Vanessa made it into Mr. Jackson’s first-period math class in plenty of time and took her normal seat. None of her friends were in the class with her, so she just ignored the various geeks, nerds, and dweebs as they talked to each other.
She went in her bag to take out her notebook, but found the package sitting on top. She opened it to find a small black box inside, and she opened that box to find a silver-and-black voice recorder.
It baffled her -- had one of her parents ordered it online? Was it some weird product sample or something? There wasn’t a manufacturer name or any other writing on it, and the wrapping didn’t have any clues, just that stupid poem.
She wasn’t even sure it had batteries, and there wasn’t any obvious place to put them in. She hit the “record” button and a small red light did turn on, so she whispered a quick “Testing” into it; she stopped and rewound and heard her own voice say “Testing.”
Since it did seem to be working, she decided, she wouldn’t have to take notes today, assuming its recording time was long enough. She hit the “record” button on the device and put it down on her desk as the bell rang and Mr. Jackson -- all 6 feet 8 inches of him -- strode into the classroom.
“Good morning, students,” he said, taking a brief look at the lesson plan book on his desk, then looking back up. He frowned as he noticed something. “Vanessa, what is that in front of you?”
“Just a voice recorder,” she said.
“Well, I’d rather you not record this class,” he said. “Would you turn it off, please?”
“Why?” asked Vanessa.
“Does it matter?” retorted Mr. Jackson. He walked forward and stood next to her desk, trying to be as intimidating as possible, an easy task even with her 6-foot height, given that she was sitting down. “If you must know, I believe you learn better by taking notes, first of all. But also, I know you think you can always get what you want, but, Miss Barnes, here in my classroom, what I say goes. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” said Vanessa, with a bit of a sigh, turning off the device.
“And just in case, I’ll hold onto that for you today,” said the teacher, reaching down to grab the small recorder in his meaty hand.
“Hey!” exclaimed Vanessa, but weakly -- she didn’t particularly care about the device.
“You can come get it from me at the end of today, and I don’t want to see it again,” ordered Mr. Jackson.
Vanessa started rummaging through her bag for a notebook and pen as Mr. Jackson turned around, transferring the recorder from one hand to the other, accidentally depressing the “record” button in the process. He walked toward the front of the room, muttering to himself, “And, I swear, this is the sluttiest that girl has ever looked.”
As he opened the top drawer of his desk to put the recorder in, he heard a very faint, brief sound of bells tinkling. Rolling his eyes at what he thought was a cell phone being used by someone in the class, he turned to glare at the room to see if he could figure out who it was.
He saw Vanessa and involuntarily gulped. Her hair was now arranged into two teased-out pigtails, her face thick with colorful makeup, two giant silver hoops dangling from her earlobes. She wore a very short plaid skirt and white stockings up to her thighs, and her giant breasts were being barely contained by a white shirt that was tied just below them, revealing her bare midriff that featured a silver charm dangling from her navel.
He blinked several times and then lowered himself into his desk chair, his legs suddenly a bit weak. She definitely hadn’t looked like that 15 seconds ago, he thought, she just couldn’t have. It was basically a “slutty schoolgirl” Halloween costume, but it was also the kind of thing Vanessa wore in his fantasies. Of course he fantasized about her -- she was built like a cross between a supermodel and a porn star. He was certain all the other heterosexual males at school did, too -- students and staff.
“Is something wrong?” asked Vanessa, parting her lips that were now painted a bright, glossy pink. Mr. Jackson’s mind briefly flashed to a blow job fantasy, but then he realized he’d probably been gaping at her this whole time, and the other students looked confused.
He had to force himself to look away from her. “N-no, everything’s fine,” he said.
He heard that faint tinkling sound again, and before his eyes, the rest of the girls in the class began changing. Actually, it was just their outfits -- skirts were shortening, tops were shrinking to reveal midriffs, some extra jewelry was appearing -- and their makeup was becoming more obvious. The changes only took about 15 seconds, but when they were done, every single girl in the class was clearly dressed as a slut. Of course, Vanessa was still the obvious champ, but they were all reasonably attractive to varying degrees.
Breathing heavily, Mr. Jackson looked down as he realized he was tenting his pants -- he wouldn’t be able to stand up for a while. “Uh, just start reading the next chapter of your books,” he said.
He heard the shuffling of the students getting out those books as he tried to think -- and then he noticed the red light on the recorder as it sat on his desk. He clicked the “stop” button.
Okay, so no one seems to have noticed the changes but me, he thought, looking back up for yet another verification. All the students were bent over the books on their desks, all behaving completely normally, except that all the girls were dressed like something out of his fantasies.
He looked back down at the recorder. So this must have been on when --
It hit him. He’d said Vanessa looked extra-slutty, and that was exactly what he got. And then he’d said everything was fine, and that must have included Vanessa’s outfit, which had been against the school dress code, but now seemed that it was fine because all girls dressed like that, or something.
His pulse was racing, and he had to take a few deep breaths.
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