Sensation

A Good Student

S E N S A T I O N

A Good Student

'95%'

Emblazoned in bold upon stark white white paper, two numbers seemingly so simple stared back at me innocently. The underlying tone of this foul grade was taunting -- the equivalent of the gaze Mr. Thomas pinned me with. He was fully aware this paper was cheated out of a well deserved 100. My answers were immaculately constructed and concise, and there was no uncertainty in the eloquency of my words. I just didn't understand.

As the bell rang and the collective group of angsty teens that made up the population of my class fled the room, I slowly rose from my chair, my paper in hand. I couldn't help the frustration that began to intertwine with my naturally upbeat disposition, nor the bite of anger that nipped at me viciously from the corner of my mind.

The paper crumpled and gave way in the presence of the strength of my hand, the first victim to encounter my rage. I slowly made my way to the front of the room where the cocky, arrogant fuck of a teacher sat behind the safety of varnished wood. He wouldn't be safe for long.

Keep your composure, Isaiah, I mentally soothed, Keep calm.

"Mr. Thomas, what the fuck is this?"

So much for being calm.

Dark brows stitching into one, surprise contradicting his initial frown. It tugged at the corner of his lips in the attempt to suppress a cheeky grin. Bastard.

"Mr. Grant, that's rather crass of you, isn't it? I could write you up for your language."

"Frankly, I don't care. I deserved a 100 on this. You know it."

"Do I, Mr. Grant?"

I could feel the annoyance begin to seep into the features of my face, a frown taking its rightful place atop my brows. As I pinched the bridge of my nose, I prayed to whatever may be out there to help me subdue this fury. I needed this 100.

"This isn't funny, Mr. Thomas. I turn in all my work and come back with good grades, I study and pay attention, why do you insist on messing with me about this?"

This essay grade was crucial, as it had significant impact on the final grade for the end of this semester. Right now, on account of my last two grades (an 88 and an 85), I was left with an 89. A B. A fucking B. If I could bump this grade up to a 100, that'd give me a 91 -- an unsatisfactory, but acceptable grade. It was an A after all.

He leaned back against his chair, the rolling structure squeaking in resistance. He seemed to be pondering something -- and it better have been giving me that A.

"Well, Mr. Grant, seeing as it is the end of the semester, the last day, in fact, there's not much you can do with such limited time. I'm afraid you'll have to take the B --,"

"I'm not taking the B. I've worked the hardest I can work in your fucki-- in your Chemistry class, and I deserve an A. I intend to get it."

This time, the bastard rose an eyebrow -- a clear challenge.
"And how do you intend to do that?"

A plethora of thoughts gathered into my head and I contemplated them all. Blackmail; wouldn't work. I had nothing on him. Threatening; he could just easily get me suspended or even expelled for threatening a teacher..

Then a rather interesting idea popped up. Seduction?? Sizing him up, he wasn't bad. Not at all. With a youthful face, though strong in terms of facial feature, with plump lips, a sharp jaw and thick brows, he was definitely a looker. It was no wonder girls wanted to fling their panties at him with just a glance from those darkened Emeralds.

He had a thick head of brown hair, too, and I loved a man with lots of hair, especially able to be tugged at. Was I really considering this? Even as he sat there gazing at me with impatience, just me and him, the opportunity was there, but there were too many factors running against me.

He could shove me off and report me, he could laugh in my face and force me to take the B, he probably doesn't even swing that way. Even after concluding all of that I still shot for it.

Slowly, steadily, as though I were approaching an animal, though I was the wildly lascivious one myself, I stalked around the edge of the desk. My paper lay abandoned in the same spot, yet I moved forward.

"Mr. Thomas," I drawled slowly. I could feel the tint of red setting into my flesh, the heat reminding me I was rather average looking and amateur. I had virtually no chance. Turn around and leave, rationality pled at the foot of my mind, but it was too late to listen.

His eyes quite literally disappeared beyond his hairline as I slowly lowered myself down onto his lap, and his hands flew to my waist. I couldn't let him push me off. I quickly grabbed his wrists, yanking his arms into a lock around my waist, pushing my upper body against him so he couldn't shove me off -- or rather, he couldn't complete said task easily.

"Isaiah!"

Now to silence him. Forcing his palms against my jean clad ass, I quieted down his struggle with my lips, quickly swallowing his surprise with my mouth. I wasted no time in moving my lips against his, continuing though he was unresponsive from what seemed to be shock.

Convinced I was wielding the torch of control and that I had cornered him into submission, I slowed my vigorous kissing and began to pull away. My breathing labored, I gathered my words into a useless splutter of a broken sentence.

"M-Mr. Thomas, I --,"

But I didn't get the chance to finish. He roughly yanked his hands from my grip only to firmly secure my legs around his waist as he stood and slammed me against his desk on my back. I did nothing but stare up in wonder at his expressionless face. Had my seduction actually worked?

Emerald gems cut through my own aqua blues, securing me in an intense stare so full of emotion and warning, I wasn't sure what my next move would be, or even what he was doing currently.

"I'm not sure you know what you're messing with, Isaiah." His voice was the equivalent of a guttural growl, low and traced with hints of a carefully concealed threat. Once again, I was left speechless, my mind blank though I desperately sought a logical, intelligible response.

So, I settled with honesty.

My hands rose to his chest, slowly running over his broad shoulders to proceed up his neck, meeting their destination to fondle the hair of his nape. I guided his head down closer to mine, reveling in his warm, minty breath wafting over my nostrils.

I held back a grin at the sight of his gaze drifting down to my lips.

"I want my A, Mr. Thomas."

* * * ~

10/24/17
Kind of going through a little block with my main two stories (Whimper and The Tyrant's Downfall), so I figured a little distraction or a break, per say, would help out (:

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