Perverted Daddy System

Chapter 122: PDS - 122 - Planning

Paul finishes the call and sets the phone down. He lets out a breath and looks at me.

"She’s coming in tomorrow morning. Around ten."

"Good. Her reaction?"

"What you’d expect. Worried about the grades — she said Dana’s been struggling with fractions since last semester. Grateful for the offer, but cautious. She asked if you had any teaching credentials."

"And you said?"

"I said you were a volunteer, not a licensed teacher, but that you’d helped another student with similar results. I mentioned Hester by name."

"Good. Use Hester as proof. A known quantity. Concrete results."

He nods. "She said she’d think about it. But her tone told me she’d already decided. She just needed to sleep on it to feel like she was being a responsible mother."

"She’ll agree. A woman in her position doesn’t turn down help. Especially when it’s free and comes recommended by the school administration. She’ll show up tomorrow, and I’ll close the deal."

"You want me to sit in?"

"No. You introduce us, then find an excuse to leave. I need her alone with me to build rapport."

I brief him on the script for tomorrow’s meeting. Keep it casual. Make it sound like a general offer, not targeted. Don’t mention that I own the building she lives in. Don’t push too hard.

"Tell her I was a senior IT consultant at a large accounting firm. That explains the math background — lots of numbers, lots of analysis, working with complex systems. Tell her tutoring is a hobby for me, a way to give back to the community now that I’m semi-retired. She’ll warm up to that. Single mothers love a man who volunteers his time."

Paul writes it down in his neat handwriting, his pen scratching across the paper. He’s thorough and reliable. That’s why I keep him around.

"One more thing," I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. "Don’t bring up that I’m her landlord. Let her figure that out on her own, when she’s already comfortable with me. It’ll feel like a coincidence, not a setup. If she asks, say you didn’t know. You’re just the school administrator making a recommendation based on academic need."

"Understood."

"You’re a natural, Paul. I knew I picked the right man for this."

"Thank you, sir. I’m honored by your trust."

"You’ve earned it."

I stand, straightening my shirt and smoothing the front. "I’ll be at the school tomorrow anyway. I’ll step in once she’s comfortable with the idea. Let me handle the personal introduction — I’ll be charming, warm, disarming. You just be the professional administrator who made the recommendation."

He nods, standing as well. "Good luck, sir."

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Preparation does. And we’re well prepared."

We shake hands. His grip is firm. Loyal.

I leave his office and walk back down the hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished linoleum. I feel good. The plan is solid. The pieces are moving exactly as they should. Tomorrow, Mary. After that, the twins. The afternoon classes are in session, so the halls are empty. Quiet. The only sounds are muffled voices through closed doors, the hum of the fluorescent lights, and the distant click of a keyboard from the office below. Perfect for thinking.

I think about Mary’s visit tomorrow. About the script. About how I’ll present myself — warm, trustworthy, helpful. A father figure. A community-minded citizen. The kind of man a struggling mother would trust with her daughters.

I run through the conversation in my head. Greeting. Small talk. The tutoring offer. The reassurance. The invitation to visit the apartment. Each step choreographed.

I pass by Hester’s classroom. The door is closed. Through the small window, I can see her at her desk, head down, writing in a notebook. She doesn’t look up. She’s focused, determined.

I wonder if she’s done the apology yet.

Two minutes later, I get my answer.

The bell rings. Doors open. Students spill into the hallway. I’m standing near the main entrance, pretending to wait for Hope, when a voice cuts through the noise.

"Excuse me. Can I have everyone’s attention?"

I look up. Hester is standing in the middle of the hallway, hands clasped in front of her, face pale but composed. Students stop. Turn. Stare.

"I want to say something."

The hallway goes quiet. A few teachers step out of their rooms.

Hester takes a breath. I can see her hands trembling. But her voice is steady when she speaks.

"I’ve been a bitch to a lot of you. I’ve bullied people, made their lives miserable. And I was wrong."

She pauses. Swallows. Pushes through.

"I can’t undo what I did. I can’t take back the things I said. But I can apologize. So I’m doing that now. I’m sorry. To everyone I hurt."

Silence.

A girl near the front stares at her. Then she nods slowly.

"Thanks, Hester."

Another girl mutters the same.

Someone starts clapping. A few others join in.

Hester’s shoulders sag with relief. She doesn’t smile, but the tension leaves her face.

I turn away before she can see me watching. Pride swells in my chest.

She did it on her own. I didn’t have to push. I didn’t even have to be here. My little pet is moving out of her shell...

I walk toward the exit, a smile on my face. I pass a group of younger students who are still buzzing about what they just witnessed. One of them says, "Did you hear what Hester said?" and another replies, "Yeah, I can’t believe she actually apologized." A teacher nearby nods approvingly before ducking back into her classroom.

Word spreads fast in a small school. By the time I reach the front doors, I hear two more conversations about it from both students and teachers.

Later, at home, she’ll get a proper reward for her courage. Something that makes her feel seen. Appreciated. Loved. Hmm... Perhaps an anal reverse suspending congress in the living room while Hope licks her tiny little cunt...