[EN] The Perverted teacher is trying to corrupt me, and my fiancé has no idea #02 (Patreon)

<The Perverted teacher is trying to corrupt me, and my fiancé has no idea #02>

The next morning, Yoshino woke up much earlier than usual. It was because she had been tormented by terrible nightmares all night. In her dream, she wandered down a dark, endless hallway, while the pleading voice of Kenta and the sleazy laughter of Iwata rang out alternately behind her back. When she opened her eyes, soaked in sweat, it was still the dark break of dawn outside. Realizing she wouldn't be able to sleep anymore, she got out of bed and headed listlessly to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror was pale and bloodless, with dark shadows cast heavily under her eyes.

She didn't want to go to school, not today of all days. But she couldn't stay home. Her sense of responsibility as a teacher, and the fear that her absence after yesterday's incident would spark all sorts of speculation and rumors, held her back. She applied her makeup more meticulously than usual. She put on an extra layer of foundation to hide her pale complexion and applied a deep red lipstick to her lifeless lips. Like putting on a mask, she tried to hide her anxiety and fear beneath the thick makeup. She hesitated for a long time in front of her closet, too. She didn't have the confidence to wear her usual neat office attire. She didn't want to become a target for students like yesterday, or attract the lecherous gaze of someone like Iwata. Eventually, she picked out clothes she rarely wore: a high-neck blouse that covered her up to the chin and wide-legged slacks. It was an unconscious defense mechanism to hide her figure as much as possible.

Arriving at school, Yoshino deliberately headed to the teachers' lounge instead of the staff room. She wanted to avoid running into other teachers. She tried to calm her nerves with a cup of warm tea, but her hands were trembling slightly. Just then, the lounge door opened and Iwata walked in. Yoshino's heart felt like it dropped to the floor. Spotting her, he approached with a sleazy smile, as if he had been waiting for her. "Well, well, Ms. Yoshino. You're here early today. But why the long face? Did something happen at home yesterday?" His every word stabbed at her chest like a dagger. He gave off a nuance that suggested he knew everything.

"Oh, no... I just didn't sleep well." Yoshino shook her head, trying to act composed. Iwata flopped onto the sofa right in front of her and crossed his legs. Then he took out his smartphone from his pocket and started fiddling with it. "Ms. Yoshino, I saw something very interesting yesterday... Want to see?" His voice was cunning and slimy, like a snake. He turned the smartphone screen toward her.

On the screen was the terrible moment from yesterday in front of the villa. Her image, pushed against the wall by Kenta, looking helpless. Her terrified expression, disheveled clothes, and thighs exposed under her hiked-up skirt. The photo was taken maliciously, perfect for misunderstanding. Yoshino's vision went white. Her blood felt like it was running cold. "Th... This... How..." Her voice trembled so faintly it was barely audible.

"What do you mean 'how'? I just happened to be passing by there yesterday. It looked like our Ms. Yoshino was having a very hot time with a young student, so I saved it as evidence just in case something happened." Iwata continued with a smirk. "The vice principal and the parents would love to see this, wouldn't they? A new female teacher with a male student... Heh, it would be quite a sight." His words were a clear threat.

Yoshino couldn't say a word. Her mind felt empty. It sounded like everything she had built as a teacher—her dreams, her reputation, her life—was collapsing in an instant. Looking down at her pale face and eyes full of despair, Iwata smiled with satisfaction. He stood up and tapped his smartphone back into his pocket. Then he whispered into Yoshino's ear, low but threateningly.

"After school today, you know my car, right? I'll be waiting in the parking lot behind the school, so come there. Let's discuss... quietly, just the two of us... what to do next." He tapped her frozen shoulder meaningfully and leisurely left the lounge. Left alone, Yoshino sank onto the sofa and buried her face in her trembling hands. Tears flowed endlessly, but she couldn't even cry out loud. Like a butterfly caught fast in a giant spiderweb, she realized she had nowhere to run. Her innocent world had been completely shattered today, in this moment.

Around the start of the fifth period, after lunch, Iwata sat alone in the empty computer lab. This time, when the students had no classes, was entirely his kingdom. He lowered all the blinds on the windows and immersed himself in his sleazy work, relying only on the cool light emitting from his monitor. Only the scratching sound of the mouse sliding over the pad and his occasional low cough of satisfaction filled the silence between the low hum of the server fans.

On his monitor, the original photo of Fujii Yoshino taken last night was displayed. A terrified face, a resisting gesture. Iwata clicked his tongue and shook his head. "This won't do." He muttered. Of course, this photo alone had enough room for blackmail. But if that innocent bitch cried and claimed she was unfairly accused or assaulted, it could get complicated. It was lacking that 2% to be used as evidence. Crucially, the image of Fujii Yoshino in the photo did not satisfy his twisted desires at all. What he wanted was not a terrified saint, but the image of a lewd whore soaked in lust, seducing a man.

"Heh heh... I'll make your true self for you." Iwata's greasy fingers moved the mouse skillfully. Click, click. The Photoshop program opened, and he began to craft his masterpiece using the original photo as a canvas. First was Fujii Yoshino's face. He erased the light of fear from her eyes and overlaid a sticky, coquettish gaze in its place. He elongated the corners of her eyes like a cat and applied dark smoky eyeshadow to create a deep, lewd shadow. Her innocent lips were made to glisten with bright red lipstick drawn exaggeratedly outside the lines, and he made her white teeth slightly visible between her parted lips, completing an expression that looked like she was exhaling rough breaths while seducing a man. The pure face of Yoshino was gone, leaving only the face of a vulgar, lustful woman one might see in a cheap bar.

Next was the body. It was time for his perverted tastes to take flight. He ruthlessly erased the stifling high-neck blouse. In its place, he drew a thin, tight-fitting white blouse that revealed deep cleavage. With the movement of the mouse cursor, her modest breasts were inflated to look ready to burst, creating a deep, dark valley between them. It was a blatant invitation, as if asking to be touched and rubbed. The modest pencil skirt was also mercilessly cut away by his hand. A dangerously short micro-miniskirt that barely covered her thighs took its place. He even showed the tenacity to make the edge of black lace panties slightly visible beneath the skirt.

The work was done. Iwata leaned back deep into his chair and admired the 'masterpiece' he had created. Two photos were displayed side by side on the monitor screen. A neat female teacher cornered against a wall in fear, and a bar girl in the same composition, held in a male student's arms, seducing him with a lewd expression. It was a result so elaborate and perfect that even a professional graphic designer would find it difficult to judge whether it was manipulated. The missing 2% of the original photo was perfectly filled. No, it exceeded 200%.

"Bwahaha!" Finally, unable to hold back, he let out a low laugh. With this single photo, Fujii Yoshino wouldn't dare even think of resisting. It was the perfect weapon to strip her of everything and bury her socially. He wasn't just a blackmailer. He was a creator who could dirty and manipulate a human being's identity at will, turning her into a slave to his desires. Overwhelming power and a sense of conquest swept through his body. The front of his pants swelled hard, radiating a bursting heat. He saved the edited photo file under the name 'Fujii Yoshino_Bitch.jpg', smacking his lips lecherously as he imagined the moment he would show her this 'true self' after school.

The bell signaling the end of the last class sounded like a death sentence to Yoshino. The liveliness of the campus, ebbing away like the tide along with the children's laughter, only sharply highlighted the isolation and fear that were about to come. Her steps were heavy, as if lead weights were attached to them. The path to the secluded parking lot behind the school, used only by staff, was long and treacherous. In the corner of the parking lot, where the red light of sunset cast long shadows, an old but imposing black sedan was quietly waiting for her. It was Iwata's car.

The moment she opened the car door, the stale, heavy air stabbed at her lungs. The smell of cheap air freshener, old stale cigarette smoke, and Iwata's distinct greasy body odor mixed to form a disgusting aura. As she got into the passenger seat, the sunken seat felt like a swamp sucking her body in. Iwata sat in the driver's seat without a word. The sleazy smile hanging on his profile was that of a predator watching a butterfly caught in a web. The sound of the car door locking—click—made Yoshino's shoulders tremble. It was a perfect sealed chamber.

"Now then... shall we start the consultation?" Iwata began in a low voice like a snake. Without starting the engine, he took out his smartphone just as he had in the morning. The first thing he showed her was the original photo. Her own image, pushed against the wall by a male student, terrified. Yoshino lowered her head in shame that felt like it stopped her breath once again. "Just this alone is the end of Ms. Yoshino's teaching career. You know that, right?" There was not a shred of sympathy in his voice.

"But... this is a bit weak. If Ms. Yoshino cries and begs that she's innocent, it gets annoying. So I made it a bit closer to the 'truth'." Iwata's greasy finger swiped the screen. The next moment, what entered Yoshino's eyes was sheer shock. There was definitely a woman with her face on the screen, but it was not the Fujii Yoshino she knew. With heavy smoky makeup, the corners of her eyes were raised coquettishly like a cat, and her bright red, glistening lips were parted lewdly. The neat blouse was gone, replaced by a white blouse barely hanging on, revealing a massive cleavage inflated to the point of bursting. The tight-fitting skirt was cut to a length that barely covered her thighs, and the edge of black lace panties showed obscenely underneath. The 'Fujii Yoshino' in the photo was not a terrified victim. Instead, she was a vulgar whore in the arms of a male student, breathing hot breath into his ear, looking like she wanted stronger stimulation.

Yoshino's mind felt like it was burning white. "Th... This... This isn't me... It's manipulated...!" She muttered, almost screaming. She had to deny it. She had to shout that that dirty, lewd woman was not her, absolutely not her. But it was strange. Amidst the overwhelming fear and shame, a completely different kind of sensation began to creep up. The moment she saw the 'me' in the photo, something hot surged up from deep within her lower abdomen. Her own fallen image, which she had never imagined. To her, who had lived a perfectly controlled life, the image of that woman, ruined and obscene, evoked a perverted excitement, like peeking into a forbidden realm, disgusting yet arousing.

While her reason screamed desperately, her body was reacting honestly. Her heart pounding like it would burst was no longer just because of fear. Her face flushed hot, and her breath quickened. Above all, she vividly felt the sensation of sticky fluids dampening her underwear in that secret place she didn't want anyone to discover. 'You're crazy, Fujii Yoshino... You're crazy...' She repeated inwardly, despising herself, but she couldn't take her eyes off her lewd self on the screen. A seed of desire—shameful and sweet—to become that woman, to throw away all morality and reason and surrender to pleasure, was quietly sprouting in the deepest part of her heart.

Iwata did not miss her subtle change. The way she couldn't take her eyes off the screen even while trembling in fear. Her slightly parted lips and flushed cheeks. He saw right through that this innocent woman was feeling not only disgust but also a twisted excitement from her image in the photo. "How about it, Ms. Yoshino. Isn't this your true self? A bitch hungry for the taste of a man, hiding behind a mask of decency. Heh heh heh..." He let out a satisfied laugh and placed his thick, hot hand over her trembling hand. "Now, choose. Do you want this photo to be known to the whole world and be branded as a slut? Or... will you live quietly showing your true self only to me?" His voice dug deep into Yoshino's ears and into her collapsed mind like sweet poison.

When Iwata's hot, sweaty hand covered the back of Yoshino's hand, she flinched as if burned and tried to pull her hand away. But his hand entangled her like a chain and didn't let go. The choices flowing from his mouth were not choices. It was a trap forcing a predetermined answer that could not be refused. Reason and instinct fought a desperate battle in Yoshino's mind. Social death and personal ruin. Neither was something she could handle. But her body, the twisted desire hidden in her deepest parts, already knew the answer.

"What... what should I... do?" The voice that barely escaped Yoshino's lips was trembling thinly with despair, resignation, and a very faint sense of anticipation. That question was effectively a declaration of surrender. Confirming that she had given up any resistance, a vile smile spread even deeper on Iwata's lips. He nodded as if satisfied and brought her hand, which he was holding, to the bulging front of his pants. A hard, hot sensation was vividly conveyed to her palm. "Hng!" Yoshino held her breath. It felt like all the hair on her body stood up in disgust, but strangely, that hot touch overlapped with the lewd self in the photo she saw earlier, evoking a strange excitement.

"What do you mean 'how'? Just do as I say, like a good bitch." Iwata whispered into her ear, exhaling rough breath like a beast. "First... we need to keep these dirty photos safe. Don't we?" He rubbed her hand sluggishly over his genitals while manipulating his smartphone with his other hand. Then he pressed the 'Send' button. Ding-. A short notification sound rang from inside Yoshino's handbag. The manipulated photo Iwata had just shown her had been sent straight to her smartphone.

"This is... why..." Yoshino looked at him as if she couldn't understand. "It's insurance, you stupid bitch." Iwata sneered. "If you get any ideas and run to the police, these photos will look like you distributed them yourself. 'Lewd female teacher fails at playing the victim'. Isn't that a great headline?" Yoshino was lost for words at his cunning. She had now become an accomplice. She held the evidence of her own shame and corruption in her own hands. Now, she had no choice left, no hole to escape through.

"Now, shall we start the first lesson?" Iwata let go of her hand and unbuckled his belt with a clack. He unzipped his pants and took out his ugly, dark red member. A fishy and foul smell filled the narrow car. "Since our Ms. Yoshino did a very pretty thing today, I should give you a reward. Suck it." He commanded. Yoshino's eyes shook violently with fear. It was the moment the last of her dignity, kept as a teacher and as a human being, shattered into pieces. But she couldn't refuse. Before her eyes, the image of the 'other me' seducing a man lewdly, clearly displayed on her phone screen, shimmered.

Yoshino bent her trembling body. Tears flowed down her cheeks from shame and self-loathing, but her lips moved slowly toward his member like iron filings drawn to a magnet. The red sunset fading outside the car window shone on her face like the fires of hell. The world of the innocent teacher Fujii Yoshino was just taking the first step down into an irreversible abyss.

The cold touch of the leather seat felt goosebump-inducing against Yoshino's bare knees. The moment her lips finally touched Iwata's hideous member, a foul fishy smell dug into the root of her tongue, and nausea surged up. Tears welled up and blurred her vision, but she desperately suppressed the urge to vomit. Her instinct warned her that the end of resistance was total ruin. She squeezed her eyes shut. The only thing floating before her eyes was the lewdly edited photo of herself. Yes, that's me. That's my true self. She repeated it to herself as if hypnotizing herself.

Yoshino's inexperienced and clumsy tongue began to carefully lick his member. Her whole body trembled like an aspen leaf with shame and humiliation, but as Iwata's rough breathing and satisfied groans reached her ears, her mind became increasingly empty. Strangely, the more she immersed herself in this terrible act, the hotter the strange heat blooming deep in her lower abdomen became. A perverted pleasure mixed with disgusting sensations. Her brain lost its way and wandered in this flood of contradictory senses. Sticky juices were already gushing from her pussy, soaking her underwear.

"Ugh... Argh... Deeper, deeper... You bitch, don't use your teeth!" Iwata's rough command fell. He roughly grabbed Yoshino's hair and shoved his member into her mouth all the way to the root. "Oof... Ack!" As his thing pushed deep into her throat, she choked and her vision went dark. Tears, snot, and saliva mixed together and flowed down her face. She could only struggle and passively surrender her body to the movement of Iwata's hips. She felt like a doll, a soulless lump of flesh.

How much time had passed? Iwata finally let out a satisfied groan and poured his hot, fishy semen into Yoshino's mouth. He let go of Yoshino's hair, and she coughed, spitting his thing out of her mouth. Nausea surged at the foul taste and smell of semen filling her mouth, but she couldn't bring herself to spit it out. She was afraid of his gaze. Swallowing her tears, she forced herself to swallow it along with her dignity.

"Bwahaha... Good job. You're quite the delicious slut." Iwata laughed with satisfaction and tucked his member back into his pants. He pointed to the glove box in front of the passenger seat with his chin. "Open it." When Yoshino opened the glove box with trembling hands, inside was a cheap, gaudy makeup pouch and a palm-sized mirror. "From now on, when you come to work and when you leave. Don't wear that fucking teacher face. Wear the face of that slut in the photo. Got it?"

It was an order. A malicious order to completely obliterate her identity. Yoshino couldn't answer. She just stared blankly at the pouch. "And... come to the address I send you at 10 PM tonight. Dress... as slutty as possible. Like a bar girl. If you don't know what to wear, just coming in your underwear is fine too. Heh heh." He tapped Yoshino's shoulder again and finally started the car.

The car stopped in front of Yoshino's villa. She stumbled out of the car. Iwata rolled down the window and said with a meaningful smile. "I'm looking forward to tonight, Ms. Yoshino. No... you fucking bitch." The black sedan disappeared into the darkness of the night, and Yoshino stood there alone, unable to move for a long time. The cheap plastic feel of the makeup pouch in her hand felt cold, like a new shackle that would bind the rest of her life. Her ordinary daily life had completely ended tonight. She was no longer the innocent teacher Fujii Yoshino. She was just a lewd slave existing to satisfy Iwata's desires.