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Cordelia's Feet 3 - The Queen Bee's Commands

Cordelia takes our teacher out to an exhibition where she gets to watch more than just art.
There are moments which lay bare fundamental truths, truths that you have been longing for all your life. Such a moment was happening now, and it flooded my senses with an incredible intensity, a spiritual moment that transcended feelings. My eyes were glued to my beautiful Cordelia, they drank in the incredible pleasure painted on her angelic face, and when her sweet voice announced with beautiful, small shouts of joy that she had reached the summit of her arousal, that joy started to resonate inside me. My heart felt like it would burst with joy, and tears of happiness painted rivers of adoration on my cheeks.

That truth that had been revealed to me shook me with its profoundness, and I reveled in the liberation it brought me. Subservience, submission. Those two words rang in my mind, subservience and worship in the face of such incredible beauty.

And all the while I suckled on her pretty toes, caressed them with my tongue as carefully and lovingly as a queen bee deserved. I watched as her friends slowed down their own caresses and finally withdrew.

Cordelia glowed with satisfaction. She pulled her toes from my mouth and wiped them on my cheeks, accompanied by giggles from her friends.

"Gosh," she declared and stretched her body, "that was nice. What are we going to do now? It’s still early!"

"How about watching a movie?" Lisette suggested with a sly grin, and my heart started to hammer like mad.

"I don’t know." Kaila sounded bored. "I think I’ve already seen all the good stuff that came out this year."

"You haven’t, believe me." Lisette’s voice dripped with glee.

I looked at Cordelia, who had slipped her top back on - much to my disappointment - and shook my head imperceptibly, mouthing a silent "please".

Her head tilted to the side and she looked thoughtfully at me, then her eyes roamed over her friends. "Didn’t that movie everybody was talking about hit the cinemas last week? That dirty one, with Gainsbourg?"

Excited shouts immediately filled the air. Their teacher forgotten, they discussed quickly and animatedly whether they could make the ten o’clock showing in time. And a minute later, everybody was filing out of my front door, not giving me any further thought.

Besides Cordelia, that is. She had told her friends she’d catch up with them outside.

The door fell shut, and we were alone. "You owe me," she declared, standing right in front of my still kneeling form. Her slender legs were just inches away from my face, and I could smell that sweet mix of body lotion and female arousal. "Even if it’s probably just a short reprieve. But you’ve been a good girl today. Good girls get rewards."

I couldn’t believe my eyes when her fingers picked the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted it, exposing her slender thighs to my hungry gaze inch by inch. "You’re so beautiful," I told her, the words springing forth from the deepest part of my heart. Her skin shimmered in the light like velvet, the perfect, unblemished skin of youth. Then the skirt moved higher and pink frills came into view, lovely feminine panties that caressed her mound, and a darker spot in the front giving testimony of her earlier pleasure.

God, how I wanted to kiss that well of intoxicating scent, how I was almost consumed with the need to cover it with my mouth and run my tongue through the center of my queen’s magic. Holding back became a physical task, and I trembled.

"So much need," she whispered, "so much desire. I can see it in your eyes. You would do anything to taste me, wouldn’t you?"

The words floated from my lips on their own. "Yes. Anything."

The chiming, satisfied giggle gave me goosebumps.

"But not today." The skirt’s hem dropped and covered her up again, the fact that I could suppress my whimper of regret not buying me anything. "Are you free next weekend?"

"Yes, Cordelia." I had been invited to a barbecue by a colleague, but my mind had been too full to accept.

"Good. I’ll pick you up Friday at nine. Dress your best. We’ll stay overnight, but there’s no need to pack anything."

My stomach fluttered. A whole night with her!

"Will you do something for me, my dirty little teacher?"

Why did my body still tingle like mad when she put me down like this? "Of course!"

"Wonderful. Don’t play with yourself, don’t make yourself come. I know you are yearning to get off after that little game earlier, but it would make me so happy to know that you are saving your orgasm for me. Promise me?"

"Oh god yes!" I almost shouted, even though the thought of not getting any relief from my arousal would drive me crazy.

"Brilliant," she whispered, but it was more of a purr.

My own need to submit so instantly shook me to the core. "Why?" I wanted to know in a moment of clarity.

She crouched down in front of me and stroked my cheek with her hand. The touch was magic, little sparks dancing over my skin that made my face twitch and tingle.

"That is why. I know that I am beautiful, but watching that incredible longing in your eyes, making you say and do things you wouldn’t even dream of, just to be closer to that beauty, makes me feel like a goddess."

My lips soundlessly formed the word that had appeared in my own mind before and was now stirred back into my consciousness, and when she recognized it and her face lit up, it tore itself from my chest, bursting all chains of restraint and floating to her in a lust-filled moan. "My goddess!"

* * * * *

It is funny how quickly and absolutely the mind can switch between states. I had been an aroused mess all weekend, my hands trying to flutter between my legs and being pulled back again and again, the longing for release getting increasingly harder each time. Thoughts of Cordelia dominated every waking moment and even filled my dreams. I had been in love a few times when I was younger, but compared to these fires of youthful infatuation, my emotions now were a raging inferno.

But on Monday morning everything changed. I was a teacher again who had to carry her impeccable morale on a banner and be a role model. It was amazingly easy to fall into my regular teaching patterns, and despite all my fears, when I waved my colleagues goodbye and went home, nobody was the wiser about my depraved little secret.

The moment I stepped over my home’s threshold, the need was back with full force. The light on my answering machine flashed and I played the recording, Cordelia’s sweet voice rooting me to the spot.

"Hi teach, I just wanted to remind you about Friday. Though you’ll probably not need any reminders, will you?" I could hear giggling in the background and wondered with trepidation how much more her friends knew by now. Were they involved in whatever she had planned for Friday? Whatever it was, I was sure she was going to up the ante. "Just to be sure, I want you in your best dress and ready to go at nine. Dress to seduce. Oh, and wear a thong. For me."

A beep announced the end of the recording and left me breathless and hot. I thought for a short moment about taking a shower, but I wouldn’t be able to control my fingers. Instead, I heated yesterday’s Chinese leftovers, slipped into my oldest jogging suit and tightly wrapped myself in a blanket on the couch to watch some movie. Even though no movie could compete with the images that spun through my head.

* * * * *

The week had seemed to stretch endlessly, but I was finally done for the weekend, even having survived my class with Cordelia without major incidents, and despite the incredible arousal that haunted my solitary moments, I still felt halfway sane.

I knew I shouldn’t be experiencing that giddy, hyperactive excitement when I got ready for the evening, but the closer it came, the more intense feelings washed over me. I looked myself over in the mirror and had to bite my lip. It had been a long time since I had really dressed up, and the woman looking back at me was almost a stranger.

The little black cocktail dress, with its thin straps, daringly wide cleavage and its risky, slanted hem that ended only marginally below my bum on one side, made my legs look far longer than they were. The matching high heeled sandals twinkled in the light and drew my look to my dark red toes. I hadn’t painted those in ages, either. I was glad that I had stopped on my way home and bought the invisible push-up bra that came pared with the thong. I had put my favorite necklace on, three strings of tiny black pearls that extended from an intricate golden mesh, in its center a stone in the form of a dark red moon, fake and corny and over the top. I felt sexy.

But something was still missing. Somehow, I still looked too average at a second glance. I studied myself intensely until I had the revelation. Rummaging hastily through the drawers of my dresser, I finally found the old box with my carnival makeup. There it was! The dark, glittery eye shadow and the matching rouge, both in different levels of purple, blue and red.

The face that stared back from the mirror a minute later was wicked and screamed sex, my eyes dark and shaded and glittering mysteriously with every movement, and my cheeks enhanced with a permanent blush. I looked slutty and needy, and hopefully exactly like Cordelia had wanted me to when she had ordered me to "Dress to seduce." God, how I wanted to press my hand between my thighs and stoke that fire that was again roaring up at the thought of her!

* * * * *

"Oh my god, you look fabulous!" Cordelia’s praise wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and the increasing nervousness I had experienced while I had waited for her, all set to go and counting down the seconds on the wall clock, was switched for girlish giddiness again. She looked me up and down appreciatively, then took my hand in hers and led me towards her shiny red sports car. Before I knew it, I was strapped into the deep leather seat that hugged my hips and felt the roaring of the engine as if it was right underneath me.

"Nice, isn’t it?" She glowed with excitement, and then tires screeched and I was pressed into my seat, my stomach still a mile behind.

"Oh god!" I squeaked in fright after a particularly forceful turn, but the glint in Cordelia’s eyes, the blushing of her cheeks and the slightly pouty, concentrated expression on her full lips made me want this drive to go on forever.

But then we were on the interstate, riding along in the endless queue of other weekend travelers, and I got my breath back.

"You like white," I stated, giving the elegant white dress she wore a more thorough look. With the elbow-length gloves I’d have called it breathtakingly elegant. If, that is, it wasn’t a quite a few inches too short to fit the definition, and if she didn’t also wear a pair of thigh-high white leather boots with sharp, high heels, and if her neck wasn’t circled by an equally white leather band.

"I like the innocence." She giggled. "People treat you different if you’re wearing white, it’s strange, but that’s how it is."

"You’re beautiful," I couldn’t restrain myself, "I mean, the dress…"

Her head tilted back and she let out a joyful laugh. "God, you’re so sweet!"

I waited until her chuckles had subsided. "Where are we going?"

She looked over at me for a second, a sly grin tilting up the corner of her mouth. "An art exhibition. You’re going to love it. It has got historical elements, but there’s been a lot of controversy about it."

"Controversy as in…" my throat grew a bit dry.

She chuckled again. "Yeah, exactly that kind of controversy. But say, do you think the stockings are a bit over the top?"

Her fingers brushed the hem of her dress upwards and laid bare the wide, white seam of her stocking that was decorated with a delicate blood-red pattern.

"Look closely."

I had to undo the seat belt, but there was no hesitancy. So I bent close, close enough that a bump in the road might make my face touch that lovely, lean thigh. I gasped. What, at the first glance, had looked like a curvy pattern, were tiny images of a nude, kneeling woman, and another woman standing above her, a whip in her hand. A pleasant shudder raced over my back, and I couldn’t stop the images from floating to the front of my mind; imagining myself as the kneeling woman and my beloved Cordelia wielding the whip, magnificent and powerful. A warm ball of understanding formed in my belly.

You can’t study history without stumbling over all kinds of sexual deviations, especially not when your favorite topic is the French revolution. I had always wondered what kinds of people were attracted to the promise of pain. But now, those images dancing vividly before my inner eye, I realized that pain might be just another means to an end, a way to satisfy these submissive cravings like I had recently begun to experience.

"Don’t drool on my stockings!"

The mocking rebuke startled me back into the present. "Sorry," I mumbled and sat back upright with a burning blush, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

After a while I felt Cordelia’s eyes on me. Her smirk had grown even wider, and her fingers tapped the steering wheel. We weren’t moving, and when I glimpsed out into the semi-darkness, I realized that we were in a parking lot - and been here for God knows how long.

* * * * *

The only thing I had been able to think about on our short walk to the gallery was the touch of Cordelia’s arm in the crook of mine. What a picture we must have been giving. The doorman in his tuxedo took his time to look us up and down after she had handed him her invitation, as if he could sense flickers of the depravity concealed in our minds. Finally nodding, he pulled a bundle of red and black strings from his pocket, puzzling me.

"Which color will it be tonight?" He asked in a deep voice.

Cordelia immediately picked a red one, but when I tried to follow her example, her fingers touched my hand and she imperceptibly shook her head, freezing my motion. The red fabric was a narrow band of lace that fit snugly around her wrist. Then she picked one of the black bands. It was different, wider and longer, and when she held it up to I could see two small velcro strips on the ends. Before I knew what was happening, she had wrapped it around my neck, soft and tight, and fixed the ends together. Like a collar, the realization shot through my head, and I felt a pleasurable shiver, which was immediately followed by another when I saw the knowing smirk on the doorman’s lips.

My knees wobbled when we entered the exhibition, and I let out a sigh of relief when I couldn’t feel the man’s knowing look on me anymore.

Once inside, I was almost overwhelmed. The light was dim, the air filled with incense. Patchouli, leather, clove and something lemony swirled over my senses. Groups of people in mostly formal dresses stood all around the huge entrance room, glasses of champagne in their hands and talking animatedly. Cordelia slowly guided me across the room, and walking by the group of people, I noticed that not every dress was formal; instead, some could only be described as outrageous.

A pretty young woman with long blonde hair stood snuggled against an older man in a business suit, her outfit a single black piece of shiny rubber that hid absolutely nothing of her stunning body and was adorned with all kinds of loops and rings. Her eyes appeared wide with adoration and - devotion? And was that - yes, a black tail dangled down from her bum, and between her hair stood a pair of fur-covered cat ears. As if she was sensing my stare, she turned towards me, and my breath hitched when I saw the dark spot on the tip of her nose, the long artificial whiskers sticking out to the sides and, most of all, the slitted pupils of yellow feline eyes. Her tongue flickered out between soft pink lips and she winked at me.

Cordelia’s giggle broke the spell. "She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Would you like that? Would you want to be dressed up like her, my personal little kitten?"

Her fingernails trailed softly down my arm and left tingling tracks on my heated skin. I shivered, which made her giggle again. Did I want that? I was afraid to think about it, because I knew I wouldn’t say no if Cordelia wanted me to. But to go out into the public like this? If anybody I knew saw me, my life would crumble around me.

Cordelia became impatient, and we started moving again. Once through the door to the exhibition area, the murmur of the crowd faded and was replaced by a hypnotic, ethereal music. I gasped when I saw the first exhibit.

"Oh my god!" It was a photograph that filled the wall from floor to ceiling, a medieval scene, and it showed a gloomy room, a dungeon made of rough hewn stone and illuminated by flickering candles. A group of monks in jute frocks stood around a naked young woman who was spread out on a stained wooden table and held her arms and legs in place with their fleshy, dirty fingers, their faces filled with unholy glee. Next to the girl stood a nun, a bunch of vicious looking stinging nettles held in her gloved hand and poised to strike the poor girl’s midsection. Dark weals criss-crossed all over the girl’s body, not even sparing her breasts and thighs.

But the things that drew my eyes and unsettled me most were the symbols of Wicca. Two opposing half moons framing a full circle, tattooed with black ink into the soft flesh right at the top of one breast, and the look of ecstatic pleasure on her tear-streaked face. Cordelia’s breath trembled next to me, but not as bad as my own.

We followed the exhibition, each photograph an artful rendition of dark passion among medieval implements of cruelty. Most weren’t as blatant as the first one, which kept resonating in my mind, but each one portrayed the same intense lust in the eyes of the woman at its center, and while my conscious mind protested at the cruel historical meaning behind those sadistic tools, there was such a strong eroticism in those photographs that my body vibrated with arousal.

I found my own desires mirrored in the women’s eyes. That beautiful moment of absolute passion, of being taken and having all those artificial walls around my sexuality shattered with force, of submitting to pure, carnal desire and needing no excuse.

* * * * *

We finally entered a large, round chamber with a low ceiling and low, flickering lighting. All those devices featured in the photographs were assembled here, dark, stained wood with deep gauges, their edges blunted and shiny from use, forged steel, almost black from age and shiny, silver parts that almost looked new. I knew all those things, the torture horse, the rack, the iron maiden, even the old Spanish bastinado bench with its crude stirrups had come up in my studies, and I had to shudder when I thought about their actual use. There was no pleasure or lust for the victim when they were used in their time.

"How do you like the exhibition?" The voice, feminine and with a hard accent, startled us and made us both spin on the spot, until we could make out the silhouette of its owner at the side of the room, entering through a well-concealed door.

"It - it is unsettling." I was the first to find my voice.

She approached us with measured steps, accompanied by the hard click-clack of heels on stone. She was tall. Long, black hair cascaded down her back and glinted in the dim light. She wore a blood-red dress, the hem flowing down around her ankles, the collar wrapping tightly around her neck and an oval cut-out exposing a cleavage any woman would die for. High cheekbones next to big, dark eyes became visible once she stepped closer. Russian, I thought, definitely eastern European. Her accent had been the first hint.

"It truly is, isn’t it?" A smile tugged at her lips. "I appreciate your honesty."

My gaze traveled over the amassed devices of pain. "Most of them are original."

She raised her eyebrow. "You are the first to notice."

I chuckled. "I teach history. It would be bad if I didn’t."

"How intriguing." She looked me up and down calculatingly. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "But how rude of me, I’m Natalia."

Her hand waited for mine, long, sleek fingers with pointy white nails, each one inset with a tiny ruby.

"Jocelyn-Anne," I introduced myself and felt a strange spark travel up my arm when my hand touched hers, "or simply Jo, it’s quite a mouthful."

Her fingers wrapped around my hand. "So nice to meet you, Jocelyn-Anne. I do not mind the mouthful. I am always of the opinion that one should enjoy the exotic when one encounters it. Do you not think the same?"

Her hand still held mine, and I felt the tip of her thumb circling over its back. God! I realized that she was coming onto me. I wanted to reach over for Cordelia’s hand, wanted to feel her reassuring presence, but something in Natalia’s eyes was compelling and frightening me at the same time, they held me frozen on the spot, like a hypnotist’s pendulum. I felt naked, despite all the fabric covering my body.

"But I’ve neglecting you as well, beautiful young lady," she singsonged, slowly and deliberately trailing her nails over my palm while she withdrew her hand, her lips twitching when she noticed my shiver.

"My name is Cordelia. Nice to meet you, Natalia. I simply had to see your exhibition after I had heard about your last one."

"Cordelia." She rolled the name over her tongue. "Another exotic name."

But instead of simply shaking her hand, Natalia took Cordelia’s left hand in hers and lifted it, then blatantly stroked its backside. She looked at the red band around the wrist, then at my neck, and when her eyes met Cordelia’s, a soft giggle left her lips.

"How intriguing in fact! A teacher and her pupil. And yet the roles are reversed."

Some wordless communication seemed to happen between the two of them, but I was not privy to its contents. I could only watch my beloved’s eyes narrow for an instant, and then she smiled brightly at the Russian artist.

"You’re observant." Cordelia’s head tilted slightly, and I didn’t know why, but the way she puckered her lips and touched it with her finger in a small, fleeting gesture kindled a possessive flame in me. "But that’s what you do, after all, observe."

"I not only observe," Natalia countered, "I also capture. I capture moments, truths, lust and pain. I capture people."

Her fingers kept on softly stroking Cordelia’s hand, who made no attempt to extricate herself. Instead, she appeared to melt under the artist’s touch, lips pouting and her eyes becoming heavy-lidded. "That’s an awfully ambiguous statement," she whispered.

"You think so?" The question hadn’t crossed Natalia’s lips all the way when she twirled Cordelia around and pulled her backside close against herself. "Still?"

Before my beloved pupil could answer, hands started roaming all over her body, and she arched her back.

I was taken by surprise. There was no gentleness. Her fingers squeezed and groped, and stabs of envy speared my heart, even though I couldn’t block out the arousal that washed over me. So I watched in morbid fascination when Natalia’s full lips descended onto my love’s neck and started to kiss her hungrily, sloppy, smacking kisses that left glistening spots of moisture. Tiny gasps filled the air, and then Cordelia spun around and they were kissing like lovers, their mouths and tongues battling each other in a carnal fight.

"Someone’s bound to come here!" Cordelia gasped among kisses.

"Then they see what they came here for."

Another kiss, and suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes. My love’s white dress was first to lose the battle and tumbled to the floor around her. God, she was beautiful. Her bum was a picture of perfection, round and tight and hugged by sheer, white panties, and her pert breasts jiggled so invitingly. I needed all my willpower not to throw myself on my knees and kiss her delightful derriere.

Then Natalia’s dress also fell, and my breath hitched. Almost every inch of her skin was covered with intricate symbols that circled and weaved between each other. Had I found her strong and intriguing before, it was nothing compared to the warrior goddess who stood there now. Her breasts were full and ripe, their slight sagging only enforcing the impression of powerful femininity as they swung with every movement. Shiny silver bars were threaded through her nipples, pale red and big. Strong thighs on incredibly long legs gave her body the resemblance of a cat of prey.

Eager hands now roamed over the two exposed bodies, stroking every inch of skin as they attacked each other with renewed vigor, flames of lust dancing between their eyes. I moaned quietly, but their lust-filled gazes shot to me.

I hadn’t noticed, but the two of them had almost crossed the room in their frantic foreplay, and I had followed along. They were right in front of a low rack, and when Natalia gracefully sat down and lowered her back onto it, I realized that she had followed a choreography.

"Make love to me like only a woman can," she urged my lover, wiggling her bum to the corner, "let me feel your youthful pussy on mine!"

It took Cordelia only a second, but then her panties were gone. I wanted to freeze this moment, almost overwhelmed by the incredible image of her immaculate body, like a queen in her stockings and high boots, yet so delightfully naughty with the white leather collar around her neck.

My heart throbbed painfully with conflicted feelings when she stepped over one of the artist’s legs, pulled up the other, and in an equally lewd and sensual motion, lowered her pussy to its counterpart. Her delighted moan of "oh yes!" when she started rocking her lower body sent goosebumps racing up my back.

I almost missed it when she whispered my name, too engrossed by their display. "Y - yes, Cordelia?" I stammered.

"Make yourself useful," she ordered between gasps, rhythmically rubbing her pelvis against Natalia’s, who had her nails buried in her own breasts and moaning in excitement, "show Natalia what a good foot licker you are!"

"You mean…"

"Do it!" She hissed, but then her voice grew soft and sweet. "For me."

She knew I couldn’t resist. I really tried, but while my mind was still struggling to come up with a reason not to follow her order, my body had already surrendered. So I found myself kneeling behind my lover and in front of Natalia’s foot, carefully lifting it up and opening the buckles of her red high-heeled sandals.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It should be Cordelia’s sweet foot in my hands, her delicious skin that my lips should caress and feast on.

"Worship her foot like you would mine." She seemed to read my thoughts.

But I would take what little closeness I could get from my lover. And so I parted my lips and extended my hesitant tongue, softly touching it to the toes of the almost-stranger and trying hard to imagine it to be Cordelia’s.

Above me, my lover picked up pace. The two of them were moaning and gasping and writhing. I could see my goddess’ bum right in front of me, could catch glimpses of her pussy lips, red and swollen and wet, and could hear the squelching, smacking sounds of their lovemaking fill my ears.

Natalia’s slightly bitter toes wiggled in my mouth and rocked with her body’s movements while my tongue darted between them and caressed them.

They reached a fever pitch. Their moans turned into high-pitched cries of pleasure and Cordelia’s whole body was covered with little droplets sweat. God, how I longed to lick them from her skin.

A long, pleasured wail filled the air, and only moments later my beloved’s body stiffened and she answered with a deep, drawn-out moan.

She collapsed forward, and I could see both of their pussies, bloodshot and opened like ripe flowers wet with dew, their scent intoxicating from so close. They kissed and whispered, too quiet for me to understand anything, and I didn’t dare stop my task, even though my jaw was aching once more.

* * * * *

I feared they might fall asleep like this. But what felt like ages later, Natalia pulled her toes from my mouth and they helped each other up.

"So what do you think about my proposal?"

Cordelia giggled. "Of course we’ll do it. My pet teacher here loves to be in front of the camera, don’t you?" She didn’t wait for an answer. "I’ve already got a wonderful movie of her, but that will pale against your skill with photos."

My stomach dropped. Photos? By Natalia?

"Please, Cordelia," I started to plead, but her finger found my mouth and shushed me.

"Do you have an idea what an honor it is to be photographed by Natalia? You don’t want us to seem rude, do you?"

What could I do but bite my lip and shake my head demurely.

* * * * *

We didn’t stay much longer. Natalia had to mingle among her guests and Cordelia’s enthusiasm for the exhibition itself had apparently been squashed by their intense play. So I found myself back in the car a little later and waiting for her to start the engine, my mood growing somber. I broached the subject again. "Listen, Cordelia, about the photos - I’m not sure if that’s a good idea."

"Oh, but it is. She promised me a big one for my living room."

"Your living room?" The blood drained from my face and I sounded like a robot. "But - but everyone will see…" Why was the terror at that idea still unable to override the magic hold her beauty had on me?

"Yes, isn’t that great? I’ll be able to see you every day. In a way, you’ll always be around me."

I almost melted, warmth filling my heart to overflow, until I took a deep breath and rational thought returned. "You’re playing with me!"

Had I feared a confrontation or expected denial after the accusation, I was sorely mistaken.

"But of course I am." Her hand stroked my cheek and made it tingle. "Just tell me to stop and I’ll leave you all alone. Should I do that?"

I softly shook my head, ashamed of myself and my weakness for my pretty pupil.

"Good." The engine roared to life, and seconds later we were on the road and heading back home. Or so I thought.

"I promised my naughty teacher an orgasm, didn’t I?"

How did she do that? As if she had lit it with a lighter, my arousal roared to life, and I was all too aware of the sticky moisture between my legs.

"I always try to keep my promises. Let me just see…" She rummaged through her purse with one hand and pulled out her cell phone, skillfully dialing a number without looking. "Hey, it’s me… yes, it was great, you wouldn’t believe it. But listen, we’re just on our way back and there’s something I promised my dirty little teacher… Yes, of that sort. What time are you off? Eleven? Brilliant, we’ll swing by in ten minutes, then we can talk… See you."

"Where are we going?" I tried to sound self-assured for a change, but I failed miserably.

"Just wait and see," she giggled, "a promise is a promise."

This didn’t alleviate any fears, but when her fingers started rubbing my thigh, it became increasingly hard to keep worrying. When they almost touched my pussy, which was yearning for release after days of constant arousal, it became impossible. My heart thundered in my chest and my nipples tried to bore holes into the fabric of my dress.

She turned on the radio, and when the first syllables floated from the speakers and were quickly picked up by her, my body started to tingle all over. And while she sang in duet, carefree and exuberant, I silently acknowledged every word. Yes, I’d let her be my ruler. I would tear out my own heart and present it to her on a platter if she asked me to. For however long she would have me, I would let her be my queen bee.

She touched my thigh again, and I closed my eyes and moaned.
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