Everyone said Crestline University was prestigious. For me, it was intimate. Flesh and blood. My mother’s name was still carved into the sorority’s history — Kappa Delta Chi’s youngest president, the woman who turned rules into rituals, who whispered that the house “would teach me things I couldn’t learn in any classroom.”

She never explained. She didn’t have to. I saw it in the way she’d pause before the word teach, in the sly curl of her smile. Whatever happened inside those walls had shaped her in ways I was never meant to know. And now, she’s gone, leaving me with little more than her warning: the house will test you.

The girls in the house were impossibly polished, bronzed, and glossy like they’d stepped off a magazine page. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t bold or loud. I was cute, maybe. Shy. The kind of girl who blushed too easily. The kind of girl who wondered, with a mix of fear and want, what my mother had let this place do to her.

And as I stood on the steps of Kappa Delta Chi, my pulse in my throat, I realized I wasn’t here just to follow in her footsteps.

I was here to find out exactly what she meant.

Inside, the house smelled like polished wood and perfume, with an undercurrent of something warmer, almost musky, that made my stomach tighten. The other girls clustered together in pairs, shrieking their hellos, tossing glossy hair, trading air-kisses. I hovered at the edge, clutching my welcome packet like it was a shield.

That’s when she appeared.

Not one of the girls. Older. Composed. She moved through the entryway like she’d been born to it, hips swaying just enough to make me notice, lips painted a shade too dark for casual.

“Ladies,” she called, voice low, rich, carrying the kind of authority you couldn’t fake. The noise dimmed instantly.

Her eyes found me last. They lingered. Too long.

“This,” one of the sisters whispered at my side, almost reverent, “is Mrs. Keller. House Mom.”

House Mom. My throat went dry. She was supposed to be a supervisor, a chaperone. But the way her gaze skimmed me, slow, assessing, deliberate, felt nothing like supervision. It felt like being undressed.

And I thought of my mother’s words. The house will test you.

When the introductions ended, the other girls drifted upstairs in a flurry of giggles, leaving me alone at the base of the sweeping staircase.

“Hallie, stay a moment,” Mrs. Keller said. Not a request.

I turned, pulse quick. She was closer than I realized, close enough that I felt the warmth of her presence.

“You’re nervous,” she said, eyes narrowing just slightly, not unkind but sharp. “I can see it in your shoulders. In the way you keep your chin down. Crestline will eat you alive if you don’t learn to stand taller.”

My face flushed. “I... I’m just not—”

She cut me off with a small smile, the kind that made me feel scolded and invited at the same time. “Not confident. Yet.”

Her hand rose, deliberately slow, and touched beneath my chin, tilting my head up until my eyes locked with hers.

“Rule one,” she murmured. “When you want something, look directly at it. Don’t shrink. Don’t apologize. Confidence makes people listen… and it makes them want.”

The word want lingered between us, heavy, dangerous.

I swallowed, throat dry, unable to look away even if I wanted to.

“Better,” she said finally, releasing me with a flick of her fingers, as if she hadn’t just rewired my pulse. “We’ll work on the rest.” And just like that, she was gone, leaving me shaky, clutching the packet to my chest, wondering what exactly she planned to teach me.

By nightfall, the house had settled into a different rhythm. Gone were the pearls and perfect smiles of orientation — now every girl was barefoot, curled up on throw pillows and couches in identical silk pajamas, pale pink with the sorority crest stitched over the heart.

I sank onto the edge of the circle, tucking my legs under me, trying to look like I belonged. Laughter and shrieks filled the air as the bottle spun across the hardwood floor, pointing its glossy neck toward one girl after another.

“Truth or dare?” a brunette sang, eyes wicked.

“Dare,” came the answer, and the room roared as she was ordered to kiss the girl beside her.

My stomach tightened as I watched them lean in, lips brushing soft and quick, the circle erupting into chants for more.

My mother’s words rang in my ears again.

Maggie snatched the bottle, smirking. She was always the center of attention with her olive skin, platinum hair, a white crop top stretched tight over her breasts, nipples sharp through the fabric.

She grabbed Olivia’s hand and pulled her to the middle of the circle. Rules forgotten, Maggie tilted her hips, thumb hooking her waistband.

“I dare you,” she teased, voice dripping with mischief, “to pull these down with your teeth.”

Maggie spun so her back was to us with her hair swinging. Olivia rolled her eyes but dropped to her knees, lips catching the waistband and tugging it down slow. Maggie bent deeper, hips swaying, until her thong flashed — the thin strip drawn tight over her pussy, leaving nothing to the imagination.

When the bottle slowed in my direction, my pulse stuttered.

“Truth or dare?”

All eyes burned into me.

I whispered, “Truth.”

Groans. “Boring!” one of them called.

The brunette leaned forward, smile curling. “Fine. Is it true your mom was president of this house? That she was… legendary?”

Heat crept up my neck. Legendary. I didn’t know what they meant by it, not really, but the way they said it made it sound less like leadership and more like sin.

Before I could answer, a voice cut through the noise — low, velvet-smooth.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

Mrs. Keller. She was leaning against the doorway, silk robe cinched at the waist, hair loose around her shoulders.

The room went quiet.

Her eyes found mine. And in that silence, I swore she was the only one who could hear the frantic pounding of my heart.

Later, when the lights were out and the room glowed faintly from a string of fairy lights over the mirror, the whispering started.

“She’s even hotter than the last house mom,” one voice giggled from across the bunk beds.

“Hotter, and way stricter,” another added. “You saw how she shut down Truth or Dare? Like, instant mood-kill.”

“But did you hear?” A pause, then a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “She just had a baby.”

Gasps rippled through the dark.

“No way.”

“Yes way. My big sis said she left last year mid-semester. And now she’s back. Like, who does that? Who has a baby and then moves into a sorority house?”

The girls tittered, tossing out theories. Married but separated. Some secret lover. Maybe even a professor.

“She doesn’t wear a ring,” someone whispered.

I lay still, listening, heat crawling up the back of my neck. Mrs. Keller had already felt… different. Intense. Now she carried another layer of mystery, the kind that made you wonder what else she kept behind those steady eyes.

On our beds, just before dinner, we each found a folded bundle of silk. No explanation, only a slip of cream stationery tucked on top, the handwriting precise and looping: Wear this. Be downstairs in the Great Room at eight o’clock sharp.

The bundle held a matching set: ivory robe, soft as skin, belted at the waist with a satin tie. When we filed into the Great Room, every girl looked like a mirror image of the next with bare legs, flushed cheeks, the silk catching the lamplight as though it were meant to expose, not cover.

Mrs. Keller was waiting.

She stood near the hearth in a black dress, simple but devastating, the kind that clung to her figure without apology. The girls had whispered, and maybe they were right — her breasts pressed against the fabric too tightly, the swell unmistakable. Swollen. Heavy. It made the dress fit almost indecently well. I felt the flush creep up my throat before I could stop it.

She let the silence hang until it curled tight, until we shifted against one another, uncertain. Then she began to pace, heels sharp against the floor.

“Confidence,” she said at last, voice low but carrying. “It is not makeup, or charm, or how loud you laugh at a boy’s joke. Confidence is what you have when you’re stripped bare — when all you have left is the way you hold yourself.”

Her eyes swept the line, catching on each of us, daring us to look away.

“It is stillness,” she continued. “It is exposure without apology. It is letting yourself be seen, and not breaking under the weight of it.”

I gripped the sash of my robe tighter, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Tonight,” she said, pausing, her smile unreadable, “you’ll begin to learn. Untie them.”

No one moved at first. Silk belts stayed knotted, fists clenched white around them. I heard someone swallow, sharp and loud in the quiet.

Mrs. Keller didn’t repeat herself. She didn’t need to. She simply strolled to the end of the line, fingers trailing along the shoulder of the first girl, pausing at her knot. “Now.”

The sash came loose, silk sliding to the floor. The robe spilled open, baring pale skin to the lamplight.

“Better,” Mrs. Keller murmured, not unkind, but firm as though the act itself had proven a point. She moved to the next, and the next, each robe falling with a soft whisper until the entire line stood exposed.

“Hands at your sides,” she instructed. “No covering.”

Heat crawled over my skin as I dropped my arms. All around me, girls shifted, shoulders brushing, every curve and hollow on display. The air thickened, heavy with perfume, nerves, and the faint sound of shallow breathing.

Mrs. Keller stepped back, her eyes roaming unapologetically over the row. “This,” she said softly, “is confidence. To be looked at. To look back. To hold your ground, bare, and not break.”

Her lips curved into something between a smile and a warning.

“And this is only the beginning.”

We stood in a row, robes pooled at our feet, silence pressing heavy.

“Turn to the girl beside you,” Mrs. Keller ordered.

I obeyed, face to face with another pledge, her cheeks flushed, chest rising fast.

“Look at her. Do not laugh. Do not look away.”

Eyes locked. Heat crawled over my skin.

“Now touch. Shoulder, arm… hip. Keep your eyes on hers.”

Fingers brushed bare skin, hesitant, then firmer under her watchful gaze. Mrs. Keller circled us, heels clicking, adjusting a shoulder here, a hand there.

“Hands down,” Mrs. Keller commanded, and we dropped them to our sides.

Her gaze swept the line, sharp and unyielding. “Confidence isn’t only in your body. It’s in your honesty. How many of you have had sex before?”

Mrs. Keller’s eyes swept the line, counting. “With a man?”

Hands rose all around me. I kept mine still at my sides.

Her gaze lingered as she passed, but she didn’t stop. Not yet.

“With a woman?”

Fewer hands this time, the room filled with nervous giggles and flushed cheeks. Again, mine stayed down.

When she finished her count, her heels clicked once against the floor. Silence. Then her eyes locked on mine.

“None?” she asked, her voice low, carrying in the hush.

Heat burned my face. My throat worked, but no words came. I only managed a small shake of my head.

A slow smile curved her lips. “Good. A blank page is easier to teach.”

Mrs. Keller let the silence stretch, her smile faint, unreadable. Then she moved back to the center of the room, heels sharp on the floor.

Her gaze swept the line. “Turn back to your partner.”

We obeyed, bare skin brushing bare skin as we faced one another again.

“Now,” she said, voice smooth as silk, “kiss her.”

A ripple of gasps broke the air. For a moment, no one moved. Then, hesitantly, lips brushed — quick, nervous pecks.

Mrs. Keller’s eyes narrowed. “Again. Longer. Like you mean it.”

This time, mouths lingered. Some girls giggled breathlessly, others melted into it, cheeks flushed and eyes half-closed.

She circled us slowly, watching each pair with sharp attention. “Good,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth curving. “Better. Confidence is in daring to take… and daring to give.”

*****

Chelsea’s lips were soft against mine, trembling at first, like she was just as unsure as I was. Her breath was warm, her mouth tasting faintly of gin.

Then I felt her hand. Hesitant at first, sliding up my waist, fingertips brushing over my ribs until they hovered just beneath my breast. My whole body tightened, a rush of heat sparking under my skin.

“Hold her eyes,” Mrs. Keller’s voice came from somewhere behind me, low and commanding.

I forced myself to look at Chelsea. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils wide. She pressed closer, lips firmer now, her hand daring higher until her palm cupped me lightly. The contact stole my breath, my knees threatening to buckle, but I stayed still—because that was the rule.

My hands moved on their own, skimming her hip, the curve of her thigh. Her skin was warm, smooth, and the more I touched, the more I wanted to keep touching.

The room spun with the sound of other kisses, soft gasps, nervous laughter. But all I could feel was Chelsea—her mouth, her hand, the dizzying mix of fear and want that left me trembling under Mrs. Keller’s watchful eyes.

Chelsea kissed me harder, her tongue sliding into my mouth, warm and insistent. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, heat racing through me, knees weak.

Her hand came up, cupping my breast, squeezing, thumb circling my nipple until it peaked hard against her palm. I moaned into her mouth, the sound swallowed between us.

My hands roamed her waist, then lower, grabbing the curve of her ass, pulling her against me. She pressed back eagerly, hips grinding just enough to make me gasp again.

Then her other hand drifted down, sliding over my stomach, brushing the inside of my thigh. The tease made me tremble, every muscle tense, waiting for her fingers to go higher.

I couldn’t hold back anymore — I grabbed her breast, kneading the soft weight, my thumb dragging over her nipple until she broke the kiss with a shaky whimper. Our foreheads touched, both of us panting.

Her whimper still buzzed in my ears when she kissed me again, harder this time, almost desperate. Her tongue tangled with mine as her body pressed fully against me, heat radiating between us.

Her hand slid lower, fingers skimming my stomach before dipping to the inside of my thigh. She squeezed, spreading me just slightly, and I shuddered, breath catching in my throat.

I clung to her, nails digging into the curve of her ass, grinding her against me. She gasped, her breast slipping from my grip as her nipple brushed across my palm, slick with sweat.

Then her fingers trailed higher, grazing me where I ached most. The shock of it ripped another moan from my lips, raw and unguarded, swallowed immediately by her kiss.

Every nerve lit up at once — the newness, the boldness, the fact that we weren’t alone. Girls gasping, kissing, touching all around us, but I couldn’t see them anymore. It was only Chelsea, her hand between my thighs, her mouth on mine, and the dizzying knowledge that I was letting her do it.

Mrs. Keller’s voice sliced through the gasps and kisses: “One of you will kneel for your partner.”

The room went still. My stomach flipped as Chelsea’s eyes found mine. There was no hesitation in hers, only a knowing gleam like she’d been here before, like she could already see how untested I was.

Before I could breathe, she slid gracefully down onto her knees in front of me. The sight alone stole the air from my lungs.

“Confidence,” Mrs. Keller said smoothly. “In being seen… and in allowing yourself to be worshiped. Kiss her thighs. Slowly. Work your way higher.”

Chelsea’s hands pressed to my hips, steadying me. Then I felt her mouth, soft and hot, pressing just above my knee. A shiver shot up my spine.

She kissed again, higher this time, the inside of my thigh tingling under her lips. My breath stuttered. Another kiss, higher still. Each one deliberate, closer, dragging me toward the edge of something I had never touched before.

Her mouth hovered just shy of where I ached most, her breath warm against my bare skin. I whimpered, my hands gripping her shoulders, torn between pulling her closer and holding her back.

Mrs. Keller’s voice floated over us, calm and commanding: “Good. Gentle. Let her feel every inch of the anticipation.”

Chelsea’s breath was hot where she hovered, lips just short of my center. My thighs quivered, straining to stay open, every nerve screaming for her to close the distance.

Mrs. Keller’s voice cut through the haze. “Now… show her. Slow. Make her feel it.”

Chelsea’s eyes flicked up once, locking with mine. Then her mouth pressed against me — soft, warm, wet. The shock of it tore a moan from my lips before I could bite it back.

Her tongue traced me, tentative at first, then firmer, parting me with slow, deliberate strokes. I clutched at her shoulders, my hips jerking helplessly as she explored me for the first time.

“Hold still,” Mrs. Keller instructed, heels clicking closer on the floorboards. “Confidence is surrender without collapse.”

I forced myself to breathe, but the pleasure was relentless. Chelsea licked deeper, lips wrapping around me, sucking gently until my vision blurred. My knees threatened to give, and only her grip on my thighs kept me upright.

Gasps and whimpers filled the room as other pairs obeyed the same command, but I barely heard them. All I knew was Chelsea’s mouth, her tongue, her pace — each stroke dragging me higher, closer, until the thought of stopping was unbearable.

I was seconds away from breaking when Mrs. Keller’s voice cut the air. “Stop.”

Chelsea froze instantly, pulling back with her lips still wet against me. I gasped, a sound half-plea, half-protest, my body aching from the sudden denial.

“Stand,” Mrs. Keller ordered.

Chelsea rose, wiping her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine. My legs shook as I tried to steady myself, heat still pulsing between them, every nerve screaming for what had been snatched away.

Mrs. Keller’s gaze swept over us, calm, cool, unreadable. “Confidence is knowing you can be brought to the edge,” she said, “and still hold your composure. Release is earned. Not taken.”

Her words settled like a brand in my chest, leaving me panting, exposed, desperate — and more curious than ever about what else she planned to teach us.

Mrs. Keller let the silence drag, her eyes moving from me to the rest of the circle. Every girl stood flushed, trembling, lips kiss-bruised, thighs slick with heat.

“Good,” she said finally, voice low, steady. “You’ve all learned something tonight. How to be looked at. How to be touched. How to stop when told.” Her gaze lingered, sharp as a blade. “Your next lesson is yours alone. When you’re in bed tonight, I expect each of you to touch yourselves. Slowly. Patiently. Learn your body. Tease. Do not finish.”

A ripple of shocked gasps moved through the line, but no one dared laugh, not now.

“If you fail,” she added, her smile cool, “I’ll know.”

The room was thick with nerves and heat, every girl wide-eyed, shifting on bare feet. My own pulse thundered, the ache between my legs sharper now than ever, the thought of stopping just as unbearable as the thought of disobeying her.

Mrs. Keller’s heels clicked once on the hardwood as she turned away.

“Dismissed.”

*****

Back in my room, the sheets felt cool against my overheated skin. I lay on my back, robe slipping open, chest still rising too fast. Every nerve buzzed with leftover heat from Chelsea’s mouth, from the way Mrs. Keller’s voice had cut through me like a blade.

Touch yourself. Don’t cum. Just tease.

The order rang in my head, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

My hand slid down, shaky, my fingertips brushing the soft hair between my thighs. Even that light contact made me gasp — I was slick, wetter than I’d ever been, my folds swollen and tender.

I parted myself with two fingers, breath hitching as the air kissed my wet skin. The first slow circle over my clit made my back arch, a sharp bolt of pleasure flashing up my spine. My nipples hardened instantly, aching to be touched, rubbing against the sheets as I shifted.

I tried to keep it light, just as she’d said, grazing instead of pressing. But my body betrayed me, hips rolling up into my hand, chasing the friction. My thighs trembled, heat coiling low in my stomach, pressure building fast and sharp.

When I was seconds from breaking, I forced my hand away, panting into the pillow. My muscles clenched, unsatisfied, my core pulsing with need. The denial burned almost worse than the pleasure.

I tried again, slower, dragging two fingers down my slit, gathering the wetness before circling my clit in lazy spirals. Every touch made me whimper, toes curling, thighs quaking. I pressed harder, then softer, playing with the edges of what I could take without tumbling over.

The ache grew unbearable. My whole body screamed for release — hips jerking, lips parted, chest flushed hot. My eyes squeezed shut as I whispered into the dark, Please, though I didn’t know if I was begging Mrs. Keller to let me cum or for the strength not to.

The next week passed in silence.

No meetings. No notes. Not a single glimpse of Mrs. Keller.

At first, the house buzzed with whispers — nervous laughter about what she’d made us do, the wild guesses about what she’d make us do next. But as the days stretched on, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

Tension bled into everything. Meals were quieter, side glances sharper, every creak of the stairs pulling heads toward the door in case it was her. At night, I could hear the restless shifting in beds, the muffled sounds of girls touching themselves despite her command. The walls felt thinner than ever, the air thick with frustration no one dared name.

I kept thinking of Chelsea’s mouth, her hands, the ache that hadn’t left me since. My own body betrayed me nightly — slick, needy, ready the second my hand even hovered near. And every time, I heard Mrs. Keller’s voice in my head: Don’t finish. I’ll know.

By the end of the week, we were wound tight as wire, strung between obedience and hunger. And still, she stayed away, letting the pressure build until I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to return… or was terrified of what she’d make us do when she finally did.

*****

Her breasts ruled her days now. Heavy from the moment she woke, skin flushed and tight, nipples swollen and aching for release. Sometimes the milk let down on its own, dampening the inside of her blouse. Other times she had to press her wrist hard against her chest just to keep from dripping when she walked down the street.

At night, she would strip in front of the mirror, cupping the weight of them in her palms. Full, round, flushed, the dark tips beading hard with the slightest touch. She pinched them, tugged lightly, and warm milk pearled at her nipples before sliding down her skin. The sight made her groan, thighs clenching, her body betraying just how sharp her hunger still was.

Pregnancy had softened her stomach, widened her hips, but instead of shame she felt… ripe. Abundant. Built for touch. Her husband didn’t see it. He turned away, muttering about being tired, leaving her wet and aching in the dark. But she knew the truth: her body was hungrier than it had ever been, and no silence could smother that.

Sometimes she gave in, sliding her hand between her legs, shuddering as she felt how slick she already was. Her breasts would ache with every movement, sending shocks of need straight through her. She imagined a mouth there, sucking greedily, taking from her, while another mouth worked lower, tongue lapping at her until she cried out.

That week she stayed away from the house; the ache built in her — not just the throbbing weight in her breasts — but the craving in her cunt, hot and restless. She thought of the girls lined up in their robes, eyes wide, lips parted, obeying without question, their gazes lingering on her chest when the fabric strained too tight. The memory made her body pulse with need, yet when the heat ebbed, another ache remained: deeper, quieter, lonelier. More than anything, she longed for her husband’s hand on her swollen breast, his lips at her neck, the weight of him pressing her down, reminding her she was wanted, cherished, loved.

By the time she arrived at the restaurant, the table was already loud. The girls were flushed from happy-hour cocktails, laughing too easily, voices tumbling over one another. She slipped into the empty chair at the end, breathless, hair looser than she liked, blazer creased from the rush out the door.

But under her blouse, she felt it: the telltale warmth, the ache swelling heavy in her chest.

Fuck.

She hadn’t had time to pump before leaving. She’d told herself dinner wouldn’t be long. But the milk was insistent, relentless, pressing against her bra, nipples tightening, dampness beginning to spread in two pale circles.

Her fork clinked against the water glass as she set it down too hard. She crossed her arms casually, hiding, praying the fabric would hold. It didn’t. The swell grew tighter by the second, her breasts throbbing, every beat of her heart pumping more fullness into them.

Shit. I can feel it leaking. I don’t have time to make it home. I didn’t bring my pump. I’ll text Michael to bring it to the sorority house.

The girls didn’t notice, still buzzing about boys, exams, and Instagram posts. But she couldn’t sit there, couldn’t wait for the food, not like this.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her. She gripped the sink with both hands, chest heaving. Her nipples were hard, aching, wet spots visible now against her blouse. She tugged the fabric down, bra cups soaked, breasts swollen to the point of pain.

She groaned low, desperate, fumbling the clasp. Milk beaded immediately, then spilled, running hot over her fingers.

No choice. I have to do this here.

*****

Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet too, weaving past the bar, following the sway of her black skirt. Something in the way she moved — urgent, almost frantic — pulled me after her like a thread I couldn’t break.

The door was ajar when I reached it. I froze in the doorway, heart pounding.

Mrs. Keller stood at the sink, blouse half-open, bra tugged down. One hand squeezed her breast, thumb and forefinger pinching her nipple, milk beading before spilling in quick streams into the porcelain. The other breast leaked freely, milk running down the curve of her skin, dripping over her stomach in pale lines.

Her head was bowed, hair falling forward, lips parted in a soft groan as she pressed harder, coaxing more release. The sound of liquid striking porcelain mixed with her sharp breaths, and I couldn’t move — couldn’t blink — as I watched her body betray her.

I should have turned away. I should have left her privacy intact. But instead, I twisted the lock on the door, and my feet moved before my mind could catch up. I stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind me.

She startled, head whipping up, eyes wide, one hand still squeezing her breast, milk streaming between her fingers into the sink. The other nipple glistened, milk running down her stomach in pale streaks.

“I—” My voice caught, throat dry. “Do you… need help?”

For a beat, silence. Her chest heaved, her blouse open, her skin flushed. She looked at me as if weighing a dozen answers at once.

My eyes couldn’t leave her. The fullness of her breasts, the way they throbbed in her grip, the wetness still dripping down her stomach. My own breath came shallow, heat crawling up my neck.

I stepped closer, almost without thinking. “Please,” I whispered, surprising even myself. “Let me help.”

Her lips parted like she was about to refuse me, but I didn’t wait. I stepped closer, reached up, and took her breast into my mouth.

She gasped, sharp and startled, her hand flying to the back of my head. Warm milk spilled instantly against my tongue, hot and sweet, flooding my mouth in a way that made me moan around her nipple.

I sucked harder, greedy, pulling from her, my hands clutching her waist to keep her steady. She groaned low, the sound vibrating through her chest as her swollen breast softened under my lips, each pull easing her ache.

Milk ran down my chin, dripping onto my collarbone, but I didn’t care. I latched tighter, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make her shudder.

“Oh… God,” she breathed, pressing me closer, her body trembling as I drained her. The other breast leaked freely, drops rolling down her stomach as she shifted against the sink.

I had never tasted anything like her — never felt anything like the heat of her nipple swelling on my tongue, the way her body gave and gave beneath my mouth.

Her hand trembled against the back of my head as I sucked harder, drawing out every drop. Her breast grew softer under my mouth, the ache melting into shudders of relief.

Then I pulled back, gasping, lips wet, milk dripping down my chin. Her other breast was still swollen, milk streaming in slow rivulets over her stomach.

Without a word, I bent to it, closing my mouth over the hard, aching nipple.

She cried out — not loud, but broken, as though she’d been holding it back too long. My tongue swirled, lips sealing tight, pulling from her until the milk spilled hot into my mouth, sliding down my throat.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, hips pressing unconsciously against the sink. “Yes… oh, that’s—” She cut herself off with a groan, her chest heaving, breasts jolting with every tug of my mouth.

I switched from sucking to licking, dragging my tongue across the leaking tip, tasting the salt of her skin, the sweetness of her milk. My hands cupped both breasts now, kneading, squeezing gently as I moved from one to the other, drinking her until she sagged against the counter, undone.

Her breasts were softer now, emptied under my mouth, but I couldn’t stop. I kissed across her chest, licked the milk from her skin, trailed my tongue lower over the curve of her stomach where it had spilled in pale streaks.

Mrs. Keller’s breath hitched, one hand braced on the counter, the other tangled tight in my hair. “Wait—” she whispered, but it came out more like a plea than a command.

I sank to my knees anyways.

The sight of her above me — blouse hanging open, skirt bunched high, thighs trembling — made my whole body pulse with heat. I pressed kisses along her hip, then down the inside of her thigh, tasting salt, skin, the faint sweetness that lingered there.

Nerves surged through me. I had never done this before. I replayed my own words in my head -  Please her. Torture her. Remember how Chelsea made you feel when she knelt down with Mrs. Keller watching.

Her legs parted, just slightly, and I took it as permission. My hands slid up the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer, my mouth grazing higher until my breath warmed the heat between her legs.

She groaned low, head tipping back, chest rising hard. “Oh, God…”

I pressed a kiss over the silk of her panties, damp already, and the sound she made nearly undid me. My tongue traced her through the fabric, slow, deliberate, until she was shuddering above me, fingers tightening against my scalp.

“Please Hallie,” she breathed, broken now, “don’t stop.”

Her hips rocked forward as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties. She didn’t stop me. I tugged the damp fabric aside and froze.

For a woman who had just had a baby, she was immaculate. Her lips were smooth, neat, perfectly tight, her clit tucked shyly between them like a secret waiting to be uncovered. The soft skin glistened, freshly waxed, not a hair out of place.

I leaned closer, nose brushing the heat of her, and her scent filled me — sweet, sharp, intoxicating. My tongue darted out before I could stop it, tasting her slickness directly, savoring the way she shuddered against my mouth.

“God,” she gasped, her voice ragged, her thighs parting wider.

I pressed my tongue deeper, dragging slow strokes along those perfect lips, circling the hidden nub of her clit until her knees buckled and her hand clenched in my hair like she needed me to hold her up.

“Please… oh—don’t stop.”

Her hips rocked forward, grinding against my mouth, smearing my chin with her wetness. I held her steady, one hand gripping her ass, the other pressed to her thigh as I licked harder, faster, pulling every shudder out of her.

She was so tight, so perfect, every twitch of her body making me hungrier. I flattened my tongue, dragging it up and down her slick folds before sealing my lips over her clit and sucking hard.

Her cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, sharp and helpless. Her knees buckled, and she half-collapsed against the sink, fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to her as her whole body shook.

The taste of her flooded me, hot and sweet, her orgasm spilling over my mouth as she came undone.

I didn’t let go until her grip loosened, until her thighs stopped trembling and her head dropped forward, breathless.

When I finally pulled back, milk still damp on her chest, she looked down at me — wrecked, flushed, her blouse open, skirt wrinkled, her perfect pussy still glistening.

For the first time, Mrs. Keller didn’t look like the house mom, or the untouchable authority. She looked like a woman who had just been worshipped.

For a moment, she only stared down at me — flushed, trembling, blouse hanging open, milk still damp on her breasts. Then a smile curled at the corner of her mouth. Low, husky, she whispered: “Hallie, you are very talented… just like your mother.”

The words hit harder than I’d expected, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with lust.

When we returned to the table, the food had arrived but no one was hungry. Mrs. Keller slipped back into her seat, hair slightly mussed, blouse buttoned too high, but her voice was steady, sharp.

She tapped the rim of her glass with one manicured finger until the chatter faded. “Listen carefully,” she said, her gaze sweeping the table. “Tonight, each of you will find a man. Bring him home. I want to meet him before you disappear into your rooms.”

A ripple of gasps, nervous laughter. Someone tried to joke, “You’re serious?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “Completely.”

The rest of dinner blurred. When we finally spilled out of the restaurant, the girls scattered into the night, flushed with alcohol and Mrs. Keller’s command.

Hours later, they came piling back through the sorority doors — giggling, stumbling, each one with a man in tow. Tall, short, polished, scruffy — a parade of eager faces pulled along like trophies.

The Great Room pulsed with perfume, cologne, and nerves as the girls lined up with their men, each one waiting to be inspected before they could disappear upstairs. Their laughter rang too high, too forced, like they were all trying to convince themselves they belonged.

I was the only one standing without someone beside me. It should have made me feel small, and part of me did shrink under the comparison, but another part buzzed hotter, sharper. None of them knew what I’d already done. None of them knew how she tasted.

I kept my head down, trying to look like just another pledge, but I felt it — a gaze cutting through the crowd, finding me at the back of the line. When I looked up, he didn’t look away.

*****

I sat beside my wife, the pump bag at my feet, pretending I was just here to drop it off, but my eyes kept wandering. One by one, the pledges brought their men forward for her approval — boys trying to stand taller under her stare, girls giggling too loudly at nothing. It was tedious, a parade I wanted no part of.

Until I saw her.

At the back of the line. Alone. No hand in hers, no man standing proud beside her. Just a dress clinging after dinner, cheeks flushed, head slightly bowed like she wished she could vanish.

And yet she held me. My eyes kept finding her. Every time she glanced up, it hit me like a jolt. That spark. That pull. And I couldn’t look away.

The line moved forward, pairs being waved through one after another, until at last she stood exposed — the only one left without a man. My chest tightened, that pull sharper now than ever.

Beside me, my wife’s voice cut the air.

“No one?” she asked, velvet-smooth, just enough edge to draw the girl’s eyes up.

“I…” the girl’s throat worked, her voice soft. “No one.”

I felt the heat coil low in my gut. Alone. Vulnerable.

I could feel my wife’s eyes on me before I even looked up. Not just watching the girl but watching me. Measuring the way my gaze lingered, the way my breath caught. Her heels clicked against the floor as she rose, and for a moment her eyes locked with mine. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something sharper, something that felt almost like permission.

“Then it’s just us,” my wife murmured, her mouth curling into that knowing smile. “And you’ll learn a different lesson tonight.”

And I knew, with a rush that made my breath catch, that the lesson wasn’t meant only for her.

*****

Mrs. Keller led us down the hall to the primary suite — a place I had never been. The door was always locked when I passed it. Tonight it opened like a secret. The lights were dim, shadows stretching across a fireplace and a wide bed draped in dark linen.

She guided me to sit at the edge of the mattress, then knelt so her eyes were level with mine. She didn’t look at Michael when she spoke, but at me, gaze steady, unblinking.

“Michael,” she said softly, though her voice carried like a command. “At the restaurant tonight, this precious girl came to me. My breasts were aching, milk spilling down my skin, and she didn’t hesitate. She put her mouth to me and drank until I was empty.”

I heard his breath catch, sharp in the quiet.

Her lips curved faintly, but she didn’t look away. “She knew what I needed. She knew how long it’s been since you touched me the way I ache to be touched. And when she was done, she dropped to her knees and worshipped me. Her tongue circled my clit, slid inside me until I cried out. She made me remember what it felt like to be undone.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy, deliberate. Then, at last, she broke her gaze from me and turned her head toward him.

“And I saw you tonight,” she said, voice low but sharp enough to cut. “The way your eyes followed her. The way you couldn’t look away. You wanted her, Michael. Don’t bother denying it — I know that look. You used to look at me that way.”

She rose from her knees slowly, smoothing her hands along my thighs as she stood, placing me between them like an offering. One hand stayed resting on my shoulder as her eyes stayed locked on his.

“I could be jealous,” she went on, lips curving faintly. “But maybe what you need is temptation. Something forbidden. And maybe what we need…” She glanced down at me briefly before meeting his eyes again. “…is to share the lesson.”

“Sweetie,” Mrs. Keller murmured, her hand warm on my shoulder. “I want Michael to show you how a woman should be fucked. I want him to make your first time unforgettable — so that you will never settle for less than your worth. This was the lesson your mother gave me, all those years ago. Now, it’s your turn. Will you let us give you this?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Hearing her describe the way I’d fed from her at the restaurant — the way she’d ached under my mouth — sent heat surging through me. My panties clung damp against my skin.

I looked at Michael. He was handsome, broad, dangerous in a way no boy my age could ever be — brown hair, brown eyes, chest hair peeking through the open collar of his shirt. A man, not a boy fumbling in the dark.

I thought of the other pledges upstairs, moaning for show while frat boys grunted into them. I felt the sharp, traitorous twitch low in my belly.

I turned back to her, throat dry, but my voice came out steady, “Yes, Mrs. Keller,” I whispered. “I want your husband to be my first.”

*****

My chest tightened at the sound of it. Teach her. My wife’s eyes steady on mine, her hand still resting on the girl’s shoulder like she was presenting her to me.

I’d dreamed of my wife giving herself back to me like this — commanding, radiant, alive. And yet here she was, offering me the one thing forbidden, asking me to take what no boy had touched before.

The girl looked at me then — wide-eyed, nervous, but trembling with need, and something inside me snapped. I wanted her. God help me, I wanted her. But more than that, I wanted the look in my wife’s eyes to never fade again.

I hadn’t kissed another woman besides my wife. I needed to take it slow for myself, but I also knew I had to be steady, masculine, dominant — for both of them.

I stepped to Hallie and laced my fingers with hers. Leaning close, my lips brushed her ear. “You’re beautiful,” I whispered. “The way you made my wife feel tonight… that should have been me. Thank you for giving her what I couldn’t.”

I kissed the soft curve of her neck. The moan that escaped her lips — quiet, needy — shot straight to my cock. She tilted her head, exposing more, inviting more, and I traced up behind her ear with slow kisses until she melted against me.

I let go of her hands and, in one motion, lifted her onto my hips. She clung instinctively, legs wrapping me as I pressed her to the wall. Her breath hitched, eyes darting from my mouth to my eyes, back again, before she closed the gap and kissed me.

Her lips were plump, soft, tasting faintly of strawberry gloss. For a girl untouched, she moved like she already knew what I wanted, parting her lips just enough to take my tongue, then tugging gently at my bottom lip with her teeth when she pulled away. It was intoxicating.

I slid a hand to the tie at the back of her dress, tugging it loose. Setting her back on her feet, I let the fabric fall, leaving her bare before me in one motion. She didn’t shrink from it — she spun away, pushing me back against the wall instead.

She stepped out of the pooling dress, slow, deliberate, watching me watch her. Her fingers found her bra clasp; she turned just enough to let me see the straps slip free, then glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip to make sure I didn’t look away. My cock throbbed, straining against denim.

Then, with a teasing drag, she slid her panties down her legs. She spun to face me, completely bare, eyes locked on mine. I tugged my shirt over my head, watching her in awe over my toned stomach and arms.

She was stunning. Any other man would have lost himself in her right there. But she wasn’t my wife. I missed the weight of her breasts filling my hands, the familiar sweetness of her perfume, the taste of her warm, buttery heat on my tongue. The ache of it caught me off guard, my eyes sliding to her — longing. And she saw it.

Her voice snapped me back. “Mr. Keller,” she said, crisp and deliberate, “I’m ready for you to take me now.”

The sound of it sent a craze through me. I stripped quickly, jeans and boxers falling to the floor. Her breath hitched at the sight of me, and I caught the flicker in her eyes — awe, nerves, hunger.

Before she could speak again, I claimed control. My mouth found her breasts, closing over one tight nipple, sucking hard until her back arched. I didn’t let her call the shots — I bit, pulled, circled with my tongue until her gasps turned ragged. My hand closed over the other, fingers twisting, pinching, coaxing more heat through her.

She writhed beneath me, pressing up into my mouth, begging without words.

“Oh, fuck, Mr. Keller—don’t stop.”

Her plea made my cock throb harder, but I wasn’t rushing. I wanted her trembling, dripping, desperate — ready to take every inch when I finally drove into her.

“Please—” she gasped, voice breaking, “oh God, please—”

I sucked harder, rolling her nipple against my tongue, my hand working her other breast in perfect rhythm. She was trembling now, body taut as a bowstring. I felt it in the way her thighs squeezed, the way her nails clawed at the sheets.

Then she shattered.

Her back bowed off the bed, a strangled moan ripping out of her throat as her release tore through her. Heat flushed her chest and cheeks, her body quivering beneath me. I didn’t let up, teasing her through the waves until she was sobbing with pleasure, begging me for mercy.

Her body trembled beneath me, every muscle quaking with the aftershocks of release. I drew back, lips wet, chest heaving, watching the flush spread across her throat and breasts. She was panting, eyes glassy, body undone — and ready.

“Good,” I heard my wife’s voice cut through the haze, smooth and steady. She’d been silent while I worked her, but now she rose, crossing the room until her shadow fell over us. Her hand brushed along the girl’s jaw, tilting her chin up. “You see, Michael? This is how eager she is for you now. How perfectly she opens once she’s shown what she deserves.”

My cock throbbed at her words, the need almost unbearable. I looked at my wife, at the hunger in her eyes, and I knew what she wanted next.

“Take her,” she murmured. “Make her yours. Give her the lesson her mother once gave me.”

The girl whimpered, thighs parting wider in invitation. My breath caught as I slid between them, the heat of her body calling me in. She was trembling, nervous, but she didn’t pull away.

I leaned down, kissed her temple softly. “I’ll be gentle,” I whispered, though my body was shaking with the strain of holding back.

And then, with my wife’s eyes locked on mine, I pressed forward — slowly, carefully — claiming what no boy ever had.

She was so tight I could hardly break through.

Her moan turned to a wince.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“No,” she demanded. “I want all of you.”

I needed her body fully relaxed before I could hit the back of her. Gently, I slid my finger into her mouth and then lowered it on top of her clit. I rubbed it softly, slowly increasing the pressure until I could feel her walls around my cock loosen.

And with that, I pressed into her—deep until my shaft was fully immersed. I thrust in and out until her hips matched my rhythm.

“Fuck me, Mr. Keller,” she gasped, the words tumbling out between breaths.

Her words drove me to my breaking point. I thrusted into her until her release hit hard, shaking through her. The shock of it dragged me over the edge, and I filled her with my cum.

The room grew quiet again except for the slow cadence of our breathing. Her fingers loosened their grip on the sheets and instead found my arm, clinging lightly as if to steady herself. I kissed her temple once more, lingering there, letting her know I wasn’t rushing away. When I finally lifted my head, my wife’s gaze was waiting for me—calm, steady, and full of meaning. For a moment, the three of us simply stayed like that, suspended in the hush, bound together by what had just passed.

“Thank you, Mr. Keller,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her body spent.

I eased out of her and reached for one of my wife’s baby-doll nightdresses, slipping it gently over her shoulders. Then I gathered her into my arms and carried her toward my wife.

Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“I’m going to take Hallie to her bed,” I murmured, my breath brushing her ear. “When I come back, I want you naked and on all fours. Because then, I’m going to fuck my wife.”