The lamp illuminates my desk, yet it is dark in my heart.

Pascal betrayed my love of romance and abused my good nature. It hurts to be a fool. Is this what life is like now? Are all the good men taken? My mind is blocked, and my reawakened sexual urges rage. At my desk, I know it is second best - pornography will dampen it.

An e-mail notification stops me in my tracks; it is from Raphaël.

Re: Your turn.

It is too soon for his assignment. In this state of mind, my curiosity bests me. I have no qualms about opening the attachment.

The screen casts a ghostly pallor onto the walls. Illustrated with erotic images, it descends into motifs of bondage, submission, and domination. I am uncertain what to call this: a story, a manifesto, or a script. Written by Raphaël and Lisette in the red mists of lust, it is carnal and pornographic. A heartfelt poem in Lisette’s style elevates it into something pure.

Thinking about these things is not the same as doing them. But, they are free to explore their vices; it is ironic to learn that from them.

A picture appears, poorly taken, and my insides roar. Its curve and the thick veins of deep purple match the ripe head. No wonder they all cry on my shoulder; it is a magnificent penis, hard as oak, thick and filling.

Yes, Raphaël! I know Anaïs makes you hard. I want to tie you to a chair and watch her fuck you.

“Shit!”

I find my relentless silicone boyfriend in the desk drawer. Hitching up my T-shirt, I ease the toy inside, enjoying its squirming fill with long sighs.

I must have his beautiful monster fucking me.

On my terms.

I scroll, and the edge of another image appears. It is lust at first sight. Lisette poses on the bed naked, surrounded by an explosion of wild hair. V-shaped fingers cover her mouth, and a pointed tongue pokes through them. Tight-pored, her matte skin resembles porcelain. Petite, with slender shoulders and delicate limbs, her perky breasts rest moulded to her frame. Curves swoop through the scallop shape of her stomach, and they rise to the hillock of her bare mons. Her smooth sex glistens between the sinews of her thighs, clearly aroused.

I am eighteen again, and Lisette reaches into the dormant parts of my sexuality. I want her, all of her. The image does not need words; it speaks thousands, yet the postscript is there.

I want to watch her fuck the cum out of you, and then I will eat it from her cunt.

“Jesus!”

The inferno builds, and it will reduce me to ashes. Pulling out the toy, it slurps from my sex. I savour the mixture, sucking it clean. It is Raphaël’s waning cock, and he would stiffen again quickly. Clasping my breast, squeezing its nipple, I tilt back in the chair and fuck my frothing cunt. Lisette is underneath me, and her tongue squirms inside me, feeding on his cum.

Watch Anaïs and me fucking, Raphaël. You are helpless as we orgasm again and again.

The syrupy sounds escalate, and the image fuels my fantasy, pushing all my buttons. I want to see Lisette flex and moan, driven to despair by my touch. I wonder how delicious she tastes, how she kisses, pants, writhes, and climaxes. Is she quiet like a mouse or rages in a fury? I want to hear her ragged breaths of relief, then plunge back in and make her do it again.

More images add to the rout of my body and mind. Spicy fantasies from secret fetishes make me rise like hot milk, ready to boil over. My punisher squirms inside me, droning along, and I am there with them. Provoking myself, I graze that place within. Scrolling through the words and more pictures, Lisette and Raphaël’s words light the way. The imagery reaches the darkest recesses of my mind, and like creeping vines, our needs entwine.

I understand my body and the vast dimensions of this pressure. Ransacking my perversions, I am close to the explosive sensations I crave. To dominate them both, to educate Lisette.

To control Raphaël.

I decide what I want. I take what I need. His cock in my pussy, up my ass. He is tied to my bed and fucked to oblivion by both of us. His balls will shoot dust by the end of our tryst. Lisette rubs on my clit, and sucks on my breasts. She feeds me her cunt to eat and ass to lick.

Ambushed from the depths, undone without warning, my squeaking chair is the last contact with reality. It pounds me as I tense, lurch and fold. Thrown back, I arch my back, my legs shaking, and I try to thrash it out. Squeezing on the incessant toy, it pulverises my being with involuntary and merciless seizures. I must expel the thing, and it clatters to the floor.

The world swirls around me. Finally, I have what Pascal could not provide. Floating in a gratifying haze, I surge with the novelty of unknown pleasures.  Hot and panting, the pixels sharpen, and there is much more to read. Tonight, I crossed a line, and I crave more.

I vow it to myself. I will never be a victim of my libido again.

-=-

It is Tuesday, and last night, I slept as the innocents do.

My gait is well-greased, and the sun is limbering up for summer. It is a blessing not to wear thick tights. I chose a mid-thigh tweed skirt and a white turtle-neck knitted top. So snug is the fit; I do not wear a brassiere. It flattens and sculpts my generous breasts, and a fitted bolero jacket conceals and tempts. When my sandalwood high heels strike the floor, the rustle of tan holdups accompanies them.

With Parisian Red lips, I do not wilt. I bloom. I am not stooped. I am statuesque. I will hunt; I am not the hunted. My first lecture is in two hours, and I turn the heads of some male students. They do not see my amusement.

Rounding the corner are three women from my Monday class, and from the tell-tale red hair, I know one of them. There is concern on their faces, and Lisette has pink eyes. I guess there are consequences from last night, and I did not anticipate dealing with this so soon.

“Is everything okay, Lisette?”

She stares at the floor.

“It is only Madame Blanchet. Ignore her. Come on, Lisette, we should go.”

I think her name is Celine, and I glare at her, displeased. I could slap the contempt clean off her smug face.

“Lisette?” She is not responding.

Looking at the other two, I wish them dead. They get the message.

“Come on, Eva,” mutters Celine. “Leave the lesbians to it.”

I reveal nothing except the iciest stare, and now we are alone.

“Hey.” My tone can be softer now, “I think I know what this is about.”

She is staring at her shoes. “You do?” It is barely loud enough to be heard over the noise.

“You are not in trouble.”

“No?”

“Lisette is a diminutive for Anna Lise, yes? Anna Lise, Anaïs.”

I know what crying yourself to sleep looks like, and her eyes are two windows of fear and uncertainty.

“Did you read it? Anaïs. The attachment?”

“It was private.”

The omission of the truth is still a lie.

She ponders my words, “Raphaël dumped me.”

Lisette’s features crease in pain. Her fate cuts the deepest of all, and I gather her in my arms.

-=-

The Director is out all day. Lisette sits in her office amongst the ring binders and piles of paperwork. With the air tinged with old tobacco smoke, I swear Sabine breaks the rules to keep herself alive. The office ephemera suits Lisette’s bookish style: black boots with short socks, a denim mini-skirt, and a brown V-neck sweater covers an oversized white dress shirt.

I am perched on the edge of the desk, waiting as Lisette dabs her eyes. Fortified by strong instant coffee, it will have to do.

“It was his idea,” she opines.

“What was his idea?”

“The attachment. We added bits to it in turns. Raphaël told me it was a game, and I took it too far.”

I nod along. “As I said, you are not in trouble. It is not your fault.”

She looks up sorrowfully. “He wanted me to dominate him… with you.”

“I see.” I cannot reveal what I know. “Well, I am flattered.”

Sipping the acrid coffee, I hope my adult response encourages hers.

“I… I…” Lisette sighs and shifts uncomfortably. “I revealed something about who I am. It excited him at first. Last night, he called me a freak.”

“Okay, I think I can guess.”

“Yes, and he thinks you are… that we are… ”

I have to rescue her from this personal crisis. “Lesbians? Why? Because I will not play his puerile games? Pfft…”

She is crestfallen. “Raphaël will tell everyone. He told everyone that Ninon Aubert takes it in the ass. Those naked pictures of Simone Noiret? I am certain he did that. He called me a freak. He will do the same to me. I know he will.”

As she cowers with shame, I must stop this.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. If that is your sexuality, and he harasses you because of it? They will throw him out of here. I will make sure of that.”

“He is scared of you, Anaïs.”

“He has every reason to be.”

Lisette offers a tentative and brighter smile.

“Okay. Drink your coffee.” I want my pause to clear the air. Now, what do you think about Virginia Woolf? It is time for some tutoring.”

We are on the same wavelength. It plays to Lisette’s character and intelligence, and she speaks with conviction. Slowly, she unfurls like a flower, and her smile is infectious. Her jade eyes and their pure whites smile; they roll with silliness or narrow in scrutiny. Her delicate nose and juicy cheeks dimple with laughter or crease with seriousness. Playing with those long tresses, running her fingers through them, sweeping them aside, they are a prop for her emotions.

Every single gesture is a declaration of Lisette’s captivating beauty.

Then I see it for a second - that mercurial gaze.

-=-

“Thank you, Anaïs.” Lisette finishes her second cup of coffee.

I grin, “For what? I have done very little.”

She reciprocates, “I was irrational, and you took my mind off it. You care about me.”

“I am your tutor. I have to care.”

“Many of my friends do not, ” she mutters, and there is a pause. “Anaïs. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Did you read the attachment?”

Evading the question twice would be a deception. I do not avoid Lisette’s gaze as the corners of her mouth curl, half-smile, half-something-else.

I place my coffee cup on the desk. “Let me ask another question first. Answer that, and I will answer yours.”

Her impish grin lingers, “Okay.”

“What do you want to do to Raphaël? Do not hold back.”

“I want revenge.” There is a cold, spiky precision in every word.

“How?”

“He will want me so much, it hurts.”

“And then you will end it?”

“Yes.”

I mull over her words. “It is revenge.”

“He treats women like dirt. How many has he done this to?”

“A few.” Lisette deserves the truth, and I sigh, “Okay. Many.”

“Bastard.”

She looks at me expectantly. “Did you read the attachment?”

“Stand up, come closer.”

Lisette rises from her chair, and I ease from the desk. Standing close, I dwarf her, tall to her petite. The motif is obvious, and I must disarm her for what will come next.

“I read it all.”

My blunt words stagger her breathing.

“I enjoyed it immensely.”

For all her lingering glances, I understand the female gaze. Nineteen, so fresh-faced and pure, she sees mine, too.

The back of my fingers caress her cheek. “Is this what you want? For real, and not a fantasy?”

“Anaïs.” She looks so innocent. “I… I am not sure.”

“You are not a freak.”

“No… I am not.”

The distance between us narrows, and I can hear the sudden halt in her composure. She is trembling.

“You are beautiful, and those are your desires. If I told you I have the same desires and am very attracted to you, does that help?”

Lingering on my lips, she looks up with doe eyes. “I… I want you to do all those things to me.”

“In revenge?”

“Not just for that,” it is barely a whisper.

Pulling on her waist, her tentative hands rest on my shoulders, and we are together. Clasping her behind, Lisette tilts her head; she is ready.

I hover over her ear. “We can act out your fantasies if you wish. Your revenge will be his fantasies.”

“Yes.” It has a dreamy, distant air.

“He will want you more than you can imagine.”

“Anaïs.” Her tone pleads with me, “I do not care about him. I want you.”

Lisette’s eyes close to receive my lips, and their faint graze extracts a whimper. Easing back, she chases them, hesitant at first, then they press with conviction. Kissing my bottom lip, it opens my mouth. My excitement blooms as a rich heat, and my regret is instant. I suppressed this need years ago.

We fold into a close clinch. I can feel Lisette’s heat on my thigh, and her tongue is as eager as mine. I must control my arousal. We cannot do it here, but I yearn for more. Lisette’s delicate caress halts at my breast. I take her hand and place it there. God, I have to whimper as the promise of her body consumes me, and these potent sensations are overwhelming.

We break, and I pray she does not feel guilty.

Lisette looks dolefully into my eyes. “I… I have not….”

“Been with another woman?” Grazing her lips, she finds my reassurance. “Be yourself. Follow your passions. We can go slowly if…”

Lisette plunges for me; her hands are too quick, scouring my body, pulling at my ass. I am scorched; her tongue is in my mouth, stifling my yelps of surprise. Such spontaneity throws me off balance. I am used to a drought of affection, and this is an inundation of desire. Her feverish teenage kiss makes my head swim.

For such a slender creature, Lisette has speed on her side, and her frantic hand goes up my skirt. Backpedalling, she follows as if I am trying to escape. Urgent fingers rub at the heat of my sex, poleaxing my senses, and I scrabble to find the latch beneath the door handle. Its metallic click signals my fightback. Fuck, she is trying to get into my panties, and she does, rubbing at my wet folds. I press forward, and we are lip-locked and snorting for air. Squeezing her breast, asserting myself, she backpedals and fingers my cunt.

Frenzied, Lisette halts against the desk. Using my advantage in height and strength, I lift her onto it. God, we are going to do this here; nothing else matters.

It is not soft lighting, ambience, and gentle music; it is my boss’ desk.

-=-

If I am her first, she is my second, and the danger of being caught is exhilarating.

Prising her legs open, I will not stop now, and I ease between them. Unbuttoning her skirt, I expect some resistance. Instead, her hand gropes my breast, kneading it, acquainting herself with their size. She finds my nipples and pushes her devilish tongue deep into my mouth. The zip fly yields, and her skirt opens wide. Lifting her sweater and shirt with trembling hands, I pull it from her body. Finding the elastic of her panties, I will rip them if I have to, but she wriggles, freeing them from her hips and ass.

Kneeling, I yank it all down, and we stop.

Lisette is no longer wide-eyed with innocence. She breathes like a cornered animal, and her breasts heave in a balconette bra.

“You want this?” I must know.

“Yes,” she pleads, “Please, Anaïs.”

Her willowy body leans back, and a tiny jewel rests in her belly button. Between her thighs, a thin strip of hair decorates the hillock of her mons. Flawless as a peach, her smooth, pristine sex exerts a magnetic force.

I will not break my gaze as signpost kisses on her creamy inner thigh lead the way. I nuzzle with the next, a little closer, then another, and Lisette’s whimpers strengthen. I can see her need - there is no doubt. Her sexuality is a precious gift, and these are imperfect circumstances. How many times did she imagine this? I want her to remember this first time, and she does not blink when my tongue laps at the crease in her body. I kiss her mons and look again. She reaches out, caressing my hair.

“Please.”

Lapping at Lisette’s smooth petals, bittersweet to the taste, her whimpers rise an octave. I suck on one, forcing a sudden gasp of air.

I purr, “These are as soft as the ones I kissed.”

Eye-to-eye, I want her to remember this forever. My mouth cups her sex, and her breathing soars. I ease my tongue inside, spilling her delicious juices, and she softens. Her tender hand eases through my hair to guide me, and I want to learn.

Ensconcing her clit, sucking with patient affection, a single flick of my tongue adds to her rising delirium. Those lips that raged as a temptress pout with pleasure. An invading finger makes her gasp, and it curls in the taut heat. So hot and fleshy, I seek that place inside her. My discovery animates her hips, accelerating her sudden gasps.

She reassures me of my limited experience because she dances to my tune now.

From this conspiracy of tongue, lips and fingers, Lisette whispers my name as a mantra. I pray for our sakes that she does not squeal when her orgasm comes. I ease my hand into my panties, stimulating myself. It is not inspiration I require; we will climax together.

She wriggles, clutching at her breast, pulling at her bra to expose their enticing curves. My hand rests on her racing heart, captures a springy mound, and teases her erect nipple. Her response is immediate, squeezing on my fingers.

“Oh God!” she squeaks.

Her fingers suddenly stretch out, tense, and her arms shake.

If she is nervous, she will not see it from me. “Let go. Cum for me.”

Her head does not loll, and her upturned eyes remain with mine. Her legs are fidgety. Sudden gasps and jerking movements signal how close she is. Slathering her clit side-to-side, Lisette clamps on my twisting fingers. She suppresses her rising clamour, stifling her tumult, making her nostrils flare. Tense as a coiled spring, her body tightens its grip until she trembles to a halt.

She shakes like a tree bough, showering blossom petals into the breeze. A climax potent enough to pulse against my fingers and a final jolt paints a dreamy smile on her face.

“So? Are you a freak?”

I flick playfully on her clit, and make her shudder.

“No,” she grins.

Standing, I am on weakened legs. Lisette treats me to the spectacle of her masturbating, and we are locked into a deep, sensual kiss to prise my orgasm free. Kneading my breast, she watches intensely as I cum for her, and it deletes the tension from me.

We are in a world of sighs. She takes my wet fingers and sucks on them. Its sensuality and her smouldering eyes threaten to ignite me all over again.

She licks her lips. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” I gasp, still breathless, “My apartment, seven o'clock.”

I am bewitched.