Set in the later parts of Ira’s story, after many years in freedom, happy, settled with a wonderful spouse and a small family.
Until someone finds out about her past.
CWs: referenced pet whump, lady whump, BBU, blackmail, referenced dub/noncon, referenced nonconsensual video distribution, vague anxiety / trauma response, humiliation.
This piece is rather tame, but it leads up to (fade to black) noncon in the later parts. So please (as with all my writing), minors DNI.
Ira’s referenced spouse Dami belongs to the wonderful @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump and Vee also helped me a lot by editing this. Also, all my thanks to the @whumpawoman server for the encouragement and the love for Mr Willis.
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Ira doesn't like schools. She doesn't remember her own time as a student, but she does remember another building with long corridors and dozens of doors, and people with fake authority preparing others for... their future.
Even though Aurélie's school is small and personal, the architecture alone is enough to trigger her anxiety. But she's strong. She can deal. It's been more than a decade that she left the walls of WRU behind, more than seven years since she got out of jail, and she has a full life now, a loving spouse, whose mothers took Ira in like their own, and two adorable children that make her life so much richer everyday.
It's the least she can do, going to this parent-teacher conference for her big girl. They've made a deal about school, Dami and her, that Ira deals with teachers and Dami with homework. It's better this way - when the teachers talk about Aurélie’s behavior, Dami can become scary with their sheer size, with their glare and their protectiveness. In these settings, Ira can come across softer, more polite. Easier to be liked, easier to be considered "normal".
And she's done her best, tied her long white hair into a casual ponytail, applied soft makeup, got dressed in blue dress pants and an expensive silk blouse. Dami laughed at her seriousness, but they kissed her nose and told her she's got this, and that's what she promises herself as she walks along the school's empty corridors, her footsteps echoing from the walls. She's Ira Cartier, she's free, and she's strong, she's got this. She's mother to the wild and fearless Aurélie Cartier, and she's got this.
There it is. Aurélie's classroom. The door is ajar, and it's quiet inside, the parent before her probably gone already. From the times and names written on the schedule pinned to the door, she'll be the last one to see Mr. Willis today. Open end. She still hopes it'll be quick anyway. Aurélie takes to her mappa, she might be a little whirlwind sometimes, but she's also an eager learner. It'll be fine.
She's got this.
Ira takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and knocks at the half open door.
"Come in," Mr Willis calls, and with a slight smile on her lips Ira does.
Her daughter's teacher isn't much older than herself, despite his salt-and-pepper hair. He's sitting behind his desk without his usual smile, idly skimming through a huge stack of papers. Odd, Ira thinks. It's not like the kids could produce that much writing. It's a game, a weak show of power, the paper and preparation a reminder that he knows more than her. He doesn't behave like this to the kids, she hopes. But a part of her knows he doesn't. From the way she's seen him look at the parents at the last school event, from the way his eyes are running her down right now, from the way his lip twitches into a smirk. He likes to play his game toward the mothers.
She's glad she's wearing pants.
"Mrs Cartier", he says, and folds his hands on top of the paper stack. "Have a seat."
The only other chairs in the room are the kids' small chairs, by the equally small desks. She could sit on one of them, sure. But she won't make herself look small, when he's looking at her like this, in way that makes the little hairs on her arms stand up. Instead, she sits down on a desk.
Maybe she should've made Dami come here instead of herself after all. Dami could tell him to stop his games, in contrast to Ira, who loses her words whenever she gets emotional. How is it possible that she's on edge already before they're even done with the greeting?
From the corner of her eye, she looks at the open door. She could just leave. She's a free person, whenever something is uncomfortable, she can just move away from the situation. She doesn't owe it to anyone.
Wrong. She owes it to Aurélie, to make a good impression with her teacher. Education matters, it's what will make Aurélie advance, and maybe she'll be as bright as her mappa some day, with a college degree and a small business of her own.
"Mr Willis," she says politely. It's forced, but it doesn't sound like it. Ira makes it sound exactly as deferent as he wants it, because she knows how he wants it. She's learned it to perfection. "How has Aurélie been doing?"
"She's a good girl," he says, and Ira freezes. Words can't hurt her, they can't, it's a normal term, especially at a school, it shouldn't feel like it does.
Painful. And oddly relieving.
From behind his glasses, the teacher's pale green eyes are resting on her. Observing. Does he know? Is this a test? Is she failing? She feels a bead of cold sweat run down her spine, soaking the back of her silken blouse. She won't let it show.
"Clever," the teacher goes on. "Very bright, very advanced at reading and writing. Here's a little text she wrote about you." He pushes forward a sheet, and she takes it with a steady hand. She's shaking, on the inside. She's calm on the outside. Good girl.
The picture has a sketchy drawing of the two of them, a white haired woman with a shovel, a little black girl with a large sun hat next to her, surrounded by green bushes with red fruit.
My mama liks plants. Not flawers, but tomatos. She iz a gardner. We always eat tomatos in summer.
"A gardener," Mr Willis repeats. "That's not all of it, is it?" There's a deliberate slowness to his voice that Ira knows exactly, deeply ingrained in her mind. She's been spoken to like this too often. It's the voices that comes before a punishment. It's wrong, she hasn't done anything wrong, she's free. She's fucking free to leave, and she will. She grabs the drawing and gets to her feet.
"Goodbye", she says firmly.
"I wouldn't leave, if I were you, Mrs Cartier. I know your secret."
She steps towards the door.
Light flashes, and from the corner of her eye, she sees a movie start to play on a screen behind him. Soft noises come from the speakers, moans and slaps, sounds that do not belong here. "Get down for me, pet" A voice she knows all too well, even after so many years. She feels tears welling up in her eyes. Her legs feel like lead. She can't move. The door is so close, but she can't leave.
On tape, a second voice replies, quiet, soft, barely audible, "Yes, Master."
Her own voice. Ira sobs.
Behind her, she hears Mr Willis get up, and she feels him step in behind her, too close, his breath brushing past her neck. "This is a reputable school, Mrs Cartier. Should this come to light, we'd have to ban you and your daughter, you know that, right?"
"I... didn't want this," Ira whispers. Words are hard. It's not what Mr Willis wants to hear from her, anyway. But it matters, to say it. "I... I was unable to... consent."
"Mmhhh. Doesn't matter," he purrs. "You're a pet, aren't you? 805609. Designation romantic. That's just the fancy name for a custom fucktoy, isn't it?"
"I'm... I'm not... a pet. I'm... my own person."
He grabs her wrist, and she doesn't fight it. He chuckles, as he slowly shoves up her sleeve, runs his thumb over the large black tattoo circling her wrist, before he rests his thumb on the thin lines above it. "A person with a bar code? You think that'll convince the school board, when they see this little video? Or the others like it. There are... dozens." He steps in closer. His breath is heavy, his voice husky. Tears well up in Ira's eyes. "Our school isn't a place for such... indecency, Mrs Cartier."
She swallows. "I... understand." Her voice is breaking. "I know what you want."
He guides her around to face him. He's so close to her, too close, she's learned to step back when others intrude like this. With him though, it's too late.
"Of course you do," he hums. "You've been made to be exactly what others want."
He reaches up to tuck a loose strand of white hair behind her ear.
"So I guess you'll give me a little taste of it, and I'll make sure this video never makes it to the school board, hm?"
