Remedial Ch. 10-13

Author's notes: Thanks for continuing on this journey with me! I've really enjoyed writing this series, and I appreciate the kind words and constructive feedback thus far. If you've made it this far, you know it's been a slow burn, and not always explicitly erotic (unless you enjoy psychological humiliation and angst like I do). I hope this series of chapters gives some payoff while keeping the plot moving. There is a bit of a cliffhanger at the end, and while I haven't started the next series of chapters yet, I plan to keep this series going! I will also be picking-up my other series 'Locked Up Autumn' again soon!

Thanks again and please let me know your thoughts!

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Chapter 10

She heads to class early planning to be a brat today.

She isn't normally the envious type, she never got involved enough with a man to truly feel jealous. Besides, in the free world there was always a next man to seduce, but in the Montana Women's Prison, there is only him.

She knows it's irrational, he is not hers, but she can't help the anger she feels towards Justin and his beautiful female companion. She hates herself for being mad at a girl who has done nothing to actually wrong her. Probably a girl who doesn't have a drinking problem and a felony on her record. Probably a girl who doesn't disappoint her parents while pining for her former student.

She spent all night after working on the chain gang planning it out. She's going to be the passive-aggressive student skating on the line but never quite crossing it. She had so many students like this in her high school English classes, and she hopes to emulate their best performances.

"Mr. Parks," she practices, "can you help me on my essay by defining the word fuckboy."

Maybe she needs to workshop her lines a bit more, but she feels herself gaining confidence as she opens the door.

"Miss Larkin, it's nice to see you."

He looks like he might actually mean it. Her confidence starts withering at even the slightest possibility of kindness. But she wants to be difficult to gain the smallest bit of control. She wants to be a brat just because that's what she chooses for herself.

"Mr. Parks..."

"ALL INMATES REMAIN IN PLACE. THIS IS A CODE ORANGE LOCKDOWN, I REPEAT ALL INMATES ARE TO REMAIN IN PLACE!"

The blare of the loudspeakers and the shrill alarm overtake the room. Instinctively, she jumps forward. The decibel level is paralyzingly high, her thoughts are being smothered by a fight-or-flight instinct. Finally, the neurons in her head catch up to her body and Eleanor realizes she is exactly where she has wanted to be: in his arms.

He clutches her back. She can't tell if he means to, but she lets herself soak in the warmth of his embrace for as long as he will allow it.

He doesn't let go.

The sirens don't stop, but she drowns out the cacophony of noises with the faint aroma of a Target-brand fabric softener on his slightly wrinkled blue dress shirt. She smells it again as if it will allow her to never forget this moment.

She feels the unmistakable mark of his sexual arousal pressing up against her. She lets her desire to be a brat melt away as she locks eyes with him and her hips sway ever so slightly, begging for attention. She feels him growing and she repeats the motion, gingerly enough to leave a tinge of reasonable doubt. The deafening siren in a prison classroom is a cheap substitute for EDM music at a club, but she pushes her luck to see how he reacts.

His desire for her is undeniable. She wants him to discipline her for wanting to be a brat. She knows they have a chance while the other inmates are kept at bay and the guards are putting down whatever small riot is ensuing.

He takes a deep breath as if he is bracing for something painful, and he hugs her tighter. He doesn't say anything but his embrace deepens as if to beg her to both stop and stay.

She resists her own momentum and freezes herself. Not in fear, but in a warmth she hasn't felt for over a year.

"Miss Larkin..."

Her name sounds so sweet as they escape his lips.

"... I can't do this."

The alarm seems to dim as he slowly pulls away. She takes a step back and the small piece of hope she carried begins to shatter all over again.

"I... I'm really sorry Jus... sir. I just got scared and didn't mean to jump into your arms like that."

They both know that's a lie, but he just nods and the silence lingers.

"Am I going to be punished, sir?" She can't decide if her tone is one of fear or bratiness masquerading as anxiety.

"No, you're not in trouble inmate. Let's sit down until this lockdown is over. Maybe you can help me with my lesson plan."

It's an excuse, but she doesn't care. She doesn't move for a second, but then she obliges her former student and takes a seat next to his desk.

"I would love your help on the best way to introduce independent and dependent clauses."

It's a dumb topic, but it's a reason to be with him. She smiles demurely. Even if he isn't going to cross the line she so desperately wants him to, she wants to stay.

"Mr. Parks, I would be happy to..."

She decides she wants to be a little bit of a brat. She writes out a sentence.

"The pretty female former teacher excited her old student as soon as he saw her."

"Mr. Parks, can you show me how you would teach independent and dependent clauses using this sentence?"

He smirks and scribbles his own quick example.

"The pretty female former teacher will serve corner time until the lockdown ends."

He pulls her up from the chair and grabs a coin from his pocket, holding it against the wall.

"Miss Larkin, you will hold this coin up with your nose while you stand up against the wall. If the coin falls before the lockdown ends, you will not earn a reward."

She wants to be a brat and test him further, but she aches for his approval. She wants to please him with her compliance and hear him say what a good girl she is. Eleanor obediently positions herself to press the coin with her nose.

The alarm continues to wreak havoc in her ears, but she stands silently keeping the coin on the cinder block wall with her hands behind her back. She wonders if he does this with the woman at the coffee shop or with any other inmates. Are they prettier and better behaved? Do they crave him like she does?

She wants so badly to be special, but if she isn't, she wants to be punished and pleasured until she forgets she ever needed to be.

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Chapter 11

She knows today is March 17th.

The days all blended together in prison, but she saw it earlier this morning on a guard's smartwatch. She has spent the whole last year trying to forget about March 17th, but here she is, locked up confronting the anniversary of when she was born and the anniversary of the crash.

She used to love her birthday. When it fell on St. Patrick's Day in particular, she could not get enough of the free-flowing mimosas, long brunches, and kissing random boys by playing up her 1/8 Irish heritage. She cherished the warmth of intimate family dinners and craved the dopamine hit of each 'happy birthday' message, especially if it came from a cute boy she fancied.

But now her 27th birthday feels cruel. A reminder not just of the day she was born, but the day her life as she knew it ended. She knows she is selfish thinking about herself and not the man who she killed, but she wishes she could earn a small sliver of forgiveness so she could reclaim the joy she used to feel.

She wonders if she got any birthday messages. She logs onto her tablet and opens up JPay. She sees at the top, a generic 'Happy Birthday ???? from your friends at JPay' message. She snorts at the absurdity of getting a canned corporate note on your birthday from the company that controls whether you can communicate with the outside world. The juxtaposition of the emoji next to a Montana Department of Corrections logo feels like a taunt of everything she has lost.

She sees only one other new message in her inbox from Cassandra Larkin.

"Eleanor, we love you so much. No matter what, we love you and even though you are going through something very hard, I hope you can do something for yourself to celebrate your birthday. We sent $50 to your account.

Love,

Mom and Dad"

Eleanor feels a tear roll down her cheek. Her parents' pity strikes her more than the fact that none of her friends from her former life bothered to send her a message for the cost of a stamp.

Last year, her mom sent her a birthday text telling her how proud she was of her, a well-respected high school teacher with a Master's Degree. This year, she is telling her to get an overpriced Snickers bar from the prison commissary.

She looks at her commissary account and she sees $100. She wonders if her mom accidentally deposited it twice. She scans the page and sees the history.

"March 17th, 2025. Electronic deposit. $50. Cassandra Larkin."

"March 17th, 2025. In-person deposit. $50. Justin Parks."

She freezes. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She opens them again and sees the same image on her 7-inch tablet.

Does he know it's her birthday? Is this her reward for being a good girl during corner time? Is it just some cruel clerical error?

Her mind scrambles for an explanation as a stout guard she's never seen before comes by to her cell.

"Larkin?"

She snaps up, shocked to hear her name, "Yes ma'am?"

"You've got a letter here."

She hasn't gotten a physical letter yet in prison. She used to love writing thank you notes and Christmas cards to her friends and family on custom stationary she splurged on. She used to love the feeling of receiving an envelope and opening it up.

She sees the return address.

Faith Marie Caldwell and Paul Leo Brooks

303 Peach St.

Bozeman, MT, 59715

That bitch.

She opens it up even though she knows exactly what it is.

Mr. and Mrs. Roland Caldwell invite you to the wedding of their daughter, Faith Marie, to Paul Leo Brooks

September 20th, 2025

At Fireflight Farm

Please RSVP by June 1st, 2025

Eleanor runs her thumb across the embossed stamp over and over again as she looks at the engagement photo of Faith and Paul. They look happy, but she knows Faith is never actually happy.

She flips over the RSVP card and she sees a note, unmistakably in Faith's handwriting, "I know that you can't come, but I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you."

Typical Faith. The words of a caring friend, but the tone of a passive-aggressive frenemy. They were in the same friend group in college, but Eleanor could barely hide her disdain for Faith's duplicity. She hates that Faith presents as kind and sweet, but shares a series of venomous complaints about every single person in her life.

She tries to block out Faith from her head. She doesn't want to think about how expensive and beautiful her dress must be. She doesn't want to think about how she is probably calling her vendors complaining about this or that. She doesn't want to think about the fact that Faith will look gorgeous, even if she is a two-faced cunt.

She wonders if she will ever get that. She wonders if any man will ever want to marry an ex-con who was a killer, even if it was an accident. She wonders if she will ever get to wear a stunning white dress and have a husband look at her and tell her how lucky he is.

She cries knowing everyone will move on without her. No, everyone already has moved on without her.

The only shred of joy she feels on her birthday is seeing on her 7-inch screen, "March 17th, 2025. In-person deposit. $50. Justin Parks."

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Chapter 12

Throughout her adult life, Eleanor has had one specific recurring nightmare.

She is in high school and is already late for class. She enters Algebra II late. Her teacher tells her sternly to turn in her homework. She doesn't know what he's talking about. She's given detention, and then mercifully, she wakes up.

And so as she is walking to class, she sees Emily who greets her warmly, "Hey Eleanor! Were you okay during the lockdown?"

The young girl seems oblivious to the charged energy that happened in the classroom between her and Justin.

"Yeah, it was okay! I'm unfortunately sort of used to it because we had to practice something similar at the school."

She pauses. It's not that similar. She's no longer the teacher entrusted with the safety of students but instead an inmate that needs to be kept in place to prevent a prison riot.

"Oh yeah, I guess it's sort of similar to the active shooter drills we used to have to do."

Emily, unaware of Eleanor's inner anguish, asks earnestly, "Did you have trouble with the math packet Mr. Parks gave us? I know you were a teacher so it was probably easy for you, but I thought it was pretty hard."

"What math packet?"

"The one that Mr. Parks assigned us a couple of days ago? About quadratic equations?"

She had never once failed to turn in an assignment. She had always studied for the test. She even studied for prison. She loved excelling in school. Now, the horror that her one childish recurring nightmare is coming true dawns on her.

"Fuck"

"What's wrong?"

"I completely forgot about the packet... How long did it take you?"

"Umm... I don't know, maybe an hour or so?"

Eleanor looks at a clock and it reads 8:49 AM. She still has 11 minutes. She sprints back to her cell, slowing down only when a guard yells, "No running!" The echo of the cheap prison shoes striking the floor with each step lingers.

She looks under her bunk for the worksheet and fumbles around her cubby for a pen. She takes a look and realizes that having not taken a math class in over eight years, she doesn't remember how to solve for x when x² + 2x - 3 = 0. She quickly scribbles "1". She plugs that in and that equals 0 on the left side. She knows there's a formula she's missing and it's not about just guessing and checking.

She flips to the end of the packet. There's 35 questions.

"I'm so fucked," she whispers into the emptiness of her cell to no one in particular.

She takes the paper with a few numbers scribbled in with no work shown of how she arrived at those answers. She wonders if she can quickly peek at Emily's sheet, but she recoils at the thought of getting caught and subjecting both Emily and herself to Justin's punishment.

She walks into the class and Justin greets her, "Miss Larkin, it's good to see you."

Hearing her name, as he used to say it, rings sweetly in her ears. Is it a faint smile she sees? Or is she so desperate she wants any expression to be laced with meaning.

"Hi Mr. Parks. I really just wanted to say thank you."

He smiles, knowingly, for a brief second. His smile drops, but his eyes still maintain their kindness.

"Of course, I wanted to reward you for the progress you have made towards your rehabilitation."

He coughs as if to turn off this part of himself.

"Now, how did you find the math assignment?"

"Ummm... I sort of forgot about it until the last minute."

She meekly hands him her paper, with quality far below what she knows is acceptable.

"Miss Larkin. I thought we were on a good path here after your initial misbehaviors..."

He takes the paper and pulls a red pen from his pocket. It's the same brand that she had when she used to grade papers.

Across the top he writes, "See me after class."

That is all she wants to do.

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Chapter 13

"You should be a model for the other students in the class."

No malice intrudes upon his voice, just the familiar tinge of disappointment.

"Sir, I'm sorry. My mind has been all over the place lately."

"It seems like you need a reset. I want you to tell me a moment that made you proud."

She flips through the catalog of memories in her mind. She feels proud about so little. Maybe her Master's degree? Or running a half marathon in college?

Then the memory comes flooding back to her.

"Umm... I think the thing I am most proud of is the letter of recommendation I wrote for you sir."

She sees the shock in his eyes for but a fleeting moment. She knows his control is being tested.

"I remember when you came into my class. You were normally so confident, but when you asked me, you were so timid. I think it was the week after I sent you to the principal's office for saying I looked good in orange..."

As the words come out, she feels almost... empowered. She wonders if he will seize the power back or let her have this little slice of control.

"And, I remember trying to describe you in 500 words. I spent so many hours editing and proofreading and starting all over again. I just wanted to make sure it captured everything you were."

She pauses and he suddenly looks younger. Not drastically so, but she sees him as the boy he once was.

"Eleanor..."

It's barely above a whisper, but she wishes he would say her name like that every hour of every day as he holds her in his arms.

"Justin..."

She half-braces to be snapped out of the moment when she says his name. She knows it's against his rules, but she wants him to know about each flutter, each moan, and each bated breath.

He takes a step forward and there is so little air between them. He grabs her hand gently. His hands' warmth contrasts with her hands' chill until they meet in the middle.

"Justin..." she says again.

She knows he isn't allowed to kiss her, but she can tell how much he wants it too. His dilated pupils betray his own ravenous need. The small part of his chest not covered by his button-up shirt flushes.

She read the inmate handbook ten times. She knows there is one way to give them both what they want.

"Check me for contraband sir."

He looks puzzled at his former teacher.

She takes a deep breath and repeats, "Check me for contraband sir."

He understands.

"Inmate, I have reason to believe you may be carrying contraband. Undress fully, handing me each article of clothing one at a time."

She starts by slipping off her canvas shoes and her already worn out cotton socks. Her hands tremble as her fingers draw down the zipper of her jumpsuit exposing the form-fitting white tank top and a drab pair of prison-issued panties.

"Sir, I need you to search me thoroughly."

He smirks.

"Inmate, finish taking off all your clothing."

She pulls the tank top over her head and hands it over to him slowly. She takes a step towards him hoping he can smell the perfume she bought at the commissary with the money he got her.

Eleanor unhooks her bra and wiggles out of the prison-issued panties. She is naked in front of him. She wonders if her 34C breasts are what he had imagined or if her hourglass figure is what he dreamed of.

"Place your hands up against the wall."

She complies. Her hands go up. She instinctively spreads her legs. They are an invitation to him.

He pushes her back, not gently and not too firmly, so that her nipples are up against the cold white cinderblock. The seductive mixture of arousal and chill of the wall delights her. He goes away, only briefly, to get a pair of disposable gloves.

"Inmate, I am going to pat you down."

"I understand sir."

He goes up her body, gently tracing his hands across her skin. Each pore rises in anticipation. She wishes there was no layer of latex separating the two of them.

His hand pushes her blonde hair away and with two fingers he traces his touch around her neck.

"Turn around, now."

She slowly shifts her feet and she is so close to him. She is stripped of everything she has ever been and left only with her desires. His hazel eyes look at her intensely with ardor. He grabs her forearms and pins her against the wall.

"Stay like this inmate."

He checks her toes, still manicured from a night with her sister the week before she reported to prison. He moves up her ankles and goes slowly up her thigh.

He traces two of his fingers across her clit teasing her, keeping her wanting more. They glide across her providing him with irrefutable evidence of her arousal.

Each breath becomes more labored and it's as if he has taken ownership even of the very air she breathes. Just as she feels ever so close to a release, his hands move up her taut torso and then he takes a step back.

"Inmate, hold up your breasts by your nipples so I can check for contraband."

They both know there is nothing she could hide under her breasts, but she still gently pinches her nipples and holds them up for his pleasure letting out the slightest moan.

"Keep your position and open your mouth."

He takes off his gloves and the tip of a single finger brushes her lips. She wants to take it in her mouth. She wants to take so much more of him in her mouth, but she resists closing her lips.

She bears witness to his eyes fighting between lust and desperation. She wonders if he is begging her to give in or pleading to end this so he doesn't cross a line he can never walk back from. The space between them feels both infinitely vast and tantalizingly close. There are no other sounds but the tick of a clock and their shared breaths.

"Eleanor..."

The sound of her name remains suspended in the air.

"... get on my desk. I need to conduct a cavity search to ensure you have no contraband."

She sits on his desk with her hands resting palms down slightly behind her hips. She spreads her legs, wishing it was more than a couple of fingers that would enter her. He is giving himself some semblance of deniability as he goes in and out, rhythmically, gently, and slowly. She wants more, she wishes she could rev him up like she used to do with her vibrator, but he is in control of her pleasure. He uses his thumb to massage her clit. It has only been four weeks since she fucked Logan Tinder but it feels like it's been an entire epoch of carnal denial.

"Sir..."

Her voice quivers as she can't choose between begging for more or cherishing what she has been given. His fingers within her sweep her inner walls as his thumb ratchets up her arousal. She can feel her body shaking, a small orgasm crescendoes within her. She hasn't cum since humping her bed while handcuffed behind her back in solitary. She feels less pathetic now that it's a man pleasuring her, even if she is incarcerated all the same. He pulls his fingers out from within her and before she can be disappointed, he glides his fingers up and down her lips, showering her with plenty of attention. She feels another climax coming.

"Stand up. Don't move."

Even in the haze of the release, she complies. She gets up slowly trying to marinate in this feeling so she can hold onto it in the days and weeks ahead. But instead of instructing her to put on her uniform and telling her there is no contraband, he pushes her face down on the desk.

"Spread your cheeks inmate, and show me everything."

She does so without complaint and she immediately feels one of his fingers, lubed up by her own arousal, put deep inside her. He allows her but a moment before he has a second finger within her starting to stretch her out. She had always been afraid to try, but now she chides herself for all that she missed out on as the moans escape her without any thought.

"Please sir! I need more!"

She has no sense of her volume, just her own lust. The images of the room blur as she feels the now familiar wave of pleasure overtaking her again. Her desire to be held competes with her need to be given more.

He stops suddenly. Her vision starts focusing again. She turns around, and sees what she has been craving. He deserves relief. If this were a club downtown, she would take him to the alley and sensually pleasure him with her lips and tongue.

She wants to get down on her hands and knees to beg him and then take him. He tries to control his breathing as she holds her own.

"Inmate." The word flows out as a weak whisper.

"Yes sir?"