Inari Kitsune’s Cooking Classroom

Inari Kitsune’s Cooking Classroom

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Bon Dieu!”, it is the phrase that I find myself using the most often in my employment. You would too if you were in my line of work.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Oh dear reader, please excuse me my weakness for taking the Chief God’s name in vain. Despite both my upbringing, and the weeks, no MONTHS of experience I have received in my employment, there are times when my students would test the patience of even an Order Saint.

But, to be fair, they do that simply by their existence. My students are Monsters after all, and the Order Saints normally take a dim view of Monsters anyways.

But I digress.

Allow me to introduce myself Mesdames et Messieurs, my name is Armand Poirier. I used to be a rising star in the culinary world of the Grand City of Paris. Alas, I am a rising star no more! If it were not for that damnable green grocer worming his way into the arms of my fiancée…

Pardon moi. I digress again.

Several months agone, I was hired to work as an Instructor for Madame Inari Umi-sama. She is the owner and operator of Inari Kitsune’s Cooking Classroom.

What is my assigned task in this illustrious company, you may ask? A fair question, non? I will bestow upon you a fair answer.

It is simple, I am employed to instruct Monsters how to cook.

It is simple to say, yet it is so very difficult to enact. So difficult, I believe that even Hercules herself would have found such a labor to be insurmountable!
But, despite the endless difficulties I have to deal with every day, I have to remember to be patient. Or, as ma mère would often say to me when I was growing up: “Little by little, the bird makes its nest’. No, no she was not referring to Harpies.

My main difficulty in enacting this monumental task of conveying the knowledge of the culinary arts, lies in the fact that so many of these ‘Monster-Girls’ lack a certain je ne sais pas quoi, when it comes to preparing foods for their newly acquired husbands.

Mais Oui, even the average United-Statesian who is as mentally challenged as a stone, when he attempts to find a number greater than Trois on a microwave oven panel, has more cooking experience than the average newlywed Monster-Girl! Patience is not only a virtue in my line of work, but also a hard requirement!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Sacre Bleu!” I shout in consternation as I am greeted by the sight of my Lizardman student, Anyang, choking on an uncooked Turkey drumstick.

In that moment upon my arrival, I take note that Anyang is simultaneously clutching at her throat and mouth with her hands (?), and has a pair of her fellow students pounding ineffectively on her back. One of them is a Hellhound named Mishal, the other is a Lamia named Chava.
I do not stop to wonder WHY Anyang has a raw Turkey drum stuck so far down her throat. All I care about in that moment, is the fact that she is choking on it.

“Professor, HELP!” Chava cries out, with desperation in her yellow colored eyes. I immediately spring into action.

“Mishal, Chava, step back and stand ready!” I command, as I reach into my vest pocket for my trusty Ouroboros-Forceps. Both do as I command. Though Mishal momentarily looks at me with enough peevishness to cause small flames to arise from the corners of her eyes.

“Anyang! Tilt your head back!” I bark at the Lizardman, in an effort to get her to comply. Instead, all she does is continue to clutch at her throat and make strangling noises as she attempts to dislodge the oversized turkey leg, with an ever-increasing desperation.

I have but seconds left to act.

“Mishal, restrain Anyang!” Once more, Mishal gives me a dirty look and begins to bare her teeth at me. But, as soon as she senses the direness of the situation, she then does what I command and firmly takes ahold of her friend’s arms. At that, Anyang’s desperation becomes even more extreme as she tries to fight Mishal off. I turn to the Lamia.

“Chava! Tilt Anyang’s head back, NOW!” Chava’s eyes widen in surprise by the forcefulness in my voice, but is quick to obey. She too obeys my authority, and takes a strong hold of Anyang’s head. Then she gently, yet firmly, forces Anyang to tilt her head back. Reluctantly, Anyang complies. Even in her desperation to breathe, deep down I think she knows that help is on the way.

Ignoring her gagging as best I can, I grasp Anyang’s quivering jaw with my left hand, and apply my thumb and middle fingers firmly in between her molars through the skin on the sides of her mouth. This has the effect of making her involuntarily open her mouth still further.

‘Good.’ I judge to myself, as I lower the forceps that I wield in my right hand, down towards the anterior end of the Turkey drum that is just barely visible within Anyang’s mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Anyang is crying copious amount of tears as she is in extreme desperation. But, I do not allow myself to falter at the sight of them.

I firmly affix the forceps to the turkey drum end, now thankfully free of cartilage. I glance quickly at my two impromptu helpers, to silently let them know that I need them,… no!
Anyang is the one who needs them! She needs them to be immplacable in their resolve! As a pair, they catch sight of my glance and nod back as if in silent agreement.

Gently, I slowly twist the Turkey drum in a clockwise manner. This allows me the opportunity to see what is wrong as I peer deep into Anyang’s gullet.

“AHA!” I mildly shout in triumph, as I see the problem: The Turkey drum had caught on her hindmost thecodont teeth, thus preventing its withdrawal. Shortly, I am able to free the drum from one side of her mouth and then the other, by gently twisting the drum back and forth and pulling it up just a bit with every twist. Within half a minute, the drum is free enough for Anyang to start breathing in again with great gasping sobs.

I hold off on removing the drum completely as her body convulsions lessen somewhat, and her breathing starts to normalize.

“Patience Anyang! We’re almost done.” I look at her eyes momentarily, and I see her nod imperceptibly. It takes only another minute, but I am able finish the extraction with a minimum of fuss.

“Class!” I announce firmly, as every eye there looks to me. “We will be taking a break for approximately half an hour while I attend to Anyang. I TRUST there will be no more ‘accidents’ during that time?” I sternly state, as I look around at the students of my class. As one, they all shake their heads.

Satisfied, I then take a firm hold of my quivering injured student by her shoulders, and I carefully guide her to the classroom door and places beyond. The Cooking Institute’s Infirmary awaits.

It is only after I have transferred Anyang to the tender mercies of the Institute’s Unicorn/Nurse, that I find a nearby private spot in which I allow myself to decompress. I cover my face with my hands and allow my own overdue tears to flow, at last.

I do not know how long I am there, or how many tears I have silently shed before I feel a hand/paw on my shoulder. With a start, I look up and I behold the wondrous countenance of mine employer: The Honorable Madame Umi-Sama, looking at me with naked concern on her vulpine face.

“Are you all right Monsieur Poirier?” she asked worriedly. I sit back and relax with a hint of a small smile appearing on my face.

“I am much better now Madame Umi-sama. Now, that my injured student is in the helpful hands of our Nurse, Amalthea.” I begin as I gesture towards the Unicorn and her ward, both of whom ignore me.
Yet Umi-sama’s worried look only increases in intensity at my pronouncement. With a start, my smile evaporates as I realize my error.

“I must apologize for my lapse in judgment, Madame Umi-Sama. For I have allowed a student under my authority to come to harm.” She looks startled for a second and then she speaks, her voice neutral.

“Tell me what happened.’ She asks simply, quietly. I then explain the circumstances, and when I get to the part where I observe the status of the Turkey Drumstick, she lets out a momentary gasp and then covers her mouth with a furry hand. She looks down at the floor for a moment, and then back up to me.

“Come with me.” She commands, as she gets to her Hakamah hidden feet. Silently, I obey and keep my head bowed as I follow the sound of her Geta-sandals clacking quietly upon the floorboards ahead of me. We end up in her office. My heart sinks as I begin to realize the situation.

‘I have failed in the care of a student, and I am to be terminated. It is only fair.’ I think to myself morosely, while keeping my facial expressions placid as I close her office door behind me.

“Well done Armand!” my employer exclaimed happily then, clapping her hands once. Her reaction has left me visibly surprised, and she smiles understandingly upon seeing it.

“Do not fret Armand, I have not invited you here to chastise you, but to congratulate you!”

“I do not understand Mada,…” I begin, shaken by these turn of events.

“Please allow me to continue,” she asked quietly, and I nod my head in what I hope is a modicum of humility. “I must admit that I had my doubts about you coming on board at first, Monsieur Poirier. But your actions today have only affirmed my choice in your hire.”

I looked up at her, blinking and confused. She smiled anew. The sight of it made my heart aflutter.

“Do you always keep a pair of medical forceps on your person, Armand?” the red furred vixen asked me suddenly, her head tilted.

“Pas Normalement!” I reply. Seeing her confused look, I translate to the vulgar English, “Not normally.”

“Then why did you do so today?” I go on to explain to her, that I had heard from some of the other instructors, that many of their students have a tendency to show off.

“Show off?” Umi-sama asks, giving me a knowing look. “In what way?” I hesitate to continue, but she motions me to do so. Sighing, I comply.

“They ‘show off’,…by demonstrating to each other their…” I look up to my employer with a silent plea to be excused. Instead, she crosses her arms to indicate that she wishes me to continue, despite my embarrassment.

“Capacity for Oral Sex.” I finish, blushing furiously and not looking at her.

“As to why they feel the need to demonstrate this with a Turkey Drum, is beyond my understanding at this time.” I continue, not looking at her.

“So why do you carry the Forceps?” she continues, relentlessly.

“Because of what happened just a short while ago, Madame Umi-sama. Apparently a student getting a drumstick stuck in her throat, appears to be a common occurrence. I resolved myself to research the best extraction methods ahead of time, in case such a situation happened under my watch.”

“And it is well that you did, for both your student and your employer!” she yipped happily then.

“Your forethought in preparations are a credit to you and your professionalism!” She praised. I smiled back at her, happy to realize that I was not being terminated from my employment. As that was the last thing I needed in my life. But, also I was happy to have someone, anyone, appreciate me again.

We continued to banter back and forth for a couple of minutes more until I realized the time. I excused myself as I had to return to class shortly. But, before I departed, she said one thing at the last that definitely caught my attention.

“Monsieur Poirier, before you go, I have but one complaint about your behavior.” She stated firmly, looking at me sternly in the eyes. I bowed my head.

“My apologies, Madame Umi-Sama. What have I done wrong?” I asked, in what hoped was a suitable amount of humility.

“You keep referring to me as ‘Madame’. She said simply. Looking up, I saw her smile at me then. “From now on, you will refer to me properly, as ‘Madamoiselle’.” I have to admit that I was surprised by that fact, and just a bit intrigued as well.

“I promise you that I will endeavor to do so from this moment henceforth, Madamoiselle Umi-Sama.” I replied with a bow. Her only reply was an alluring smile.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

On the way back to my classroom, I took the time to insure that Madame Anyang was all right, and she was. Though I feigned being stern I could tell that we were both happy with the outcome, and she was most contrite and thankful for my intervention.  I did extract a promise from her to avoid such behaviors in the future.

A promise I insured to demand, and receive, from every single one of Anyang’s fellow classmates upon my return. Thankfully, no more incidents of that nature occurred during my absence.

In fact, that is a promise that I have requested from every other one of my students in subsequent classes. Not that such has stopped them, of course.

In preparation for those future occurrences, I requisitioned several sets of medical forceps to be kept on hand in other classrooms, just in case.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

It was only several weeks later, that I learned the reason why so many of my students felt the need to utilize a Turkey drum to show off with, as opposed to something I would have expected to be…well,…more appropriate. Say, something along the lines of a chicken drumstick.

“Armand!” shouted Jerome, a recent hire of the Institute. “I wish to thank you!” Jerome stated as he ran towards me dodging some students , following the end of one teaching period.

“Thank me?” I asked, confused. “For what?” I finished as he came near, then he reached out to forcefully shake my hand with a grand smile upon his cheery countenance. I bore up under his nigh-on superhuman strength with aplomb.

“Oh, I’m sorry Armand!” He apologized, once he realized what the situation was and had let go.

“It is nothing, Jerome!” I replied. “You wished to thank me?” I prompted. He did a double take while grinning and continued on to explain that the ‘Drumstick’ business had occurred yet again, this time under his watch. He wanted to thank me for my insisting on having several sets of forceps lying about, and my sharing on how best to utilize them when needed.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the particular reason WHY our students felt the need to utilize a Turkey Drumstick.

“OH, that’s right! I keep forgetting that you’re not an Incubus yet!” he continued, as if this explained anything. With a few directed questions I was able to winnow out the necessary information.

Apparently human males who take on a Monster Girl as wife, undergo several physical changes. The most noticeable of which, is that the male’s manhood is,…how to put this delicately, ‘enhanced dramatically’.

I was most surprised at this tidbit of wisdom, and it must have shown on my face.

“Be careful Armand, you’ll catch Beezlebubs with that mouth!” he chuckled then, as he caught me inadvertently glancing down at his trousers.

“Yes Armand! I too have had the same thing happen to me after I was made to marry! If you like, we could adjourn to the facilities if you wish to see the evidence with your own eyes?” he asked, with an impish grin.

“Oh NO!” I exclaimed, waving my hands in embarrassment. “That is quite all right! I believe you!” Jerome laughed at my crimson face then.  

“Well, give it enough time, you’ll have your own evidence well in hand!” he laughed before excusing himself.

‘What does he mean, by that?’ I wondered, as I hurried myself to the company dormitory.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Now, as I was saying. The average American with his fingertips blunted from his enthusiastic overuse of the microwave oven keypad, still possesses more skill in ‘cooking’, than the average Demon-Realm dwelling Monster-Girl.

This is namely due to the fact that up until fairly recent, many of the Monsters have never needed to learn how to cook. They hadn’t had the need, nor the desire, until the “Great Maou” had taken the reins of command of well,…whatever it is she took over. Why this change occurred, I have never yet had it adequately explained.

Heretofore, they had relied upon eating anything and everything they could catch, raw. At first I couldn’t believe such, but upon seeing the ‘average’ Monster Girl’s dentition, I soon did. Many of them had, and still do, fangs of the slavering variety. Any male who would allow his manhood within the vicinity of such, is a far braver man than I.

But, in all fairness, it is difficult for many Monster Girls to not only light a fire to cook with, but to know what to do with it after. Doubly so, when they are of the underwater variety, such as a Mermaid or a Selkie. Yet for those who are willing to become students of mine, I am equally willing to teach my students in any locale. Up to, and including the seashore.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“You are doing quite well, Naia!” I honestly complimented the young Mermaid, upon her successful completion of starting and maintaining a fire. Which, in and of itself is no mean feat for a land dweller such as I.

“Why thank you, Instructor.” She blushed furiously then, as a lock of her teal colored hair dropped into her face.

 “What must I do next?” she inquired, hoping to change the subject. I could tell that she wasn’t used to receiving much in the way of positive reinforcement.

“Choose a pot, fill it with fresh water, and then hang it above the fire for the water within it to boil.” She gave me a confused look, when I mentioned ‘boil’.

“Soon, quite soon, young lady you will understand what is meant by ‘boil’.” I explained. Once I insured that she was up to the task, I turned my attention to another mer-student who had been having problems of her own, in dealing with a flint and steel.

“Ah! I see the problem Thoe. It would’ve been a lot easier to make the fire catch if you had chosen DRY wood.” I explained patiently. I then assisted her in the retrieval of same, then I oversaw her setting up for a proper fire.  

Once she was well along, I turned my attention back to Naia. Who by then, seemed to be utterly fascinated by the rolling boil that the pot of water held within.

“THAT!” I pointed out to her. “Is what we call, a boil.”

“It’s beautiful!” she stated, utterly mesmerized by the sight of it. “So many bubbles! It’s like the surf upon a rocky shore!” she cried delightedly.

“Ah, but please remain cautious young lady.” I cautioned. “Like so many things of the sea, even the most innocent looking of items has an inherent danger to them.” Naia, tilted her head and gave me a roll of her eyes, giving me a droll look. I smiled an apology for my mild patronizing.

“Now, let us begin the Hearty Fish Stew. Now, those fish I had you catch and gut earlier?” she nodded. “Go ahead and place them into the boiling water.”

I then instructed her on the appropriate use of a long handled spoon when transferring the fish safely. Satisfied with my instruction then, I noticed that Thoe had managed to get her fire going, but was having problems with keeping it lit. I excused myself to help.

But, no sooner than I had turned my back, than I heard Naia give out a most piteous wail!

“AAAAAHHH!” she cried, clutching one webbed hand with the other.

“What is wrong Naia? What happened?!” I exclaimed, all concerned.

“The fish! They bit my hand! All of it!” she whimpered.

“Wait, but how, they are dead are they not?” I wondered aloud, after I managed to coax the young Mermaid into letting me examine her reddened hand. It took a few minutes, but eventually I got the story.

Apparently, the fish in the rolling boil appeared to swim so lifelike to her, that she stuck in her hand into the pot to make them stop moving around.

“But why do that?” I asked, perplexed.

“Because the silly things aren’t acting like dead fish!” she explained, holding back her tears. “They’re supposed to just float about!” she ended with a snivel.

I sighed in bewilderment, before retrieving some burn cream from the school’s First Aid kit. That one scalded hand was bad enough. But, once I was sure that she was up to resuming the lesson, she subsequently managed to scald her other hand.

“BAD FISH!” she pouted at the potful of fish. “You’re DEAD, you’re not supposed to be biting me like that!”

Needless to say, I learned some wisdom that day. Which I made sure to impart to my fellow teaching staff for all future water Monsters in the future.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Oh what’s that you say? How is it that I, a Bachelier, can teach Monster Girls and remain in that blessed state? It is simple, I teach only married Monster Girls.

It is up to Jerome, and the others like him who are married, to teach the unmarried Mamono who come seeking the wisdom of the culinary arts.

Though, I have to remain on guard at all times whensoever I am going about my day. For you see, the Cooking Classroom establishment is not segregated by marital status.

But, Madamoiselle Umi-Sama has thought ahead, and assigned to me something called: A Periapt of Concealment. This Periapt of Concealment, is something that has not saved my life, no. But, it has saved me from involuntary matrimony on more than one occasion.

I remember that one day, in which I was prepping for the next lesson, and I discovered that Umi-Sama’s syllabus for the day included ingredients that my classroom lacked. So, absentmindedly and nary a care, I barged out into the hallways in search of them, the store room being my intended destination.

While walking, I kept that syllabus in my hands attempting to translate my employer’s handwriting. As such, I wasn’t giving my full mind watching where I was going. The next thing I know, I bounce into something warm, soft, and pleasantly yielding.

“Oh my!” said a cheery voice then. Looking up, I observed the most beauteous pair of cinnamon brown eyes peering back at me. These enchanting eyes were framed by a charming crown of curly jet-black hair, which were set off by a magnificent olive dark skin.

I was speechless for a moment. Then I remembered my manners.

“My apologies Madame! Please excuse this clumsy oaf!” I began, but was stopped when a well-manicured hand placed itself upon my lips, silencing me gently.

“Oh, that’s quite all right my dear!” this vision of angelic loveliness stated, letting her hand slowly slide its way down from my lips to my shoulder, and they remained there insouciantly.

Standing back momentarily, I began to take in more of this wondrous sight that stood before me. With a sudden shock, I noticed in that moment a pair of tell tale horns curling from behind her mass of hair, ending in points just above and to the forward of her delicately pointed ears.

‘Mon Dieu! A Succubus!’ I thought to myself in mounting horror.

“Oh, my indeed, I see now that you’re single!” said this hypnotically cheery voice again, her smile widening enough to expose her lustrous pearly white teeth. I soon became lost in fascination at the sight of these teeth. Why? I do not know, even to this day.

Drawing upon the depths of my resolve, I attempted to move myself away from this Fallen Angel of loveliness. Her smile faltered, when she saw me draw away, and I could feel her hand on my shoulder grip me like a vise!

“Oooh, don’t go!” she cooed, as she began to reel me in. “Why the need to flee? I can sense your loneliness, you’ve been wallowing in misery for far, far too long!” she whispered huskily at me. It was then in that instant, that I realized my error!

For you see dear reader, I had foolishly left my coat with its ever-present Periapt of Concealment pinned to a lapel, behind me in my classroom!

“Monsieur Poirier!” A loud, yet strangely refreshing voice stated then. “You forgot something!” I tried to turn my head to see who had addressed me so, but the Succubus was having none of that!

“Never mind you her!” She stated, with a dollop of jealousy contained in her voice. “Look only at ME!” she commanded huskily, while leaving her succulent lips parted sensuously. I felt myself falling into the cinnamon chasms of her eyes.

And then the moment passed! Where before that alluring Succubus commanded my full attention, suddenly she had a confused look upon her face, and I was arrested in my downfall!

The olive skinned beauty stood and blinked confusedly at me for a moment or three. Then she took a step back and released me from her grasp. I observed her returning her hand down to her waist, where she gripped it tightly in thwarted frustration.

“Monsieur Poirier,” said the refreshing voice once more, “allow me to introduce to you the Lady Leni Marta, she is visiting here, as a representative of the Promotion of Vice Ministry, from Royal Makai!” Turning, I saw the source of the refreshment, it was my employer Madamoiselle Umi-sama. I gave her a silent relieved expression by way of thanks for her extracting me from such a pickle of a situation. I then bowed to the Succubus.

“I bid you welcome Lady Marta. I hope that you will be able to find what you’ve been looking for, here in this humble establishment.” I stated, in what I hoped to be an appropriate level of contriteness for my inadvertent teasing.

Lady Marta stared at me disdainfully for a full half-minute, before jerking her head back and sniffing loudly. She then turned and sauntered away, her spade ended tail held stiffly out behind her.

After she had gone, and Madamoiselle Umi-sama had insured that there were no more students near at hand, she then removed her previously unseen furry hand from the back of my neck. Within her grasp, I saw my foolishly forgotten Periapt. Seeing it, I swallowed nervously.

The Lady Umi-sama said nothing to me then. Instead, she smiled wryly and pinned it to the front of my shirt. She then patted me kindly on the shoulder, and sent me on my way, assured that I had learned my lesson.

I had indeed.

But even the Periapt has its limitations as some of the more ferociously husband-hungry students, like the Arachne, have demonstrated to me. Even now anywhere I go, my heart skips a beat at the sound of an Ushi-Oni’s claw-tips clacking along a solid surface.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

I have found that my being employed by Inari Kitsune’s Cooking Classroom to be, more or less, an enjoyable one. Alas, even such as I have my less than professional days.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Today Class!” I speak out firmly and clearly, as I look out over onto my class of a score of Mamono. “We will be learning the finer arts of…!” I exclaimed as I lifted up Mademoiselle’s Umi’s syllabus for the day, and read it.

“Making Peanut Butter and,…” I hesitated as I read, blinking a couple of times.

‘Surely I am misreading this?’ I thought to myself in consternation. ‘Sacre bleu! Alas, I have not!’ I placed the syllabus back onto the table in front of me with a shaking hand.

“Making Peanut Butter,” I continued hoarsely, “and Jelly sandwiches.” I finished quietly with a dry mouth.

‘Chief God in Heaven!’ I moaned silently. ‘What manner of punishment is this? I! I who have worked with some of the finest culinary ingredients in the world! I am reduced to this!’ I shook in agitation.

‘ENOUGH Armand! You are paid to be an Instructor, so Instruct!’ I reproved myself silently. I then looked out at my ever patient students. All of whom had waited expectantly for me to continue. I took several deep breaths.

“To begin with class,” I began with a steely-dan like resolve. “Follow along with me.” I explained as patiently as I could the process.

Slicing the bread was relatively easy for them all. Getting the jars of fruit preserves open, however, proved to be a challenge for several of my students. Both the Anubis and the Jinko, what with their ‘man-grabbers’ that they are blessed with, found it difficult to manipulate their relatively small jar lids. Even the lone Scylla with her tentacles, was able to get hers open before them.

Then the biggest challenge to my patience occurred: The jar of Peanut Butter. ‘Merde!’

For no sooner than the entirety of my class had their knives covered with an adequate amount of Peanut butter, then I did notice a single student who wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she was bobbing her head and kept sticking out her tongue rapidly. Yet to my eyes, she didn’t seem to be in pain.

“Petrine?” I inquired. “Are you all right?” She looked back at me momentarily and nodded vigorously, not interrupting herself in the least.

“Then why aren’t you,…?” I began, then stopped as I realized what had happened then.

“You licked the knife, didn’t you?” I asked rhetorically of the Were-wolf. She smiled back at me and nodded once, and continued licking the roof of her mouth. I sighed heavily in consternation.

“Well, let us all wait,…” I began once more, then stopped again. I stopped as I noticed one by one, every single other student licking her own overly loaded knife clean of peanut butter.

They then began to emulate Petrine’s antics until finally everyone other than I, was engaged in attempting to lick the peanut butter off of the roof of her mouth.

My emotions roiled up in me at the sight of it all. Anger, amusement, frustration, all of them battled within me then. I observed not just the Loup-Garou, but the Jinko, the Anubis, and the others, even the lone Succubus was engaged in that losing battle.

Though to her credit, that lone Succubus managed to turn her undignified demonstration into something vaguely erotic.

Somehow, I managed to maintain my professionalism through it all. But, when it came to my observing that Arachne with her multiple eyes blinking and winking alternately in concentration, all the while licking the roof of her own mouth, I lost all control.

I began laughing uncontrollably.

After several minutes, Madamoiselle Umi-Sama herself arrived to see what the fuss was all about. She became most vexed with me and my lack of rectitude. She then proceeded to give me a well-deserved dressing down for my lack of decorum, in front of the entire class. Though I have to admit, that even such as she, found it difficult to maintain a straight face trying to ignore the antics of my students.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

For the most part, my fully human and non-married status proved to be no impediment to me while I worked in that Demon Realm. Alas, there proved to be a few problems that cropped up every now and again.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“So, you’re telling me that I cannot use my own set of Silver tools when I’m teaching?” I asked in dismay. Madamoiselle Umi-sama nodded her head sagely.

“But, but,… but why?” I asked in an ever increasing shrillness. Umi-sama smiled patiently as she raised a fur covered hand at me.

“The Silver, Monsieur Poirier, is the problem. Just the werewolves alone should give you a clue.” That statement made me close my mouth with a small ‘clack’ as I realized the enormity of her statement.

“Mon Dieu Principal, I had completely forgotten!” I found myself abashed then, ignoring the wince that my quip concerning the Chief God elicited from my employer.

“So what must I use then? Pewter perhaps?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, Armand.” She shook her head at me patiently. “That will not be required. Instead, I have ordered a number of custom made tools be crafted, so that they allow you to continue in the standards that you’re accustomed.”

“But, what are they made out of then?” I cried, in desperation.

“Demon-Realm Silver.” She replied evenly.

“Demon-Realm Silver?” I gaped, perplexed at this seeming conundrum.

“Yes,” she replied. “they are a form of silver that Werewolves and their like, can handle safely with no harm to themselves.”

“Well, that is a relief.” I sighed happily. Then I noticed her stern countenance.

“Oui Madamoiselle?” I inquired.

“I must caution you to be careful with your use of them, as they have the potential to,…” she began.

“Cause me harm?” I interrupted, frightened.

“Not necessarily.” She explained. “You will find that if they cut you, that you will not bleed.”

“I fail to see how THAT could require a caution.” I stated.

“However, you will discover a temporary lassitude that will make you feel as if you had been cut, and have been bleeding heavily.” She looked at me full on, and noticed my confused expression.

“They will drain you of a significant amount of your Essence.” She warned me with a cold set of her features.

“Thus you will find yourself in a vulnerable position, easy prey for an unwed Monster Girl, or one of her helpful married sisters.” She added quietly, in a tone that thundered into my soul.

I gulped audibly.

“I believe I understand now the enormity of the situation, Madamoiselle Umi-Sama.” I replied, my face paling.

“See that you do, Monsieur Poirier, as I do not wish to see you go the way of your predecessor.” She answered off handedly.

“My Predecessor?” I inquired.

“Hai!” she returned, and then leaned over to whisper into my ear, “Food Poisoning.” She said in the quietest of whispers. I gasped involuntarily.

“He is still on Emergency Matrimonial Leave,” she continued, “and I expect him to remain in that status, until such time as his wife feels that he can be trusted out of her sight.”

“I do not understand the connection?” I replied, Madamoiselle Umi-sama sighed.

“He was in the habit of taste-testing the final product of every one of his students. I must warn you to never do that!” She paused, looking at me square in the eyes.

“As it turned out, despite my best efforts to the contrary, occasionally one of the single students manages to find her way into the married classes. As such, she managed to inject some of her Manticore venom into her class project, and took full advantage of him in his vulnerable state.”

“Mon Dieu!” I replied, sweating bullets.

Needless to say, I was extra careful to never once allow myself to be cut using my own, assigned Demon-Realm Silver tools. At least during class that is. I cannot recall the number of times I awoke on the floor of my apartment kitchen, extremely fatigued, but still blessedly single.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Part of the challenge of being an Instructor to Monster-Girls, is the fact that even though they are human-seeming in form, at their core they are still very much Monsters.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Uhmm,” I began raising a hand when the Madamoiselle Umi-sama opened the floor of the weekly staff meeting for any questions. “Yes, I do have a question.”

My employer acknowledged my outburst with a nod of her furry head, and motioned for me to stand up and continue.

“I find that I am having a difficulty with my latest batch of students.” I began, looking around the room. “I look forward towards any advice anyone could give me concerning the best way to handle such.”

“What is the nature of the problem?” Madamoiselle Umi-sama inquired.

“In my afternoon class, I have a Were-wolf who feels the need to ‘herd’ the lone Were-sheep. I have lectured her on the necessity of her not doing so, and I have attempted to keep the two of them on opposite corners of the classroom. Nevertheless, she persists.”

“Do you have a solution to propose?” my employer asked.

“May I suggest a transfer of the Were-wolf to a different class?”

“Unacceptable Monsieur Poirier! Our classes are now at capacity, and as such there are no open slots in any of the other rooms. Additionally, yours is the only married student class available this month. Are you willing to entertain a Single student?” the Madamoiselle Umi-sama asked rhetorically, smiling toothily.

“Uh, no Madamoiselle, I am not.” I replied with a shudder, sitting down. Just then, a fellow teacher piped up.

“Monsieur Poirier, I believe I may have a solution to your problem.” Stated a Dark Elf.

“I am all ears, Madame Brorma.” I replied. She gave me a momentary wry look. I peered back at her and noticed that even for an Elf, she bore an extraordinarily large set of long pointed ears.

“No joke intended, I assure you.” I added quietly, while the rest of the staff chuckled. Luckily, she didn’t seem offended.

“As you are probably aware, we of the Dark Elf realm have a reputation for Discipline, so be assured that I am well experienced in such matters.” She began. I nodded politely, and she continued.

“Were-wolves are pack animals in that they defer to a Strong Leader. This means that you, as the Instructor, must take on that role.”

“What do you suggest I do?” I asked. With a knowing smile, she told me.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

At the very next class session, sure enough, Lucina the Were-wolf began harassing Bumble the Were-sheep.

“Lucina! That is quite enough!” I shouted. “You are not here to herd anyone. You are here to learn!” I stated, loudly yet firmly. She chose to ignore me then. I sighed heavily when she did. I then proceeded to take out that object that Madam Brorma had loaned me for this inevitable occasion.

I then coiled it, and grasped it firmly by its handle, I carried it with me until I was standing next to the misbehaving Were-wolf. Even then, she chose to ignore me, while she continued to eagerly nip at the poor Were-sheep’s wooly fur.

“LUCINA!” I commanded one last time, attempting to get her attention. She still chose to ignore me. Sighing, I then did what I’d been instructed to do.

I uncoiled that Bullwhip, and flexing it appropriately I made it give off a resounding ‘CRACK’, overhead.

The effects were immediate and satisfying. Lucina the Were-wolf, and everyone else in the room, flinched and jumped back away from me in fear.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Lucina cried immediately, her ears laid back fearfully, while the Were-sheep cringed away momentarily. But she soon stopped once she realized that my attention was fully focused on her erstwhile bully.

“I am disciplining you Lucina!” I began, as I grabbed her collar firmly. “I have asked you several times to cease in your harassment of your fellow student.”

“But you’re not allo…ERK!” she stopped as I jerked her by her collar, and began dragging her away from the Were-sheep. Oh she fought, and she snarled, as she twisted and turned while trying desperately to get away from me.

But I was having none of it. I maintained a firm and full grip on her collar as I dragged her to the head of the class. There in full view of everyone in the class, lay a large tin tub half-filled with sudsy water.

Lucina gave out a small fear filled howl, when I forced her around to face that tub.

“You know what that is, do you not?” I whispered harshly into one of her laid back ears. Her only reply was a rapid shaking up and down of her head.

“Very well then, Lucina. If you do not behave yourself in my class from this moment forward, I shall be forced to give you…” I paused dramatically for the effect, “a BATH!” I half yelled, for all within the room to hear.  She drew in a whistling breath in her fear.

“I’ll be good, I promise!” she yelped, while cringing away from the sudsy water.

“See that you do!” I barked at her, then released her. She scrambled fearfully away and took her assigned spot, keeping her eyes fixed on me the entire while.

I stared at her silently for a moment, and then turned my attention to the rest of the class. I noticed in that moment before I returned to the lesson at hand, that the Were-sheep was giving me the most appreciative of smiles. I nodded back at her, happy with the results.

“Very well then class. You will all see before you, a recipe for a particularly popular Demon-Realm dish. Please follow along as we begin preparations to cook: Elderberry-Stuffed Hamsters.”

For the most part Lucina did indeed keep herself in line from then on. Though there were still a couple more times in which I had to ‘discipline’ her. But all it took to get her back into line, was for me was to walk over to water tap and turn it on momentarily.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Word got around that I now employed a whip in class. Unfortunately, as a result, I soon discovered there were many cultural differences I had to overcome as a result. The most memorable for me involved the Holstauri. Madamoiselle Umi-sama employed several of them, so as to be assured of a fresh supply of milk for her classes.

“No, NO Babette!” I explained as patiently as I could, to one of the employed Holstauri. In that moment, Babette stood facing wide-eyed away from me, protectively covering her breasts with her arms.

“Please be assured that when I say that I wish to whip some cream, I will always make sure it has been extracted FIRST!” I consoled.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Speaking of dairy products. It seems like every day there is always one incident or another that involves it.

“Instructor!” said one of my students, Molly the Kobold, as we began one lesson. “I cannot find any of my milk!” she yipped sadly.

“That is unusual, Molly. I did a thorough check before class and everyone should have all of the necessary ingredients. Have you looked everywhere?” I inquired of her. She just looked back at me with a hangdog expression and nodded, holding her upended bottle. I leaned back and took ahold of my own bottle. It was then I noticed that it too was unnaturally light in weight.

“C’est Impossible!” I exclaimed out loud. “I just moved that bottle just minutes prior and it was fine! CLASS!” I announced, as nearly every head in the room turned to me in rapt attention.

“Please check your milk bottles, is anyone else missing any?” Nearly every one of my students did as I asked, and nodded her head, it turned out that almost ALL of the bottles of milk were mysteriously empty then.

It was then in that moment, I realized something: There was one student who had remained silent and did not inspect her milk bottle. Silently I stood up and walked over to her assigned station.

“Madame Warrington the Cheshire.” I began, “I noticed that you did not feel the need to examine your own bottle, did you drink yours?” I inquired. She shook her head. When she did, I noticed something odd on one of her whiskers.

When she stopped moving, I leaned down and reached out a pair of fingers. I then pinched that offending whisker of hers firmly, and carefully drew my fingertips along its length. I could feel some wetness between them as I rolled my tips together, while I drew them up to my face.

I smelled my fingers and sure enough! Holstaur Milk!

“Madame, why did you drink everyone’s milk?” I demanded sternly of her. She merely smiled as innocently as only a Cheshire can, which isn’t much I’m afraid. She then replied cheekily.

“I just have a soft spot for warm white liquids!” she replied lazily, purring.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

It can be difficult to teach some Beast-Monsters certain dishes.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

I was late for class one morning, and as I was getting near my room, I noticed a loud screeching and crying coming from what should have been my empty classroom. I then dashed to the entrance, afraid to find the possibility of some other altercation between a carnivore and an herbivore. Luckily, that turned out to not be the case.

Instead, it was a lone Harpy sitting on top of one of the shelving units.  She had her wing/arms wrapped protectively around her, while sitting hunched over.

“Nani?” I shouted up at her. “What is wrong?” she peered balefully back at me.

“I won’t let you!” she screeched at me, her dark yellow feather/hair falling into her face.

“You won’t let me what?” I asked carefully.

“I won’t let you harm them!” she shouted again, with tears threatening to flow from her eyes.

“I do not understand Nani, harm who?” I asked her again, perplexed.

“The BABIES!” she cried, hunching over again.

‘Babies?’ I thought to myself. Carefully, and with much patience, I was able to get Nani to reveal what she was clutching to her flattened chest. Sure enough as I expected, the classes entire stock of chicken eggs were being fiercely protected by her.

Then I realized what Nani had been getting at. In that day’s class I was supposed to teach about the preparation and making of omelettes. With the goal of eventually having them make the local Incubus favorite: Omelette Au Fromage ala Dexter.

“Madame Nani, please allow me to reassure you that none of those eggs are fertilized.” She did a double take, and looked dubiously down at the eggs clutched to her brood patch.

“I take it Madame, that your own nest is still empty?” I asked her as softly as I dared. She jerked her head over to stare hard at me for a second, then her gaze softened as a tear welled up in an eye. She then began to sniffle.

“I am sorry Madame.” I replied, as it was the only thing I could think of to say then.

Eventually, I was able to get her and the eggs down from her lofty perch, and the class proceeded smoothly from then on. Though Nani did ask for and received permission to be excused for the day. The poor dear.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

As you can see, such is the trials and tribulations of the life that I have come to enjoy, living and working in the Demon Realm that houses my employer and my beloved students.

Though there are times that I am filled with ennui for my life in the old country of France. I will never trade what I have for the old days. For my life now, has proven to be one of the most intriguing and interesting of times for me!

I’m afraid that I must now ask to be excused from your attentions, dear reader. I have just been called on to assist with the rounding up of one of the School’s escaped herd of animals. These beasts being one of the more obnoxious of the Demon-Realm creatures: The Tofudebeest!

Au Revoir!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

LackingFairGoodExcellentPerfect (36 votes, average: 4.47 out of 5)
Loading...

5 thoughts on “Inari Kitsune’s Cooking Classroom”

  1. The Dexter’s Lab reference went over my head, but I laughed at the mental image of awoos, anubutts and sandwans trying to lick peanut butter from the roof of their mouth.

    I imagine kitsunes would have similar difficulties with the edible legume-based concoction erroneously attributed to George Washington Carver, and to me that only makes it funnier.

    1. Interestingly enough, Inari-Kitsune do have a fondness for another kind of legume: Soybean. Or to be more precise, Fried Soybean Curds- often referred to in Japan, excuse me, Zipangu as: Kitsune-Zushi.

      Or so I’ve been told.

Leave a Reply