Teach Me Daddy

by Isabella Starling

  He walked to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker to write with, scribbling his name across the board in nearly illegible handwriting.

  "My name is Mr. Jacobson," he said, turning to face us and capping the marker. "Professor Maddox Jacobson, to be exact."

  His eyes focused on mine and I became acutely aware of the fact that I was staring at him.

  "Some of you may already know me," he said, his eyes boring into mine. Then he looked away, the spell broken. But I was still mesmerized. I couldn't bring myself to look away from the stormy blue of his eyes, which was now focused on the rest of the class.

  "The rest of you are about to," Maddox, my Maddox, went on. "And I'd advise you to forget everything and anything you've heard about me so far. From here on out, I am your teacher and you will do as I say. Is that understood?"

  He looked right at me as he delivered the last line, and I squirmed under the weight of his stare.

  The class reacted with stunned silence and I think I was the only one to nod at his request. He was vicious in the classroom, as vicious as he'd been with me the previous day.

  He assigned us a chapter to read in our textbooks so we could discuss it, but I was too stunned to even look at the words in front of me. I opened my textbook and laid it out on the desk, but all I could do was stare at Maddox as he focused on scrolling through his phone.

  It was so unprofessional. And what was he even looking at?

  My head flooded with images of women he could be talking to, texts and pictures he could be getting. Jealousy bit me like a snake, and I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't say anything.

  What the hell was he doing here, anyway? Was he really going to be my teacher? The whole thing was so ridiculously inappropriate I couldn't bear to think about it.

  He didn't even glance at me as he got up from his desk.

  "I assume everyone's done," he said arrogantly, and a collective groan came from the rest of the students. He definitely hadn't given us enough time to read through the twenty-page chapter, but he seemed to think it was enough. "Let's talk about what you've read now."

  He looked right at me, even though I bet he noticed I hadn't read the chapter. A wicked grin lit up his face as he smiled at me.

  "You," he said darkly.

  "Cora," I bit out, knowing full well he knew my name and was playing a game with me. I had no idea how he was staying so calm through this, especially because I was burning up with shame myself. "My name is Cora Lockhart."

  "So, Miss Lockhart," he said, his tone almost mocking. "I bet you had a good time reading that chapter."

  I blushed furiously while the rest of the class snickered.

  "So why don't you tell me how the story starts," he said, looking so smug I wanted to slap the expression right off his face. "Or maybe you can't?"

  He gave me a challenging look. Of course, he'd noticed I hadn't been reading the book. But that was too bad for him, because I'd already made myself familiar with the material for the class. He wasn't going to humiliate me in front of everyone.

  "I don't see the point in regurgitating a synopsis," I told him sharply. "This is advanced English, right? Why don't we jump straight into the symbolism?"

  The class hushed and whispered a moment later, and Maddox stared at me with that stupid lopsided grin still playing on his face.

  "Okay, then, Miss Lockhart," he said with an exaggerated gesture. "Enlighten me."

  "There is a green light at the end of Daisy's dock," I said, trying to sound as bored as possible while I stared him down. He wasn't going to get to me, no fucking way. I was going to prove my worth to him. "It symbolizes Gatsby's hopes and dreams to reconcile with his old flame."

  "Is that all?" he asked me with a smirk, and finally, I'd had enough.

  "Yes, that is all," I snapped. "I hope your classes are going to be more educational than picking on the only girl with half a brain in the classroom, Mr. Jacobson."

  Hushed murmurs broke out around the room but I didn’t look at who was whispering. I knew immediately that I wasn’t going to win any friends with that, but he’d just pissed me off so bad. Maddox smoothed out his expression, though I could see the amusement in his eyes.

  “I’m sure we can discuss your opinions about your classmates and myself after class, Miss Lockhart. I’ll be expecting you to have a more malleable disposition then. Now, moving on. How about you, the White Knight in the back. What do you think the light meant?”

  Maddox turned to question Jake, seemingly forgetting that we’d ever talked at all. No teacher had ever told me to stay after class for anything but extra assignments or praise. I felt like I was red to the tips of my ears.

  “Busted,” someone whispered behind me.

  “Shut up,” I hissed back, equal parts humiliated and enraged.

  The class went on almost endlessly. I couldn’t shake the mental images of what Maddox had done to me the night before to even attempt participating in the class, but he seemed equally pleased to leave me alone for the time being.

  I was finally saved by the bell.

  As it rang out, my fellow classmates gathered their things, my little bout of rebellion quickly forgotten.

  But I could feel Maddox's eyes on me as I put my books into my backpack and left toward the door. I half-hoped he'd pull me aside and repeat what we'd done in my bedroom last night.

  The other half of me hoped he’d go to hell for embarrassing me.

  Six

  Maddox

  I didn’t think it would be as hard as it was. Being in the same building with Cora and not being allowed to touch her? It was the purest form of torture.

  My mind was constantly on her, on that first class of the day and the way she went from a perfect princess to a bratty little know-it-all on the flip of a dime. I couldn’t help but want to see that side of her more. If a little bit of pushing got her to flip that hard, what would a little more do?

  I couldn’t wait to find out.

  I went through the classes in the morning in mostly a daze, trying to keep my thoughts straight enough to keep from sporting a fucking boner for Cora in class, and succeeding, if only barely. It helped that the material I was expected to teach to these ‘advanced’ students was easy enough that a monkey could do it. A curriculum that didn’t move together with the times was a blessing in that way, even if it was a curse in every other way.

  Not my problem, I didn’t intend to stay there for very long.

  As much as shaping young minds was supposed to be the end goal of all educators, I honestly preferred students that had passed through the quagmire that was high school and came to the conclusion that they actually wanted to learn. I’d done enough force-feeding of knowledge in my time to know that I wasn’t interested in it anymore.

  And yet here I was.

  There were a few bright students who made the first half of the day go by more bearably, but the best they could provide was a slight distraction from Cora. The way the girls gasped and giggled when I rolled the sleeves of my white button-up to my elbows in one of the classes just made me want to roll my eyes.

  I could already imagine the ‘Me + Mr. Jacobson= <3’ doodles I was going to find behind notebooks in the very near future. Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

  I was about to bite into my sandwich in the classroom when I was called in to see the principal for a quick hello and check-in for my first day. I got out of there as fast as I could, excusing myself with the need to grab my lunch before the next class. If there was ever a woman on the prowl, the principal was one. I could smell the bitter divorcee on her a mile away.

  I strode back to my classroom and as I flung the door open, I very nearly stopped in my tracks. There she was, my sassy little girl, sitting at her desk and eating her lunch.

  “When I said after class, I meant at the end of the day, Ms. Lockhart,” I said, pulling the door shut behind me and then locking it.

  Cora was in mid-bite so she couldn’t respond right away. I wasn’t even sure
if she noticed that I flipped the lock.

  “I’m sorry… Mr. Jacobson,” she said, taking a moment to decide what to call me.

  It didn’t go unnoticed by me, but I stifled the grin, taking a seat on the edge of my desk and unwrapping my sandwich. I caught the way she looked at my forearms, following the way they flexed with the small motions of taking the plastic wrap off the sandwich. I could practically hear her swallowing dryly.

  “This classroom is usually empty for lunch period,” she said with a soft voice, avoiding my gaze and finally focusing on her lunch again. After a moment of hesitation, she moved to put it back in her lunchbox. “I’m very sorry, I’ll go.”

  “Stay,” I told her sharply, not sparing her a look.

  She was mid-way out of her seat when I uttered the word. She hesitated for a moment and then sat back down obediently, opening her lunchbox again and tentatively picking at her food.

  “Have you always been a kiss-up?” I asked her conversationally as I finished my sandwich, barely tasting it as it went down. “Or do you read the material beforehand for just my class?”

  “I like reading,” she sputtered. “English has always been my favorite class.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know… I’ve always liked getting lost in books,” she said with a shrug.

  A ripe red apple sat in her lunchbox, untouched. She picked it up and rolled it back and forth in her palms.

  “Elliott, Hemingway, Austin… I like how they can create worlds and explain their thoughts in a way that people have to stand up and take notice. Like they have a voice bigger than any one human could have in person.” She paused for a moment, thinking, before looking up at me finally. “Why are you here?”

  “An unfortunate love-affair as a teenager with Kerouac and several wrong choices after that,” I said with a shrug, snatching the apple from her hands.

  Her green eyes flicked up to me and her mouth fell slightly agape. She was ridiculous – she was more than ready to mouth off at me in front of fourteen other people, her peers, yet me plucking her apple out of her hands was somehow scandalous.

  “I meant what are you doing in my school?” she retorted, that blush that seemed to rarely leave her cheeks back now.

  “I know what you asked,” I said tersely, taking a big bite of the apple.

  It was juicy and ripe.

  Her lower lip poked out in a pout that was equal parts delicious and bratty. For all the obedience drilled into her by her father, it seemed that she hadn’t quite lost her insolent streak.

  Good.

  “Now, as you’re here, I think we need to discuss the matter of your behavior, Ms. Lockhart. I think you’ve allowed yourself too much familiarity in my classroom. I think you owe me an apology,” I said, my eyes roaming over her body.

  She filled out the uniform well. The skirt was a little too short for her long legs, but show me a man who would mind that. Combine the plaid skirt with knee socks and a shirt that did little to hide the fact that her tits were spilling out of her bra made any kind of self-control an exercise in frustration and futility.

  It just made me want to see more.

  The words came out without me even thinking about them. I knew exactly what I wanted, and what she needed.

  “Stand up, Cora,” I told her.

  A slight frown marred her expression, muddled with uncertainty, but she did as she was told. I motioned for her to step in front of the whiteboard and she shuffled to her spot, locking her fingers in front of her, her body language speaking volumes about her eagerness. I could practically see her squeezing her thighs together.

  “Take your shirt off. Strip for me, Cora,” I said, taking another casual bite out of the apple.

  “But…” she started, her eyes wide. “I…”

  “Yes?”

  “Daddy…”

  I didn’t know if she was begging me to stop or to keep telling her what to do, but before I could make up my mind, she hooked her fingers under the fabric of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

  I almost choked on the apple, trying to keep my expression neutral. The way she said what I wanted her to call me, and the sight of her gorgeous curves had my façade almost cracking. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way her tits pressed over the edge of the lacy white bra she was wearing, the pink of her areolas slightly visible because the garment was clearly too small for her.

  My cock was throbbing in my pants and my muscles flexed as a small shudder ran through her.

  “Good girl. Now the skirt,” I said, finding her all too willing now to undo the zipper in the back and let it slide down over her hips and thighs.

  Her panties were pink, hugging her hips. I motioned with my finger for her to twirl around and she did, slowly. She brushed her hair out of her face, her hand sliding down her neck and chest slowly then. I could see the slight damp spot on her panties and a few errant curls of red peeking out from under the garment at the apex of her thighs.

  “I want you to be shaved for me next time, Cora. If you want to be a good girl for Daddy, you’re going to have to behave. Otherwise, I’ll be very disappointed,” I murmured, standing up and putting the half-eaten apple on her desk.

  I stopped in front of her, breathing in her scent, loving the way her whole body seemed to pull toward me like a magnet. I wanted to take her and give her everything she needed right then, but I knew I had to wait. For both our sakes.

  “You don’t want to be a bad girl for me, do you, Cora?” I asked, brushing the last strand of hair out of her face.

  She shook her head just as the bell rang. I stifled my grin and brushed past her, unlocking the door.

  “Better go before you’re late for class, Cora.”

  Seven

  Cora

  I ended up staying a little later after school. I had to meet with the school counsellor to talk about the scholarship I'd applied for, and I waited for her for hours after my last class, but she never showed up. Finally, I got up from the bench outside of her office, feeling dejected and disappointed. I still had a long walk home ahead of me though, so I really had to get going.

  I couldn't help but think about Maddox on the way home. The way he'd just appeared out of nowhere in my classroom that morning, telling me he'd be my English teacher... I still couldn't quite come to terms with being in such close proximity to him.

  And what had happened during the lunch break would never happen again, of course.

  It couldn't.

  I was going to stay professional.

  I was going to be a good girl.

  Not the kind of good girl he wanted me to be, but the kind who wouldn't embarrass herself in front of everyone at school. I couldn't risk anyone finding out about what had happened between Maddox and me. It could mean he would get fired, and my reputation would have a big fat dirty stain on it forever.

  And, most important of all, I'd risk losing out on the recommendation letter I was counting on Maddox writing for me. And there was no way I was going to do that. I needed to get out of this town.

  Most of all, I was never, ever going to call him Daddy again.

  I had no idea why I'd done it in the first place. What on earth possessed me to call him that? It just slipped from my lips, as if it were the most natural way to address someone twice my age who was most definitely the most inappropriate crush I'd ever had.

  I made a mental promise to myself to stick to all of my resolutions as I walked back home.

  It was already getting dark outside, day turning into dusk, as I walked down the sidewalk leading up to our house. I was chewing on my lip nervously again, having completely forgotten how upset dad might be that I'd gotten home later than I'd meant to. He never liked me staying out late, and I was sure there was a lecture on the other side of the front door.

  I let myself in and tried to tiptoe into my room, being as quiet as possible. If I'd gotten lucky, dad was still at work dealing with some client or other, and he'd be none the wiser to me c
oming home so late.

  It was usually this way, but not always. Sometimes his firm would get a client that took up his workdays and a big chunk of the weekends, too, other times he didn't have work for days. It was an irregular and unpredictable schedule, and I could never know when he'd be home and when he'd be out.

  Despite living alone with him for ten years now, I'd never gotten quite comfortable around my dad.

  Mom married him when I was six years old, and died only two short years later. He was better than my real dad, a mean man that drank himself into a stupor every night and beat my mom badly. She always said the night he tumbled to his death from a bridge above the river was the best day of our lives. And shortly after, she met him - Alexander Royce.

  He was charming and very handsome. He was also much older than her. My mom had me when she was very young and Alexander was nearly twice her age at the time. But he took care of her, and most importantly, he seemed to have taken a liking to me as well.

  He treated me like his own daughter, and even though he was busy a lot and didn't spend a whole lot of time with us, I'd be eternally grateful to him for taking my mom and me in when we'd hit upon hard times.

  We'd moved into his house and I got the perfect princess bedroom, straight out of a fairytale.

  Mom's illness came as a shock to all of us a short while later. Neither Alexander nor I expected her to go so soon, and when we were left alone, I was so scared he'd kick me out, I burst into tears the second we came home from the funeral.

  That's when we got closer. Alexander took me into his arms, and for once, showed me a vulnerable side of himself. He promised me he'd always take care of me, promised I had nothing to worry about, he'd always be there for me. And I trusted him, because he was the only person I had left, and I needed a shoulder to lean on.

  Since that moment, he wanted me to call him dad.

  At first I had trouble doing it, having never really had a proper father figure in my life, but I adjusted to it with time. It still felt weird though, that word slipping from my lips every time he talked to me.