Detention in Stepford High
Mrs. Pennyworth gazed up from her register at the sea of young, earnest faces. The one speck on this flawless picture was back row centre. A girl had her arms folded in the most beastly attitude.
Ah the new kid: Samantha Brown. Dressed in jeans, boots, leather cap with short cropped hair. It was a joke that such a poor misguided creature would deny her femininity and dress like a boy.
So, when Mrs. Pennyworth called her name, young Samantha merely grunted her response. Oh, that would hardly do but her teacher was patient. Stepford had ways of breaking through a girl’s defences, a lot of stubborn cases soon gave the town their happiest residents, goodness knows Mrs. Pennyworth used to be even worse!
Samantha didn’t talk to anyone. She had tried at first to chat to the boys, not ask them out on dates but would sit at their table, try to tell dirty jokes and swap stories, as if she was one of them! Goodness she really was hopeless, wasn’t she? And of course, the guys snorted and told her to buzz off, making it plain that a girl like her should talk to other girls.
When forced to sit with the ladies of Stepford High however, poor Samantha looked agonized. The girls gossiped about boys and horseback riding and how cute babies were. They giggled, painted their nails and took selfies, perfect activities for the fairer sex but Samantha seemed just about ready to hit the floor in a coma.
So, in the end she sat alone, not talking to anyone.
Oh Mrs. Pennyworth had faith that Stepford’s influence would soon infect her, different people reacted in different ways, sometimes a new soul might convert in a day or two, others would resign in a matter of months. One man stayed in Stepford for a whole year before finally succumbing to their way of life. Still perhaps in Samantha’s case, it wouldn’t hurt to give her a little push, find one chink in her armour and she’d soon surrender.
And as it turned out Mrs. Pennyworth got the girl into her clutches sooner than she thought, for one day someone crept behind the back of the school and armed with green chalk wrote “FUCK THIS TOWN!” in big bold letters upon a wall. Oh of course nobody doubted the culprit, security-cam footage showed an enraged Samantha in the act. Ah poor soul, poor soul, her own stubborn resistance meant she was only making herself miserable.
Mrs. Pennyworth agreed to be the sitting teacher for detention, for she had a hunch she could break the girl faster than anybody. Thus, she and Samantha sat in an empty classroom, one Monday afternoon. Samantha didn’t do her homework but just sat there, slumped in her chair, waiting for the hour to be over. Mrs. Pennyworth made a gesture of filing her nails. The only sound heard was the steady ticking of the clock.
Time to begin.
“So, Samantha,” said Mrs. Pennyworth delicately “do you like your new town?”
Samantha didn’t respond.
“You know if you’ll talk, I can let you leave detention early, if you don’t, well I am permitted to detain you.”
Inside she chuckled, a bluff perhaps but a fun bluff all the same.
“Huh uh.” Samantha replied
“So, tell me Samantha, do you like our town?”
“No.”
“Why not? Aren’t the men so handsome and dishy, the women so friendly and feminine, and don’t we have the most beautiful babies?”
An agonized Samantha rolled her eyes.
“Babies huh? That’s all that matters!”
Mrs. Pennyworth couldn’t hide her smile. Let the girl rant, it tended to speed up the process.
“I hate this town,” Samantha went on “all the girls never act anything but preppy, all the boys are dumb jocks. Where are the normal kids?”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Pennyworth “Don’t you see, they are the normal kids.”
“Seventy years ago, maybe,” said Samantha “that’s the stupid unwritten rule here, isn’t it? Boys have to act tough, like sports, drink beer, and belch. The girls have to wear lipstick and dresses and ugh! If you don’t want to dress like Barbie, they’ll shun you and patronize you. Treat you like a freak.”
Mrs. Pennyworth privately approved of this low level nannying.
“I mean,” Samantha continued “I knew a boy from my old school. He turned up one day dressed in frilly pink, wearing makeup and the teachers went aghast, the bullies were grinding their knuckles, but I was struck by how brilliant it was.”
“Brilliant?” said Mrs. Pennyworth in total disbelief.
“Oh yeah,” said Samantha “society imposes arbitrary gibberish on how you’re supposed to act, nobody questions it because everyone’s stupid. But when I saw that guy dressed up as a woman oh god that was a breath of fresh air.”
Samantha sighed.
“Boys didn’t have to be boys, and girls like me didn’t have to play with dolls or love pink. If I wanted to swear and skateboard I could because it was my life.”
Mrs. Pennyworth was not amused.
“Your life?” she replied sternly “when you’re married young lady, you must make compromises and consider your husband’s needs. And once you’re a parent you’ll have to put your life on hold for your child.”
“Who said anything about marrying and having kids?” groaned Samantha “sheesh, even in the good old days, some ladies became nuns, getting married and popping out screaming poop machines wasn’t the have all end all. Believe me, I’m not having kids.”
“What about all that oestrogen coursing through your veins,” asked her teacher “Every girl whether she realises it or not has a deep suited need to be a mother. Fighting against your natural instincts is simply just foolish!”
Samantha didn’t respond. Instead she leaned her head on one arm and gazed out of the window.
“But what is natural?” she said at last “Millions of years ago we were all covered in fur and lived in trees. We jeered at the odd ball who went down to the ground and walked upright, calling him a freak, nowadays we’re all doing it.”
“Living in trees?” said Mrs Pennyworth “don’t tell me young lady that you’re foolish enough to believe in vile Darwinism?”
Samantha’s jaw slowly dropped, and she stared at Mrs. Pennyworth as if seeing her for the first time. Her teacher just smiled back sweetly.
And that was that for their conversation. The rest of the hour ticked by with Mrs Pennyworth muttering joyfully about how natural, normal and healthy motherhood was, but Samantha hurriedly did her homework, anything to avoid paying attention to the woman.
Something had that girl spooked. Sullen before she seemed uneasy now, preferring to spend her free time in the library pouring over local books and magazines, all the time looking terrified.
Mrs. Pennyworth couldn’t imagine why! The town’s ideas and beliefs were laid out in such delightful articles as “Feminism—the Most Dangerous Lie” or “Parenthood—True Happiness”. There were also intriguing books like “Atheism—the Road to Hell”, “The Myth of Darwinism” and of course “Turns out Traditional Gender Roles were Right All Along.”
Samantha’s eyes were shifty, her fingers twitchy and she would sit like a cornered fox, even in detention, eyeing everyone with suspicion.
Honestly in a peaceful little community such as Stepford were everyone was happy and thought and acted the same, what was there to be scared of?
Alright sometimes there were…breakdowns, one happy little housewife for years maintained how wonderful her life was before snapping and screeching one day in the local grocery store, proclaiming that every resident was brainwashed and enslaved before she was dragged screaming and kicking to the local church where the elders were more than happy to have a few words with her.
But stuff like that rarely happened.
Come Friday, in detention, Mrs. Pennyworth heard a cough coming from Samantha’s desk.
“Yes?” she said sitting up, adjusting her glasses.
“Can I ask you something?” said Samantha “Your first name’s Rosemary, right? You’re Rosemary Pennyworth?”
“Correct,” replied her teacher.
“And your maiden name is Douglas? You’re from Chicago, right? Um, well weren’t you once a famous hippy protester? I’ve seen photos of someone who looks like you online, walking around in public topless, body painted in multicolours, holding up a protest sign and making out with another woman. That was you wasn’t it?”
“Oh my yes,” laughed Mrs. Pennyworth “ashamed as I am to admit it, I had a misguided past.”
“Misguided?” said Samantha in disbelief and the seriousness of her voice tickled Mrs. Pennyworth.
“Well,” her teacher explained “My days were wild, untamed, I had many a boyfriend and girlfriend and I use to believe in all kinds of foolishness, feminism, anti-authoritarianism, and of course I was something of a devoted anarchist. It was amazing that a silly girl like me thought she could change the world by picketing and protesting.”
She laughed again but Samantha didn’t share her laughter. She looked upset.
“I look up to women like that,” replied Samantha “when I first read about feminism, I felt relieved knowing I didn’t have to cow down to angry men. I didn’t have to take anybody’s misogyny and that…”
She choked a little.
“…made me hope we could kill it, that sexism and all that outdated crap about gender would be in gone in a few generations. But…but…”
Samantha quivered.
“What happened to you?”
“I met my husband,” Mrs Pennyworth recalled fondly, more to herself than to Samantha. “He was, well he was something else. Me and the girls were boycotting a brewery because the boss had fired a female employee, telling her that she really ought to focus on finding a husband then trying to move up the ranks. Oh, it enraged us that such bare faced unapologetic male chauvinism existed in our town. We marched outside the factory in protest, got interviewed by the local news but then I saw him. My future husband, standing there with hands on hips in a three-piece suit, looking so handsome and manly.”
She sighed at the memory, oh the first naïve stirrings, feeling more for him than any of her old boyfriends. He was a real man after all.
“He didn’t flinch,” she continued “no matter how angry we got. He just marched to the front of the crowd and told us that we shouldn’t bother our pretty little heads over this issue. Marriage and kids were above and beyond anything we had ever experienced, and we were wasting our time with this silly protest. I was livid and tried reasoning with him but honestly his words kept cutting deep into me.”
Samantha looked utterly horrified.
“Later we found out he had spiked our drinking water, the cunning dog. It was a hot day, we were fighting not just sexism, but dehydration and the company he worked for had supplied us with bottled water.”
Mrs Pennyworth giggled.
“The more we drank the less angry we felt and the more his words made sense. Staying at home, raising beautiful children and serving loving husbands was better than worrying over some stressful job. Oh, weren’t we women fools in giving that up?”
She thought she saw the hint of tears form in Samantha’s eyes. Was the girl heartbroken on a feminist hero failing her?
“My husband practically oozed a strong masculine charm, the boys I had dated were all castrated thanks to feminism. This man stood up to me, argued back and didn’t take any of my well…my ideas. He was strong, charming, funny and I left that protest march in a huff because I was so…so…”
She wanted to say she was so horny after meeting him, how his smile made her cunt do summersaults. How afterwards she had in fact ran back to her bedroom and plugged herself with a dildo for hours just thinking about him.
But that wasn’t proper language for a high school teacher.
“So…infatuated with him,” she said at last “I told everyone how much I despised him and that he was everything wrong with America but all the same, I obsessed over him, feeling a passion for him I had never felt for anyone before. Oh, you’re still young, you can’t understand when you meet that special someone, all your life plans go kaput.”
Samantha bit her lip, she seemed heartbroken but couldn’t stop listening.
“We talked, no, no he talked, I listened. He made me question things. Such as feminism, which I had always seen as sacred, now suddenly seemed wrong to me. Submitting to a man, complementing a man, knowing that there were undeniable differences from men and women felt right. I couldn’t help myself, I was slowly coming around to his way of thinking.”
Mrs Pennyworth paused to look at Samantha, she was totally rooted on every word. Sitting up straight and listening to what her teacher was telling her. Good.
“Even alone, I couldn’t shake off his influence, I subscribed to the Stepford magazine, reading the ladies’ letters and articles about their lives and how happy they were being housewives and how completely surrendering to their men was the best decision they ever made. This talk offended me, burned me up inside but at the same time I found myself liking it. Found myself agreeing with a lot of things they said and wondering if I’d make a good wife if I tried.”
Samantha gulped.
“And then what?”
“Then?” replied Mrs. Pennyworth “I lost interest in my old life. Tried keeping up the protests and activism as a matter of pride but my heart wasn’t in it. I dressed more conservatively and sneaked off on dates with Arnold. I can’t really say when it happened, but my room was soon cleared of my left-wing learnings and full of conservative books, I stopped attending protests and practically lived to serve him.”
She didn’t say she had made love to Arnold around this time or that he was a million lightyears ahead than any fuck before. She had felt totally powerless as he ploughed into her, dominated her, fucked her into his submissive little housewife and she loved it. Felt so good, so natural and her left-wing ideas, her feminism and liberalism just melted away at the shining power of this big strong man.
“My friends were aghast at the new me. There I was delivering a speech, not at a protest rally but at a Christian Housewives’ meeting. I was dollied up in a dress and high heels when before I was an unwashed, hairy armpit, belching bitch…oh.”
She giggled and noticed a slight upwards twisting at Samantha’s lips.
“Not proper language in the classroom but you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Um,” replied a dazed Samantha
Ah good, it was working after all.
“Well,” she continued “they were amazed, saying how it was like Martin Luther King becoming a Klansman. It was true, this ex-hippy was now everything she had once despised and let me tell you, I couldn’t be happier.”
Somehow this little speech had stirred something in Samantha, hearing how her hero had changed, altered, become something else…rather than offending her, Mrs Pennyworth could tell it had seduced her slightly and this one drop of poison was working its’ way into her system.
The teacher felt her poor student was ready for the big guns. Pressing a switch by her laptop, the projector suspended in the centre of the room flickered to life, shining a bright beam upon the whiteboard, which in turn displayed Mrs. Pennyworth’s computer desktop. A click here and there and ah yes bingo.
A video displaying a naked man and woman was projected upon the screen. They stood against a featureless white backdrop. No sound, only a soothing, almost hypnotic music played. Their faces were obscured, the camera was focused on their perfect bodies.
The man held the woman in his tight embrace, he dominated her, she surrendered to him utterly as he flung her to the ground. Cut to a close up of his large cock as it forced its’ way into her pussy. A shot of the woman, a tearful moaning wreck as her man/master remorselessly slammed into her.
“Um ma’am,” gaped an amazed Samantha “Is this really appropriate for…for…”
She then inhaled in amazement as their faces came into focus. The woman was a younger Mrs. Pennyworth, the man was her husband and he was gleefully fucking her brains out.
Mrs. Pennyworth giggled, knowing this clip always got to them, this little video was to enlighten the wayward kids who kept resisting Stepford, and Mrs. Pennyworth was proud to show her students the hot passion she and her husband shared together.
Cut to the younger Mrs. Pennyworth standing naked in front of the camera with a very pregnant belly. Come on, the present Pennyworth thought, see how happy I am and look there’s my man draping his big strong arms around my swollen belly. Just imagine the security and happiness, just imagine the power of your own body bringing new life into the world.
Yes, girl your body can do that too. Amazing isn’t it?
Another image showed a baby’s head emerging from its mother’s stretched and bleeding vagina. Samantha snapped back in her chair, gaping in terror.
Sure, it looked painful as the poor girl probably had no idea that a vagina could stretch that far but at the same time it was…strangely satisfying to see the pussy fulfil its ultimate purpose, wasn’t it? And the idea must be trickling through Samantha’s mind that this could be her. She could be a wife and mother just like Mrs. Pennyworth. Wasn’t that a seductive thought?
The final shot of the video was of an overjoyed Mrs. Pennyworth holding her baby up against her boob to let it suckle. A heart-warming sight to be sure, and the present Pennyworth guessed by the transfixed expression Samantha wore that she had to agree.
Oh look, Samantha’s fingers had crept to her chest and were pinching her own nipples as if watching a mother breastfeed made her own boobs ache longingly.
That was enough for today. Mrs. Pennyworth pressed the off button and the whiteboard cleared of all images.
She then yawned and looked at the clock.
“Tell you what Samantha it’s been a long day, why don’t I let you off early?”
The girl staggered to her feet and hobbled out of the classroom without saying a word. Mrs. Pennyworth saw her red face, spied her nipples poking out from her t-shirt and judging by the slight crouching way she walked could tell that she was incredibly turned on. Oh, the poor dear, she’d probably run home to try and satisfy a growing hunger that only a man could sate.
And what next? Tomorrow Samantha would be looking at her dishy male classmates in a different light, their hunky masculinity would make her feel rather funny. She’d start feeling ashamed of her tomboy fashion too, and perhaps attempt to dress a bit more femininely, then of course a cute boy would catch her eye and all her pride and defences would indeed go kaput.
Mrs. Pennyworth smiled, knowing that Samantha would turn out just fine.