Once the bell rang and homework was distributed, the class rose from their seats, departing in a mumbling mass out of the room.  Tom had never even sat up from his flattened position, even when Ms. Evans stood up from him, so none of them had become aware of his presence.  He was glad for this, too; it was always a bit of an embarrassment to discover someone had been using you as a cushion, no matter the circumstances.  Tom was prone to getting a bit pink in the face, especially after so thoroughly descending into the thought of his teacher’s skirt coming off.  The boy had been forced to swerve his thoughts elsewhere to avoid getting an incriminating boner that would either be noticed by his teacher the next time she sat on him or simply be snapped like a twig on the next bounce, neither of which was particularly appealing.

            Ms. Evans herself once again made no effort to rise as she waited patiently for the next group.  She slid her feet several times across the floor beneath her desk, the swish of her stockings briefly mesmerizing her entrapped student as he used his limited focal point to look down the length of her thighs and shapely calves.  From on high he heard her unscrewing a plastic water bottle, which caused him to lick his lips empathetically from thirst and accidentally taste the skirt-clad globe of a butt currently weighing down on his body.  It wasn’t bad.  The flavor of fabric softener, maybe, mixed with leather from a car seat and just a hint of perfume-enhanced sweat that had beaded down her back and into the crevice below.

            There was still one more period until lunch, and already Tom’s stomach was growling, though he braced himself, knowing that if he couldn’t grow back a significant enough amount by then, Ms. Evans could easily deprive him of the noon meal with perfectly founded reasoning.  After all, how was he supposed to carry a tray, let alone reach high enough over the steamy counters to grab some food and slide it onto its surface?  What, was he just supposed to ask someone to do it for him, when he was standing right there in plain sight, a liar for all the world to see and mock?  The thought made Tom chuckle quietly to himself, so accustomed to it he felt no bitterness.

            What an absurd concept.

            At least Ms. Evans seemed contented to remain in place now as she chugged the water down, crackling the bottle in the grip of her firm fingers above.  As much as Tom appreciated the brief chances to air out when his teacher would stand up from her chair, the inevitable return of her ass, squashing down without remorse onto his body like a crashing hot air balloon, didn’t quite make for a good trade-off.

            “You know something?” Ms. Evans sighed, breaking the silence at last and startling her flattened student.

            It took a second for Tom to register she was talking to him, even though there was no one else in the room yet.

            “Huh?” he answered as casually as possible, though it came out more like a coughed whisper, as conversing was difficult with so much heft being compressed over his throat and abdomen.

            “I’ve been an English teacher for… almost ten years now.  Do you know why I chose this particular profession, Mr. Baker?” she questioned, uttering the more formal title with complete disdain.  Her cheeks tensed slightly again over Tom’s body, bringing him deeper into the center of the chair.  He’d regained a matter of inches during the previous period, so his feet could poke out from the opposite end of the woman’s rear, but there was still more than enough of him to keep pinned numbly under her weight.  She didn’t even bother to lean any closer to his ears for the conversation; the sentences reached him well enough.

            “No,” he said truthfully.  The imminent compression of his body and near-loss of awareness gave him little else to focus on other than squeezing out the occasional virtuous syllable.  If this was the goal, it certainly seemed Ms. Evans knew what she was doing in squeezing the truth out of him.

            “Because language has always been my greatest love.  Even when I was a little girl, I read everything I could get my hands on and studied famous orators.  The word is… well, it’s our most powerful tool.  Nothing else can match it, not hydroelectric or nuclear or anything else,” she explained.  She sighed deeply, causing her ass to rise and fall just a few inches, providing Tom with a gasp of air before her cheeks lowered again, parting through the fabric, where they were able to partially clench him in their bulbous grip.  “Is that something you agree with?”

            Biting his tongue, Tom nodded meekly and remained at his current size.  Either Ms. Evans felt it or the question had been hypothetical, because she charged right on.

            “What I can’t understand is how I’m expected to go about my day-to-day, witnessing a constant perversion of this gift for humanity,” she continued.  “Truth… doesn’t have to be about knowing what’s right or wrong, like everyone says.  It, and the words that compose it, are their own sacrament.  They are what unlock the world around us, allow us to adapt and advance according to what we find.”

            Tom blinked, having an idea already where this was headed.

            “And then there are those that would go against that order… those that not only understand the difference between truth and lie, and what they represent for our gifts, but actively go against the direction of their own species…” she continued, her voice on the verge of quavering with intensity.  Ms. Evans cleared her throat.  “I understood the danger of these kinds of people from an early age.  I couldn’t even escape it in my own home.  My… brothers and sisters, if you want to call them that… could never learn, no matter how many lessons I taught them.”

            “Oh,” he huffed meekly.

            “Do you know what I did with them, Mr. Baker?  Those who would molest the truth for their own gain?”

            “No.”

            “I would introduce them to the only place befitting those who dare go above what correct.  And I would make them part of my throne,” she explained coolly.  Her fingers descended over her thigh, tapping idly at the curve of her butt, and immediately her student understood pretty clearly.

            In this moment, Tom felt a bizarre kind of kinship with people he’d never heard of until this moment.

            “I became an English teacher because I know it is my duty to protect the word… the truth… from the snivelers like you.  By any means necessary,” Ms. Evans said.  Her hand snaked down the chair, grasping at Tom’s stubby legs poking out from one side of her seat, and tugged.

            With a gasp, Tom’s head was yanked underneath the crushing darkness of his teacher’s as, feeling the cushy give of her crack directly through just a few layers of fabric as it lowered down with another air-robbing smash.

            “You clearly don’t respect people with your lies, and that’s something you’ll face the consequences for until you learn otherwise,” the woman concluded loudly enough for her smothered audience to hear.  “But one way or another, Tom Baker, I will teach you to respect the word.”