Whitewash High

"Wrong...wrong...wrong...super wrong...Capital of USA...London...Capital of England...France...Fuck sake. I'm dealing with a class of morons," Nik thought to himself. "How much more basic can I make this class."

A giant stack of papers filled a box on his desk. It was the latest geography test he handed out during the day. Basic stuff. Capitals of states and provinces along the border. Capitals of major world powers. Basic fundamentals any knowledgeable person should know in daily life to understand their surroundings and world events. Suzy's absence, recuperating in the hospital, sunk the class average. She propped up the class like a life jacket.

"Capital of Massachusetts...Red Sox...Shoot me now, preferably with a twelve gauge."

Teaching took talent and dedication. One of the hardest professions in the world, the average person doesn't understand the immense pressure a teacher is legitimately and illegitimately put under. Imagine a job where you're the manager of the business, and each student is an employee. Now, imagine you can't fire any employee, short of murdering a classmate. Next, have them go through puberty. Mix together with a blend of rich, poor, fed and hungry, happy and suicidal, and welcome to the life of a high school teacher. Give them a ten-month salary, and the continuous grind of reapplying for jobs and moving every year, and is it any wonder why they want to squeeze every penny out of the government for a raise?

"New York...Yankees...At least he knows his sports teams. And he spelled Yankee correctly...Wonderful. Maybe I'll do the next test on sports teams."

Paperwork became a constant. Marking and filing. Every assignment he concocted, he had to grade times thirty, times four. A never ending tidal wave of papers. Yet, he enjoyed it. He wouldn't have gone back to the classroom unless he wanted to be in it. Too much stress and bullshit.

"Knock knock, busy there, stud?" Michelle called out, leaning against the open door.

"Buried in tests. Done yours already?"

"Ha, it never ends. I'm backlogged. Want to see if you've got a lunch date yet?"

"Nope, just dealing with this. Used my entire prep to get last week's assignments done."

Door closed behind her, Michelle leaned over the desk provocatively. Her tight dressed pushed up her pillowy tits on proud display.

"You know; I don't think the principal is going to fire you. You're fucking her, Massa."

"I'd like to think I have some honor. I don't want to impose our personal relationship on our work relationship."

"Have it your way. By the way, she tastes good today."

"You're such a tease, know that, Michelle?" he smirked, finishing one more quiz.

"Teases don't put out. See you in the staff room if you get bored."

"Wait," Nik stopped her. "I'll come along. I do need a break. Haven't been in there for a long time."

Michelle had an arm hidden behind her back the entire time. Nik, focusing on correcting papers, didn't notice.

"Here. My special lunch. Just for you."

The black teacher smiled brightly, presenting the bagged lunch. Unsuspicious and generic packaging would leave no one the wiser.

"Thanks, Michelle. That is very sweet of you."

Nik stood up, taking the lunch. He didn't look inside yet, choosing to lean in and whisper into her ear.

"Wanting to be my number one house nigger?" he spoke, licking her ear.

Michelle's legs melted instantly. Racialized words made her heart flutter. The more he said them, the more she clung closer and closer.

"Always, Massa. Can't wait until tomorrow night. I get you all to myself," she purred.

The staff room hustled and bustled. Staff sat, ate, and chatted away the hour under the grim reality of an underfunded, ghetto school slammed into their serene hideaway.

"I caught two more fighting in the hallways," one man commented.

"What about this time?" a female teacher asked.

"Drugs, I think. I don't know, or care. I called the security guard and let him handle it. Suit just got back from the cleaners. Not going to ruin it."

"Found two girls fighting over a man yesterday. Guess he was two-timing them," the female teacher replied.

Nik and Michelle sat down at an open table. Opening up the pack lunch, Nik couldn't help but smile seeing the array of food. It looked healthy and delicious. A sweet aroma filled hungry nostrils.

"Hey, Nik, girlfriend pack your lunch for you today? Different than the typical stuff you bring," Mr. Leger asked.

"Guess I did something right," Nik joked.

Michelle tried not to blush, biting into her own sandwich as cover.

"Must be nice. Looks good. Ball and chain makes me fend for myself."

"Why'd you marry her?" Nik asked.

"Catholic. Knocked her up. Her daddy gave me two choices. A shotgun or a wedding."

"Isn't it shotgun wedding?" Michelle asked.

"His spin on it," Mr. Leger answered.

"Should have asked bird or buckshot," Nik said, smiling.

Mr. Leger laughed, pointing at Nik in appreciation at the joke.

"You need to come to the staff room more often and liven things up," Mrs. Latrell commented.

"Trying to keep a low profile. With the pending court case, and the stabbing, figured it'd be easier to keep to my corner of the school."

"Real shame about all the violence," Mrs. Latrell continued. "Guess it'll only get worse."

"How so?" Michelle asked.

"Jimmy Jack in jail left a power vacuum," Nik interjected.

The other teachers silenced, surprised at his knowledge of school politics.

"What?" Nik asked.

"How do you know that?" Mrs. Latrell said.

"I watch a lot of cop shows. Gangster history is a hobby of mine," he replied, not skipping a beat.

"Is a power vacuum bad?" Michelle said.

"It's a signal to the other gangs to try and be top dog. Who knows if the guy will be back, so they want to consolidate their power in either eventuality."

"You sure know a lot about that stuff. You a NARC?" a different teacher asked.

"Me? Nah. They have shit hours. I'm sorry, are you new? I never saw your around before, mister..."

"James. I'm subbing."

"Nice to meet you. Sorry, I'm not a NARC."

"How bad you think it'll get?" Michelle kept asking, concerned.

"Who knows. Depends. I don't know the players. Better off asking the others."

Nik semi-lied. He knew what Suzy told him from brief conversations but not enough details to make an educated guess.

"We stay out of their way, and they'll generally leave us alone. I give them their fifty-ones and they don't cause any trouble," Mrs. Latrell revealed.

"Double that for me. I'm not a hero," Mr. Leger agreed. "Most of the students here get funneled through cause they stir up trouble at other schools. We pass them, we keep out funding. We don't, we lose our jobs. No one pays attention much at a ghetto school, so no one comes knocking about proving test scores. Our kids don't go to university."

"I remember the previous principal mentioning something similar last year," Michelle said.

"Shit," Mr. Leger randomly shouted out, looking at his watch. "I'm late for a meeting. Forgot all about it. Bye folks."

"I should probably head back to class too," Mrs. Latrell said as well.

Without a word or comment, Mr. James sat at Nik and Michelle's table.

"So you're the guy the students are talking about, the one who got stabbed in a gang fight?"

"Not really a gang fight. Deck one student, get stabbed in the back by another. Another day in the office," Nik answered.

"Pretty tough for a teacher."

"Do we have a problem here?" Michelle asked, suspicious of Mr. James' questions.

"No problem, just curious. Don't often hear of a teacher able to take a stabbing."

"I'm not a NARC," Nik said, finishing the sandwich. "Besides, if I was, I wouldn't tell you. First rule of spy school."

"I don't want to be late for class."

Mr. James walked off, leaving the pair to finish lunch.

"Weird guy," Michelle commented. "Wonder what got a bug up his ass."

Nik shrugged.

"Don't know. Is it a white thing?"

Michelle nearly choked on her milk.

"What?"

"I'm white so I must be a cop."

Michelle regained her composure, then giggled, realizing he was joking.

"By the way, Nik, we've got that exam meeting after school to finalize the schedule."

"No rest for the wicked. Hopefully it doesn't take a long time."

"Oh, got a hot date tonight?" Michelle flirted.

The harem made their secrecy easy. Open code, using the other girl's as proxies. Telling the truth made making up stories easier on the fly, so to discuss Kelly and Maya had the same impact as if talking about herself.

"Yeah, she texted me she had something important to discuss."

"A long, deep conversation, I bet."

With Michelle sporting an expensive ring, and Nik openly confirming he had a girlfriend, they could flirt and make innuendos without fear of raising much suspicion.

"Ever see that James guy before?" Nik asked.

"Maybe? Once or twice last year. Don't really know him. He is in the science department, I think."

"Maybe he had a bad experience with the police before," Nik shrugged. "Lunch time is over. Better get back at it."

X

The afternoon crawled through time. Reading passages in boring history texts did nothing. Reading passages about dead white presidents and prime ministers did an extra helping of nothing to an all-black classroom. Their grades didn't improve exponentially, but he did count himself lucky his war wound counted a little in keeping order in the class.

He saw them working away, partially. They had their books open to the right page at least, even though conversations about drugs and bitches and the latest cars and games filled their heads. But chaos evaporated compared to week one. They sat in their seats, not on them or stood on them. A small, palpable victory.

Decking Jimmy Jack in the gym class put a notch on the credibility belt. Getting shanked, prison style, and living to come back again, added a few more notches. Race aside, that street toughness helped keep some of the toughs in line. A form of mutual respect. He wasn't a punk bitch that could be pushed around.

Sitting on the side of his desk, reading a paragraph from the book, the bell broke up a moment of teaching serenity.

"Alright, class, remember to study for your test next week. Hint, it'll be the exact same as today."

The students filed out, one by one.

"Hey, Mr. Knight, got any extra work for me?" a girl asked.

"I'm still getting caught up on my marking. You're already done half the book, Foxy," he replied.

"Something else then? I just need to make sure to get an A in the class."

"Could give you some extra credit. You graduate soon, right? How about write me a page on what you want to take at college and why."

"That is too easy, Mr. Knight. I'll have it done in ten minutes."

"Easy credit then."

"Done. Okay, bye," she said, sweetly.

Grade-wise, aside from Suzy, Foxy stood leaps and bounds above her peers. Judging her skills properly was tricky due to how her classmates didn't set any competitive bar. Always done in minutes. All assignments handed in on time, if not early. A dream student in a vortex of underachievers.

Despite being in a school wrecked with gang violence and underachievers, Nik learned to understand the why. Being a history teacher, his entire job began and ended with the word why. Every action leads to a reaction, prompting lessons in the concept of 'why'. He experienced students coming to class hungry, asking for simple toast to fight the stomach pains. Some students had only a single parent, or no parents, forced to live with relatives, friends, or on the street. Many of their eyes dulled without hope in their futures. Depressing, sometimes Nik thought them the forgotten people.

He wasn't, nor tried to be, the great white hope. While he enjoyed it, teaching was a job, a way to pay the bills. When the bell rang, he wanted to be one of the first out the door. Did that make him a worse teacher, or just human?

"Earth to Nik...Yoo-hoo...Anyone home?" Michelle called out from the doorway.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry, the meeting, right?"

"You cool?" she asked.

"Just deep in thought. Spaced out."

"Deep in something, or someone?" she winked.

"So, this meeting usually long?"

"Do you care when you do your exams?"

"Not really. I'm flexible."

"Then it'll be quick. As long as a certain someone doesn't butt heads, it'll be quick. Miss Mo'neesha always needs things her way. Just go with the flow. Agree to her time table, and it'll be five minutes. Argue, and we'll be there for an hour. Trust me. Your predecessor and her always butted heads."

"Gotcha. Don't care, so let's make this quick," Nik replied.

"Your girlfriend got a special evening planned?" Michelle asked.

"You know me; I hate being late on a date."

Walking together to the other English teacher's room, the hallways of the school had tumbleweeds roll by. You couldn't bribe the students to leave faster. The moment they entered the room, a sheet of paper got pushed in their face.

"I trust there won't be any problems?" the short, fat, haggard woman said.

"We never read it yet," Michelle commented.

"I spent a long time on it."

Nik could see other staff members in his block rolling their eyes, or trying not to make a comment.

"Yeah, sure, looks good to me, Miss Mo'neesha," Michelle answered.

"Uh, yeah?" Nik said, glancing at the schedule.

Reading between the lines, Michelle's warning became quite clear. Five days of midterms were blocked off. Instead of a nicely spread out piece of logistical genius to try and make everyone happy, it saw Miss Mo'neesha front loaded her entire set of classes. Everyone else got log jammed together the remaining four days.

The consequence? More dead time, and less time for marking. Nik noticed his classes got back loaded, all at end of the week. With report cards due on the following Monday after midterms, it'd require taking marking home on the weekend. To a non-teacher, this would elicit remarks of 'so what?'. But to staff, it meant the difference between a relaxing, stress free weekend, and the dreaded taking work home. Why spend a weekend marking tests if you don't have to?

Nik remembered Michelle's words, nodding in agreement instead of putting up a fuss. It wasn't a hill worth dying on, yet, or stressing out about. If he had to take the marking home, so be it. He'd just use the free days efficiently, so they were not a waste of surfing the internet on his phone. And if need be, he had one of four bitches who could sit between his legs to make the marking an enjoyable experience.

X

Kelly strut around the bedroom of her home. Sleek, lacy, elbow length gloves and leggings adorned her perfect, Oriental frame. Ritualistically, she dressed in an expensive kimono, blazoned with clan symbols and kanji. Every movement slow, soaking in the moment. A long time coming. A long time dormant. A wide smile never faltered a moment during the dressing. Years she spent patiently waiting for Nik to reclaim the sword. Years she spent waiting for him to remember his leadership potential, so she could fulfill her womanly duty as heir to the clan.

It made the half-Japanese, half-Chinese crime daughter laugh that it took a minor schoolyard chest thumping for her true love to cut loose, and not hide his abilities. Many restless nights spent wondering what would have been if he didn't save her life that stormy night. Maybe she'd be dead by a bullet, if lucky. If unlucky, drugged and forced into a brothel or turned into an AV star.

Kelly knew everything Nik did for her clan. Every plot, scheme, killing, kidnapping, and blackmail. Every movie he directed or performed in with reluctant and coerced women. It turned her on fiercely. No remorse, no morality, only the bliss of revenge. Part of her love for him came from a womanly fantasy of the knight saving the noble princess from the evil dragon. The other part, his criminal past, revealed the breadth of honor he'd fulfill in his manly duties. All for his first love, he went from mild-mannered school teacher to an amoral gaijin yakuza. What better man to call husband, and breed a superior heir to the Yamato clan?

Two hours Kelly bathed, primping and cleansing her entire body so it shone like an angel ascending from heaven. She'd serve him as angel and devil. Prim and proper, happy to not embarrass him in public. Seductive and a succubus in private, draining him dry with every fantasy his twisted mind conjured up.

This was the duty of a Yamato woman; the duty of the last heir of the Yamato clan. Purists would be shocked she'd dilute Japanese blood with a gaijin, but love's arrow struck deep. Why be in charge if you can't enjoy the benefits of doing as you please? Musashi died before siring an heir of his own. The family line rested on her shoulders, and as she was a half-breed, breeding outside her race came naturally.

Kelly waited patiently, silently, at the doorway of her home. She asked Nik to come over this night to perform a special submission ritual. A complete juxtaposition of previous depravity fit only for the most extreme of BDSM clubs.

When they left Suzy's mother's apartment the previous night, she knew the situation would be turning deadly soon. If a normal woman, there would be nothing she could offer to help. Being a fuckdoll only relieved his stress, not slice out the cancer that regrew in his soul. But if he came back into the fold, she'd have the power of the clan to support him.

After her brother's death, clan leadership rightfully fell upon her, but the transition was far from smooth. In the male dominated world of the Yakuza, few clans, friend or foe, would respect her as leader. Therefore, she left the organization in the hands of various trusted regents until the day of her marriage.

Gale offered Nik a bargain. Be her husband and the entire power of the Yamato clan would follow his will. Nik learned the value of honor when working for Gale's brother. Even though the yakuza boss owed him a life debt, it was Nik that felt he owed much in return. That was part of the reason he stayed as a pornstar, to repay the great debt of honor by filling the coffers emptied by his blood oath.

Nik opened the apartment door without a knock or doorbell chime. Kelly gave him a set of keys to use the place as his own if needed.

"Welcome home, Master. I'm here to please you," Kelly cooed, bowing her head low to the ground in deference.

Nik knew the drill. He remembered Musashi got plastered one night and enlightened him about clan rituals.

"Modern women won't put up with my clan's traditions. Why do you think I'm single?" Nik remembered Musashi saying. "Men are men, and women are women. You're a man, you can understand that?

Hic

"

The door closed behind him. Breathing intensified. Fingers spasmed, trying to keep calm. A brief flashback to Anri crept in his mind before reality set in. Kneeling down, he reached out to tip her face upward by the chin. Two fingers performed the act. Eyes locked, he probed her. The same fingers ran along the contour of her beautiful face. The greatest artists in the world couldn't do justice to her Oriental beauty.

"I want a bath," Nik ordered.

"Yes, Master, I'll make you a bath immediately."

Kelly didn't latch onto his cock or jump up to tongue him. Total submission. After bowing again, she gracefully walked off to start the warm bath. Nik sat down on the leather couch, head resting back, waiting. This was not about him, despite what the night would hold. This was all about Kelly. A test of traditional wifehood. Despite their polygamous lifestyle, the position held great importance to her honor.

The day Kelly told him her true identity on the telephone, it soon dawned on him she led the clan after Musashi's death. Fitness competitor by day, yakuza boss by night. A woman in a man's world. By submitting to him, he was also submitting to her. He'd be a clan figurehead. Instead of rival leaders growing envious of the mistress' looks, jealous and comparing their own concubines like women compare diamond rings, the southpaw advantage took root. A gaijin bodyguard on display, signifying a feminine power often overlooked to the downfall of others.