered them, moving them down, down past my waist, to the edge of my skirt. He gave a simple command, emphasized by a thrust forward with his hips, making me nearly squeal from the delight he was promising me.

"Lift."

I did so with a nod, and nervous, trembling fingers. My hands lifted up my skirt, exposing to the empty classroom the plain white panties; now marked with a wet streak at the front, and it freed up Mr. Poln's hands to snake forward. He circumvented my skirt, hooking his fingers against the waistband of my panties, and rolling them back and forth, forcing them to grate against me, tease me, torment me just enough to make me whimper further in the bumbling mess he was turning me into. My breathing was so heavy I'm sure he could hear it, my chest rising and falling from the tension in the moment. And when my panties started to lower, dropped down by my forty-some year old teacher, I was almost positive that I'd faint. Somehow I maintained, though my body was almost impossibly aroused at that point, and with my panties laying around my ankles, I finally lowered my skirt. It hid my exposed sex from Mr. Poln, but that was only part of my intention. Secretly, in my teenage inexperience, I was worried that he'd be able to smell my excitement, and somehow wouldn't like it. Naive, yes, but thankfully my teacher was on to my teenage nonsense, and his arms drew against me from behind, holding me close as he finally, after all this time, offered me a few whispered words of encouragement.

"Boys like cheerleaders, Kim," he whispered, as one hand went flat against my stomach, pressing me back into his strong frame. My eyes opened, arching curiously at his words, until he drove his point home with an emphasis that my young, insecure self desperately needed to hear. "You don't know how sexy you are to a grown man."

The words to this day stick with me, and in that moment they meant so much that I nearly teared up. Well...I would have, if by that point I wasn't already so aroused that I was about to pounce on my teacher myself. Regardless, it made it easy for Mr. Poln to turn me in his arms, and lay me flat to the top of the desk. I went down to it with a gasp; my cheeks red and my arms falling back, spreading myself out for my teacher to view. My black locks were spread about the desk, my glasses askew on my eyes. I fit perfectly on Mr. Poln's desk, with my knees bent and my school shoes perched at the very corners of it. The action had flipped my skirt back up to lay across my stomach, exposing my wet, ready slit to my teacher. I had a small tuft of black hair near the top; unshaven, but I naturally didn't grow very much. The sight of it clearly pleased my teacher, because the look on Mr. Poln's face was ravenous, and he took a long, deep breath before stepping up to the edge of the desk.

His hands worked furiously, moving to his zipper and making short work of the restraining pants. I heard the clatter of his belt hitting the tile, along with the noise of fabric landing in a pile, but before I could even see his cock that I by now adored, there was the sound of a wet slap as his cockhead struck against the outside of my lips. He had flopped it right out, letting it strike my sensitive folds, and I gave a sudden cry that was so loud I threw both my hands over my mouth, breaking down into a whimper after the moment subsided. Mr. Poln just grinned, and pressed in close, taking one hand to guide his cock direct to my entrance. My heart was racing, head spinning, and I was preparing myself for the pain of my first time, but much to my surprise, it was nowhere near what I had been told.

In the moments of Mr. Poln taking my virginity, there was some pain, and some discomfort, but those sensations were vastly overwhelmed by the careful, sensual motions of my teacher. The pinch of his cockhead slipping inside of my walls came as the first surprise, and I was amazed at how...intoxicating it felt. The warmth, the presence of my teacher's member inside of me, I almost instantly wanted more. As he got comfortable, and his member went a little deeper, Mr. Poln scooped an arm underneath one of my knees, and lifted my leg to spread me out more. The knee was soon hooked around his shoulder, and I could see in my hazy vision that it was the same leg that still had my panties dangling from them, swaying lewdly with each motion. A fitting white flag of surrender if there ever was one.