Sadly, the remaining days of half-term went by in a flash, and we were due back at school much sooner than I'd have cared for.

Tessa and I made up for our missed gym session on the Monday of that week by adding an extra three miles to our Wednesday run, rounding it up to a half marathon, and by spending an extra hour at the gym at our Thursday session. My figure had been good to begin with, but all of the exercise we were doing was toning my midriff and plumping up my buttocks. And this progress wasn't even hindered by our regular wine drinking and penchant for takeaway meals. All-in-all, my body was in good nick, and I was feeling good.

However, I was apprehensive about returning to work. The more I reflected, the more I realised just how out of control most of my classes had become. I wasn't sure how much more of it I could take. But returning after the half-term break gave me an opportunity to somewhat start afresh and begin turning things around.

I woke up on the Monday morning feeling a mixture of optimism and dread. I showered, dressed, ate some breakfast, then headed to school. Tessa remained in bed.

I was wearing a round neck, short sleeve, dark blue bodysuit, and a black leather midi pencil skirt over high waist blue panties and a matching balcony bra. One of my favourite parts of the day had become choosing my outfit, and I had grown increasingly fashion-conscious. Even though I was just a teacher, I always wanted to be looking stylish (maybe even a bit attractive), so took my time to achieve the best look I could.

After parking up in the school car park, I strolled through reception, cheerily saying "good morning" to Karen, the school's receptionist. I always exchanged a cursory but amiable morning greeting with Karen before making my way to my classroom, but today I was totally ignored. Slightly perplexed, I looked towards her to see if she had heard me; what met my eyes was Karen staring judgementally through me, a scowl tattooing her face.

'What's got into you?' I thought, but rather than inquire as to the reason for the hostile reception, I continued my walk to the classroom instead. What on earth happened to common courtesy? Had I done something to offend Karen? Better not to dwell on it, I concluded...it wasn't as if she was my bestie or anything.

I entered the unlocked classroom and seated myself at my desk. I started up the computer, logged in, and put my handbag down on my desk. As I put the handbag on the surface, I noticed the edge of something poking out from underneath it. I usually kept my desk clear, so I wondered what it was. I lifted my handbag, and to my horror saw that the 'something' was an A4 black-and-white photograph of me on all fours, deep-throating a dick! Although black-and-white, it was apparent who I was, what I was wearing, and what I was doing! At the bottom in the margin was written: "Thort you liked minge, miss. Good to now you can take dick to. xxx"

I gasped aloud. Bemusement overtook my senses, clouding my judgement and comprehension. It was only after I calmed myself down (I was breathing deeply and hurriedly) that I realised it was one of the photos Tessa had taken of me on Halloween.

How had this photo got out into the world? I thought Tessa was just using them for "her own pleasure"! Had she betrayed me? Had she been hacked? Surely the latter (dear god, please let it be the latter!). And why was it now sat on my desk? Who had put it there? Was Tessa playing some deep and elaborate prank on me? Had another teacher put it there? Or was it one of the bastard pupils? I must be a pupil, as it clearly said: "miss". Benji? Billy?

God, how many people had seen the photo!?

I was panicking madly. My mind was racing and I wasn't sure what to do. I tore up the photo into multiple spreads a thrust them in the bin, making sure it was impossible for the pieces to be retrieved and reassembled like a pornographic jigsaw.

The computer pinged, telling me that it had loaded. Hands shaking, I moved the mouse and opened up my emails. In my inbox was over 200 unread emails. I opened the first, the subject of which read 'naughty girl', sent from an anonymous address. CC'd was the school's headmaster, and all of my teaching colleagues. The contents of the email was a picture of me in the Wonder Woman corset pushing the dildo inside of me. I closed and deleted that particular email immediately, but as I tracked through the rest of my inbox, all others were similarly dirtily titled. I couldn't bear to open any of them so hastily deleted the entirety of my inbox.

By this point, I was hyperventilating and tears were streaming down my face, smearing my make-up. I walked jelly-legged over to the window to get some fresh air. I stuck my head out, arms rested on the windowsill, desperate to get some fresh air on my face. But no sooner had I taken a deep breath and quelled my tears than I heard a shout of: "OI OI MRS MCGRATH! BIT OVERDRESSED AREN'T YA? THINK YOU LOOK BETTER IN YOUR UNDIES, PERSONALLY". Then someone else shouted: "YEAH, MISS! GIVE US A PEAK OF THOSE GORGEOUS TITTIES OF YOURS. NOT LIKE NONE OF US HAVEN'T ALREADY SEEN THEM!".

The collective roar of laughter this generated would have satisfied the best stand-up comedian. A whole host of schoolchildren were gathered outside and were collectively staring up at me, laughing, pointing, and laughing some more. I angrily shut the window, returned to the desk, and started crying even more. Now I was completely bawling, an utter broken mess.

I was sat with my head in my hands unable to stop my waterworks when my morning class - year 10 - started making their way in. It was still too early for today's lesson, but there was clearly an organised effort from them all to get in early to see how events would unfold. An optimist would say that they were just eager to study 'Lord of the Flies'; a realist would say that they were gluttons for my misery.

I looked up sheepishly. All of the faces blurred into one. I couldn't muster the words to speak. Billy and Benji swaggered by my desk, but didn't say a single word. There smirks were enough to taunt me as they were.

Year 10 were all set up at their desks when the school headmaster, Mr Smith, burst into the classroom. He was surprised to see the class full of students so early, so he temporarily repressed the obvious rage he was feeling. Nevertheless, he said, with detectable vehemence in his voice: "Mrs McGrath, my office, now!"

"Ooooo, someone's in trouble!" somebody called out, drawing a bellow of "ENOUGH!" from the irate Mr Smith.

I slowly made my way to my feet, grabbed my stuff, and began the walk of shame towards him and out of the door. Miss Wright, one of the school's supply teachers, edged past me and made towards the desk. I was already being replaced!

The class taunted me as I walked across the front of the room, whistling, jeering, and even catcalling. They were reprimanded again by a vociferous Mr Smith, but that didn't discourage them. As I glanced up one final time, their glee at my predicament was plaintive. I moved out and into the corridor, and Mr Smith slammed the door shut behind us.

We walked to his office, which unfortunately was down a flight of stairs, past the canteen, and just off to the left of the reception area. We passed innumerable students on our way. Some looked partially sympathetic, but the vast majority were revelling in my public humiliation. Mercifully, we made it to his office, even though the realistically short walk felt more like a marathon.

I took up a vacant seat. He stood, back arched, opposite me, with his hands planted firmly on his desk.

"Denise, how the fuck do you explain what I've just seen this morning!?"

"I...I...I...", I stammered. "I...can...explain...". But how could I explain? What could I possibly say as justification or reason? Most of the story and relevant explanation was a mystery even to me, the subject of this awful situation.

"You don't need to. It's pretty clear to me. You're taking pornographic photographs of yourself and posting them for money online."

"For money?" I blubbered.

"Yes, for money! Posting pictures of yourself dressed in next to nothing, playing with those...things, on a subscription site. I can't believe the emails I've read this morning and what they describe. I thought they were playing games, but the evidence speaks for itself." He violently whipped his computer screen around for me to see. The photos was of me in my red Victoria's Secret bra and panties, laying suggestively on the B&B bed. He began flicking through the photos, each one just as incriminating as the last.

I couldn't bear to look at the screen. "Please stop!" I pleaded, my voice cracking as I spoke.

"Stop what? Showing you the photos? If you're so embarrassed by them you should have thought about that before putting them online for any Tom, Dick or Harry to see!" His tone remained accusatory and volatile, and he left the last photo up on the screen, so that it stared me mockingly in the face. I could only look up at him through my barely parted fingers.

"You do realise the consequences this has for us as a school, don't you? We have sponsors, who will see these photos and think we employ sluts as teachers. Not to mention the parents: who in their right mind would send their child to a school where a teacher is essentially a porn star? And then there's the children themselves. I reckon from the reaction I just saw in that classroom and from the rest of them we passed on the way down here that most of them have seen you in just your lingerie, probably even less! How can they possibly respect and learn from somebody so flagrantly selling their body?"

I retorted at this: "you're making me out to be some kind of hooker!" It was a weak argument, but it was all I had. And I couldn't continue taking his flak without at least arousing some counter-argument, no matter how piss-poor it was.

"Maybe not a hooker, but not far off." He was less violently angry now, but still retained the poise of a viper about to strike. "Look, there's little point hashing this out any further. What has been done and seen cannot be undone or erased, no matter how much you may want it to be. Your tenure here is over. You're fired!"

The words were a dagger to my heart, but I had anticipated their arrival at least 10 minutes earlier. There was no point pleading my case or protesting my innocence. My job was terminated, and my teaching career was almost certainly over.

I sat motionless for a bit, still digesting the news despite its inevitability. But my presence in Mr Smith's office, and indeed at the school, was on massively borrowed time.

"You need to leave. Now." There was a trace of sympathy in his voice, yet he was still unequivocal. I stood up, left his office, and left the school.

I tried to keep my head down and move quickly through reception and out to my car. Pupils were still filing in for the start of the new half-term, and it was difficult to find an easy route through the crowd. I'm pretty sure I heard calls of "slut", "whore" and "bimbo", but I tried not to react to them. In the end, the crowd was so hard to get through that I forced my way through and out of the door, barging any fucker who obstructed my path. I was still unbelievably upset, but furious now, too.

I quick-stepped to my car, avoiding eye contact with people who passed. I fumbled with my keys in my attempt to open the driver's door as speedily as I could. Once opened, I jumped inside and instantly locked the doors. I put my head in my hands and began crying some more. Through the blanket of my hands, I saw a flash, then another, and removed them to find some pupils stood around taking photos of my despair. I aggressively honked my horn, hoping to scare them away, but they delighted in witnessing my descent into madness. Recognising the futility of staying where I was, I turned on the ignition and drove away. I almost ran into some of the kids as I made my way out of the car park, but by that point I was past caring.

I drove home erratically, jumping red lights and breaking the speed limit. My humiliation and despair had mutated into fury, and I now knew Tessa had to be responsible. How and why were questions I'd still have to find answers for, but I had to speak to her, no delay.

I pulled up outside our house and marched towards the front door. I tried to open it, but it was locked. I knocked passionately, thudding as hard as I could against the wood.

"TESSA! OPEN UP!" Followed by another pounding on the door. "OPEN UP THIS INSTANCE! TESSA! I MEAN IT, OPEN UP!!!" I was screaming loud enough for people in Japan to hear me. It was little wonder that I attracted a fair bit of attention from some nosey neighbours and general passers by. I continued hammering away at the door, drawing blood on my knuckles. Eventually, Tessa opened up.

I burst past her into the hallway. She calmly closed the door and turned around to face me. My fists were clenched, and I prepared to let her feel my wrath.