Secret Games: The Art of Seduction(18+)

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06~ Wardrobe Malfunction

“Mr. Carter, what is your roll number?”

“Sir, 2...21.” John replies with a somewhat quavering voice. This earns him another kick, and blesses him with confidence. He utters bullishly, “It’s 21, Mr. Stone.”

Mr. Stone’s look of suspicion changes to a neutral expression soon. His nerves relax, and his countenance shows contemplation (returning to his composed neutral expressionless guise.

He commands coolly, “Sit down.”

Then begins his process of double checking to ensure all the arranged papers are placed sequentially. Meanwhile in the process, he once again thoroughly scans the names of students entitled for experiencing his horrendous marking scheme. Apparently, he checks whether each student has attempted all questions or not. His process of meticulous checking is a sight of terror not only for me, but others too who are engrossed in the movements of the figure standing behind the desk. He is too smart to not notice my blunt action.

What will he do if he finds out? Take me to the principal? Call my guardian? Wait, I am not a kid.

“Miss Gloria.”

As soon as her name gets pronounced, she climbs up from her chair, and positions herself in attention posture.

I mumble softly under my breath, careful not to be loud, “Typical teacher’s pet!”

Amanda enquires politely, “Any problem, Sir? It would be my pleasure to work it out for you.”

The unmentioned offer hanging in the thick air invisibly is that it would be, indeed, an pleasure for her to do labour which involves toiling on devouring his naughty bits.

“Questions should be answered sequentially. It makes the work of the scrutineer easier.” He retorts coolly while his eyes busily studying rest of her assignment in search of more blunder and inaccuracy.

“I’m so sorry for my fault, sir. I considered it as a wise idea to draw the diagram later.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

She offers a silly solution to the problem suppliantly, “Shall I redo my work?”

“Exactly you should, but wasting papers is of no means.” He slams down the assignment sheet on his desk, and very gently (softly threatening that it can make a lion run) says, “Make it a point not to repeat your mistakes.”

Would his response be the same in my case? Mr. Stone’s special kind of FORGIVENESS which comes with a promised threat.

“I beg for your forgiveness Mr. Stone. I really do.”

Her continuous whining sound of asking for remission is a real pain to my ears. Eventually, it may rupture my eardrum if she pronounces a word out of her sinful mouth once more. My desperate heart wishes to strangle her to death but then who wants to go behind the bars for a girl like her.

“Yes I have heard you MANY TIMES. Now sit!”

For her, confessing and dumping a bucket full of sorry(s) was not enough to gain Mr. Stone’s superfluous attention. As a result of which she advances with her next method of showing obedience before the Almighty Greek God of Adonis (for most of the ladies of my classroom Mr. Stone may remain as a Godly figure, however exceptions like me will always exist.) Amanda bows her head graciously before the teacher, and only after termination of her false pretendence of exhibiting respect, she decides to settle herself down. Never in my life, have I noticed her paying so much of attention in a class. Her behaviour with our former teacher, Mr. Olga Stone has been far below than satisfactory. Hardly, she used to be present in university for biology lectures, like me. But my impression on my previous professor has been superlative.

I should deserve the Oscar for my acting skills which I used to put up in his classes. I have been to the basement quite a number of times, but that old guy with grey beard was not interested to notice my actions, or perhaps he was successful in dissimulating his students’ sins even after knowing them too well. But one thing was guaranteed: Mr. Olga’s personality was no sham. Unlike his son, Mr. Olga Stone is not a stone hearted, cold, short tempered teacher who does not know the meaning of the word ‘Equality’. Even though Mr. Olga had a bad teaching style, he would actually listen to our excuses, and try to co-operate with us.

Mr. Olga Stone is a eligible bachelor. His son has the exact opposite traits. I cannot term Mr. Calvin Stone as a ‘son of a brute’, that would have been a disgrace to his respected kind hearted father. Though I call Mr. Olga as professor monkey, but he is definitely not a brute.

“Mr. Allen, the answers should include examples.” The pedagogue bellows again, with a determination to demotivate all the students one after the other before their annuals.

The small, tubby guy sitting in the third bench caught off guard acknowledges.

Mr. Stone sinks back in scanning the answers. I gape at my bodyguard for the venture to hell awestruck. If this is his merciless technique of scrutinizing papers, how much score he would actually give to his students in assignments! It is a serious thing to ponder about.

His eyebrows furrows a little as if he has read some new kind of unfamiliar positive word in the sheet, the meaning of which goes beyond his collection of negative words from dictionary. With an expression of revulsion, his lips part, and he calls out the next victim.

As soon as Mr. Stone utters his name, a trembling figure with blonde hair ascends. In the process, her skirts gets lifted up, thus exposing the black fabric running in between her legs. Even before the girl realises her blunder, all the guys seated behind her stick their hungry gazes and drooling mouths on her succulent rounded hips. No one dares to whisper anything or squeal excitedly or even exchange looks with one another.

“Yes Sir?” Her pavid voice echoes around the classroom, and hang in the air rather uncomfortably.

Mr. Stone silently studies her expressing, not wanting to squander his words on pin-pointing the mistake being caused.

Minutes fly by, no party claims a single syllable. Meanwhile the fellow male specimens occupying the back seats perfectly begin the learn the anatomy of her posterior. Miss Creator of Wardrobe Malfunction does not seem to catch the sight of the oopsie moment. And neither her partner is wise enough to comprehend the meaning of the intense lust filled stares directed at a particular nether region of a sudden someone in the classroom. A handful concerned gentleman and ladies have their faces turned away from the scenario, which in my opinion is still respectable when they lack the guts to give a warning or signals.

She questions civilly, “Why did you call me, Sir?”

Mr. Stone, after eying the figure suspiciously and categorising her in the list of time waster, taunts, “Of course, I am not asking you to wait so that we can have small chit chats over cups of tea. What do you think it would be?”

Isn’t he super bitter to be a teacher?

“I’m afraid I-”

Mr. You-better-Stop-Wasting-My-Time barks in a stony fashion, “Walk up to here.”

“Oh no! The worst part...” I mumble.

She obeys his instruction, and plods towards his desk. Her hips swaying with every movement catches the attention of every guy sitting in the classroom. I glance at my nerdy partner, who a few minutes ago was representing himself to be a gentleman, is equally drawn in the show. Realising a pair of cold eyes drilling him from side, he averts his gaze, and begins to look at the floor with a flushed face. Better!

However it doesn’t become possible for me to shove away all those gluttonous pair of eyes enjoying the spectacle. The show stopper’s movements come to a cease only when she reaches her destination. Mr. Stone ushers her to stand beside him. She walks up, and takes the instructed position.

To my surprise, our teacher follows his routine, and fixes the class with a cold glare, threatening discreetly to remain silent while he teaches a good lesson to his time waster. It seems like he has not noticed the way in which her skirt is styled. Or he does not care what her students do. All he is bothered with are obedience and manners; enlightening his students with all the worldly knowledge, and make them Einstein. But can that be true? He did exhibit interests in my case, which by no means is related to academic purposes.

“Miss Elliot take a look at your submitted assignment.”

The well-mannered girl immediately, following the words of her teacher, bends a little forward so that she can get a good view of her assignment sheet. She supports her weight on the teacher’s desk, taking help by resting her hands on the wooden polished furniture.

Some guys have their faces painted with disappointment since the show has come to a abrupt hall all because of a disaster named Calvin Stone in their way.

The poor victim raises her head looking puzzled. Her round face is already drenched into nervousness.

I raise up my hand from the last bench, and try to signal the girl using hand gestures and eye movements. I mouth a message silently between my semi parted lips. Instead of my target noticing the signal, Mr. Stone catches me with a weird posture red handed. Instantly, my hands drop, and my efforts go in vain.

Mr. Strict throws a gift at me consisting of the message if you do this again I will throw you out using his most tactical stare. Then he continues chirping in his especially mastered form of coldness, “I don’t like dishonest or disrespectful students. The reason is pretty much simple. Your work is incomplete which you will have to finish after class.”

Sure what else can you say.

His eyeballs hover around at the door while she invests the time judiciously to find some reasonable excuse. Apparently, his eyes must have landed upon the girl’s ass. But he is an ass himself to alert her, save her reputation and self respect.

Directing his gaze back to Miss Elliot, he enunciates softly in a crooked tone, “You should speak out your problem.”

No doubt, why she didn’t express herself. He is not less than a tiger. Does he bite?

I try to relax my nerves, and use my my brain rationally. Might be, Mr. Stone is not a pervert and has not noticed. I’ve always believed aged men are better in handling such situations. Today the biggest question will be answered: Is the son of a gentleman a real gentleman?

“I expect to meet you after class.”

She nods in agreement, and after seeking permission, she walks back to her seat with a satisfied expression, but the wardrobe malfunction is enough to neutralise her satisfied her look. This time, I am more than self assured, Mr. Stone has noticed.

“Don’t forget.”

Hearing the added afterthought, she pauses on her tracks, and spins back her head. She acknowledges, “Of course, Sir.”

This guy is unbelievable.

For a moment, I think shouting is the only way to bring caution. I am about to give up all my hopes, and demonstrate my thoughts practically when all of a sudden an announcement gets delivered.

“Students, you need to he careful with your outfits, especially when you are wearing skirts and walking up and down.”

The message stirs sense to Cara in the right way.

With the event registered in everyone’s head, the class goes on.

As scheduled in an hour the class comes to an end when the bell rings. Students start packing their items to head for the next class. Cara is the only one to sit back as a displeased Mr. Stone has her constrained under unperceivable chains and fetters. As I march ahead to heed outside classroom through exit, my name rolls around Mr. Stone’s tongue only to freezes me in my track.

“I need you to stay back too, Miss Becker. We have a lot of important things to discuss.” The cryogenic spirit helps me to get a peek of my fortunate stroke of serendipity. His insertion of a sudden caveat rings bells of the approaching storm inside my head from an interpretation, supporting reasons for my restrain.


My Dearest,

Luci is a really fortunate lady, don’t you think? And most certainly isn’t our heroic block of iceberg a gentleman? Soon we shall see what our heroine has to say regarding his gentleman skills.

**NEW UPDATE SCHEDULE: Every week on Sunday**


Pedagogue: A strict teacher (reference: our Mr. Hot-Headed Cold-Hearted.)

Anatomy: A branch of study related to matters of human body.

Cryogenic: Related to production of low temperature.

Caveat: A warning.

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