Desk Work
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2025 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: High school principal shows newly hired art teacher her classroom, the contents of which leave her dismayed but determined to make the best of it. Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fiction School Illustrated AI Generated .
The door creaked open revealing a classroom steeped in late afternoon light, the golden beam streaming through lazy dust motes to land squarely on the lone desk.1
Fresh from an MFA at State, I stepped inside, my bright black heels clicking hard against the time-smothered wood. I paused, taking in the emptiness: no chairs, no posters, no scent of turpentine. Just the desk and the long blackboard behind it bearing poetically smudged ghosts of ruined words.
Principal Grove followed, hands in his pockets, his tie loose. “Here she is,” he said, with a sweep of his arm. “Your new kingdom.”
My head tilted towards him. “No chair?”
He grinned. “Ah. Well. One of my favorite teachers used to sit right on the desk. It could have been this one. Said it made her feel closer to the students. More ... conversational.”
I ran my fingers along the desk’s edge. The wood was warm from the sun.
“Smooth as a ... Um,” Grove remarked. “You wouldn’t believe how black ... Um, how dark it was. I sanded the ... Ah. No worries about splinters, you can bet your—”
“And what about the students?” I interrupted. “Will they be on the desk too? For ... Um ... Conversation?”
Principal Grove chuckled. “I imagine they’ll be standing. At their easels. Painting their masterpieces.”
I looked up at him. Raised an eyebrow. “So it’s not a classroom as such. More of a studio.”
“Exactly,” he said. “A place for making things. Not just learning about the ... you know? Art?”
I nodded slowly, my gaze drifting back to the desk. It was sturdy, simple, and slightly scarred—perhaps witness to a few masterpieces in its time. But smooth as ... In one easy motion I hoisted myself up and on. The heavy light brushed my shoulder.
“I suppose it’ll do.” I took a long breath.2
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