Chapter 37: Private with Teacher

Chapter 37: Private with TeacherI waited until the last student filed out and Mrs. Rodriguez closed the door behind them. The classroom suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, and the Enhanced Perception immediately started highlighting her stress patterns again like some kind of sexual frustration GPS. "I’ve been speaking with your other teachers," she said, moving to lean against her desk. The motion made her pencil skirt ride up slightly, revealing more of her toned legs, and I had to split my brain into two functions: one part focused on maintaining eye contact and looking appropriately student-like, while the other part was completely mesmerized by the way her blouse pulled taut across her chest as she settled against the desk edge. "They’re all talking about the sudden significant improvements in your academic performance. Overnight changes, actually." She crossed her arms, and fuck me, that simple gesture pushed her breasts up and together in a way that made my Enhanced Perception go absolutely wild with highlighted zones. The professional blazer she wore couldn’t hide the fact that she was incredibly well-endowed—the kind of curves that made you understand why "hot teacher" was such a universal fantasy. I had to actively work not to stare at the areas my enhanced perception was highlighting as particularly neglected, fighting to keep my expression neutral while my teenage brain catalogued every detail of her figure. "Don’t get me wrong Peter, you’re smart, second in the class we all know and proud of you, it’s just... It’s unusual," she continued, "for a student to show such dramatic improvement across all subjects simultaneously even on par with teachers, Mrs. Henderson claimed you explained things even she didn’t even know. Usually, academic growth is more gradual." I could see where this was going. She’s suspicious, probably wondering if I’m cheating or using performance-enhancing drugs or something equally mundane compared to the actual truth. "I’ve just been... focusing more," I said, which was technically accurate if you counted "being enhanced by cosmic forces powered by global female sexual frustration" as a form of focus. "Focusing," she repeated, and there was something in her tone that suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. "Peter, in the years I’ve known you, you’ve been a solid second-best student. Competent, but just not this exceptional. Today you gave an answer that would make a professor run." The Eyes was showing me something interesting—her stress markers were decreasing as she talked to me. Whatever tension she’d been carrying was easing slightly, like our conversation was providing some kind of relief from her usual frustrations... her mind getting something else to focus on. Maybe intelligent conversation is like foreplay for women with advanced degrees. Great me. I can even easy her mind with just my presence. But I was also getting distracted by the way she kept unconsciously adjusting her hair, tucking strands behind her ear in a gesture that drew attention to her neck and the hint of cleavage visible at the neckline of her blouse. Every small movement seemed designed to torment teenage boys, even though I was pretty sure she had no idea how devastating her casual gestures actually were. "Maybe I just needed the right motivation," I told her, and immediately realized how that sounded in the context of my current mission. She studied my face for a moment, and I could see genuine curiosity in her expression. Not suspicion anymore—interest. The kind of look that suggested she was seeing me as something other than just another hormone-driven teenager for the first time. "Well," she said finally, "whatever’s changed, keep it up. It’s good to see you reaching your potential. I always knew you’re better than Lea." She moved back toward her desk to gather her materials, and I couldn’t help but watch the hypnotic sway of her hips as she walked. The pencil skirt hugged her ass perfectly, and when she bent over to collect her papers, the fabric stretched across her curves in a way that made my teenage brain short-circuit momentarily. I had to physically grip my books tighter to keep from doing something stupid, while part of my mind tried to focus on mission strategy and the other part was completely consumed by the visual feast of watching Isabella Rodriguez move around her classroom like she was auditioning for every teacher fantasy ever filmed. "Mrs. Rodriguez," I said, making a split-second decision, "if you ever need help with... anything... I’d be happy to assist." She looked up from her papers, eyebrows raised. "That’s very kind, Peter, but I think I can manage my curriculum." "I didn’t just mean curriculum," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral while the Eyes showed her interest markers spiking briefly. For a moment, something shifted in her expression. The Enhanced Perception showed a brief spike in what looked like awareness before it immediately dampened down, like she was actively suppressing whatever she’d just felt. "I should get going," she said, but her voice had changed slightly. Less teacher, more... woman. I gathered my books and headed toward the door, but as I reached it, she spoke again. "Peter?" Her voice was softer now, almost uncertain. "If you’re serious about academic advancement, I run a study group on Thursdays after school. Advanced biology concepts. You might find it... challenging." That sounded like an invitation wrapped in professional language. At least to me... "I’ll think about it," I told her, though we both knew I’d already decided. "Good," she said, and there was definitely something different in her tone now. "It’s always interesting to work with... motivated students." * I left the classroom with mission parameters becoming clearer. This wasn’t going to be a quick seduction—this was going to require patience, strategy, and probably several carefully orchestrated encounters. But the foundation was there. She’d noticed me, she was intrigued by my transformation, and she’d just given me a direct invitation to spend time alone with her after school. Phase one: complete. As I walked toward my next class, the full weight of what I’d just committed to started sinking in. The system had basically turned me into a supernatural problem-solver for sexually frustrated women, and apparently my client list now included my own teacher. So now another item’s been added to my increasingly fucked-up to-do list: liberate Isabella Rodriguez, my hot AP Biology teacher who apparently hasn’t had a proper orgasm since Taylor Swift was still country. But that’s definitely a Dark Peter problem, not a regular Peter problem. I seriously need to come up with a better name for my enhanced form. "Dark Peter" sounds like I’m cosplaying as some emo Batman knockoff. For now, I will focus on my classes and pretend I’m not mentally cataloging the sexual frustration levels of the entire teaching staff. But my brain keeps drifting to Madison, and the fact that I haven’t seen her anywhere today. She’s in a different section, so we usually only cross paths during History and Computer Science, but she’s been MIA from both. Did she just skip school entirely? ’Oh shoot. I didn’t even text her this morning.’ *** @tacosatdinner, thanks for the gift yesterday! I really appreciate it!