Other Fan Fiction ❯ Ramona K.O ❯ Chapter 1

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Ramona Flowers: Educational Servitude

 

 

In a certain disco club in Toronto, Canada, Ramona Flowers had been reassuring Scott Pilgrim that she only had seven evil exes for him to defeat, when the lights and music suddenly died.

 

A chorus of groans rang out. The only illumination came through the windows and doors, and there wasn’t much of that in the middle of night in a Canadian winter. The emergency lights should have come on, maybe along with an announcement from the owners, but neither of those things occurred. Instead, the crowd simply fumbled around, little more than shadows moving in the darkness.

 

Like the others, Scott and Ramona looked around, blinking, their eyes adjusting to the dark.

 

“Weird power outage,” Scott remarked, “Maybe they forgot to pay the bill. That happened to m—I mean, a guy I know, one time.”

 

 In many ways, Ramona Flowers was the polar opposite of the chatty, energetic beside her. While Scott was somewhat scruffy, she had a classic beauty. Round, soulful brown eyes made her appear somewhat innocent, but that was offset by her cool, wizened expression and the amused quirk to her pouty lips. Maybe her eyes were a bit too close together, her cheeks a smidge too pronounced, but her nose turned up just at the end, in a perfect button, settling her squarely in beautiful with a hint of girl-next-door charm.

 

Their objective levels of attractiveness weren’t the only things that set them apart. While Scott wore a simple t shirt and jeans, Ramona wore a military green cargo outfit, with a top that had a button and collar like a uniform, but a skirt that stopped just at mid-thigh. The sleeves of a striped shirt poked out from beneath the shorter sleeves of her green top, while dark, gleaming hose clung to her legs, down to a pair of tall, orange leather boots. As opposed to Scott’s skinny frame, Ramona’s outfit held tight across a body that curved generously, especially at the hips, her toned legs, and the rounded swell of her bottom.

 

But despite all their differences, Ramona silently agreed that the power outage was weird. Looking around, her brow lowered. She had a strange feeling…

 

Even with the club seemingly dead, the young Canadians didn’t remain nonplussed for long. Someone yelled ‘boo’, several girls screamed, and laughter followed. Phones came out, their lights shining on the grinning faces of young people, excited by the sudden change in atmosphere.

 

 But just as everyone was getting used to the darkness, the lights came back, it not the music. They were the same multi-colored, filtered lights that waved cheerily, meant to enthuse and hype. Without music, they seemed eerie and muted.

 

Then the music began. It was not a bouncy techno tune. Instead, what thundered through the club was the rumbling notes of a bassoon. They plodded along, spaced apart like the footfalls of a giant, each deeper than the last.

 

 Scott squinted, canting his head.

 

 “Is that the Jaws music?”

 

When he turned around, the dance floor was completely cleared. He hadn’t heard anyone move, but now as he blinked around in bewilderment, the whole crowd had packed themselves against the outer walls of the club. It was like a grenade had been dropped into the middle of the room and no one had told him.

 

“Umm… hello?”

 

Beside him, Ramona was no longer slouched apathetically against the bar. She stood upright, fists balling at her sides, mouth becoming a firm line. When she spoke, her voice was low and certain.

 

 “It’s the Symphonie Fantastique, movement four,” she said.

 

“Huh?” Scott frowned at her.

 

Ramona stood very still. Her jaw was set, her doe-brown eyes searching for someone in the crowd.

 

 “It’s not the music from Jaws,” she explained, “It’s the music from Sleeping with the Enemy. It has Julia Roberts.”

 

 “Oh…” Scott lamely replied, “I haven’t seen that one.”

 

 “It’s so-so.”

 

 The first few notes of the bassoon were drawing to a close.

 

 Ramona quickly looked at Scott, “It might be eight.”

 

He blinked, “Um, if you say so? I wouldn’t know the difference between the eighth or the fourth anyway.”

 

Ramona rolled her eyes, “No, not the movement. I mean eight evil—”

 

 A voice suddenly rang out through the club, drowning out what the girl was about to say.

 

 "Attention! Miss Ramona Victoria Flowers!”

 

On cue, the crowd parted, and the classical music began to swell with trumpets. Through the gap, a tall blonde woman in a purple skirt suit marched onto the tiled dance floor. A fashionable scarf puffed out between the plaits of her suit, which was buttoned up as snugly as a military uniform, with colored pins poking out of the breast pocket. Her hair was held in an equally strict bun, done up so tight it seemed to strain her scalp, while a pair of angular glasses perched midway down her hawkish nose. While her left hand swung empty, her right held a leather messenger bag.

 

Scott gulped. Seeing the woman’s sharp eyes, upright posture and humorless expression, he instinctively felt guilty, like he’d been caught doing something naughty. Especially since her gaze was fixed on himself and Ramona.

 

Beside him, Ramona stood her ground. Squaring up with the older woman, she lowered her chin, until her glower was just showing beneath her blue bangs.

 

Other than the ominous classical music, the only sound as the woman approached was the clacking of her heels. She didn’t need to speak to completely command the room. Neither did she say anything until she came to a stop in front of Ramona.

 

“So,” the woman sniffed, “This is what you’ve been getting up to since you dropped out?”

 

She dragged her eyes slowly around the club. Wherever her gaze lingered, partygoers shifted uncomfortably, looking at their feet. A few even hid their alcoholic beverages behind their backs.

 

When she finished her survey, the woman turned back to Ramona.

 

 “Hm,” she planted a hand on her hip, “It’s both exactly what I suspected, and somehow worse. Miraculous.”

 

Ramona didn’t respond. The only one seeming immune to the woman’s measured stare, she glared right back, silently.

 

“Um…” Scott piped up, seeing an opportunity to speak, “Who is this?”

 

Ramona responded in a low voice, without breaking eye contact with her enemy.

 

 “Her name is Gen. She’s a professor of literature studies at Buffalo community college. And she’s a controlling, condescending bitch.”

 

Gen smirked humorlessly and shook her head.

 

              “Ramona.” She sighed, before turning her gaze to Scott, “And this is your current beau, hm?”

 

              Her eyes flicked up and down the grungily clad boy with his messy brown hair, before turning back to the girl beside him. Apparently, she only needed to look at him once to completely understand him.

 

              “Another weak, aimless, perpetual child,” she said, “Do you really expect someone like this to get you on the right track, Tulip? To take care of you?”

 

              Her gaze cold and resentful up to now, Ramona’s nose wrinkled, pulling at her upper lip, her eyes flashing.

 

              “Okay,” she growled, “Three things. First, my track is fine and none of your freaking business. Second, I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

 

She planted her hand on her hip, mirroring Gen’s posture, except she gave her hip an extra nudge out to the side, showing the round shape of her flanks beneath the skirt.

 

              “Third,” her eyes narrowed, “Don’t. Ever. Call me Tulip.”

 

              Gen’s grin became warm, serpentine, and sultry.

 

              “Oh? And why not?” she purred, slowly raising an eyebrow, “You seemed to enjoy it before…”

 

              “Yeah, well, it got old really fast.”

 

              Looking back and forward between the two females, Scott hadn’t yet put two and two together. It took him several seconds of gaping, considering what he’d just heard, and mental hoop-jumping before he started to get the picture.

 

              “Wait… you were in college?” his eyes grew wider, “And then, you and her…?”

 

              Ramona turned to him to explain, “Look. She was one of the young professors and it was kind of forbidden and fun. For a little while. That’s all it was. I didn’t even really date her.”

 

              “Of course, you say that now,” Gen chuckled, before turning to Scott, “My Ramona has such commitment issues. As soon as it seems like she’s at all bound to anyone, she’ll flee. That’s why she left New York. When you get too close, she’ll scarper to Argentina if she has to, just to get away from you.”

 

              Ramona bristled, showing her teeth. It was a rare thing to see her get angry.

 

              “Shut up.” she snapped, “Don’t talk to him. If you want to talk, talk to me. Or better yet, get lost.”

 

              Gen narrowed her eyes.

 

              “Hm. You know, I concur!” she pushed her glasses up her nose, “This is a conversation between the two of us.”

 

              Like magic, her messenger bag unbuckled and opened of its own accord. Without looking, she reached inside, seemingly pulling out the first folder she found.

 

              While Gen flipped the folder open, Scott took a small step back. He seemed to see where this was going

 

              “Wait, wait! Time! I call time!” he made the T sign with his hands, “This is an evil ex thing?! I-I don’t think I can fight a girl! Even if she’s a creepy, teacher lady…”

 

              The pages within the folder turned, fluttering open to a specific report card. At the top of the report card was the name Pilgrim, Scott William.

 

              “That’s Professor Armitage to you, Scott Pilgrim,” the professor lifted her nose, “And you’re not going to be fighting anyone. You are going to have a little… TIMEOUT!”

 

              The last word thundered through the club, the professor’s voice amplified with arcane power. The folder glowed, the report inside flapping like it was being pulled by a strong wind until it was yanked free and into the air. The page flew up out of the folder, did a twirl, then shot towards Scott with alarming speed.

 

              “Uh--!” the bewildered boy reacted instinctively, bringing both arms up in a cross-guard to defend himself.

 

              Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to do. The paper smacked into his crossed wrists and plastered itself flat, like it had hit an invisible wall. Once in place, the print flew off the page in a rippling pattern, covering Scott from head to toe.

 

              Then abruptly, the dark lettering stopped moving. So did the paper. And so did the boy behind it, suddenly as still as a statue, arms crossed defensively, expression frozen in a wince.

 

              Ramona gaped at her now-petrified beau.

 

              “Scott!”

 

              Then she turned to Gen, her eyes blazing.

 

              “What did you do to him?!” she snarled.

 

              Professor Armitage slapped the folder closed with a derisive sniff.

 

              “Calm down, Ramona,” she drawled, “I only did what was best for the boy.”

 

              She tucked the folder back into her messenger back, seemingly oblivious to Ramona’s murderous glare.

 

              “Right now, Mister Pilgrim’s consciousness is in what we can simply call a parallel dimension,” the professor explained, “In that dimension, he’s experiencing what he could become if he applied himself and reached his potential, while being presented with the abysmally deep gulf between that and where he is now. Once that little adventure has run its course, his consciousness will return to his body, and he’ll be just fine. Though I suspect facing the enormity of his failures will leave him somewhat depressed.”

 

              Placing her hand on her hip, she gave the blue-haired girl in front of her a flat look.

 

              “But sometimes a student really needs to be made to face their shortcomings,” she pursed her lips, “His parents will thank me, I’m sure. As will he, one day.”

 

              After her initial shock had faded, Ramona’s snarl had faded with it. It had been replaced by an expression of icy stone, her glare practically crackling with fury. She stood stock still, seemingly immovable, but when she spoke, her voice was a low, trembling growl.

 

              “Undo it. Right now. Bitch.”

 

              At these words, the symphony began to be drowned out by pounding drums and guitar riffs. It was the battle music for the next stage. Evil ex number five.

 

              “Tut, tut,” the professor waved a finger, “Let’s avoid the coarse language.”

 

              Ramona reached into the circular purse at her side and dragged out a wooden handle, which she continued to draw out hand over hand, until it was a five-foot-long shaft. Even more impossibly, at the end of the shaft was a metal block, larger and wider than the handbag itself. Taking it in both hands, she swung the massive war-hammer down into a ready position, the anvil-like head thrust in the professor’s direction.

 

              “Let me rephrase, then,” the girl glared, “Undo it, right now, before I smash your pedantic, pseudo-intellectual face in.”

 

              Professor Armitage’s eyes narrowed, her lips turning up in the wisp of a grin. She accepted the challenge, taking a small step back and turning herself sideways, staring coolly at her opponent over her shoulder.

 

              “Like I said, a good teacher knows when their student needs a good smack to make them face reality,” she cooed, “You have needed something of that sort for a long time. And I shall be the one to teach you.”

 

              Life bars and stamina bars appeared above the two combatants.

 

The players were set. The battle was ready to begin.

 

              Professor Armitage vs Ramona Flowers.

 

              Fight!

 

              Ramona pistoned her weapon at the professor’s chest, then swung the heavy end straight up, trying to clip her opponent’s chin.

 

              “Yeah,” she snarled, “You’re all about education, right?”

 

              As fast as her attacks were, and as painful as they would have been if they’d landed, they’d only been meant to keep the professor at range. With her opponent now firmly at the end of her massive weapon, she whirled it around in a decapitating blow.

 

              Still wearing a wry grin, Professor Armitage danced out of range, letting the hammer whoosh harmlessly by.

 

              “You never cared about teaching,” Ramona pursued, “You just like controlling everyone. Being better than them.”

 

              The hammer thundered around at waist level, then once again, coming at an up angle towards the ribs. Any one of the blows seemed like it would smash Armitage to a pulp, the weapon making a deep thrum as it whooshed past.

 

But the professor stayed out of range. Though she was inches from being smashed by the hammer, she never winced or cringed or even lost her aloof posture.

 

              “Beware the hyperbole in your arguments, Miss Flowers,” Armitage corrected her, “How can I possibly care about EVERYONE?”

 

               The hammer suddenly stopped in mid-swing and came back to stab at the woman’s forehead. A pair of shorter, swiveling strikes followed, not as powerful as full swings, but more than enough to rattle.

 

              Armitage side-stepped away from the short blows, then sprang back as Ramona swung her weapon in a complete 360. The mailbox-sized head gleamed as it swept by, surrounding the girl with a ring of bludgeoning force, but the professor was well out of the way.

 

              “Unlike everyone, you, Ramona, were, and are, interesting,” the professor carefully enunciated, “Which is why I came, when a little birdie told me about your latest… mistake.”

 

              Ramona bared her teeth, having no doubt who that ‘little birdie’ was.

 

              “Gideon…”

 

              With a sudden explosion of rage, Ramona bounded forward with a single leap, which carried her not only forward, but up. At an impossibly high zenith, she threw the hammer back until the head almost touched her bottom. For a split instant she remained in that pose, like an avenging angel, before she descended, swinging the hammer downwards with all her might.

 

              The thunderous boom of the weapon striking the dance floor sent out a shockwave that not only picked up dust and discarded dixie cups, but the checker pattern floor tiles. The rippling impact was like an earthquake, making the lights flicker and the music skip. The crowd lurched, stumbling into each other, before cheering with exhilaration.

 

              For a moment, the dance floor and the fighters were obscured by dust, the cloud so thick Ramona herself couldn’t see if her blow had landed. When it cleared, she saw her hammer embedded deep into the floor, a four-foot-wide ring of shattered tiles around the impact zone. But there was no sign of her opponent.

 

              Before the young fighter could look around or pull her hammer out of the floor, an oil-black whip lashed around her. In a split second, the whip had coiled around her half a dozen times and squeezed her tight, pinning her arms to her sides.

 

              “Uff--!” Ramona’s eyes widened with shock as the very air was squeezed out of her mouth.

 

              From behind her, Professor Armitage grinned.

 

              “See what happens when you leap before you look?”

 

              With a mighty yank on the whip, Ramona was jerked off her feet. She barely managed to keep her grip on her hammer as she was hurled backwards, past her opponent and across the dance floor.

 

              She wound up back where she started, slamming into and shattering the glass base of the bar, before falling flat on her butt.

 

              A good deal of red vanished from her health bar.

 

              “Unf…” Ramona cringed in pain, momentarily stunned, “Ah…”

 

              The black whip was yanked free of the sprawled girl before she could even try to free herself.

 

              The handle of the whip was actually a pen, one of the pens that had been sticking out of the professor’s breast pocket. Now in hand, the cap off, the ballpoint reeled in its ink: black, wet strands of the whip. The coils retracted, slithering back into the pen, the whip itself shrinking.

 

              Once the whip was a manageable length again, Professor Armitage lifted the lash high, and gave it a loud crack.

 

              “You know the parameters of this course, Miss Flowers,” she said, “If you wish to be with that silly Mister Pilgrim, you’ll need to vanquish me. But, as your instructor… I advise you not to attempt that particular assignment.”

 

              The weight of her weapon resting in her lap, Ramona had to pick it up off herself before she could attempt to rise. She slammed the hammer into the floor, then used the shaft as a handle to pull herself to her feet.

 

              “I’m over the naughty teacher act, lady,” she growled, yanking her weapon out of the tile.

 

              Professor Armitage met the glare with a look of calm calculation. She reached up to pinch the side of her glasses, almost like she was adjusting them on her nose. In fact, like everything else she carried, the glasses weren’t what they appeared.

 

              “Your speed, strength, your war-hammer with +2 damage against females, your compressed space handbag,” she held her glasses still, reading the scan they presented her, “I’m aware of all your capabilities and am more than prepared to rebut any arguments you would make against your inevitable defeat.”

 

              Then her eyes narrowed. A sly grin pulled at her lips.

 

              “And let’s not forget,” her voice was softer now, “That I’m well acquainted with that… other weakness of yours…”

 

              The crowd had no idea what this meant and at first Ramona didn’t either. She squinted at the professor, nose crinkling, like she thought the other woman was insane.

 

              But after considering Armitage’s flirty tone and grin, her eyes widened with recognition. She even drew in a quick gasp, as if startled by the memory, or that the other woman had brought it up in public.

 

              A moment later she shook it off, her glare returning, darker than ever. However, glare as hard as she liked, she couldn’t hide the blush that was blooming on her cheeks. She shifted her stance, scuffing her feet on the floor, another inadvertent illustration of her insecurity.

 

              “You’re a delusional psychopath, Genny,” Ramona snapped.

 

              Always a girl of few words, she burst forward, leaving a brief dust trail behind her. The room blurring by her, she closed on her opponent at an epic speed, hammer drawn behind her for a thunderous swipe.

 

              It wasn’t fast enough.

 

              Before Ramona had even finished speaking, Armitage had snatched a red marker out of her breast pocket. Popping off the cap, she swept it wide, leaving a slash of red ink hanging in the air.

 

              “FALSE!” she pronounced, her voice echoing through the club.

 

              At her word, the red slash came to life, a thick, diagonal pillar of red that rushed at Ramona, even as the girl barreled forwards.

 

              Having barely any time to react, Ramona tried to turn out of the incoming projectile’s path, but only managed to avoid a direct hit. The flying slash hit her across the shoulder, spinning her around and knocking her off course.

 

              “NGH--!” she grimaced, stumbling, barely managing to catch her balance.

 

              “INCORRECT!” Armitage called, slashing her red pen once more.

 

              This time, when Ramona managed to steady herself, she saw a giant red X hurtling towards her.

 

              With no time to dodge, she brought up her war-hammer and braced herself. The X smashed across her block, breaking into pieces but knocking her backwards, making her stumble a step.

 

              “WRONG!” the professor’s voice rang out again, “NOT SUPPORTED BY THE TEXT!”

 

              Ramona had barely set her feet again before a circle with an X through it slammed into her, knocking her further backwards. She was still off-balanced, not even able to plant her feet, when the words ‘Not Supported by the Text’ hit her like a freight train.

 

              With a cry of pain, she was knocked flat and plowed over. Her heavy weapon came loose from her grasp, the metal hammer clanging to the floor and skidding a few inches before coming to a stop. Her health bar dropped even further.

 

              Armitage tucked the red pen back into her pocket and strode towards her fallen student, hips swaying beneath her snug skirt.

 

              “Delusional: adjective, characterized by holding false beliefs about reality in the face of indisputable proof to the contrary,” she rattled off, “This does not accurately describe my character, Miss Flowers. I’m not delusional or a delusion. If anything, I’m the personification of the reality you’re fleeing from.”

 

              Bringing the ink-whip up high once more, she let it hang for a moment, before lashing it downwards, towards her prone opponent.

 

              Wincing in pain, Ramona rolled out of the way just before the whip cracked into the floor where she’d just been.

 

              “But reality always catches up,” Armitage continued, drawing the whip back once more, “In literature and in real life, no one can escape it.”

 

              Ramona scrambled across the floor, managing to snatch up her war-hammer before the whip came back down. Throwing herself onto her back, she brought her weapon up to defend herself. Rather than striking her unprotected body, the whip coiled around the shaft of the hammer, bound tight.

 

              Arching an eyebrow, amused by the tactic, Armitage yanked on the whip, retracting it, attempting to rip the hammer from her opponent’s grasp.

 

              Ramona maintained her grip, but not her position. The war-hammer, with its shocked owner still attached to it, were yanked into the air towards the strict, blonde professor. Kicking her legs, Ramona barely kept from crying out, finding herself a hapless passenger of her own weapon.

 

              For her part, Professor Armitage wasn’t the least surprised about these circumstances. Ever in control, she watched the hurtling weapon and girl approach with lidded eyes, then at the last second, stepped aside. When the pair flew past her, she simply gave the whip a flick, freeing it from the hammer and letting it, along with its mistress, continue their flight.

 

              Ramona cried out as she slammed through a table and into the wall beyond. Her body cratered into the insulated wall, leaving her held there in its grip, upright.

 

              Before she could either fall to the ground or yank herself free of the wall, the inward curve of a giant ‘U’ hit her in the chest. The straight bars on either side punched into the stone beside her, embedding themselves there, and holding fast.

 

              Shaking her head to clear it, Ramona tried to squirm away, only to find her arms were pinned to her side, while her back was pinned to the wall. With wide eyes, she realized she was trapped, clamped in place by the ‘U’ like it was a giant staple.

 

              Now with a captive audience, Professor Armitage strode towards Ramona with a more thoughtful pace. While the girl grunted and squirmed, trying to fight free of her bonds, the Genevieve Armitage sighed and set her messenger bag on a nearby table. Crossing her arms, she regarded Ramona with her lips scrunched regretfully to one side.

 

              “You know, I will admit to not being entirely objective in regards to this exercise,” she finally said.

 

              Ramona cringed and strained, struggling to find wriggle room. Grimacing, she tried to drop straight down, but the bar was set squeezed tight under her breasts, pressing them up from beneath her green top. It was simply too painful to try to squeeze the orange-sized shapes through the gap.

 

              Not seeming to notice this, Armitage pushed her glasses down and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

 

              “To find you so suddenly… absent,” she sighed again, “Without a word. It… I didn’t anticipate that.”

 

              Picking up the professor’s pity party, Ramona rolled her eyes. While her opponent was distracting herself, she turned her attention to her weapon, adjusting her grip to attempt a different avenue of escape.

 

              “I put so much work and thought into you,” Armitage continued, “Affection, care… and then for you to simply leave. After all I’d done…”

 

              At this, Ramona couldn’t help but look up from her work. She leveled a flat, incredulous stare at the professor.

 

              “Dude, are you serious?” she drawled, “All you did? For me?”

 

              Gripping her hammer near the head, she used her free forearms to swing the weapon into the bar pinning her in place. Even without the shaft’s full length as leverage, the heavy block of steel crunched into the red restraint, creating a spiderweb of cracks.

 

              “You critiqued and criticized…” she swung the hammer again, “Everything about me… constantly!”

 

              “Out of care,” Armitage protested, “To make you better!”

 

              Another swing shattered the red ‘U’ entirely, sending shards flying. Ramona pulled herself free and stepped away from the wall, shaking off crumbs of the broken restraints.

 

              “Whatever,” she drawled, “I like my hair. I like how I dress. My music. You wanted to change everything about me.”

 

              The professor smiled sadly and shook her head.

 

              “You just don’t understand yet,” she cooed, “One day, when you care about someone and see them making the wrong choices, you’ll see you have to speak up. You’ll see, once I fix you properly.”

 

              Ramona flourished her war-hammer overhead, then swung it down into a ready position, the whoosh and sudden stop of the massive metal head sounding like thunder.

 

              “No way in hell, lady,” she glared, “No way. I’m never going back to that.”

 

              “It’s for your own good,” Armitage smiled, “One day, you’ll be grateful. You’ll look back on this conversation we’re having right now and regret being so difficult. You’ll regret leaving the way you did.”

 

              Ramona’s lips turned up in a dark smirk.

 

              “I regret lots of things,” she said, “I regret taking your class. I regret meeting you outside of class. I regret respecting you and thinking you knew things.”

 

              Listening to the girl’s words and their low, certain tone, Professor Armitage’s expression remained impassive. She stared, almost unblinking.

 

              “I regret not telling you to fuck off,” Ramona continued, “I regret not standing up for myself sooner. The one thing I don’t regret—not in the tiniest iota—is leaving.”

 

              To the watching crowd, the professor remained utterly impassive. They didn’t know her well enough to look for the tiny tweak of the eyebrow, the slight tightening of her lips.

 

              But Ramona noticed. She knew her words had found their mark.

 

              “I’d leave you twice, if I could,” she growled, “The only thing I’d do differently is tell you you’re the almighty, life-devouring, soul-smothering queen of bitch-topia. I’d one hundred percent rather die in a grease fire than go anywhere with you.”

 

              As Ramona finished her brief diatribe, several people in the audience oohed and laughed in low, nervous tones. They watched Armitage to see how she’d react to the vicious verbal onslaught.

 

              The professor stood very still as the snickering of the crowd washed over her. Her gaze remained fixed on her former student. For several long seconds, she remained inert, silently computing Ramona’s words and their implications.

 

              A tiny chip flew off the Gen’s health bar.

 

              A slow, barely noticeable nodding of her head followed. When the strict professor spoke, she continued to nod, and her eyes, now as hard as diamonds, never left Ramona’s face

 

              “I see,” Armitage said, her voice deceptively soft, “Yes, indeed. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear, Miss Flowers.”

 

              “Glad we’re finally on the same page,” Ramona drawled, drawing her hammer back.

 

              A golf-like swing of the war-hammer picked up a nearby table and hurled it across the dance floor, directly at her enemy.

 

But the projectile was only a distraction. As the table flew through the air, Ramona dashed after it, directly behind, matching its speed. If Armitage managed to defend herself from the hurtling furniture, she’d find the war-hammer immediately following it.

 

              “Oh, yes…” the professor’s eyes narrowed to slits, “I completely understand now. Unequivocally.”

 

              She reached into her pocket for the third pen.

 

              Ramona brought the hammer back to swing—

 

              --only to see a massive, neon-yellow shield smash through the table, plowing directly towards her.

 

              The blue-haired girl only had time to gasp in surprise before the shield collided with her. Like a bug hitting a windshield, she was smashed flat into the surface and carried with it, until it came to a sudden stop.

 

              Ramona’s backwards momentum flung her off the shield. She struck the ground with a grunt, skipped off, then struck the ground once more, before sliding to a stop on her stomach.

 

              Coughing, slow and aching, Ramona pushed herself up to all fours. Still gripping her war-hammer, she lifted her head to stare dazed and astonished at the conjured implement that had stopped her attack.

 

              The shield was ethereal. It glowed yellow and was slightly transparent. Tall and square-shaped, it had a large, circular boss in the center, on which was emblazoned the head of a curly-horned ram.

 

              Now holding a highlighter, which glowed the same yellow as the shield, Professor Armitage strutted towards the stunned girl. Her chin was lowered, her expression cold and furious.

 

              “I knew you could be spiteful and ungrateful, Miss Flowers,” her voice was deadly soft, “But I underestimated the extent. It demonstrates a willful ignorance. A stubborn refusal to learn or grow. And that… that is simply not admissible behavior.”

 

              Wincing in pain, Ramona dragged herself to her feet. The massive shield loomed over her, ready to strike once more.

 

              “You require a very sharp lesson, Tulip,” Armitage continued, “Surely you remember the shield of Ajax the great? Giant and hero of the Iliad?”

 

              She dashed the highlighter through the air, as if writing something on an invisible screen.

 

              When she finished, the shield blurred, becoming a nebulous blob of neon yellow, before it broke into dozens of orbs. The glowing balls scattered, bouncing around Ramona, forming a circle with her in the center. Once they had the girl surrounded, they sprang up and suddenly took the shapes of men, faceless but muscular and dressed in Arabian clothing.

 

              Ramona hefted her war-hammer, gaping around at the unfriendly crowd. They brandished clubs, knives, or flexed their bare fists, clearly eager to attack her.

 

              “Then you should remember the forty thieves from the tale of Ali Baba,” Armitage pursed her lips, tapping the highlighter on her palm, “Tell me, Miss Flowers. How did Ali Baba manage to defeat the forty thieves in his eponymous story?”

 

              Ramona scowled at her, “What the hell are—OOMPH!”

 

              She was cut off when one of the men darted past her with astonishing speed, punching her in the jaw as he went by.

 

              Staggered but unrattled, the hammer-wielding girl caught her balance and swung her weapon in a wide arc, attempting to catch her attacker before he could retreat and keep the rest at bay. But as soon as his blow landed, he vanished, and the others strangely kept their distance.

 

              Or at least they kept their distance for a moment. Once their mutual enemy had recovered from her missed swing, all thirty-nine of the other thieves charged, converging… and then vanished before reaching her.

 

              Startled and confused, Ramona remained tense, war-hammer at the ready. She knew it couldn’t have been that easy. Suspecting a trap, her eyes darted this way and that, wary of being attacked from her blind side.

 

              “The question, Miss Flowers,” the professor arched her eyebrow, “Is how Ali Baba defeated the forty thieves in Arabian Nights.”

 

              Ramona glared at her, “All I know is how I’m going to be—UNGH!”

 

              One of the glowing bandits appeared, slamming his club across the girl’s shoulders, staggering her forward.

 

              Another appeared in front of her almost instantly. Ramona managed to block his thrusting dagger with the shaft of her hammer but was blindsided by a different thief punching her in the jaw. Jarred by the blow, Ramona swiped at her attacker in retaliation, only for him to vanish, and another to appear on her opposite side, slamming his club into her ribs.

 

              “Pitiful,” Professor Armitage frowned as she watched, “A simple question and you can’t answer.”

 

              The glowing men continued their assault and soon, a pattern emerged. Thieves would appear, attack their blue-haired adversary, and vanish once their attack had run its course. This happened over and over, with sometimes three at a time attacking, and vanishing, just in time for the next attackers to appear.

 

In an attempt to defend herself, Ramona was thrown into a frenzy. She swung her hammer in one looping swipe after the other, the whooshing blows sometimes fending off an attacker, but more often being a moment too late.

 

“OOF--!” she gasped, attempting a swing, only to get struck somewhere else, “AAGH!”

 

And the longer her struggle continued, the more blows landed, the more the hammer-wielding ninja girl slowed down. This only allowed more and more attacks to find their mark.

 

Ramona’s eyes rolled back as a club smashed her up under the chin. She staggered backwards, dizzy, and before she could counterattack, another thief appeared behind her, striking her behind the knees.

 

“NAH--!” Ramona crumpled to her knees. She swiped at her attacker, but he was already long gone, another taking his place to snap her head back with a punch.

 

Her health bar emptied by leaps, battered until it was in the danger zone, while her stamina bar remained almost permanently at zero, unable to regenerate fast enough.

 

Standing a dozen paces away, Professor Armitage crossed her arms, chin held high.

 

“I will not accept students coming to my class unprepared, Miss Flowers,” she said, “You, of all people, should know that.”

 

Dazed and overwhelmed, Ramona fell to all fours, gasping for air.

 

But the thieves didn’t stop. A pair appeared behind her, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright, her hammer slipping from her grasp.

 

Bleary-eyed, head lolling, Ramona gaped vacantly as she was dragged to her feet, her arms pulled behind her back. She was unable to fight back as her arms were twisted, chest pushed out, and another pair of thieves appeared in front of her to use her as a punching bag.

 

“OOLF! HUNF! OOF! UFF!”

 

As fast as Ramona could grunt and gasp, the thieves drove blows into her stomach. Held still, she couldn’t double over, but her hindquarters were shoved backwards over and over, thrusting her rounded bottom back into the men holding her.

 

The dull thuds of body blows continued, harmonizing with the girl’s grunts of pain.

 

Professor Armitage shook her head.

 

“You clearly don’t have the slightest grasp of the material,” she said, “Let’s move on to another text, shall we?”

 

Ramona was still being hammered with stomach punches as the villainess began scribbling something else in the air with her highlighter. She didn’t see what the older woman did, she only knew something had changed when the thieves pounding on her vanished.

 

And were replaced by a lunchbox-sized hand that closed around her head and slammed her into the dance floor.

 

“AUGH--!” Ramona cried out, her face buried into broken floor tiles.

 

Head spinning, winded and aching, she remained sprawled on her stomach for several breaths. Only slowly did she push up from the floor, coming onto unsteady fours, gasping for air, shoulders heaving. Blinking, realizing she was still under attack, she pawed around on the floor until she found her hammer. Once her fingers had closed around the shaft, she lifted her head and saw the next opponent her enemy had conjured.

 

Before her, made of the same neon, transparent light, was a massive, low-browed creature, with crooked, yellow teeth, and powerful arms. He reminded Ramona of an ape or perhaps a Neanderthal, but there was a wicked glint in his eye that bespoke both an intelligence and a maliciousness neither of those creatures were known for. Hunched and misshapen, he leered, working his teeth back and forward against each other.

 

“The monster Grendel,” Armitage said, “One of three great monsters from the epic poem Beowulf.”

 

Shaking her head to clear it, Ramona stumbled as she came up to her feet. Her legs were wobbly and the world still seemed askew, not to mention how heavy her hammer felt. It weighed her down, straining her arms, forcing her to hunch forward.

 

“According to the text, out of said three monsters,” Armitage continued, “Which did Beowulf kill with his dagger, Miss Flowers?”

 

With a force of will, Ramona planted her feet and presented her hammer in a haggard version of her previous fighting stance. Chest heaving and pouty lips ajar, she glared savagely at the smug professor.

 

She understood the game and now had time to implement a more intelligent strategy. Armitage was conjuring these things. Fighting the subjects of the conjuring was a losing prospect, as more could be called. To win, she had to attack not the monsters, but their master.

 

“Well?” Armitage patted the highlighter into her palm again, “We’re waiting.”

 

Ramona curled her lip in reply.

 

“Pass.” She growled, then charged.

 

Darting around Grendel, she circumvented the creature altogether, instead making a beeline right for her true enemy. Once she closed, she put all her speed, momentum, and strength into a baseball swing aimed to put the hammer directly into her opponent’s chest.

 

But the blow never reached its target. Grendel reappeared in front of her, and the hammer slammed into his palm with a clang. The impact sent a shockwave down the length of the weapon and into Ramona, like a literal jolt of electricity.

 

“AAH-AAH!” the girl cried out, barely managing to maintain her grip.

 

The shockwave passed a moment later, leaving Ramona’s ears ringing, her teeth buzzing. Stunned, she wavered in place for a moment, looking lost, until a headshake cleared it. When her wits returned, and she realized what happened, her eyes grew as wide as saucers.

 

The monster Grendel had reappeared in front of his mistress and caught the incoming war-hammer in a single, furry hand. The creature was so immensely, forbiddingly strong, it had been like Ramona had swung her weapon into the side of a battleship. Now his fingers were wrapped around the massive steel hammer, holding it tight.

 

Belatedly, Ramona leaned back and grunted as she tried to jerk her weapon from the monster’s grasp.

 

But the hammer remained entirely still, lodged in Grendel’s grasp like it had been welded in place.

 

Shaking her head at Ramona through the semi-transparent beast, Professor Armitage spoke in a low voice.

 

“Once again, you fail to demonstrate even cursory knowledge of the material.”

 

As if this was a cue, Grendel yanked the weapon up into the air.

 

Ramona, still managing to hold on, let out a shrill cry as she was carried with it.

 

“Unacceptable.” Armitage said.

 

Grendel swung the hammer back down and Ramona, still clinging to the end, was slammed into the floor with crushing force.

 

The impact smashed all the tiles beneath the girl’s body into gravel, its sound so thunderous it drowned out her cry of anguish.

 

“Far below par,” Armitage continued, “Sub-standard.”

 

Grendel showed his gnarled, surprisingly sharp teeth, pleased that the swing had produced the results he desired: dislodging the girl from the end of the hammer. Now, with Ramona slumped face down in a small crater, he tossed the weapon up and caught it by the shaft. He waved it around, striking some of the battle poses he’d seen the girl perform, both playing with his new toy and mocking its wielder.

 

“This sort of performance will not be permitted here, Miss Flowers,” the professor said, “No, it most certainly will not. Privileges shall be revoked. First among them, the silly toys you waste your time with.”

 

Grendel was in the process of scratching his back with the massive hammer when he heard those words. On cue, he held the hammer up and closed his opposite hand around the head. He didn’t need to adjust his grip or even use much effort; he simply grasped the block of steel and squeezed.

 

As Ramona’s senses returned to her, she heard a deep, metallic groan, followed by a sharper clank of tempered steel being separated.

 

“Unh… ohhh…” she moaned, trying to push herself up, to see what was happening.

 

Her arms trembled as she managed to rise a couple of inches, but then plopped back down, exhausted.

 

Her stamina bar flashed, entirely empty.

 

Above her, the monster’s fist continued to squeeze, several higher pitched whines and clinks coming from inside. The giant fingers were slowly coming together, rending the steel block inside them like it was a sugar cube. As the fist closed entirely, Grendel worked his knuckles, breaking the metal into even smaller pieces.

 

Hearing the ominous sounds of grinding metal, Ramona slowly began to realize what was happening. Desperate, she pushed herself up from the floor once again, dragging her knees beneath her, crawling in an attempt to rise. Battered, her health and stamina bar down to slivers, she gasped and grunted, swaying and nearly falling back to the floor.

 

Unfortunately, she was much too late. By the time she managed to get to all fours, Grendel opened his hand and turned it over, pouring the shattered remains of the war-hammer to the ground.

 

As Ramona panted, wobbly on her hands and knees, little shards of metal tumbled to the floor in front of her. None were larger than a marble, some were merely glinting snowflakes, so small they seemed to flutter to the ground. Blinking at the metallic rubble, she was initially unsure what she was looking at, or didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t until the wooden shaft clattered to the floor beside her that she realized.

 

Ramona gaped. Her iconic weapon had been completely destroyed. Not just broken, but pulverized, crushed into nothingness.

 

 She was still wrestling with her shock when Grendel poured a glittering powder, the last remnants of her war-hammer, onto the floor in a small pile. Horrified, her heart sinking, she didn’t notice the wicked leer he gave her. Nor did she notice when the monster grew more transparent, his glow anemic, until he vanished entirely.

 

However, she did notice when the ink whip lashed around her throat, squeezing tight.

 

“Ulk--!” her eyes bulged, suddenly unable to breathe.

 

“Come here, Miss Flowers,” Professor Armitage ordered.

 

The whip retracted a pace, dragging the girl with it.

 

Ramona crawled, following to keep from being strangled.

 

“Right now,” the professor repeated, “To the front of the class. No dawdling.”

 

Drawing on the oily black whip, she slowly reeled her ‘student’ in.

 

Choking and wheezing, Ramona dragged herself along on all fours. Too exhausted and unsteady to even grab at the line strangling her, all she could do was obediently crawl over broken floor tiles and her own destroyed weapon. Dragging her knees, hindquarters sticking out and swaying, she went right where the villainess wanted her.

 

On the other end of the whip, Genevieve Armitage stood with one hand on her hip, tapping her foot. She waited for the approaching girl with her chin raised, her lips a crisp line. But on her otherwise stony expression, her narrowed eyes gleamed behind her glasses, watching with immense pleasure.

 

Being strangled and forced to drag her beaten body across the dance floor burned the last of Ramona’s energy. When she finally reached her destination, she sagged, her eyes glassy and half-closed. It was all she could do to keep from sinking to the floor at her enemy’s feet, much less defend herself. Her stamina bar was flashing overhead, entirely empty.

 

“Hmph,” the professor sniffed, “Disgraceful.”

 

A sharp jerk on the whip took Ramona by surprise and yanked her off her hands and knees. Unable to catch herself, she flopped face down to the floor with a gasp of pain, landing directly between the professor’s elegant heels.

 

She lay there, cheek smooshed to the ground, splayed out flat, while the professor strode around her to the table, where the messenger bag still sat.

 

“You are an ill-favored young lady, Miss Flowers,” Armitage said, “Short-sighted, uselessly defiant, and woefully ill-equipped for this course.”

 

To punctuate this statement, she lifted her foot and planted it firmly on the round shape that pushed up from beneath the girl’s skirt. Her heel remained in place, pinning down Ramona’s rump in a display of dominance, while she opened the messenger bag and withdrew the same folder from earlier.

 

Ramona moaned, squirming under the woman’s boot.

 

“Ramona Victoria Flowers,” Armitage said, ignoring her.

 

The folder fluttered open to a new report card, this time with Ramona’s name at the top. This report, unlike Scott’s, was not filled out.

 

As the professor took out her red pen, the girl beneath her foot tried to stir. Managing to plant her hands, she tried to push herself up, her motions unsteady and drunken. Her head lolled as she started to rise, her hindquarters coming up and lifting the professor’s heel with it.

 

Armitage was looking over the report when she felt body beneath her foot. She cast a quick glance down at the girl, before stomping her back to the floor, and returning her eyes to the page.

 

“Ulf…” Ramona grunted, flopping ingloriously to the ground, right back where she started.

 

“Ramona Flowers,” Armitage said again, “For your attitude and willingness to learn, I give you no points.”

 

She slashed through a box with her red pen, denoting her grade on the report.

 

A moment later, like it had come from a giant, heavy rubber stamp, a much larger red slash slammed into Ramona’s back.

 

“AA-AAH!” the girl’s head popped up, arms and legs shooting out spasmodically, then slumped again.

 

The red slash remained printed onto her shoulder blades, before sinking into her and vanishing, like it had been absorbed.

 

“Preparedness for class and participation?” Armitage slashed across the report again, “No points.”

 

Another slash hammered into Ramona’s body in the same way as before. She jerked under the blow and cried out before falling still again.

 

“Homework and study habits,” Armitage slashed again.

 

“URK--!” Ramona cried.

 

“Knowledge and understanding of the material.”

 

Another slash.

 

“AAUGH!”

 

As the brutal assessment continued, the crowd’s enthusiasm began to dampen. They murmured uncertainly, wincing, cringing, or watching with macabre fascination as Ramona was deliberately pounded into the floor. It had been exciting when they’d realized there was a fight happening, but now they were realizing they weren’t watching a fight. They were watching the pretty, blue-haired girl in the green skirt being dismantled, calmly, methodically, and completely.

 

It took several more slashes for the professor to reach the bottom of the page. Once there, she paused, narrowing her eyes. Seemingly oblivious to the onlooking crowd and the girl who remained pinned beneath her foot, her eyes scanned the report up and down. She pursed her lips, sucked on her teeth, checked her work, and made her final assessment.

 

When she came to her inevitable and predictable conclusion, she grunted, closed her eyes, and shook her head with the utmost disappointment.

 

“Ramona, Ramona, Ramona…”

 

Ramona didn’t respond. She was no longer trying to fight or even get up. Her opponent’s foot perched on her rounded bottom, the point of the heel prodding into one of the rounded swells, but she didn’t move or protest.

 

Sighing regretfully, Armitage lifted the foot from the girl’s rump, instead tucking it under her hip, then lifted and pushed to roll her over.

 

“Your performance is nowhere near satisfactory, Miss Flowers,” she shook her head.

 

Ramona’s head lolled towards her shoulder as she flopped onto her back. Her eyes were half open, her fair skin and hair now smudged with dirt, dust, and bruises. Coughing, she fluttered her lashes, struggling to focus her gaze, and let out a soft moan.

 

The professor leaned over to look the girl in her cloudy, exhausted eyes.

 

“You have not earned the right to control your love life with an effort like this,” she explained, “You’ve clearly learned nothing.”

 

Ramona blinked hard, her expression pinched with pain and effort to regain her senses, but at the same time hanging with exhaustion. She struggled to meet the gaze of the woman looming over her, brow furrowed, understanding something bad was about to happen while being unable to grasp exactly what.

 

Looking at her dazed, supine student, Professor Armitage’s mask of calm professionalism cracked. The leering, eager glint in her eyes found its way to her mouth, curling it up at the corners.

 

“Mmm…” she purred, running her tongue over her lips, “You leave me no choice. My sweet, silly little Tulip…”

 

She placed the red pen back to the paper, scribbling a note.

 

“I’m afraid, I have to fail you from this course,” she said, “And suggest remedial instruction…”

 

She finished by etching a large ‘F’ at the bottom of the page.

 

“This, as you know,” she cooed, “Means you lose all access… to the powers you enjoy. Indefinitely.”

 

As she said this, a red ‘F’ bloomed on Ramona’s chest. Rather than slamming her into the ground, it more grew into place, reaching from the girl’s collar bone to her belly button. It even seemed innocuous at first.

 

However, soon the girl began to cringe with discomfort. Her body stiffened and her eyes rolled around, widening in confusion and alarm. In growing pain and being unaware of where it was coming from, she moaned pitifully, squirming on the floor.

 

Then, from the ‘F’ on her chest sprouted golden motes of light. Few at first, rising lazily into the air, they quickly grew into a swarm, twinkling and flitting around like mad fireflies. Alone they were about as bright as a pen light, but together they lit up the dance floor.

 

And the more of the light that left Ramona, the more it seemed to hurt her.

 

“Ahhh… aa-AAH… AAAAH!” she cried out in growing urgency.

 

Eyes now wide as saucers, she stiffened into a bow, her back arching up from the floor. Her fists were balled at her sides, shoulders pulled back, displaying the curve of her breasts and the backward swell of her rump in painstaking detail.

 

Fortunately for her, the pain that made her strike that pose didn’t last more than a few seconds. Curled and rigid, she was locked into the position, then the instant the last glowing bud filtered free of her body, she went limp.

 

“Unhh…” she plopped back to the floor with a whimper.

 

While Ramona lay flat on her back, moaning and panting with relief, the lights above her were drawn towards one another. The ones at the very center came together, congealing into a single, glowing orb, and those on the outskirts darted in to join it. Steadily, the ball of light grew, until when it had absorbed all the smaller motes into it, it was like a small sun, hovering merrily over the heaving girl’s heaving chest.

 

The crowd let out the same sort of ‘ooh’ a crowd might when they see a beautiful waterfall. They didn’t know that the pretty light they were looking at was the Glow, the energy the villain Gideon had placed inside Ramona and given her powers. Or that the evil college professor had taken advantage of her weakened state to drag that energy out of her.

 

Popping the cap back onto her red pen, Professor Armitage directed a tart smirk in the direction of the glowing ball. Now that she’d extracted the Glow, she had no intention whatsoever of giving it back to Gideon. It was finders-keepers, as far as she was concerned. And she had plenty of uses for such a pure, powerful source of energy.

 

At a beckoning gesture from her, the ball of light raced towards the report, as if it had been waiting for her order. It smacked into the page and sank into it, being absorbed in a reverse of the same process in which it had escaped Ramona. Its light spread through all the pages in the folder, until the black text stood stark against the glowing, yellow background.

 

The crowd oohed again. It looked like the pages had become gleaming leaves of gold!

 

However, Professor Armitage slapped the folder closed, dousing the light without giving it a second look. Picking the folder up, she stuffed it into her messenger bag, which she then flipped closed and hurriedly buckled. In that same brisk, perfunctory pace which she handled her bag, the professor then turned around, bent down, took Ramona by the front of her top, and sat her up with a jerk.

 

“Stand up,” she chirped sharply, “Up with you, young lady.”

 

Exhausted and battered, Ramona merely gaped at her stupidly, barely able to hold her head up. Cartoonish, video game stars were literally circling around her head.

 

“Hmph,” Armitage sniffed, predictably disappointed.

 

Regardless of Ramona’s willingness to rise, the professor stood upright and dragged the girl with her. Standing straight, she held her student up with two handfuls of the military-green top. Only then did she pause, tilting her chin up to scrutinize her student’s tired expression.

 

              Ramona’s head lolled around on a limp neck, following the little cartoon birdies circling her. Now that the glow had been stolen from her, she somehow looked less vibrant, the color of her hair slightly muted. But most importantly to her victorious opponent, she was panting faintly, her brow furrowed with distress, her big eyes glassy, forlorn, and bewildered. Her usual poker face had been completely shattered, revealing all the confusion and exhaustion beneath.

 

              Armitage admired for another moment, then nodded firmly to herself, satisfied with the results.

 

              “At last: some honesty,” she remarked.

 

              She freed one hand to clasp Ramona’s jaw, held the girl’s drowsy face still, and stared directly into the big brown eyes.

 

              “No more pretending to be a confident, aloof, self-possessed woman who calmly stands above her circumstances,” she continued, “You are a foolish, frightened, lost little girl, unable to face life’s complications. You run from one thing to the next, a new beau, a new city, a new country, a new life, like a scared bunny. As we’ve just seen, faced with any adversity, you crumple completely.”

 

              Ramona managed to meet the other woman’s stare with painfully tired eyes. She barely understood what was being said. All she wanted at that moment was to fall down so she could rest.

 

              “A reckless brat,” Armitage snapped, “Causing damage wherever you go, then fleeing to create more havoc somewhere else.”

 

              The professor glared at the girl for a moment, working herself into an icy rage.

 

              Abruptly, she spun the selfish brat around.

 

Ramona stumbled, almost crumpling to the floor, before Armitage grabbed the back collar of her top. Wobbling, held upright like a kitten caught by the scruff of her neck, she blinked blearily in the general direction of the far wall, now facing away from her captor. Her shoulders were slumped, arms dangling by her sides, even when the professor grabbed the back of her skirt and began pulling it up.

 

“That will not be allowed to continue,” Armitage said, “You are unable to stop yourself and will keep running until someone stops you.”

 

Forced to stand up straight to hold the dazed girl upright, she couldn’t reach to the bottom of the skirt, and had to hike it up inches at a time. She grabbed as low as she could, pulled it upwards, until she could reach a bit lower and pull again. Rolling and bunching the green fabric, she quickly worked the skirt up the back of Ramona’s thighs, then over the rounder shape just above them.

 

“And that someone will be me,” she snapped, “Tonight. Right this moment.”

 

The audience gawked and chattered mischievously at what they were seeing. The cool, formidable Ramona Flowers, pretty and mysterious, had been beaten into a submissive doll. Many of the girls, jealous of the attention the enigmatic girl received, grinned quietly to themselves on seeing their rival wobbling helplessly in place, her bottom exposed. The boys, on the other hand, snickered for much more predictable reasons.

 

When the skirt was finally bunched up under the girl’s leather belt, it revealed a full rump that naturally protruded due to her slightly slumped posture. Black leggings tinted the pale globes, giving them an even glossier shine, but couldn’t completely hide the green thong that barely separated them. An extension of her muscular thighs, the bottom was toned and swollen, a pair of tightly held, prominently presented moons, made to look even more heart-shaped by the triangle of fabric at the top of the cleft.

 

“Ignorant,” Armitage snapped, jamming the skirt under Ramona’s belt, “Thoughtless. Irresponsible. Arrogant. Ungrateful. Lazy.”

 

The table they were at was a tall one, designed to be leaned on and stood at, but had chairs of equal height for someone that wanted to sit.

 

The professor turned Ramona towards one of the chairs and shoved the girl forward, across the seat. The forward motion of the body flopping into it made the chair start to teeter over, coming up on two legs, but Armitage caught it and set it firmly back down. Now in place, the blue-haired mystery girl was slumped lengthwise across the seat, arms dangling down one side, her leggings-clad butt poked up on the opposite, fully bent over.

 

Heels clicking, Armitage marched briskly around the chair, standing sidelong to Ramona’s slumped form.

 

“There’s only one way to correct the behavior of a truly delinquent and unrepentant student,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “A sharp punishment that they will remember, delivered thoroughly, heartily, and at length.”

 

Reaching over the chair, she planted a hand firmly on the girl’s back, pinning her in place.

 

It was unnecessary. Ramona was only now fluttering her lashes and moaning, weakly trying to lift her head.

 

The professor brought her free hand back, palm open, arm reared high into the air. There it lingered, like an executioner’s axe, waiting for the right moment to fall.

 

“Remember that it was your actions that have made this necessary, Miss Flowers,” she said, “You’ve well earned this. Every last painful instant.”

 

Then her hand swung down with a will, clapping loudly across the girl’s presented, defenseless bottom.

 

The shock of the sting was enough to make Ramona jump and let out a surprised grunt. However, it wasn’t enough to snap her out of her daze, and which the next smack landed across her rump, she merely grunted a bit louder, jerking before hanging still again.

 

And Armitage was far from done.

 

The professor drew her hand back then swung it down, over and over, like a machine. Each smack resounded, deep and forceful, rocking the delinquent forward. If it weren’t for the hand on the girl’s back, pinning her in place, she and the chair would have been knocked over from the impact.

 

“You thought you could fight me, you silly girl?” Armitage continued landing blows.

 

Ramona gasped, eyes shooting wide as another stinging clap landed. The next drew a yelp of pain.

 

“I warned you,” the professor said as she worked, “Not only didn’t you listen… you gave me back-sass!”

 

The next smack was particularly sharp. Even in her daze, the girl let out a squeal of pain.

 

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Armitage snapped, “And you are going to take every ounce of what’s coming to you.”

 

As the rhythmic smacks and increasingly distressed cries rang out, the audience began to cackle and whoop at the spectacle. A few winced, looking away, but more called out encouragement or taunts, egging the professor on. They had been excited to see a fight, but this was even more wild and scandalous!

 

To add to their excitement, Ramona was growing more animated, her head popping up, feet kicking, letting out decidedly girlish cries. Each blow was more painful than the last, her bottom growing more and more tender to the point that even in her exhausted daze, she was driven to wide-eyed, bewildered desperation.

 

“AA-AAH!” she shrilled, then cried out again even louder, “NAA-AAOW!”

 

Professor Armitage kept the girl pinned with one hand, while the other swung. Seemingly oblivious to both the cries of pain and the encouragement from the crowd, she glared as she worked, brow lowered and jaw set. She looked like an old-timey blacksmith at the forge, diligently swinging a hammer, sternly and calmly beating metal into shape.

 

However, as the ‘ore’ she was shaping began to squeal louder and cry, her eyes glinted with perverse glee.

 

“ST—AAH!” Ramona cried, her eyes shining, “STOP PLEA—AAAAOOW-AH!”

 

Armitage didn’t slow the pace of the spanking, deaf to the howls for mercy. Her workman’s expression was belied by a wolfish grin.

 

“Now we’re getting to the—” she hissed, dealing a particularly stinging smack, “—bottom of things, aren’t we?”

 

Too tired to restrain herself, Ramona let out a shrill, undignified wail.

 

“Not so stoic now,” Armitage sneered, “Not when someone knows your weakness…”

 

As the professor said this, the crowd remembered the taunt from earlier. The weakness the woman had mentioned, how Ramona had blushed when it was brought up. Even as the girl cried out, they also noticed she was blushing right then, a deep crimson on her otherwise fair cheeks.

 

Realizing what this meant, a few in the crowd laughed out loud. Others were slower to grasp, but seeing the enigmatic Ramona’s reddening bottom, it didn’t take much to explain what the professor had meant.

 

What remained of Ramona’s health bar was having large chunks taken out of it with each blow, more than any other attack so far.

 

“Fail this course or not, you are going to learn your lesson,” Armitage growled, “And that is… that you. Belong. To me!”

 

She drew her hand back then swung it back down with a stroke so powerful that it sounded like a thunderclap. There was a starburst from the impact and Ramona’s bottom was temporarily flattened from the force of it, springing back into its full shape a moment later. The girl cried out in both pain and anguish, loud enough that her voice broke.

 

This wasn’t just another spanking, it was a finishing move. Ramona’s health bar immediately dropped to zero. And then some.

 

K.O!!!

 

As those letters flashed overhead like a neon sign, Ramona remained rigid in shock. For an instant, she seemed frozen in time, body arched up from the chair in a violent rictus.

 

But as the dramatic moment passed by, so did all of the girl’s remaining sanguinity. The letters above her faded away and Ramona abruptly slumped with a whimper. She drooped across the chair with an air of finality, dangling like a wet rag, as if she never intended to rise again.

 

Above her, new letters sprung up. They said ‘Continue?’ and then began counting down from ten.

 

Armitage seemed oblivious to the melodrama. As if nothing of consequence had happened, she stood upright, and plucked her glasses off her nose. With pursed lips, she lowered her glasses to her waist, where she withdrew a cloth and began a fastidious cleaning process.

 

The numbers counted down. 8… 7…

 

Gaze lowered, fixed firmly on cleaning her lenses, she paid it no mind.

 

“And that, my little Tulip,” she said quietly, “Is the end of your misguided, juvenile attempt at rebellion.”

 

6… 5…

 

Once finished cleaning, the professor held the glasses up to the light, checked for smudges, placed them back on her face, and pushed them back up her nose. Only then did she turn her gaze back to Ramona, who hadn’t stirred in the slightest since the last blow had landed.

 

“You have failed.”

 

She strode around to the other side of the chair, where the girl’s arms and head dangled towards the floor.

 

“You will not be taking on another boyfriend-shaped distraction,” the professor said, “You will not be running away from me again.”

 

4… 3…

 

Reaching down, she cupped beneath her captive’s chin then lifted it up with an impatient jerk, as if the girl was being rude by not making eye contact.

 

Still blushing, cheeks shining with tears, Ramona could only blink dully at the woman, eyes more closed than open.

 

“You will be coming with me,” Armitage said with an imperious stare, “Back to my home, where you belong. You will listen to me and obey without question. Is that understood?”

 

2… 1…

 

When Ramona didn’t immediately respond, the professor squeezed her chin tighter, causing the girl to cringe with discomfort.

 

“Is that understood, young lady?”

 

“Y-y-yuh…” Ramona finally whimpered, “Y-yuh… y-yes…”

 

0.

 

Game Over flashed in giant, red letters.

 

Seeing that, the crowd groaned in disappointment. The action was over, as was the fun.

 

But Armitage smiled and for the first time, it was warm.

 

Leaning down and lifting Ramona’s chin a bit higher, she looked directly into the girl’s anguished, tear-filled eyes. She gazed into those eyes for a long moment, then her smile broadened, pleased by what she saw there.

 

“That’s very good, Ramona,” she cooed, “So much better.”

 

Looking over the girl’s battered, dusty face, she reached up to wipe a smudge from the still-pink cheek.

 

Ramona moaned faintly, her eyelids drooping lower. Now that the panicked adrenaline from her spanking was fading, she was sinking into an exhausted doze.

 

“You silly, silly thing,” the professor sighed, “Such a fuss about all this. All the fighting, struggling, bad language, spilt tears, just to wind up right here anyway. Like I told you.”

 

She plucked a piece of broken tile out of Ramona’s hair and flicked it away.

 

“Foolish, irresponsible little girl.”

 

With that, she let go of the girl’s chin.

 

Ramona’s head dropped and bounced gently, a dead weight on the end of her neck.

 

“I am going to have to keep you on a very short leash, I think,” Armitage said, “You are clearly not equipped to take care of yourself or make your own decisions. Not based on your behavior.”

 

Taking Ramona’s forearm, she tucked the girl’s arm up and behind her back. Then she took the opposite and did the same, placing both wrists together.

 

 “Glad to be rid of me,” the professor plucked the black pen from her pocket, “Don’t regret leaving me in the slightest. That’s so, hm?”

 

She popped the cap off the pen then flicked it in Ramona’s direction. A tendril of black ink lashed out, looping around and around the girl’s arms and chest, demonstrating a mind of its own by coiling its victim without also capturing the chair.

 

“Well,” Armitage narrowed her eyes, “Now you will face the consequences.”

 

The whip yanked Ramona upright and into the air, knocking the chair over in the process.

 

Held up, the girl’s legs swung limply, her shoulders sagging forward, chin resting on her chest, blue hair dangling in front of her face. Her skirt was pulled up her thighs, still tucked under her belt in the back to show off her bottom and thong underwear, but she didn’t care. She was beyond exhausted, both physically and mentally; a limp doll, presented like a trophy.

 

Professor Armitage looked her prize up and down. Knowing Ramona wouldn’t hear her anyway, she spoke softly, to herself.

 

“You are mine, Ramona,” she grinned wickedly, “You always were. And you always will be. You and that round rump of yours…”

 

At a silent command from its mistress, the ink-whip brought Ramona closer. Armitage hugged an arm around the girl’s thighs, holding her tight, and then the whip let go altogether, vanishing back into the pen.

 

“Hm…” the professor grunted as the girl’s weight fell across her shoulder.

 

Frowning, she shuffled in place, rediscovering her balance with her new burden. Hugging both arms around Ramona’s legs, she bounced the girl up a bit higher, adjusting the weight into a more comfortable position. Then, finally comfortable, prize perched on her shoulder, she nodded firmly.

 

“Well,” she huffed, “I think we’ve wasted more than enough time here.”

 

As the crowd watched, unsure how to react, Professor Armitage picked up her messenger bag, turned, and marched back the way she came. Head held high, girl drooped over her shoulder, she struck a brisk pace across the dance floor, heels clicking loudly, and never met the eyes of a single person. Now that she had what she came for, she had other places to be, far too busy to care what anyone in the crowd thought.

 

“And as penance for being such a brat,” she smiled to herself, “You can just show off this rump all the way home.”

 

As if to demonstrate exactly which “rump” she was talking about, the professor shifted her grip long enough to give the tinted heart shape on her shoulder a few firm pats.

 

Murmuring to each other, the onlooking crowd wondered if they should do something, yet no one moved a muscle. They seemed to instinctively know the rules of the game: if Ramona had won, the professor would have exploded into a pile of coins, but since she lost, this was what happened.

 

When Armitage reached the group at the front of the club, they parted to allow her through.

 

The professor didn’t even notice them. Carrying Ramona over her shoulder, she pushed through the doors into the cold Canadian air, smiling towards the horizon. She’d long pondered over what she would do once she had this girl again. And now, she was looking forward to enjoying every second of it.

 

 

 

*                           *                           *

 

 

 

For the first time since she moved in, someone turned the keys in the door to Ramona Flowers’ apartment and it was not Ramona herself.

 

Pushing the door wide, Professor Armitage leaned inside and felt on the wall for a light switch. When she found it and clicked it on, she paused in the doorway. Placing one hand on her hip, she scrutinized the room and everything in it as if it were highly suspect.

 

“Hmph,” she grunted with immediate disapproval.

 

Ramona’s apartment had two floors and was more like a rented house. The bottom floor had an entry way, a small kitchen, and stairs that led to the second floor. There was a cheap coffee table, bean bag chairs, and other decorations that seemed to intentionally avoid any consolidated theme or color scheme.

 

Armitage shook her head in disgust then marched inside, glaring at a bean bag chair, then at a half a dozen dog-eared books that had been piled on a table beside the kitchen.

 

“Come, Ramona,” she said, still looking around as she pulled on a leash.

 

On a collar at the other end of the leash, Ramona followed her inside. The girl was unbound and conscious but nevertheless didn’t resist. Shuffling wearily, her head was bowed, shoulders slumped, her expression hanging and sad. Obeying the tug of the leash, she moved right where she was directed and quietly stood in place, eyes on the floor.

 

Having drawn the girl inside, Armitage looked around, her nose wrinkled so that it pushed her glasses a bit higher on her face.

 

“Even more pitiful than I expected,” she said, “Two steps away from a meth addict’s sanctum. Wretched.”

 

Ramona didn’t respond to the cutting remarks about her home. Standing where she’d been directed, she swayed in place, her eyelids drooped. She seemed as if she was about to collapse, but whether from exhaustion or hopelessness was hard to tell.

 

After another moment’s surveying, the disapproving professor turned to the door, pulled the keys free, then pushed it closed. Once it shut, she threw the bolt with a loud clack.

 

“Well, that should make packing easier, at least,” she remarked, sticking the keys back into her pocket, “You won’t be needing most of this garbage, if any of it.”

 

With a flick of her wrist, the leash, actually just the ink-whip looped through the ringlet of the collar, vanished, slipping back into the pen. Which she tucked back into her breast pocket.

 

Then she took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

 

Shrugging out of her coat, she kicked off her shoes, one, then the other. Draping her coat over her arm, she bent to pick up her heels, then looked around for somewhere to put them.

 

After a moment of searching, she rolled her eyes, set her heels neatly by the door, then draped her jacket over the bean bag chair.

 

“We’ll stay here tonight, to pick up anything I believe you’ll need,” she said, reaching up to pluck at the bobby pins in her hair, “And then we are most certainly leaving. I’ll pay for a hotel if we can’t get a flight back to New York. We are not staying her a moment longer than necessary.”

 

Loosening her tight hair bun, the professor shook out her locks, letting them fall in streams of gold. With her long hair down, framing her features, they looked less sharp, even somewhat girlish.

 

With another sigh of relief, she combed her fingers through her hair.

 

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

 

She didn’t get a response from Ramona, who continued staring at the floor, looking heartbroken.

 

Frowning, as if she just realized she was talking to herself, Armitage glanced in the girl’s direction. She looked the defeated creature up and down, considering something. Then, her mind made up, she deliberately turned to face her captive, chin held high.

 

“Ramona,” she put her hands on her hips, “Come here.”

 

Hearing the firm tone in the woman’s voice, Ramona lifted fearful eyes, sucking in her bottom lip. It was a dramatic change from her earlier flat, unimpressed expression. But such was par for the course, after having been trounced so utterly.

 

Her utter annihilation and her thoroughly spanked bottom still fresh in her mind, the girl shuffled tentatively towards the other woman.

 

“Now,” the professor said.

 

Swallowing, now sure she was going to be punished, Ramona lowered her eyes and slumped the last few paces. She stopped right in front of her vanquisher, head bowed, meekly awaiting another scolding.

 

Imperious and stern, Armitage eyed the girl, making it clear she was not pleased with the girl’s hesitant obedience. But then she softened. Smiling, she reached up to brush her fingers through the blue hair.

 

“Oh, Ramona…” she shook her head fondly, “Such a pouty girl.”

 

Ramona shifted nervously, still worried about being punished. Without realizing it, she clasped her hands behind her back, over her still-smarting backside.

 

 “You simply hate facing the consequences of your actions,” Armitage continued to stroke the girl’s hair, “You would avoid that at all costs, if you could.”

 

Cupping Ramona’s chin, she lifted it up to look at her.

 

Ramona met her gaze for a moment, eyes big and worried, then looked away in shame.

 

“But now you have no choice,” the professor said lightly, “You were soundly beaten, as was inevitable. You belong to me now. This is reality.”

 

She paused.

 

“Look at me, Ramona.”

 

The girl reluctantly obeyed, sad brown eyes darting back to her owner’s, a pained furrow in her brow.

 

Staring firmly into those eyes, Armitage continued.

 

“You are not capable of handling your own life. The fact that you’re unable to see this only proves my point. Not only couldn’t you have won our duel, but you shouldn’t have. If you had, you’d still be careening through the world for the foreseeable future, learning nothing. A flighty thing like you needs to be nailed down and kept. And you are fortunate that you have me, someone willing to handle and take care of you.”

 

Ramona stared at the older woman like a cornered bunny.

 

Armitage’s smile broadened. The thumb of the hand cupping the girl’s chin stroked the cheek up and down.

 

“You will realize all of this in time, but for now, you will make the best of it. You will do as you’re told, learn what you’re taught, and be grateful for my care. Your only worry will be pleasing me and in doing so, you will grow into a much more suitable young woman. One who finally knows her place and remains there.”

 

Leaning closer, she arched an eyebrow, staring deeply into Ramona’s eyes.

 

“Is that clear?”

 

Ramona drew in a deep breath, then when she released it, she seemed to wilt. Gaze lowering once more in resignation, she slowly nodded.

 

Armitage’s lips turned up at the corners, her eyes narrowing with pleasure. She didn’t think she would ever tire of seeing that submissive look on the girl’s face.

 

“Good,” she purred.

 

Leaning the rest of the way in, she pressed a soft kiss to Ramona’s cheek.

 

That kiss was just the first. It lingered for a moment, as if seeing whether the girl would pull away. When she didn’t, the professor drew closer with her body, pressing another kiss to the girl’s brow, then to her opposite cheek.

 

“Mmm,” she cooed between kisses, “Good girl. And now the lips…”

 

Still cradling Ramona’s chin and jaw, she turned the girl’s face up to more easily capture the soft mouth. Not particularly deep, she pressed gently, in several places, exploring. As she did, her free hand slithered around the girl’s waist.

 

Tense at first, Ramona but didn’t resist, but still flinched at the touches and pressing of lips. She kept her lips tight, enduring the affection, the hands clasped over her bottom clenching and interlacing their fingers.

 

Turning the girl’s face to the side, Armitage kissed over the side of the girl’s cheek to the back of her jaw. Brushing past the blue locks that dangled in front of her face, she made her way towards the soft ear and the neck, while her hand worked its way around to the back.

 

She stopped when she found something blocking her path.

 

“Move your hands, darling,” the professor whispered into the girl’s ear, grinning, “I want to feel that adorable rump you have…”

 

As close as she was to Ramona’s neck, she clearly heard the gulp of her pet swallowing.

 

She didn’t pause for long. Knowing she had no choice, Ramona unclasped her hands and let them fall to her sides. Her head lowered slightly at this, shoulders slouching, losing that feeble line of defense reminding her of her hopelessness.

 

Armitage made a pleased sound and reached lower to push up the girl’s skirt. Once it was far enough out of the way, she snuck her hand underneath and up, gliding over the protruding humps beneath.

 

“There we are,” she cooed, feeling around.

 

Her hand smooshed itself into a firm, full globe, then pushed to the side, over the gap to its twin. The hose added a velvety texture, allowing a silky, gliding sensation as her grasp circled around, feeling where the shapes curved. She paused to squeeze, sinking in her fingers, then circled around again.

 

Despite herself, Ramona’s heart began to flutter as her butt shamelessly groped. Part of her had always liked how controlling the professor was with her, even when it went overboard to the point of oppression. It felt nice to have someone else in charge, to be swept up entirely by the other woman’s dominant will and allow herself to be an object of adoration.

 

Being so exhausted and starved for pleasant attention didn’t make it any easier to resist those feelings.

 

As Armitage’s hand moved around beneath the back of her skirt, a blush pinkened Ramona’s cheeks. She found her eyelids drooping again, her body relaxing.

 

The professor felt the tension beginning to bleed from the girl’s body and squeezed one of the cheeks, greedy and possessive. A small, wicked laugh slipped from her lips, tickling at Ramona’s ear.

 

“Your weakness has always been your bottom, hasn’t it?” she whispered, “You melt… if someone touches you just so…”

 

Nuzzling and kissing against the girl’s neck, she traced with her fingers, drawing swirls on one of the firm globes.

 

Ramona’s eyelids sank closed, starting to sag in her captor’s grasp.

 

“Hmm, hmm, hmm…” Armitage purred, “It’s going to be so nice having you again. And this time, no little hissy fits or rebellions. Doing just as you’re told…”

 

She pressed a firm, lingering kiss to the girl’s neck and squeezed her rump again, the opposite cheek this time, demanding the shape change how she wished.

 

“I simply can’t wait to get you home,” she whispered, “Where I can begin… molding you in earnest…”

 

Whether it was from sheer weariness, or whether having her butt groped was truly her weakness, Ramona began sinking into a pleasant haze, leaning into the other woman’s body. Almost dozing, she allowed herself to be supported, unknowingly granting control to her captor. At that moment, it didn’t matter that she’d had her freedom taken, that she’d suffered a catastrophic defeat, or that her bottom was still sore from being spanked, she was happy to remain right there. She could have fallen entirely asleep, letting the professor have her way, then carry her off wherever she liked.

 

But before that could happen, Armitage gave her one last peck on the cheek, then stepped back, her hand sliding out from under the skirt.

 

Swaying drunkenly, leaning into the hand cupping her chin, Ramona blinked in surprise, and then stared sadly into the other woman’s eyes. Still slightly dazed, she didn’t restrain her look of disappointment and worry; had she done something wrong?

 

Lifting the girl’s chin up a bit higher, Armitage smiled with a hint of indulgence, as if she’d expected the look.

 

“But it’s late now, isn’t it?” she said, “And you’re terribly dirty from our little scuffle. We need to bathe you and put you straight to bed.”

 

Ramona blinked again, still recovering her wits.

 

“Is it upstairs?” the professor asked, then added, “The bathroom, dear. And you have a bath?”

 

When after a moment Ramona responded, her voice was a tiny, uncertain squeak.

 

“Uh…a bath? Up-upstairs… y-yeah… u-um…?”

 

Even as she responded, Armitage was taking her by the shoulders then turning her around to face the stairs.

 

“Excellent,” she gave the girl a pat on the rump to coax her forward, “Go on, then. You’ll need to show me where it is, dear. I haven’t been here before, remember?”

 

Thus nudged, Ramona stumbled a step, then started towards the stairs. Slowly coming to grips with what was happening, but still slightly bewildered, she stumped wearily up the steps, with the professor following behind.

 

As they reached the next floor, she glanced over her shoulder.

 

“Wait…” her brow furrowed, “You mean… I’m… you’re…?”

 

“Yours is not to reason why,” Armitage waved her on, “Just keep moving that little tush, dearie. Focus on that for now.”

 

Ramona obeyed, turning her attention back to the stairs, but pulled nervously at her skirt. Cleaning herself up wasn’t unwarranted, but something about the other woman’s word choice gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.

 

To get to the bathroom, they had to pass through the bedroom. Ramona led the way, her head lowered, while Armitage looked everything over with an austere tilt of her nose. She eyed the scattered clothes, open drawers, posters, and unmade bed, noting each in turn.

 

When they reached the bathroom, Ramona somehow wasn’t surprised when the professor followed her inside. It had a single mirror, sink, toilet, a shower/bath combo, and little room for anything else. Clean, scented, but nevertheless worn with age, the only adornments were a fluffy pad on the toilet lid and comfy-looking towels.

 

Armitage stopped in place, crossed her arms, and looked around. Despite its diminutive size, it took her almost fifteen seconds to inspect the bathroom. She eyed everything from the ceiling to a small water stain in the corner that had been there long before Ramona moved in, grading every aspect of the room’s functionality and appearance.

 

To Ramona, awkwardly waiting and squeezing the hem of her skirt, that fifteen seconds felt like an eternity.

 

Eventually, the professor eyed the tub and nodded firmly.

 

“Good enough,” she said, before turning to her new toy, “Now, let’s get you undressed, hm? Turn around…”

 

Before she could turn on her own, Ramona found Armitage’s hands on her shoulders, guiding her where the woman wanted. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

 

“Un… undress…?” her eyes grew larger.

 

Ignoring the girl, Armitage took her firmly by the arms, and cast her eyes around, looking for something. After only a moment’s search, she turned Ramona again, and guided her to sit down on the edge of the tub. Then she knelt down, picked up the girl’s leg, set the calf on her knee, and began quickly unlacing the tall, orange boot.

 

Seated on the tub, Ramona’s mouth hung open as she watched the other woman untie and work off her boot. After that was done, the sock was pulled off, revealing bare toes, and it was all set neatly aside for the other to be removed. It was surprisingly quick; the professor was as efficient at this as she was with everything else.

 

When the footwear was removed and set aside, Armitage stood up, and took Ramona by the arms to stand her up as well. Once they were both upright, the professor then looked the ‘student’ over, deciding what was next, before settling on the leather belt. She unbuckled it, dragged it out of the loops on the green skirt, then began folding it to be set neatly aside with the other garments.

 

When she began to realize the professor’s intentions didn’t stop at helping her with her boots, Ramona piped up.

 

“I…” she squeaked, “I-I can… do it…”

 

“Nonsense,” Armitage didn’t look up from her task of pulling off Ramona’s mittens, “You’ve done nothing to prove that you’re anything but a silly girl who can’t even undress herself properly.”

 

Tugging the mittens free, she folded them together, set them next to the boots, then began unbuttoning the girl’s top.

 

“Until you’ve earned more privileges, I’m not taking my eyes off you,” she continued plucking buttons, working her way down Ramona’s chest, “We can’t have you running away again. No, no. That will not be allowed.”

 

Undoing the buttons all the way down to the girl’s skirt, she pulled the top open and shrugged it down Ramona’s shoulders like a jacket. In a few brisk motions, the professor had drawn the garment off its wearer’s arms, held it up, and began folding it into a neat square.

 

“Naughty girls that fail so profoundly do NOT have the right to undress themselves,” Armitage said as she folded, “Nor dress themselves either. You lost that when you tried to fight back instead of surrendering peaceably, my dear. Another consequence of your irresponsible actions.”

 

Setting the folded top on the toilet’s fuzzy lid, she turned back to her captive to see what she would take next.

 

Under the military green top was a striped, low-cut blouse that was rolled up to the elbows. As snug as long underwear, it clung so tightly that the bra beneath was clearly outlined against the fabric, the shape of her bosom highlighted, only hidden where the top stretched across the round shapes.

 

Armitage considered the skin-tight top but moved her hands to the skirt instead. With the belt gone, she only had to wiggle it down Ramona’s hips and legs.

 

As she did so, she smiled.

 

“At any rate,” she said in a softer voice, “I think I will enjoy stripping you down…”

 

The skirt slipped down to plop around Ramona’s ankles. Rather than bending down to pick it up, she turned her attention to the sheer leggings and their black waistband, which was only slightly higher than the waistband of the girl’s underwear. Taking that waistband, she skinned the leggings down, revealing an unobstructed view of Ramona’s skin and the leaf-green panties.

 

Ramona shifted nervously, now almost entirely exposed from the waist down. Without realizing it, she once again clasped her hands behind her back, over her mostly bare rump.

 

“Mmm, yes,” Armitage continued, crouching down to work the leggings down the ankles, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you completely naked, have I?”

 

Ramona blushed at this. Her hands clasped a bit tighter over her bottom.

 

Nevertheless, when the professor, lifted her foot, she pointed her toes and held it up so the other woman could remove that side of the leggings altogether.

 

“For someone who thinks they’re so self-possessed and strong, you’re awfully shy,” Armitage laughed gently, “It will be good to break you of that.”

 

Now with skirt and leggings in hand, the professor stood back up. Caring little for the leggings, she balled them up and stuffed them in the boot, then more carefully folded the skirt.

 

Once the skirt was laid with the rest of the clothing, she turned back for Ramona’s undershirt.

 

“I think it will be very humbling for you as well,” she said, “And you are in dire need of that. Arms up, dear.”

 

Reluctant, Ramona slowly unclasped her hands and raised them towards the ceiling.

 

Armitage took the waistline of the shirt and rolled it up, revealing the trim abs, belly button, then going higher.

 

“I think once I have you naked,” she grinned crookedly, “Exposed, nothing to hide behind, that will be the beginning of the end of the spiteful, childishly arrogant Ramona Flowers. And the beginning of a much more pleasing, meek, and agreeable Tulip.”

 

Ramona cringed at the thought, the rosiness of her cheeks spreading to her ears and lips.

 

The shirt rolled up, over the matching bra. Even with her arms raised over her head, the shapes beneath were plump and round, pressed together by green bikini cups.

 

Armitage pulled the shirt up over Ramona’s head, off her arms, then off altogether.

 

“That will be a lovely sight,” she grinned.

 

The leering professor folded the shirt as she’d done the rest, but this time merely halved it and tossed it aside, barely looking. Instead, her gleaming eyes were roaming up and down the nearly naked body in front of her.

 

As scant as they were, Ramona’s undergarments were of the athletic variety, the thong having a black waistband with white print, with the bra having an almost identical band on its underside.

 

Seemingly fascinated by this, Armitage ran a fingertip along the band of the bra, as if reading the words printed there. Then she ran a finger under one of the bra straps which had become twisted at one point, straightening it out and carefully adjusting.

 

“Indeed,” she purred, smoothing her palm over the girl’s bare shoulder, “Quite a sight.”

 

Being so blatantly ogled was too much for the weary, dejected Ramona to handle. Biting her lip, she lowered her head, staring deliberately at her feet.

 

Armitage noticed the humbled, embarrassed reaction. She was almost inclined to tilt the girl’s chin up again, to force eye contact, but decided against it. Instead, her eyes narrowed with pleasure, her lips scrunched into a tart little smirk. She enjoyed this image: Ramona presented in nothing but her bra and panties, standing with her shoulders slumped, her head bowed in defeat.

 

Eyes roaming up and down the girl’s nubile, nearly naked form, she caressed from the delicate neck to the smooth shoulder, back and forward.

 

No longer hidden under a skirt and warmer clothes, Ramona’s body had more curves than may have been expected. She was still slim and girlish, but not skinny, having tight swells at her breasts, her hips flaring from a trim waist. Likewise, her legs had knees like a baby faun, but muscular swelling at the thighs and calves. With her naturally large eyes, it gave her the look of a younger girl, but with roundness everywhere that counted.

 

Tilting her head, Armitage silently considered this for a moment.

 

“You look…” she said thoughtfully, “Like just the perfect little doll.”

 

While she continued stroking with one hand, feeling down the girl’s arm, the other joined in, smoothing up the waist, over the ribs.

 

“And trying so hard not to be,” the villainess cooed, “Your hair. These clothes. Your attitude…”

 

Her hand came up to Ramona’s breast. She cupped the bra and the plush shape beneath, then worked her fingers. Carefully, even gingerly, she groped, like she was massaging a delicate-skinned piece of fruit.

 

“That is most certainly going to change now,” she said, “You are going to present yourself as the pretty girl you are.”

 

Smiling, she looked Ramona’s body over fondly, as if already considering what she would change first. As she did, she continued to ply the girl’s breast with her fingers, relishing what she could touch now that her prize was hers.

 

Ramona didn’t even lift her head. All she could do was be enjoyed and wait.

 

“Now,” Armitage eventually said, “Arms up again.”

 

Ramona wearily obeyed. She raised her arms over her head, her eyes remaining on the floor, sad and defeated.

 

Even as she did so, the professor was already rolling the bra up her chest. It was spandex and sporty, rather than having a catch, and needed to be drawn off like a very small, tight shirt.

 

Ramona’s plump breasts were drawn up at first, but when the bra came free, they bounced back into place, almost perfectly round and angling only slightly to the sides. Their pale color made the pink caps stand out distinctly in comparison.

 

“Hmm!” Armitage made a pleased sound.

 

Tossing the bra aside, she tilted her head and admired the presented bosom.

 

“Very nice, my dear,” she said, then did a twirling gesture with her finger, “Now turn. Sideways to me.”

 

Ramona shuffled in place, turning to show her profile, but the professor continued to give her instructions.

 

“Back straight,” she ordered, “Shoulders back. Not quite that much. Give it a little curl.”

 

Ramona didn’t move precisely how she wanted, so she began nudging her and pushing in various places to make adjustments.

 

“Chest, here,” she guided the girl’s shoulders back, “Lower back, like so,” she pressed her fingers into the curve of Ramona’s spine, “Chin up. Not quite that high—here. Toes pointed forward. Slight bend in the knees…”

 

Once the professor was finished with her, Ramona was upright with perfect posture. If it weren’t for her thong underwear and uncomfortable expression, she would have looked like a model for a biology book. From the side, it highlighted the curve of her back, as well as the noticeable protrusions from her chest and bottom.

 

Leaning back slightly, Armitage scrutinized her once again, with the same shrewd look she’d given everything else in the apartment. But this time, for the first time, she heartily approved.

 

“Mm hmm,” she purred, “Oh yes. Much improved…”

 

Her eyes dragged up and down the girl’s figure. She leaned one way, then another, craning her neck to see everything from numerous angles. Reaching out, she touched at seemingly random places, at the girl’s waist, then just under a breast, then the shoulder. As always, she was constantly assessing.

 

Ramona shifted nervously in place. It was difficult to hold the position Armitage had put her in, especially while she was being given such an intense inspection. Part of her still yearned to cover herself, not to mention she was starting to feel a chill from standing in the middle of her bathroom, nearly naked.

 

Whenever she moved slightly out of position, Armitage guided her back without a word, tipping her chin here, straightening her back there. Not merely inspecting, she was clearly enjoying giving corrections to the girl that had scorned her those years ago.

 

“Hmm…” the professor mused with a playful grin, strumming a finger over Ramona’s nipple, “Very interesting…”

 

Hand coming to her chin, she strode around her captive’s shoulder, beginning a slow orbit.

 

“Stay still, Ramona,” she chided as a reminder, “Proper posture, please.”

 

And as she said this, she was still grinning. The stern, for-your-own-good pretense was beginning to fall away, particularly as she began staring at Ramona’s rump with wicked interest.

 

“Ramona, Ramona, Ramona…” she shook her head, “Honestly, I’ve never understood girls’ interest in underwear… like this.”

 

She hooked a finger into the black waistband of the thong, stretched it out, then let it pop back against the girl’s skin.

 

Coming to a stop directly behind her new pet, she stared squarely at the protruding bottom. Two pale moons, still blushing from the spanking earlier, were framed by the waistband and the green triangle of fabric that started just where they met, then vanished in between. From the angle the professor was staring, shadows underlined the girl’s bottom in a distinct heart shape.

 

“It’s not much better than wearing nothing at all!” Armitage chirped, “And seeing as that’s the case…”

 

She took the waistband of Ramona’s underwear, then yanked them down in one sharp tug.

 

The movement was so quick, with so little warning, Ramona let out a squeaky gasp and stiffened. Wide eyed, she bit her lip, blushing until she was red as a beet.

 

The startled reaction ruined the posture Armitage had so insistently pressed upon her student, but this time rather than offering a correction, she giggled wickedly.

 

Ramona Flowers was entirely naked now. Naked and at her mercy. She’d wanted this for a good long time and there was very little the girl’s education had to do with it.

 

“Your combat skills, dedication, decision making, they all leave much to be desired.”

 

She tickled her fingers just along the crack between the perky swells.

 

“EEP--!” Ramona sprang onto her toes, jerking her hips forward.

 

Armitage laughed again, a throaty purr. As she did, she stepped closer.

 

“But this pert little rump? A-plus material, young lady…”

 

Pressing herself to Ramona’s back, she let her hand slide down the girl’s hip, then around to the back. Finding one of the protruding humps, she took a firm grasp. She didn’t squeeze, she simply held, stroking her thumb up and down.

 

“Mine now,” she whispered.

 

As her initial surprise faded, Ramona sagged as her shame returned with a vengeance.

 

Feeling her captive wilt, Armitage sneered. Then she did give the girl’s bottom a squeeze, hard and possessive. She breathed on Ramona’s neck.

 

“Mine,” she whispered, “Belongs to me. I OWN it.”

 

She pressed her lips to Ramona’s throat, letting them linger there. Her lips could stay there, or anywhere, as long as she wanted, so she held the kiss, letting it become as possessive as the hand claiming the vanquished girl’s rump.

 

Ramona moaned faintly, expression crumpling as a sudden swell of despair washed over her.

 

Hearing this soft, defeated sound, Armitage’s lips, still pressed to her captive’s neck, pulled back with a grin. The kiss effectively ended, she brought her lips instead to Ramona’s ear.

 

“Say it,” she whispered.

 

Ramona blinked, unsure what the professor was asking.

 

“I…” she whimpered, “Wh-what…?”

 

With a smirk, sour with cruelty, the villainess drew her hand back then clapped it back onto the girl’s exposed butt cheek. Holding, feeling the swell ripple from the impact, she squeezed again with deliberate force.

 

“Say it,” she hissed.

 

Ramona got the message. She took a deep breath, then let it out with a sigh.

 

“My… my ass belongs to you…” she mumbled.

 

Her voice was soft, so quiet that she winced when she heard it, afraid the teacher would tell her to say it again.

 

But Armitage seemed pleased at the hopelessness in her tone. Laughter bubbled in her chest once again and she looped her other arm around Ramona’s stomach, squeezing her in a hug.

 

“There’s my Tulip.”

 

She pressed a kiss to Ramona’s cheek, then whispered again in the girl’s ear.

 

“Sweet, meek, fawning, and obedient,” Armitage cooed, “Just as you should be.”

 

The arm around her captive’s waist slid upwards until her hand found a breast. Without even the bra to support it, she could clasp and then move the soft shape, working it in a slow circle. She did this for a moment, feeling the nipple pressing into her palm, and gave a firm squeeze.

 

The squeeze was something of a punctuation. Afterwards, she shifted, mouth from her pet’s ear, letting her grip loosen, just enough so that she was no longer bearing down on the girl.

 

Ramona found part of herself was disappointed at the lessening of contact. The body heat helped with the chill that came with her lack of clothing, but there was also something comforting about being held.

 

“Now,” Armitage cooed, “Turn around. Look at me.”

 

Without pause, Ramona slowly turned in place. Her head initially bowed, she was looking at her captor’s chest when she completed her turn. It took another moment for her to slowly raise her sad, fearful eyes.

 

Armitage enjoyed the look for a moment, staring into the worried brown eyes with a twinkle in her own. Then she took Ramona’s chin, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, to hold the girl’s stare. At that, her smile faded and her gaze narrowed, becoming pointed.

 

“You are here now,” she carefully enunciated, “Naked, collared, helpless… because you failed.”

 

Staring intently, she looked back and forward between Ramona’s eyes.

 

“You failed,” the professor said again, “You’re right to be ashamed about that. You refused to listen, acted out, challenged me, and you were soundly defeated. You’re no match for me. And you never will be, young lady.”

 

Ramona stared sorrowfully back. There was no objection she could make, even if she’d dared to protest. The fight itself had been like an essay that proved the professor’s statements to the point of exhaustion.

 

“Now, Ramona,” Armitage’s smile began to return, “My bratty, disrespectful, foolish little rebel: you are going to be my pet. I am going to make you crawl, beg, and whimper until all the insolence and so-called ‘independence’ are trained out of you. This will have nothing to do with improving you as a person. It will be because you hurt me. And because now, having rightfully vanquished you, I decide your fate.”

 

Ramona squirmed miserably, her brow furrowing, almost like she was about to cry. She tried to look away.

 

The victorious professor turned her face back, pinching her chin hard.

 

“I decide,” she raised an eyebrow, “Understand?”

 

Ramona cringed as she imagined the torments and humiliation she would suffer. Looking into the villainess’s commanding stare, she wanted to crumble and bury her face in the floor. But she couldn’t even look away, nor could she refuse to answer.

 

She swallowed, then replied in trembling voice.

 

“Y-yes… yes-s, muh-ma’am…”

 

At the girl’s fretful reply, Professor Genevieve Armitage puffed up like a rooster. Raising her chin, she looked down on the girl who had once scorned her with a triumphant sneer. Finally, not only had she beaten Ramona until she cried out for mercy, but she’d made the girl submit to her entirely. Her vindication was complete.

 

In fact, she was surprised at the intense amount of satisfaction this moment had brought. She’d never dominated someone so entirely before and discovered she found it singularly exhilarating.

 

“Hm!” the professor remarked, marveling at the sensation.

 

However, vengeance wasn’t the only reason she’d been so vehement in capturing her former flame.

 

After wallowing in her moment of conquest, she sighed. Her expression softened, as did her grip on the girl’s chin.

 

“That being said,” she lowered her head, leveling it with Ramona’s gaze, “This isn’t the end of the world.”

 

Already very close, Armitage leaned in the rest of the way to apply her lips to Ramona’s cheek. A gentle kiss pressed itself just at the curve of the cheek bone, followed by another just beside it. Her free hand smoothed over the girl’s bare back, pulling her closer.

 

Initially, Ramona squeezed her eyes closed and winced as more kisses followed. Heart still tight with shame and fear, part of her still expected some form of cruelty. It was as if at any moment, the other woman would bite her, or throw her to the ground with a mocking cackle, and there was nothing she could do but wait for it to happen.

 

But it never did.

 

Saying nothing, Genevieve gently, patiently worked her way around Ramona’s face. Sometimes she kissed, always light, barely audible, other times she paused to simply nuzzle. Pressing her lips beside the girl’s mouth, she drew back just enough to tickle the girl with the tip of her nose, drawing in a small circle. Then she captured her pet’s top lip with both her own, followed by the bottom one, while her hand worked caressed the girl’s shoulder blades.

 

Ramona was in no state to resist the soft attention. Far too tired, hurt, and hopeless, she began to melt in relief at the comfort the sensations offered. Her eyes remained closed, but her tightly screwed up expression relaxed. Her shoulders began to sag, the tension bleeding out of her muscles. She even began to lean her chest into the other woman’s body, which had the side effect of making her bare rump stick out slightly.

 

Grinning, Armitage immediately took advantage of this. Her other hand slid down Ramona’s hip, and around, across one globe, a slender gap, and then the other.

 

Ramona moaned softly. Without thinking, she curled her back, pressing her bottom more firmly into her captor’s palm.

 

“Mm hmm,” the professor cooed, “You see? Not the end of the world…”

 

Her palm continued to roam around on Ramona’s rump, dragging up, to the side, then in a circle, feeling every turn and angle. Most of the time the hand merely stroked, like she was polishing. Other times she pressed harder and the unpackaged cheeks were smooshed whichever way she chose.

 

“I’ll take care of you,” Armitage whispered between kisses, “Very good care. Behave and it will be as easy as pie.”

 

Ramona sighed, starting to feel warm.

 

“I don’t foresee any trouble,” the professor grinned as she continued, “Your little weakness makes you very easy to control, doesn’t it?”

 

She took a firm hold of Ramona’s bottom and squeezed to demonstrate.

 

In response, her captive made another soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

 

It felt… good. She was cozy, safe, and somehow less unencumbered. Too tired and overwhelmed to think about it, Ramona simply let the feelings bundle her up and carry her away. She even nuzzled back slightly as Armitage kissed her.

 

“You will be a very good girl,” the professor whispered, “A sweet, obedient little pet. And maybe even content…”

 

Ramona sagged into her captor’s body, giving it to the other woman to hold. She wasn’t precisely sure what she wanted, but she wanted it powerfully, and she knew Professor Armitage, Gen, could give it to her. Part of her prayed that would happen.

 

Instead, just as Ramona was about to ask, the professor stepped back. Holding her pet at arm’s length, she smiled.

 

“Well, now,” she cooed, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Leaning in for a quick peck on Ramona’s cheek, she then stepped past her to draw the bath. A turn of the faucet and water began rumbling into the bottom of the tub.

 

Left standing in the middle of her bathroom, Ramona remained in the same position Armitage had left her, looking slightly bewildered. Swaying and unsteady, she blinked at the far wall, slowly pulling her consciousness out of the mire of overwhelming sensations she’d been smothered by moments before.

 

“Hmm,” the villainess ran her hand under the water, “A bit too cold…”

 

As Armitage made tiny adjustments to the hot and cold, Ramona shook her head, still slightly bewildered. She had been all but putty in the other woman’s hands and, again, it had happened so suddenly. This woman had beaten and humiliated her, literally spanked her in front of almost everyone she knew; why was she so ready to fall to her knees in front of her?!

 

Finally, the professor placed her hand beneath the running faucet and was satisfied by the temperature.

 

“There now,” Armitage nodded to herself, “That should be suitable.”

 

Standing up, she plucked a towel off a nearby rack. With precise dabs, she dried off her wetted hand, and turned to face Ramona again.

 

“All right, darling,” she beamed, “Into the tub. Let’s get you scrubbed.”

 

Even while she was still trying to wrap her head around her sudden submissiveness, Ramona obeyed without hesitation. She started forward to the tub, reached the bathmat, and lifted a leg to step in.

 

“Oh, wait!” Armitage caught her by the shoulder.

 

Ramona stopped. Leg still raised, she looked at her mistress with a furrowed brow, both curious and worried.

 

The professor scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Silly me! I brought something to wash that ridiculous blue dye out of your hair, and I left it downstairs! Ah!”

 

She thumped the heel of her palm against her temple and shook her head, clucking her tongue at her own absent mindedness.

 

Watching her, still looking slightly concerned, Ramona lowered her foot back to the floor.

 

Having chided herself, the blonde professor sighed. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked Ramona up and down, seeming to consider something.

 

A moment later, she decided with a firm nod of her head, then tossed the towel onto the edge of the tub.

 

“I think this will be a good first test for you,” Armitage said, stepping closer, “I need to go downstairs. I don’t trust you to fetch anything yet.”

 

She cupped Ramona’s cheek, looking deliberately into the girl’s eyes.

 

“And while I’m gone,” she continued, “I want you to stay right here. Right on this spot and wait for me.”

 

Raising her eyebrows, she paused, letting her words sink in before she continued.

 

“Right here,” she said again, “No sitting. No covering up. No turning around. Standing right here, as you are. Do you understand?”

 

Ramona nodded without hesitation, still wearing a fretful brow. She very much did not want to upset Professor Armitage.

 

“Good,” the professor nodded, “This is your first chance to show me you can behave. Be a good girl and you may earn yourself some more privileges. But if I come back and see you’ve moved…”

 

She trailed off, letting her pet fill in the rest of the threat for herself.

 

Ramona nodded again, more fervently this time.

 

Pleased, the professor smiled and leaned in. She pressed a quick kiss to Ramona’s lips and drew back.

 

“Stay here,” she reminded again.

 

With that, she gave the naked girl’s rump a pair of resounding pats, then turned and strode away.

 

Ramona watched as the professor vanished through the doorway, her footsteps tromping through the bedroom. She heard the woman march down the small hallway, closing the door to the bedroom as she passed, then there was the sound of footfalls on the stairs. With the door closed, the thickly insulated apartment muffled any further sounds, and then there was only the sound of water pounding at the bottom of the tub.

 

Alone, Ramona shifted in place. She looked longingly at the steaming water still pouring out of the bath’s faucet, then at the towel the professor had left on the edge tub. However, the mere thought of being caught disobeying made her clasp her hands together over her bottom.

 

Her feet were rooted to the floor. She would stay right there and she wouldn’t move. There was nothing else to do but listen to the sound of running water and ponder over how things had changed.

 

Staring at the tub, Ramona sifted through her feelings from a moment before.

 

After being so thoroughly thrashed and broken, it was not unexpected that she would have yearned for comfort. Any source of pleasure would have been welcome to counteract her bodily aches and mental anguish. Yet, she hadn’t just felt pleasure, but relief, and not just relief from her immediate pains.

 

Brow lowering, Ramona began wringing her hands, still in place over her bare butt, and tried to sort things out.

 

Armitage was right: she was always running. She wound up in situations she couldn’t bear to face, so she simply fled. Her baggage had always followed her and the biggest piece of luggage there was her fear. Fear was her constant, quiet companion.

 

But when she’d been in Armitage’s, Gen’s, arms, the fear had finally vanished. She couldn’t run, was forced to face some of her past mistakes, and knew that regardless of what happened, her new owner would take care of everything. It had cost her pride, her modesty, and her freedom, but in that moment, she hadn’t been afraid.

 

Troubled by this thought, Ramona chewed on her bottom lip.

 

Numbed from her humiliating defeat and the exhaustion that came with it, the loss of her self-reliance wasn’t much of a bother at that moment. Instead of defiance and desperation to escape, she found herself yearning for Gen to come back, so she could feel safe again. Fighting or disobeying wasn’t even a consideration.

 

That troubled her even more.

 

Fretting over her own lack of internal struggle, Ramona didn’t notice the muffled footsteps coming back up the stairs. When the bedroom door opened, she jumped and gasped.

 

“That had better not be moving I hear…” came Armitage’s voice, her footfalls approaching.

 

Ramona stiffened, jerking up right, suddenly standing straight. Without thinking about it, she curled her back and pulled her shoulders back, trying to find the posture the other woman had put her in a few minutes earlier.

 

Still except for her pounding heart, she could only wait and hope she’d done nothing wrong. She held her breath.

 

Armitage’s footsteps drew closer until she appeared, a bottle of shampoo in hand. She stopped in the doorway, pausing to appreciate the sight.

 

A naked Ramona Flowers stood just where she’d been left, posed in a way to best display her curves. Staring straight ahead, as if she was standing at attention, her bare breasts were puffed up, fists balled at her side, tense and desperate to please.

 

When the professor didn’t immediately react, Ramona’s eyes darted towards her, still chewing on her bottom lip.

 

Noting all of the girl’s reactions, Armitage maintained a poker face for a few moments, allowing her pet to fret.

 

Then she smiled.

 

“Good girl, Tulip,” she beamed, “You didn’t move an inch, did you?”

 

Ramona hurriedly shook her head.

 

“Good girl,” the professor said again, striding forward.

 

Setting the shampoo on the tub, she wrapped her pet up in a firm hug.

 

“See?” Armitage cooed, rocking Ramona side to side, “You can behave. We just need you to forget all about that baseless pride of yours. Then you’ll be just how I want you to be and everything will be fine.”

 

Despite the demeaning nature of her captor’s words, Ramona sighed in relief. She didn’t want to run or fight. She just wanted to be safe.

 

And while Ramona allowed herself to be comforted, Genevieve Armitage grinned wickedly to herself. This girl was as good as tamed, broken in a way she would never recover. Her betrayer was now hers completely, her pet and prize.

 

Laughing gently, with a cruel tone that her pet missed, she let one hand slip down, and clasped it possessively on the girl’s bare rump.

 

 

 

*                           *                           *

 

 

 

Less than a week later, around the coffee table in Genevieve Armitage’s New York loft, the professor and a small gathering of friends laughed politely over cheese and wine. All single, professional, and busy, they still tried to get together at regular intervals. Gen’s unexpected trip to Canada had forced them to postpone their latest meeting, but she’d made up for it by picking up a particular vintage of wine several of them had wanted to try.

 

Now, with them all there, they could indulge in their usual style of friendly conversation.

 

“And of course,” Patricia the attorney rolled her eyes, “The prosecutor tried to object, but I’ve known that judge for years. I play bridge with that judge (she sucks, by the way). She turned it around on him so quickly, he looked like someone had kicked him in his man-boy parts!”

 

The others cackled wickedly at this. Despite their apparent mirth, they pinched the stems of their wineglasses tightly, careful not to spill.

 

“Oh, Patricia!” Liliane the business shark fanned herself, “That’s so funny! I know exactly what you’re talking about! I saw that same look on this—this old white man during my merger this week!”

 

Patricia, caught taking a sip of wine, wasn’t quite finished with her story. She quickly swallowed, an attempt to keep Liliane from cutting her off, but was too late.

 

“First, let me say he’s just how you picture him,” the businesswoman smirked, “Chunky, white hair, pink face, walrus mustache. Thinks he’s got that old timey, country-bred business know-how. Well, he comes in there with his chest all puffed up, about to show all us city folks, not having a clue that I’d already slipped in an injunction…”

 

Holding her glass of wine precisely level with her nose, Genevieve wore a small smile as she listened to her friend detail her latest conquest.

 

It was true that they were all friends, strictly speaking, but whenever they got together, their conversation quickly became a collective rant on an issue they all agreed on or stories of their escapades in their respective fields. As they were all highly competitive, this naturally either turned into a contest to most vehemently support a particular point of view or to one up each other’s stories. Subtle jabs were thrown, and though they would never show weakness by getting upset, scores were most certainly kept, slights remembered, and revenge sought.

 

So far, Armitage had been very quiet during this meeting. After taking a sip, she casually swirled the wine in its glass, to liven up the bouquet.

 

She knew there would be no competition for her this time. She was simply waiting for the right moment to reveal her hand.

 

“I set his books one way,” Liliane grinned as she explained her cunning to the less business savvy, “But when he saw them, they looked like something else. And there’s a really subtle difference there that—”

 

“Oh, but Lily,” Patricia cut her off, “Isn’t that fraud, sweetie?”

 

Caught on the back foot, Liliane hesitated for a moment.

 

“Um, no,” she blinked, “We went to legal and they—”

 

“Well, I’d be very careful,” Patricia said, “Especially who you tell. The right lawyer could tear you apart over something like that.”

 

She brought her glass to her lips, eyes big, concerned, and staring at her friend over the rim.

 

Liliane’s smile grew exceptionally cold. Sitting very still, her stare lingered on Patricia, razor sharp. There was a short, very palpable pause.

 

“Thanks, Patty,” Liliane replied, “But we have a few dozen of the right lawyers on payroll. If I need the other kind, I’ll let you know.”

 

              Patricia beamed, pretending not to have noticed the insult.

 

In the moment of silence that followed, the other women shared pointed looks and smirks. One even raised her eyebrows and whispered ‘oooOOoooh’ to the woman sitting next to her.

 

That had been dangerously close to outright hostility. It created an awkward moment, as such a thing was against the unwritten rules of the group, but each of them was secretly pleased. They loved drama and the schadenfreude of seeing someone else lose face.

 

Seeing her opportunity, Gen spoke up.

 

“It’s so nice to get together, isn’t it?” she cast her eyes around the group, “I’m sorry my little trip forced us to postpone, but it was unavoidable. I simply had to go fetch something I’d lost.”

 

“Oh, of course!” Patricia welcomed the distraction, “Sometimes things happen!”

 

“Ahem, yes,” Liliane forced a smile back on her face, “How did that go, Gen?”

 

Genevieve’s grin broadened. She’d hoped someone would ask.

 

“Swimmingly,” she said, then called out, “Tulip? Come in here, please.”

 

On cue, a door opened, and footsteps padded across the rich carpet. Ramona appeared from the hallway a moment later, eyes lowered, and shoulders hunched defensively.

 

              Upon seeing her, the gathered women didn’t bother restraining their delight.

 

              Several of them “oooOOoooo”ed out loud, while others outright tittered. They remembered the dry, rebellious college student Gen had introduced to them, as well as her disdainful attitude towards them. Seeing her now, they could tell their friend had taught her a very sharp lesson.

 

              Ramona’s hair was now her usual black, without a single streak of extra color, as well as cut into a crisp pageboy style with shining bangs. Rather than cool and unimpressed by their airs, her expression was sad and tensed embarrassment as the women’s eyes settled on her. Such embarrassment was not unwarranted; aside from a leather collar with a silver ringlet, she wore little but a sky-blue set of bra and panties that carried the glossy shine of satin.

 

              Needing to make no further introduction, Armitage produced the ink whip and with a casting gesture, the oily tendril lashed out and caught the ringlet on Ramona’s collar. The tether in place, she reeled in her pet and Ramona stumbled once before following where it led her.

 

              “Oh, my.” One of the women laughed.

 

              “Hm,” another chimed in, “I think you forgot to put on a few things this morning, dearie.”

 

              “Uff, that turquoise is painful,” another said, “Can you imagine wearing something like that on purpose?”

 

              Ramona’s head sank further at the comments, like she was trying to hide it between her shoulders, but she didn’t slow her pace. Squirming, not meeting anyone in the eye, she went right where Armitage wanted her.

 

              Pretending as if she didn’t hear the other women’s comments, Genevieve beamed at her approaching plaything, chin raised with pride.

 

              “Come, come, Tulip,” she sing-songed, “March that little bottom right here. Let everyone get a good look at you.”

 

              Reluctant but obedient, Ramona walked around the sofa to her owner’s seat, her backside crumpling and shifting the seat of her shining underwear. A tug on her leash directed her to kneel and she sank down to the floor, just beside the coffee table.

 

              Watching the girl prostrate herself, Patricia grinned.

 

              “So,” the lawyer chirped, “It went well, then?”

 

              The others tittered at this.

 

              Wearing a smile of supreme satisfaction, Genevieve lay a hand on Ramona’s head.

 

              “The biggest difficulty was the trip, honestly,” she pressed gently on her pet’s hair, indicating she should bow her head lower, “Once I caught up with her, I defeated her soundly. She attempted her usual tricks and I let them play out, then simply strung her along until it was time to teach her her proper place.”

 

              The other women grinned at this. Settling more comfortably into their seats, they sipped their wine, ready to hear more of the story.

 

              “It’s the usual story with little brats,” the professor ran her fingers through Ramona’s shining hair, “She attempted to be confident at first, then grew angry, desperate. It was a delight to see her attitude shift from her fragile superiority to shrill and squealing. Just delightful. I pummeled her in front of all her friends, reminding her all along how I’d warned her about the consequences of her actions. And then, once she had no more energy for keening protests…”

 

              Armitage’s grin pulled up at one corner, her eyes narrowing.

 

              “I bent her over,” she cooed, “Lifted up her skirt. And spanked that sassy rump of hers until she begged for mercy.”

 

              A gale of squealing laughter rang out at this, the women delighted by their friend’s cruelty.

 

              Gen let the laughter ring out for a moment, like a performer would accept applause, before continuing.

 

              “Really, that was all it took to break her,” she cooed, curling a lock of dark hair around her finger, “I haven’t seen hide or hair of her rebelliousness streak ever since. I think, like so many like her, she was just waiting, praying even, for a firm hand to bring her to heel.”

 

              Reaching down from the girl’s hair, she took Ramona’s chin and drew it up to look her in the face.

 

              “Isn’t that right, Tulip?” she batted her lashes.

 

              Ramona swallowed before she spoke. She had quickly learned that at times like this, it was good to not only agree with her owner, but agree emphatically, even exaggerate.

 

              “Yes, Professor Armitage,” she stammered, “I-I was just… I wanted someone to stop me from being rebellious very badly. I knew I was being n-naughty. I’m glad you beat me. A-and spanked me in front of my friends. I’m just a dumb, silly girl.”

 

              While the others snickered quietly at this, Genevieve chided her.

 

              “Now, now,” the professor raised an eyebrow, “You are not dumb, Tulip. You possess a perfectly adequate intelligence. You’re simply cowardly, weak, foolish, and irresponsible. That’s why you weren’t allowed to wear clothes today.”

 

              There were more, louder snickers at this. Genevieve ignored them.

 

              “Understand?” she stared directly into Ramona’s eyes.

 

              Ramona nodded rapidly, “Y-yes, ma’am. I’m cowardly, weak, foolish, and irresponsible. Th-that’s why I have to be in my bra and panties during the party.”

 

              Pleased, Professor Armitage smiled again. She patted the girl’s cheek.

 

              “That’s a good Tulip,” she smirked, then proceeded to order, “Now: ottoman, please.”

 

              At that, Ramona nodded again and bent forward until her hands touched the carpet. Now on her hands and knees, she crawled around until her shoulder was facing her owner’s seat.

 

              Sitting back to get more comfortable, the professor lifted her feet and Ramona crawled underneath them. Once her hips and shoulders were squared with the arms of the chair, the defeated ninja-girl came to a stop, holding herself straight.

 

              With a sigh, Armitage rested her feet on Ramona’s back. Smiling, she crossed her legs at the ankles, getting comfortable.

 

              “I think that ought to teach her not to run away again,” she said to her gathered friends, “And if she does, a good spanking is always on the table, isn’t it?”

 

               While the others cackled at the joke, Ramona lowered her head, trying not to listen. She’d played foot stool for the professor before and it had grown uncomfortable quickly. She could only hope it wouldn’t be for too long.

 

              As the gathering continued to chat, sipping at their wine, Ramona thought about several things. She thought about what it would have been like if she’d never run away. If she’d surrendered when the professor told her to, maybe she would still have the safety of Armitage’s ownership, without the humiliation and discomfort. Maybe she would have been allowed to wear clothes, sit in a chair, even enjoy some of the cheese.

 

              But the one thing she never thought about was fighting back or escaping. If there was one thing she’d learned from Professor Armitage, it was that only led to misery. She would never, ever do that again.

 

 

 

              The End