Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

Expulsion was what Tinsley wanted. Therefore, it was the one thing I wouldn’t give her. That left scrubbing floors. Or corporal punishment. Slapping. Spanking. Flogging. Choking. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t, for ten thousand reasons all amounting to one. I want it. I wanted to put my hands on her so badly, and if I did, if I physically punished her, it would be irrefutably, uncontrollably, gloriously sexual for me. I’d only touched her one time. Four weeks ago, I’d let my thumb brush her lip. That single, featherlight touch had unfurled a surge of twisted, desperate cravings from the darkest corner of my mind. Since then, I’d kept my hands to myself and forced my black thoughts into nonexistence. But if I touched her again, if I introduced her to my favorite pastime, it was all over. As it was, watching her crawl across the floor on her knees teased the hell out of my sadistic nature. The flagrant sexual symbolism in the act wasn’t lost on her, either. She called me out on it every time, asserting that no student should kneel for her teacher because it was perverted and sexist and played into the fantasies of predators. It was a wasted argument. If she kept her disrespectful mouth shut, she wouldn’t be on her knees. Period. The choice was hers. I checked my watch and paced through the classroom, grinding my teeth. She was late again.