“Okay,” Mathilda said, her voice small, as she nodded. “So... what should I do?”
“Just walk in,” Francesca said, smiling, holding Mathilda's shoulders with both hands, gently massaging them.
Mathilda turned her head to look at her, startled. “J-just walk in? That's it? What do I say?”
“It'll come naturally,” Francesca assured her. “I have a little something else planned, so don't worry~”
Mathilda nodded, a slow, unsure bob of her head. “Okay,” she agreed, just before Francesca unbuttoned the first two buttons of her blouse and peeked inside. “Hey, what are you-”
“Shh,” Francesca soothed, patting the blouse back in place (though not bothering to fix the buttons). “I just wanted to be sure you wore it.”
Mathilda tugged uselessly at the left cup of her bra. Francesca had showed up yesterday and insisted that she wear it today. It was bright red, lacy, and probably the prettiest, sexiest bra Mathilda had ever worn in her life. It cupped her breasts just right, pushing them up and out so much that even her own brother had commented on her 'nice rack' that morning. (Which was gross and embarrassing and weird! Alfred always knew exactly what types of things to say to embarrass her. But at least he had had the courtesy to say it at home and not at school.)
“So,” Francesca said, her voice still low and soothing. “I'm going to walk away. As soon as I'm out of the hallway, you're going to walk in. Alright?”
Mathilda nodded. The classroom had two doors-one towards the back of the classroom, and one towards the front, perpendicular to the teacher's desk. Usually, people always used the back door, but Francesca had instructed her to go in through the front one. Perhaps because it was closer to the desk?
When Francesca had disappeared around a corner and there was no one else in the hallway, Mathilda took a tentative step forward. Then, gathering her courage with a deep, shaky breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing she felt was relief that the classroom was empty save for Mr. Braginski, the science teacher. The second thing she felt was a sheet of cold water soaking her from above. The third was the metal bucket that had held the water hitting her on the head.
It all happened so quickly that neither her nor her teacher could quite comprehend it.
Shivering both from cold and embarrassment, the white blouse soaked through and no doubt showing her red bra as if she were naked, the hit of the bucket finally registering, Mathilda began to cry.
Mr. Braginski finally seemed to snap out of his shock and moved, awkwardly tumbling out of his chair to go to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his large hands cupping her shoulders. Mathilda wondered if it was his touch or the way his voice sounded, his accent laced with concern, barely above a whisper, that made a chill run down her spine (it may have been her hair dripping, as well).
But despite his concern, his closeness, she could only sniffle, covering her eyes with her hands. She felt his left hand go, heard the door close, felt him lead her to one of the desks near the front. She sat down, his hands leaving just long enough to drag another chair closer.
She felt his knees with her knees, his hands with her shoulders. She looked up, through her fingers, and slowly let her hands fall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, again, and he was blushing, his eyes flicking to her chest and slowly dragging themselves back to her face.
“I, uh...” she tried, and when she couldn't find something to say she fell back on Francesca's advice. She tilted her head to the side and back (“in embarrassment”), her chest moving forward and up. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mr. Braginski lick his lips and swallow, his eyes on her chest and staying there.
His hands, still on her shoulders, slowly trailed down her arms. She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold, but it seemed to jar him back to his senses. He withdrew his hands as if they were on fire.
“I, uh, I...” he turned his head to either side, anywhere but at her, trying to compose himself.
She looked back at him, felt burning in her stomach and chest, and quickly took his hands. “I like you!” she told him, shocking herself.
“Okay,” Mathilda said, her voice small, as she nodded. “So... what should I do?”
“Just walk in,” Francesca said, smiling, holding Mathilda's shoulders with both hands, gently massaging them.
Mathilda turned her head to look at her, startled. “J-just walk in? That's it? What do I say?”
“It'll come naturally,” Francesca assured her. “I have a little something else planned, so don't worry~”
Mathilda nodded, a slow, unsure bob of her head. “Okay,” she agreed, just before Francesca unbuttoned the first two buttons of her blouse and peeked inside. “Hey, what are you-”
“Shh,” Francesca soothed, patting the blouse back in place (though not bothering to fix the buttons). “I just wanted to be sure you wore it.”
Mathilda tugged uselessly at the left cup of her bra. Francesca had showed up yesterday and insisted that she wear it today. It was bright red, lacy, and probably the prettiest, sexiest bra Mathilda had ever worn in her life. It cupped her breasts just right, pushing them up and out so much that even her own brother had commented on her 'nice rack' that morning. (Which was gross and embarrassing and weird! Alfred always knew exactly what types of things to say to embarrass her. But at least he had had the courtesy to say it at home and not at school.)
“So,” Francesca said, her voice still low and soothing. “I'm going to walk away. As soon as I'm out of the hallway, you're going to walk in. Alright?”
Mathilda nodded. The classroom had two doors-one towards the back of the classroom, and one towards the front, perpendicular to the teacher's desk. Usually, people always used the back door, but Francesca had instructed her to go in through the front one. Perhaps because it was closer to the desk?
When Francesca had disappeared around a corner and there was no one else in the hallway, Mathilda took a tentative step forward. Then, gathering her courage with a deep, shaky breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing she felt was relief that the classroom was empty save for Mr. Braginski, the science teacher. The second thing she felt was a sheet of cold water soaking her from above. The third was the metal bucket that had held the water hitting her on the head.
It all happened so quickly that neither her nor her teacher could quite comprehend it.
Shivering both from cold and embarrassment, the white blouse soaked through and no doubt showing her red bra as if she were naked, the hit of the bucket finally registering, Mathilda began to cry.
Mr. Braginski finally seemed to snap out of his shock and moved, awkwardly tumbling out of his chair to go to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his large hands cupping her shoulders. Mathilda wondered if it was his touch or the way his voice sounded, his accent laced with concern, barely above a whisper, that made a chill run down her spine (it may have been her hair dripping, as well).
But despite his concern, his closeness, she could only sniffle, covering her eyes with her hands. She felt his left hand go, heard the door close, felt him lead her to one of the desks near the front. She sat down, his hands leaving just long enough to drag another chair closer.
She felt his knees with her knees, his hands with her shoulders. She looked up, through her fingers, and slowly let her hands fall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, again, and he was blushing, his eyes flicking to her chest and slowly dragging themselves back to her face.
“I, uh...” she tried, and when she couldn't find something to say she fell back on Francesca's advice. She tilted her head to the side and back (“in embarrassment”), her chest moving forward and up. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mr. Braginski lick his lips and swallow, his eyes on her chest and staying there.
His hands, still on her shoulders, slowly trailed down her arms. She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold, but it seemed to jar him back to his senses. He withdrew his hands as if they were on fire.
“I, uh, I...” he turned his head to either side, anywhere but at her, trying to compose himself.
She looked back at him, felt burning in her stomach and chest, and quickly took his hands. “I like you!” she told him, shocking herself.
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