Have you ever stepped on a train and, once it started moving, thought with a dropping feeling in your stomach of something important that you had left behind? This was exactly the feeling that followed me around every step. What I had left behind were dignity and rational thought. While I dusted the flat, arranged the knick-knacks on the boards and tables and moved all the teaching-related stuff into locked drawers, I tried to convince myself that I could stand up to her and end this before it went too far. I almost managed to fool myself.

Until the doorbell rang, that is, and made me jump up from my spot on the edge of the couch where I had been nervously awaiting that moment, clad in my favorite green summer dress, coiled tight like a spring and close to biting my nails. I nearly stumbled on the way to the door. Pulling it open, I took a deep breath and tried to recall the words I had been preparing for hours.

It was for naught. As soon as my eyes encountered Cordelia’s radiance, all conscious thought left me. Her hair was glowing in the soft, warm light of the sunset, and when the rosy tip of her tongue snaked out and licked over her lips, the pleasurable shudder that ran through my body couldn’t be stopped.

"Hi, Miss Wilkins," her voices chimed exuberantly, "it’s so great of you to have us all here tonight! You’re the best teacher ever!"

She leaned closer and my breathing stopped. For a long moment that seemed frozen in time I thought she was going to kiss me, right here on my doorstep and for everyone to see. But her lips deviated to the side at the last moment, her soft cheek brushing mine like the touch of a butterfly, and I was forced to bite my lip to keep the revealing moan hidden from the world. Instead, she whispered into my ear, "I’ve brought my gaggle of friends, Miss Wilkins, I’m sure you approve."

She had turned my words from earlier today around on me. I should have been annoyed by that childish act, but I couldn’t.

And then she was brushing by me, gesturing her friends - all of whom were in my class too, I realized with no little trepidation - to follow her. Moments later my living room was buzzing with conversation while the five girls took possession of my beloved Japanese style leather couch and plush chairs and pointed out things they found interesting.

I took a deep breath and closed the door, not without a furtive glance to see if my neighbors had seen anything. Which was actually stupid. It had always been school policy to allow teachers to hold study groups at their homes for their graduating classes. But I couldn’t help the guilty feeling that was burning away in my stomach.

I looked at the girls. At the left end of the couch was Eireen, tall and bony with red hair and freckles. I was sure that she turned a lot of heads, but only until her drawl and condescending way managed to scare off her admirers. She wore khaki shorts and a loose yellow PETA t-shirt, both of which didn’t really go well with her pale complexion. In the middle sat, of course, Cordelia, again in her tennis star outfit, which still looked fresh and unwrinkled as if she had only put it on five minutes ago. A pink hair band held her long locks out of her face and made her look all the more adorable.

To her other side was Monica, the smallest of the class, and a silent one. Though she didn’t need to be, she was in my opinion the most intelligent one out of the whole bunch. She did, however, fit the nerd image quite well, with her black page cut and silver rimmed glasses. The jeans and plain blue t-shirt encouraged that impression.

I had to walk into the room to get a good look at the other two girls. I almost gasped out loud when I recognized the one in the left chair, or to be precise, her clothes. The brown summer dress, the even darker brown curls, there was no doubt that she was the girl who had filmed my voluntary debasement. Her name was Lisette, and she had always been a bit of a rebel. The thigh-high leather boots covered with buckles screamed that message to the world, and the dark purple lipstick, encircled by black lip liner, underlined it.

Finally, on the right chair, was the only girl who could have been a danger to Cordelia’s social role. Kaila. The only thing preventing her from usurping her friend was also her biggest asset. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate, and there were still enough bigots all over the school who at best ignored her, so she couldn’t move between social circles with Cordelia’s ease. She was only a little smaller than her friend, her skin flawless and her muscles toned. Her lips, pink and full, drew attention to her face, where her high cheekbones and big, dark eyes captured it. She was graceful and intelligent, and when she wore a dress, like the black and golden fabric she had on today, she looked no less a queen than Cordelia.

I don’t know how long I stood there contemplating my pupils, but I was suddenly aware that there was a lull in the conversation and all eyes had come to rest on me.

"Uh," I cleared my throat, my face heating up, "would you girls want some snack and something to drink?"

"That would be lovely!" Cordelia immediately agreed while she kicked off her sandals and put her feet on the coffee table, wiggling her toes.

"Delia!" Monica admonished under her breath, "you can’t just put your feet on her table!"

She thankfully didn’t see the shiver that ran through my body when my eyes fell on the objects of temptation.

"Oh, I don’t think Miss Wilkins minds, do you!" Her eyes drilled into mine for a second, only to wink and inspect her fingernails.

"No," I quickly reassured them, "not at all. I want you to feel at home here."

"See," she told her friend, "she doesn’t mind. You can put yours up too, if you want."

"No, it’s okay." Monica’s voice was back to its meek self.

"So what would you like to drink?" I asked quickly, to dispel the weird atmosphere that had been building up in the room.

"I’m not sure. What do you have?" This time it was Eireen who spoke, not really looking at me.

"Let’s see. I have juice and water, I think there are still two or three bottles of coke in the fridge, and," my voice tried to get all scratchy on me, but I just couldn’t not mention it, "I’ve got champagne."

"Wow!"

"Really?"

"Champagne?"

The echo was instantaneous, and I felt myself blushing again. "So I guess you’d all like some?"

"How did we earn that honor?" Cordelia suddenly inquired, putting me on the spot. "I don’t think it is normal for teachers to offer their pupils champagne."

She was staring at me, daring me to slip up, I could see it in the way her lips pouted and her cheeks took on just that barely noticeable hue of excitement.

"You’re my favorite pupils. I’m allowed to indulge you a bit away from school, aren’t I?" It was probably too fast and too loud, but I had to get the words out before holding Cordelia’s gaze could take the remainder of my breath away. Just looking at her was like a drug, it was making me lose all ties to reality and it became more and more addictive.

"If it’s like that, of course I’d like some. You all as well, girls?" Her question was rhetorical.

"I’ll be right back, I’ll also prepare some snacks, but it’ll be only five minutes." Where was the literate teacher in me getting off to? I retreated into the kitchen, unsure where this evening was going and even less sure that I could stand Cordelia’s constant teasing presence without falling to pieces.

The snacks were quickly done, just slicing up the French baguette and cutting it into small squares, decorating the pieces with small squares of cheese and a slice of the Italian sausage, then spearing a grape with a toothpick and sticking it through the bread. Perfect European canapés, I did those every year for the end-of-term conference at the incessant needling of my colleagues. I had never done them for any of my pupils before.

True to my words I was back in the living room five minutes later and sat the platter with the canapés down on the table, then hurried into the kitchen once more to fetch the champagne and matching glasses. When I came back, they had already helped themselves to the snacks. The blissful expressions on their faces, even Cordelia’s, made me smile.

"Gosh, those are brilliant!" It was, to my astonishment, again Eireen who was the first to speak, and she would have been the last one from whom I’d have expected a compliment.

"Thanks," I replied and tried not let my voice betray my nerves.

I almost lost my grip on the cork and the bottle gave a mighty pop, to the cheers of the girls. Soon the glasses were filled and eager young fingers snatched them from the table.

"Take a seat," Cordelia offered sweetly, as if it was her flat and I was the guest, and patted the spot between her and Eireen.

The thumping of my heart increased again, before my backside even touched the couch. And then I was sitting, self-conscious and struggling with myself to look away from the naked skin of her legs so close to me, tantalizing me with their satiny glow.

One thing about Japanese couches is that they are quite low and don’t have much of a backrest. So sitting was awkward when the girls were comfortable leaning back, propped up on their elbows, leaving me no choice but to follow their example.

"Cheers!" Cordelia announced. "A big thank you to our favorite teacher, let’s drink to a wonderful evening!"

We all raised our glasses and cheered as well. That moment felt wonderful, and I realized for the first time in my life that this had been something I had always missed. Being part of a clique. Belonging. I did have friends, even a best friend, true, but I had never been part of such a close-knit group.

I sipped from my champagne.

"Are the next few lessons all going to have such sexual topics?" Monica asked out of the blue, and I nearly swallowed down the wrong chute.

I felt all eyes on me again, and quickly formed a reply. "Only the next one, then it’s going to be the same old boring stuff again, you know, revolutions, wars, treasures and massacres, the fall of empires and the rise of new ones. Like I said, boring stuff."

"Gosh, you’re so funny!" Cordelia’s declaration, accompanied by the chiming giggles of her friends, made me look at her.

To underline her point, she put her hand on my shoulder. In the blink of an eye the room became steaming hot, and I was sure that the touch of her fingers burned little holes through the fabric of my dress, because I could feel the sparks dance directly on my skin.

"I wouldn’t mind if we spent more time on libertinism though."

Her hand trailed down my back and my body stiffened. She wouldn’t start something with all her friends here, would she? But thankfully, her actions were hidden from view by our bodies, and then her hand left me and I could finally draw a breath again.

"It’s so fascinating," she declared, her voice filled with admiration, "the idea that anything would allowed that is possible, that sexual morale is just an embodiment of social pressure."

Now her hand was there again, her fingers wrapping around my bare upper arm like a shackle, burning deeply into my skin and binding me to her hypnotic voice.

"What do you," and she emphasized the ‘you’, rolled it on her sweet tongue like a candy, "think about it? Does power, through wealth or sexuality, allow us to step over the boundaries society has drawn up for us?"

"Of course not!" I quickly opposed her, trying to get the words out before her delicious touch could work its magic and make all my thoughts a jumbled mess again.

My breath hitched at the last syllable when her fingernail scratched a fiery line into my skin that seemed to trail all the way down to my warming sex. "There are reasons for those boundaries! How could we argue that any form of power entitles a person to step over them? That would mean a wealthy person could enslave a poorer one." My eyes flickered to Kaila, who appeared riveted to our discussion, then back to Cordelia. "Basically, all our struggles for basic rights over the last few hundred years would be in vain."

I thought I had made a good argument and felt my body relax. I should have counted on my queen bee to have expected the direction of my logic. In fact, I had let myself get steered right into her corral.

"But isn’t that rather black-and-white?"

She looked into my eyes, holding me in place like a skilled snake charmer, and then her thumb started to draw small circles on my arm.

I almost jerked away, and I when my eyes widened in shock and my head rang with alarm that this intimate little touch would surely be noticed by the girls, the corners of her mouth tipped smugly upwards.

"Wouldn’t you say it depends on the involved parties too?" She leaned closer, close enough that I could feel her breath tickle my face when she spoke. "What if the person with less power wants it as well? Would it still be immoral? Or," she moistened her lips with her tongue and I swallowed hard, "could it even be considered an obligation in such a case?"

Oh my god! My skin burst into flames when I considered her words. She wasn’t talking about hypothetical scenarios from long gone times anymore. This was all about me. About us.

"Two wrongs don’t make a right!" It came out sharper than I had intended it to, and of all the responses I could have come up with, it was the lamest.

Cordelia’s happy smile confirmed that.

"Perhaps we need an example to work with, I think we’re talking to generically. Let me see," she pulled up her right knee and set her foot down on the couch. Sitting more upright, she rested her chin on that knee and took on a thinking expression.

It was just play, I knew that. Her friends certainly knew it as well. But nobody interfered, all eyes glued to her acting. Then her left hand touched her foot, trailed down towards the shiny little nails, and her fingers slipped between her toes, started to play around and caress them.

Small beads of sweat began to prickle on my forehead and neck, and like a bell had rang for a Pavlovian dog, my mouth filled itself with saliva. I wanted to grab her shoulders, shake her and scream at her to stop turning my world on its head. I let out a long, shaking breath instead.

"That’s it," she exclaimed, having gauged my reaction and waited for the perfect moment, "I’ll make up an example, and please don’t be offended. It is, after all, only hypothetical."

"Of course," I confirmed, trapped, despite my better knowledge. There would be nothing hypothetical, and the longer this discussion lasted, the less confident I was that my depraved little secret would stay that way.

"Say there’s a teacher," she winked at me and her friends giggled. "Hey, be serious!" She admonished them playfully. "There’s a teacher, and she has a little fetish. Let’s assume she has a desperate craving to kiss one of her student’s feet."

Shouts of, "gross!" and "eww! icky!" quickly filled the air.

"Silence, imbeciles!"

I couldn’t help but smile at the playful banter between them, and at the mock seriousness suddenly on all their faces.

"Now that is, by society’s moral, wrong. For one because it is sexual, and sexuality between a student and teacher is forbidden. And also because kissing feet is something a majority of society considers revolting, and therefore taboo as well. With me so far?"

I had to give it to her. She knew how to spin an argument, and how to keep her listeners in line. She was, and that circled back to the start of this discussion, a force of her own. An intriguing, sensual force that was making me tingle all over right then.

"Now let’s assume that the student in question likes the idea of having her pretty, young feet kissed by her teacher, of having her toes licked and suckled and her sole caressed. Following society’s rules, we have a dilemma. But let’s look at those rules."

Her friends, I was sure, had finally caught on that there was more to this constructed example that Cordelia was willing to let on. I made sure to keep my eyes away from them.

"What are the rules there for? To protect the student from being exploited by her teacher? That doesn’t apply in our example. All the power lies with the student."

She brushed back her hair and I could see her youthful cheeks flaming with excitement. Her eyes twinkled while she looked at her friends and took it their fascinated expressions.

"To stop the teacher from handing out unfair marks or advantages? She could do that anyway. So, the only rule left standing is whether licking a pretty girl’s feet is immoral, per se." She turned her body fully toward me and rested her hand on my thigh. "Is it, Miss Wilkins?"

A wave of heat exploded outwards where her fingers touched my skin, my pussy prickled with arousal, and my legs slid apart involuntarily. Her upper body brushed against my arm. I couldn’t talk.

Her hand squeezed, making me shiver all over, gripped by an epic struggle between arousal and shame. She had been disassembling me, little by little, scratching out the mortar between the bricks that made up my self control with sweet little touches, and now I was starting to fall apart in front of my pupils.

"Is it immoral, Miss Wilkins?"

Her renewed question reminded me what a spectacle I was making of myself. My face was burning up with shame and trepidation, and so I did the only thing I could.

"No, it isn’t," I admitted, my voice scratchy and trembling, while my eyes silently begged her to stop now, to let me keep a small resemblance of dignity.

"If it isn’t immoral, then let’s look at the outcome of different actions." Her hand slowly slid up my thigh while she talked, closer and closer to that steaming, bubbling pot of molten lust between my legs. "If the student and teacher suppressed their little fetish, the teacher would be confronted with her need, day after day, suffering through endless lessons without any chance for relief, stumbling through her coursework and her teaching would quickly start lacking in quality."

Her fingers were by now deep under the fabric of my dress, only fractions from my well of pleasure, her nails scratching softly up and down the tender skin there, and each touch sent arcs of lightning directly into my core. The heat in the room raised to new levels, and I had to take deep breaths to keep from suffocating from the ever-constricting feeling in my chest.

Her own breath was also picking up pace, and I noticed the outline of two hard points rubbing against her top, wondering just how sweet and delicious they might look.

"If, though, they gave in to the craving, they could find fulfillment outside of class and focus on school in their lessons. Wouldn’t it be moral obligation then to follow those needs, Miss Wilkins?"

Her fingers brushed against my pussy lips, quick and flighty, but the touch was enough to draw a moan from me that I couldn’t cover up.

"Miss Wilkins?" Her voice dripped with fake concern.

"Yes." I bit my lip like a schoolgirl, and I was now sure that I was stepping down a ladder that wouldn’t let me get back up. My voice was barely above a whisper, filled with needful defeat, and only when I had spoken the words did my eyes widen at the recognition that I had dropped the subjunctive form. "Yes, it is an obligation."

Her hands captured my cheeks and she stared into my eyes. We were crossing the point of no return, and she looked so incredibly beautiful in her moment of victory, her eyes wide and pupils dilated, her lips trembling with excitement, and when her tongue flicked out for a second and left a tiny string of drool on her upper lip, I nodded in breathless submission.

Her eyes flickered to the floor and it was easy enough to understand her command. I turned around slowly, slid down the couch and wiggled my body into place on the floor right in front of her. She never let go of my face, held me in place just inches from her delicate little toes, and I could feel her friends’ gasps and whispers splash over my body in waves of exhilarating shame.

"Good teacher," she purred, "it’s time for your reward, you were so cute in that discussion. Open wide!"

The moment was, once again, exquisite. She let go of me, my lips wrapped around her big toe, and a heavenly taste of youth with just a hint of sweat filled my senses. I started to suckle and roam my tongue all over it, the butterflies in my tummy swirling and dancing in elation, and I ignored the patter of feet and rustling of clothes right next to me. The look of bliss on Cordelia’s face made my insides melt.

But then cool, silky fingers set themselves along my jaw and pulled back my head. A pitiful whimper escaped my throat when the toe plopped free from my lips. I tried to reach it with my tongue, no longer caring about modesty or dignity, those having evaporated in the flaring fires of my desire.

Cordelia teased me, wiggled her toes just outside of my reach. She took a sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving me, and let a drop trickle down her lower lip. I watched it hover there in indecision for a moment, then it continued its journey down her chin, golden and shiny, dripped onto her chest and finally vanished in the cleft between her breasts.

I shuddered with wanton desire, and she basked in my despair.

"You would love nothing more than lick up this drop, wouldn’t you?"

I nodded, out of breath.

"That’s not going to happen soon. But I’ll let you get a glimpse of what you’re missing out on." A quick flick of her fingers pushed the strap of her top over her shoulder and the fabric fell away, laying bare a soft, ripe orb of alabaster adorned with a pink, dime sized crown and a hard, darker point that screamed at me to lick it, to suckle and nibble on it. It was perfection, just like the rest of her.

She crooked a finger and my breathing stopped once more when Kaila entered my field of vision and slowly lowered her head to the exposed breast. I moaned in tune with Cordelia when those full, soft lips wrapped themselves around the nipple. Alone, each of them was perfection. Together they were goddesses. The contrast of their skins painted an image that burned itself into my mind.

"If I let you continue licking my toes," Cordelia suddenly addressed me, her voice rough and shaking with lust, "perhaps even let you taste more of me," there she paused to let the images unfold in my mind, "will you also lick my friends’ feet? Will you do other things for them, dirty little sexual things?"

There was no moment of hesitation, no short pang of fear like there should have been. There was a clenching of my pussy, a feeling of wetness that built up like a tsunami between my thighs. "Yes," I gasped, "yes, I will! Anything for you!"

I was allowed to move my head again and my lips quickly latched onto her toes again, licking and sucking with abandon. A giggle filled my ears, then I watched hands stroke Cordelia’s thighs and arms, saw them pull down the other strap and lay bare the rest of her beautiful upper body, watched Monica’s eager small mouth attack her breast with nibbles and bites.

My beloved pupil’s head tilted backwards in orgasmic bliss and I almost came myself just from knowing that I was part of her pleasure, and from the intimate taste she was allowing me.

She was the queen bee, and I was now a part of her hive.