NOTE:
This is a story about control and submission. Please note though, that whilst it's not the main feature, this story does contain male > male oral sex as a means of asserting dominance. Avoid if that makes you uncomfortable.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis sat across from me, looking mildly uncomfortable, knees raised and backs hunched by virtue of having to seat themselves in the student chairs. It always amused me to see adults, usually in professional dress on their way to or from work, trying to negotiate the confines of the primary colored, chunky plastic chairs that were intended for use by the under 11s.
I could have arranged for more suitable chairs to be brought in from the staff room, but where was the fun in that? I enjoyed the comedy tableau. Plus, it meant that the parents were significantly lower down than I was, forcing them to look up to me. They had no choice but to immediately adopt a position of inferiority to me. I liked it that way.
Today was the term's parent's evening at Hardwood High School and as the deputy head teacher, I'd be seeing a selection of parents this evening. Most of the teachers scheduled very strict, five-minute sessions in an almost conveyor belt fashion. One in - one out, aiming to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. That wasn't my style.
The parents always got a scheduled half-hour of my time. Some didn't need it all. Some wanted more.
Mr. Jarvis shifted his weight in an attempt to find comfort in the cramped chair, while Mrs. Jarvis, seeming nervous, stared at her shoes.
I broke the silence. "So, you'll be wanting to hear how Eliza has been getting on this term then?"
The couple snapped to attention as I began speaking and smiled warmly at their daughter's name.
"Well, the good news," I purred in a calm, familiar tone. "Is that she's a delight to have in the classroom."
They quickly exchanged a glance and Mrs. Jarvis visibly relaxed. As the tension left her face, her features softened and her eyes brightened. She was pretty in an ordinary kind of way. It wasn't a criticism. I liked her 'ordinariness'. Modern media perpetuates the myth that the world is overrun with catwalk models and Hollywood-esq A-list beauties. This image is further exaggerated by the popular social media platforms, where everyone is their ideal weight, has impeccable make-up and wears only high-fashion. So too with modern-day pornography, where sex is only ever enjoyed by beautiful women and perfectly toned men.
I liked women like Mrs. Jarvis. Honest, fresh, and not trying to be anything they're not. Like the majority of women her age - which I pegged to be somewhere between 35 and 45, she certainly wasn't unattractive. She had a bright, full face which was on the right side of chubby and if anything, made her look more youthful. She had large, doe-eyes and I imagined that this is what she pegged as her best feature. She wore a floaty, flower-print dress with a dark blazer. She certainly wasn't overweight, though she'd chosen a loose-fitting dress, suggesting some self-consciousness. The dress was doing its level best to hide her breasts under its shapelessness, though I speculated her bust size to be in the region of a 36 C.
'Middling-to-ample'
, I liked to call it.
She had a pair of white pumps on her feet, the flat soles doing the minimal work possible to add shape to her calves and legs. Speculating again, I was positive her legs would be an impressive sight under the influence of a heeled sole.
Despite the sun-dress and the sporty shoes, she wore hosiery on her slender legs. I wondered if they were panty-hose or suspenders?
She'd applied a very light coat of make-up to give her cheeks some colour, no mascara from what I could discern and a neutral lipstick that was only noticeable at a close distance. Her tawny hair had probably been bleached a few shades lighter at some point, back when she had the time to maintain the look. It was thrown up in a loose ponytail that suited her, though I had the suspicion she wore her hair down most of the time, and had hastily arranged the ponytail before coming into the meeting - in the waiting room most likely.
I looked over to Mr. Jarvis who seemed to notice that my stare had lingered on his wife a little too long. He wore a cautious demeanour, not threatening or threatened, but there was an underlying alertness to his gaze that he couldn't hide.
"How do you both think she's getting on?" I asked.
I wasn't interested in the answer and as they looked to each other to decide who would answer the question first, I looked Mr. Jarvis up and down, as I had his wife.
I'd peg him somewhere in the region of three to four years younger than his wife, though he hadn't taken as much care of himself. He was only a little taller than she was, which put me at a reasonable size advantage. He wore a button-down shirt over a pair of boot-cut denim jeans and he'd folded his suit jacket over his lap. He'd likely removed the jacket and untucked his shirt before coming in, to present a more business-casual look. I guess like many other men fighting the middle-age spread, he'd opted to untuck his shirt so as to help avoid the inevitable belly overhang that would come from being cramped into one of the school's stock, plastic chairs.
His face did crossover into chubby territory, and it was also entirely clean shaven. To my mind, he could have left a light stubble, or maintained some facial hair. As it was, he had one of those faces that looked odd and somewhat juvenile when completely bald. Like when you come across a newly-sheared sheep. You know they 'can' look like that, but it's somehow unnatural.
They'd both been attempting to give their opinions on little Eliza's performance over the last term and I could sense by their cadence that they were winding down.
"Have you brought in the forms I'd asked you to complete?" I asked, matter-of-factly.
"Of course," Mrs. Jarvis replied, smiling.
She fished around in her handbag before handing a couple of sheets of paper to her husband.
"Grab these, will you please, Mark?", she asked him. "There should be a few more sheets in here."
As Mrs. Jarvis continued to search for the remaining paperwork, I reached out my hand toward Mr. Jarvis to beckon the forms from him. However, upon taking the papers from his wife, his eyes had glazed over slightly and he was now reluctant to hand them on.
"Pass them to me please, Mr. Jarvis," I requested.
He hesitated, but it was only a momentary impulse and he handed them over in short order. I glanced over the two sheets of A4 paper, all four sides completed in full, as Mrs. Jarvis found the additional sheets she was looking for. Without delay she handed them to me.
"Did you have any trouble with the forms?", I enquired. They both shook their heads.
"Excellent," I chirped.
They looked at me dreamily. Mrs. Jarvis was gently rubbing her thighs together and Mr. Jarvis was shifting uncomfortably again, though this time it was due to the large erection he was sporting that even a pair of thick denim jeans couldn't conceal.
"Anything unusual you noticed or any aspects you'd like to discuss in detail?" I asked. Again, two shaking heads.
I inspected the sheets of paper more closely now. There were five pages in total, with nine full sides having been completed. The handwriting alternated occasionally indicating that both parents had been involved and the ink used changed on a frequent basis too, giving the proof that they'd completed the writing over an extended period, rather than cramming it in at the last minute like so many children did with their homework assignments.
But, irrespective of the pen that had been used, or the hand that had done the writing, every inch of the five pages had been filled with the same, single sentence.
'It's good to do as Mr. Callaghan wants. It's good that he is happy. I want to make Mr. Callagan happy'
