Page 49 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
And it’s a miracle that when I do lose the fight and start spilling into her with a low, tearing growl, my hips moving fast and hard and my desk jerking across the floor, that I remember she wants to do this again. And again. And again.
That despite my vaunted decorum and ethics, despite all the reasons not to, we’re going to have a secret bad idea starting right now.
I get to have pussy for breakfast tomorrow, and I come so hard that my stomach cramps and my vision blurs, and I let Maddie pull me down on top of her and stroke my hair as I stay buried inside and determinedly make plans for the most important meal of the day.
Chapter Seventeen
Maddie
True to his word, Bram eats pussy for breakfast. Religiously. Like he’s a growing boy.
After I told him about a favorite fantasy of mine, I wake up to find him between my legs; other mornings he greets me in the kitchen, while we prepare the girl’s lunches before they wake up, and he bends me over the counter, devouring me from behind.
It’s fucking filthy and I can’t get enough of it.
Whether it’s Bram’s lessons or the release of tension every morning and on most nights, I show up to class relaxed and confident.
Even Junie, who graciously accepted my apology for snapping at her after my coffee incident, notices. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve been sleeping for ten hours every night for the last week and a half.”
“New mattress,” I explain, which isn’t a total lie.
“That must be it,” she agrees as I follow her through the stacks with my coffee cup in hand.
“And,” my voice drops to a whisper, “I might have gotten a new vibrator.” Because as much as I want to bond with Junie over world-class dick, riding my boss’s face every morning like it’s a roller coaster with no lines is still very much a secret.
Her cheeks pinken. “Oh!”
“Junie,” I gently tease. “Does the wordvibratormake you blush?”
“I am an adult woman,” she quietly announces.
“That you are.”
She nods once in affirmation.
“Junie Ellis, you do own a vibrator, right?”
She crouches down and studies the spine of an art history text on Louisiana Creole art before calling, “Just a minute!” With cheeks still just as flushed, she stands. “I better go help that student.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
She taps her ear as she flees the scene of the crime. “Librarian super-hearing.”
As I walk over to my class, I resolve to corrupt Junie Ellis even if only a little bit.
Today my lecture is on the electoral college—a topic I have so many thoughts on that I don’t even need notes. The last of my students trickle in just a minute before the start of class, and among them is an older woman I don’t recognize in a loose pantsuit. She wears no makeup and her waves are pulled back with a... binder clip, I think? Frustratingly, the whole disheveled thing works for her—a privilege that only thin women are sometimes allowed to get away with. The look saysI’m busy and I eat nails for breakfast, but I put on this suit because I am playing the game. By the way, fuck you.
Or maybe she’s just another academic or administrator sitting in on my class. Something that is totally allowed, but it takes a good thirty seconds to convince myself to ignore her.
Besides, it’s electoral college day and I have so, so many things to rant about.
I am unsurprised to learn that at least 40 percent of my class have no clue what the fuck the electoral college is. Another 40 percent are vaguely aware. The remaining 20 percent are either asleeporare the kind of kids who registered to vote on their eighteenth birthdays.
I don’t know if it’s my passion for how absolutely ludicrous this system of electing a president is or if this is the gradual result of my early morning class truly warming up to me, but most of my students are scandalized. And then—because it’s the democratic way—they are disheartened by the unnecessary complexity of the electoral college.
One guy in the third row is anxiously running a hand through his hair as he verbally pieces it together. “So you’re saying the whole country can choose one candidate, but if the math doesn’t work out, the other person can still win?”
“But that’s probably never even happened,” says the person behind him.
