Freshly showered and blow-drying my hair, I contemplated my unhealthy infatuation with my student once again.

How far would I allow this to go? Too much was at risk. I needed to stop this, and I stared hard at my naked reflection in the gold-rimmed bathroom mirror, willing the strength I needed into existence. I switched off the dryer, put it on the small shelf next to the washing basin and took in my mirror image. Was it just my imagination or did I look younger? There appeared to be a freshness on my skin, while the last few close self-examinations had only revealed new wrinkles.

It was nowhere near Cordelia’s fresh, youthful perfection. The little sag in my tits would never go away, while hers still stood ripe and proud, worthy of worship. There were no crow-feet in the corners of her eyes, no small wrinkles where laughs and frowns kept digging tiny trenches around my mouth.

Yes, perfection, that was the word her image resonated with. How I yearned to feel her touch on my skin, to feel her fingers glide over these parts that I should never have exposed to her. How delicious would her soft, wet lips feel around my tight nipples? How would her own nipples taste on my lips and tongue if she just allowed me a moment of indulgence?

The door opened without a knock, giving me a small start, and Cordelia entered, a different pile of clothes in her hands.

She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Having dirty thoughts?”

I gasped. Heat shot into my face when I became aware that I was caressing my pussy while I had once more given into the dirty thoughts which I had tried to push away. My fingers were already slick with my juices.

“Listen, Cordelia,” I stammered, hiding my sticky fingers behind my back in a futile attempt to make the moment unhappen. “We’ve got to stop this. It’s going too far, getting too risky…”

She grinned as if this was the funniest thing she had heard in ages. “But of course, Miss Wilkins,” she agreed with mock seriousness, setting the clothes down next to the blow-dryer and stepping closer to me.

My breath hitched. Her arm reached around me and took my wrist, pulling it to the front. The fingers of her other hand trailed over mine, smooth and warm, caressing them until they too glistened with my juices.

She held them in front of my mouth. “Of course we’ll stop this,” she purred. “You just need to keep your lips closed and not wrap them tightly around my slender fingers. You just need to resist the temptation to run your moist, greedy tongue all over them, to caress my skin with it while I slide my fingers slowly in and out of your mouth, spreading the naughty taste of your cream all over your tongue.”

I struggled, really; I fought against the seduction in her words, I battled against my own need, which only seemed to grow with each whispered word. I started to tremble.

“But if you’re a good girl,” she continued, suddenly giggling. “No, strike that. If you’re a bad girl, I might let you come.”

Her other hand touched my hip, and I felt every inch of skin prickle with heat there.

“You do need to come, don’t you? I can even smell it, smell the heady need and desperation that you have built up for me.”

She was right, and her words lit up my yearning. “Please,” I whispered, torn between rational thought and bodily need.

She giggled. “You know you can’t resist.” The hand on my hip glided backwards and trailed down until it rested right on my bum cheek. She squeezed softly, making me exhale with shuddering intensity. “It makes me feel so beautiful and strong to know that. It makes me feel… sexy.”

She squeezed harder, and my knees almost gave out. How did she know how to break my inner resolve with just a few words and touches?

“Sexy, yes, if you wrapped your lips around my sticky fingers and worshipped them, that would be so sexy.”

God, her eyes were so beautiful, and she stared at me with so much conviction and arousal. My lips parted and I leaned forward, encasing them with my lips, feeling the smooth texture of her skin. I sighed.

She giggled with delight, and my heart beat an irregular, fast tune while my tongue danced around her fingers and lapped up my musky arousal.

Her body moved closer to mine, so close that her clothes brushed against my naked skin, and my efforts intensified. She giggled into my ear, her breath loud and tickling and making me shiver.

“I wouldn’t have thought that shame can be such an aphrodisiac,” she whispered. “I could see your skin flush, your eyelids droop and your nipples stiffen when you noticed Monica staring at your tit yesterday.”

I tried to shake my head. She was wrong. This wasn’t about shame.

“I’ve made arrangements for tonight.” Her lips were just an inch from my ear, her eyes close enough to notice the small shudder that I failed to suppress, and the hot breath of her giggle told me that she had, in fact, noticed. “I want to show you off. I want to expose your body to complete strangers.”

I shook my head again, as little as I could, held in place by her fingers.

Her hand pinched my bum and trailed even lower, softly stroking the sensitive skin at its bottom and pushing forward between my legs. I spread them a little, awkwardly and with trembling knees. Her touch felt so wonderful.

“I want to show them how depraved you are, all the things you do just so I let you touch me.”

Her fingers started rubbing back and forth between my legs, and I could feel my last crumbs of resolve get swept away by waves of lust-filled heat.

She suddenly pulled her fingers from my mouth, wiped them on my bare breast and moved even closer.

My chest heaved when her sweet face was just inches away, our noses almost touching. I swallowed hard.

“I’ll give you an incentive. Would you like that?”

It was hard to form words, but she kept staring at me, urging me to answer. “What,” I finally croaked, trying to keep the moans which her ministrations stirred up from bubbling through my throat. “What incentive?”

Her breath tickled my lips. Her eyes gleamed with a strange excitement I hadn’t seen on her before. “A French kiss. From me.”

I think I whimpered. The heat between my legs grew to a raging fire. My hips jerked to meet her touch. I didn’t need to answer.

“I’ve got things to do today,” she told me. “I’ve ordered a taxi to take you home; it should be here in about ten minutes.”

Her freed hand suddenly pressed against my pussy, and I almost came there and then. She giggled, simply keeping up the pressure without moving her hand the tiniest bit.

“Will you do something for me?”

She knew I would. I was, once again and despite all intentions, putty in her hands.

“Yes, Cordelia,” I stammered, hoping against better knowledge that she might allow me to tumble over that titillating edge that was once more so close.

“You’ve had fantasies about me, haven’t you?”

I nodded, blushing and trying not think of all the wicked images my mind had dreamed up.

“Write down the two most outrageous ones and give them to me when I pick you up at eight. Will you do that?”

“I will!” She had barely finished her question when I the answer rushed over my lips. I was barely conscious of her request, too engulfed by the boiling heat in my pussy.

“Good girl. Now dress up, the taxi will be here any minute.”

Quick as lightning, she was out the door, leaving me naked and breathless. My thighs, I noticed, were once again slick with my juices. I smelled of sex.

My hair was almost dry already, so I just ran the hairbrush through it a few time and picked up the first item from the stack of clothes she had brought me. It was a white blouse that felt smooth to the touch. I looked through the stack, but there was no bra. There were no panties, either. Just the blouse, a skirt and stockings.

I sighed. It was another of her little games to make me feel self-conscious - and it worked. I hesitantly slipped on the blouse and buttoned it up in the front. Seeing my reflection in the mirror made me gasp. The material was not completely opaque, and I could see the faint rosy hue of my nipples where they pressed quite noticeably against the fabric. It looked - slutty.

I sat down on the edge of the tub with the stockings in hand and rolled the first one up my leg. Black, again smooth and expensive - more expensive than any stocking I had bought for myself - it slid up my leg almost on its own. It felt sensuous.

The wide, darker hem came to rest two thirds up my thighs. I slipped the second one on and took the skirt that, as expected, would not cover much at all. It was made from candy-apple red, shiny fabric and screamed ‘slut’ even louder than the blouse.

The doorbell sounded, and I hurried to close the zipper, shift it to the back and slip into my heels.

I traipsed down the stairs with my heart beating like mad. It was crazy to go out into public like this, and it would be even crazier to go home where any neighbor could see me. I opened the front door.

“Taxi for Miss Wilkins?” He was in his early thirties and looked a bit scruffy. I felt his eyes roam all over me, giving me a strange sensation when one corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Yes,” I answered with a blush and trying to vanish into the ground, “that’s me.”

“Fair’s already been paid,” he told me and went ahead to open the car door.

I slid inside, the skirt too short to keep my bum cheeks from touching the cool leather, but I managed to stifle my treacherous gasp.

* * * * *

As houses and cars rushed by, I thought back to the beginning of the morning.

Waking up had been a mortifying moment, with an elegant-as-ever Cordelia and a smug Monica back in regular clothes, both giggling while my beloved poked my bare breast with her big toe. The living room stank of stale sex, my expensive dress was still bunched around my waist, one breast hung free and my panties were still drenched, soaked again and again while I had alternated between wakeful discomfort and heated, forbidden dreams.

“We need to get you into different clothes. Leave yours here and take a shower; it’s upstairs, right opposite the stairs.”

And so I had undressed in front of the two of them, folding my rumpled garments as neatly as I could and putting them in a pile next to me, blushing like mad.

“Scoot, teacher!” Monica had told me with an evil giggle and swatted my backside once I had been finished. The gall!

* * * * *

I couldn’t say if we had been parked in front of my house for long.

The driver’s voice pulled me from my musings. “We’re there, Ma’am. Sorry, but I got another tour already.”

“Uhm, sorry,” I stammered quickly and hastened to climb out of the taxi, wishing him a halfhearted goodbye.

I quickly bridged the length of my driveway, my cheeks glowing crimson red and my eyes lowered so I wouldn’t see the derisive sneers that, I was sure, were accompanying my embarrassing display from behind my neighbors’ windows.

When the front door snapped closed behind me, the first thing I did was lean my back against it and let out a shuddering breath. My hands and legs trembled.

I was a mess. Though my body had been covered by clothing and there probably hadn’t been that much to see from the distance, I still felt as if I had run naked across my front yard. My heart hammered and my hands were clammy. And - the realization made me slide bonelessly down to the floor - the heat between my legs had not diminished the tiniest bit.

What happened with me? What did I let happen with me?

But I knew that already, knew the strange fascination that had always gripped me when I had given in to the forbidden temptation of libertine literature, knew from these stories how such unbridled infatuation always led to devastation. But I couldn’t suppress the feelings which welled up each time I thought about Cordelia and which flooded me with a need so strong that it drove tears into my eyes.

She was my Pandora’s Box, and I had already lifted the lid.

* * * * *

I’m sitting in my teaching chair and leaning back, for once having no problems to keep the class quiet. The window blinds have been pulled down and the faint whirring of the projector is the only thing that can be heard. Watching movies in class never fails its magic, no matter how banal the educational movies we’re allowed to show really are.

Everyone’s settled in their chairs, so I point the remote at the DVD player at the back of the room and press the play button. The ‘playing disc’ message appears and I slump into my seat more comfortably.

Only to shoot upright again. This is not the movie I fetched. I feel disoriented for a moment, looking at the picture from such a narrow angle, but then I hear the sound and everything makes perfect, gut-wrenching sense.

Your voice fills the room, slightly scratchy through the cheap speakers. “It can be our little secret. Nobody needs to know but us. You know you want to taste them. Do it!”

My world dissolves into sand and slides away. I point the remote again and press desperately on the stop button, but the slurping keeps up, mixed with my muffled moans and your delighted sighs.

I see you move in the dim light, see you hold up something small and dark. A remote. Then what have I… I look down at the one I hold and immediately see that it’s the wrong one. We don’t have a Panasonic player at school.

You slowly slide the remote inside your top and hide it in your bra. I have to put a stop this! I start to move, but the tiny shake of your head is enough to halt me in my tracks. I hear my moans get louder, can see the scene play out in my mind’s eye. It’s as if it was just yesterday that I knelt there, kissing your toes with abandon and fingering myself towards a glorious climax.

Now, twenty-five pairs of eyes are riveted to the obscene display and gleefully taking in my debasement, and wave after wave of shame surges over me. Then my recorded voice breaks and I close my eyes.

The classroom falls silent. I hear the clicking of the light switch.

“Miss Wilkins?” It’s your voice, sweet and seductive as ever. If it had been anyone else’s, I’d perhaps found the will and clarity to flee.

“Yes, Cordelia?” I ask in return, and the tremor in my voice cannot be concealed.

“Why don’t you show everyone what a good toe-sucker you really are?”

* * * * *

I was sweaty and trembling when I put down the pen and stared at the page I had just filled with my writing. It was as if giving words to the fantasy had made it palpable for the first time, and I recognized how right Cordelia had been all along.

How had she seen the depth of my depravity so easily, when it had been covered by fog to my own eyes? Could I really hand this confession to her?

It was almost lunch time. I was naked - I had had to strip out of the borrowed outfit to avoid staining it.

You’d expect me to have lost my appetite, but I hadn’t. If anything, I was hungry like a wolf and my taste buds seemed to explode with pleasure when I bit into the tomato and Italian cheese sandwich I had whipped up. I moaned at the sweet, fruity taste that filled my mouth and closed my eyes in bliss. I couldn’t remember a sandwich ever tasting this heavenly; it was as if my senses had been freed for the first time in my life.

A small trickle of tomato ran down my chin, cool and wet, and dropped onto my chest. I paid it no mind, too engrossed in the revelations that a simple lunch held today.

But I had a second confession to write. The longer I waited, the more doubts would once again pile up inside me. I had pushed the most depraved one to the back, but I had finished the sandwich and no excuse anymore.

Wiping my hands with a tissue, I sat back down in front of my writing desk and picked up the pen once more, writing in big, curvy letters at the top of an empty sheet, ‘Confession #2’, feeling my pulse speed up and my skin grow hot.

* * * * *

“This is going to be a blast, just you see!” you exclaim, youthful giddiness rampant in your voice and making it the most endearing sound in the world. We walk across the deserted park, the night air soft with the warmth of summer, your hand holding mine, and my knees want to give out with each step. I feel like a teenager again, nervous and in love.

This is such a romantic place, and the moon is high in the sky and basking everything in a mysterious, silvery light.

You lead me towards a group of trees that form a circle, and I try not imagine all the things we could do here, hidden from prying eyes.

“Don’t move,” you whisper, and then your fingers are already opening the buttons of my shirt. You work with efficient skill, and moments later my upper body is bare, my nipples growing hard like needle points in the cool air. My skirt slides to the ground, soon followed by my panties, and I’m nude, feeling cold and burning hot at the same time.

I feel exhilarated and fearful. What if strangers walk by? I’ve never done something like this.

Your fingers press softly against my chest, and, after a short moment, I understand and let myself be pushed backwards, step by step, until my back bumps against the dewy roughness of bark.

I gasp. You giggle.

Then you pull some kind of strings from your purse and step so close that your clothes brush against my naked skin. My breath hitches.

“Can I tie you up and blindfold you?” you ask in the most quiet of whispers. “Can I do whatever I want with you?”

My arms wrap backwards around the tree on their own. “God, yes!” I answer breathlessly.

A minute later, my wrists and ankles are tightly wrapped with cord and my body is held immobile. You mouth a kiss before you pull the black band of fabric over my eyes. The world grows dark.

“Okay, she can’t see anymore,” you say, and my heart wants to burst from my chest in a mad dance of fear and arousal when I hear murmurs and the crackling of twigs behind me.

New sounds break the silence; the rustling of fabric; slurps; whimpers; moans. You’re kissing someone! I can hear every moment, can almost feel your excitement and passion as if it was mine, and even though I know that my jealousy would heighten if could see, I want to know whom you allow that sweetest of intimacies that I am denied. Hands touch my bare breasts and I moan. More hands start to stroke my thighs and make me tremble with need.

But your moans move away and the hands keep touching me. The hands are those of strangers, and they knead my breasts and rub circles over my trembling thighs! Shame wells up. My hips jerk.

Someone whispers, “Slut!”

They are right, and I whimper, “Yes.” A maelstrom of embarrassed arousal wraps around me.

Your passionate moans grow louder and rise in pitch. I can make out the small tremors and lovely hitches in your voice that herald your release. My skin burns.

Something cool and hard presses against the entrance of my pussy, and I can’t hold in a startled shriek, but it quickly turns into pleasured gasps as I feel my walls widen around the intruder, whatever it is. It is pushed inside me with short, hard movements, and every time my pussy stretches around another half inch of it, my breath hitches and I’m catapulted closer and closer towards a climax.

You groan, throaty and lusty, and then the groan turns into a joyful cry of release, long, loud and intense.

The hands leave me, but my sex is still stuffed to the brim and throbbing with need, and I slump against the rough bark. A pair of feet patters away and I hear you get up, while someone nestles with my bonds until they slacken. Yet, I’m unable to move, my body a trembling mess of desire.

The blindfold is slipped away and I blink. You smile at me, only your tangled hair and the glowing flush on your cheeks giving away what happened.

“I need to come, please!” I beg.

You grin and your eyes shift downwards. When I follow your gaze, I want to vanish into the ground. The stem end of a small zucchini sticks out of my pussy, dark green, lewd and glistening. My hand reaches out for it, but you put your fingers on it and stop me, shaking your head.

“Keep it inside,” you order sweetly. “You’ll need something to eat when you get home. A nice, Italian salad would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Your eyes sparkle with amusement when you tell me not to wash it, and you hand me my clothes.

* * * * *

I’d been shifting on my chair while I wrote it, almost going crazy with unfulfilled arousal. It didn’t help that I had to write very, very slowly to keep my fingers from trembling and making a mess of my words. The chair’s leather surface was sticky by now.

I wondered what she planned to do with my fantasies. Did she just want them to get ideas? Would she keep them to herself? Would other eyes be allowed to read about my wicked wants? I didn’t want to rule that out, her words before we parted at her home still ringing in my ears. I should even expect her to share my confessions; I knew that.

But why did the idea that strangers saw them excite me so? I picked up the pen once more and, in my prettiest penmanship, added ‘Jocelyn-Anne Wilkins’ at the bottom of both fantasies, signing them with a flourish.

* * * * *

It wasn’t Cordelia who rang the doorbell a little after eight but a well-groomed man in a formal suit. I stammered a bit in surprise and embarrassment, as I was once more dressed in the same clothes my student had given me, but he simply smiled and asked me to follow, not letting on in the slightest that he had noticed my slutty outfit.

A long, black limousine was parked alongside the curb, and he swung the door open for me with practiced elegance.

“Thank you,” I managed to say halfway composed now and climbed into the spacey room.

Cordelia was, once more, breathtaking. Her hair was done up in an artful bun, small, woven strands arranged around it like a princess’ crown. Her eyebrows and lashes glittered with silvery sparkles and the pale blue lipstick and matching eye shadow made her look exotic. An ice princess, yes, that term fit perfectly, and the shiny white dress that clung to every little curve of her body like a second skin and was accentuated with blue seams completed the impression.

“Hello, my dear Miss Wilkins.” She smiled sweetly, a champagne flute held in one hand and motioning me to the open space in front of her. “Why don’t you kneel down here?”

God, she was beautiful. I sank to my knees, my eyes not straying from her beauty for a single moment.

“Have you got something for me?” She looked at me expectantly.

I dug through my purse and pulled out the envelope in which I had put both fantasies, handing them to her with a shaking hand and an almost painful throbbing in my chest. I reeled slightly when the car started moving, but I quickly spread my knees wider and found my balance.

She picked the envelope from my fingers and stroked the front side, smiling at me when she saw her name in artful letters. “Nice,” she whispered, and I beamed.

But then she stowed it away in her own purse without opening it, and my heart stumbled with disappointment. She smirked when she saw my expression.

“Don’t you worry. We’ll have a look before the night is over. But for now, I need you to close your eyes. Do you trust me?”

I bit my lip and looked down at the floor, trying to avoid noticing the seductive, blue shimmer of her toes in the corner of my vision. “I don’t know if I should,” I finally admitted when the silence stretched too long.

She giggled. “You’re right, you shouldn’t. But it won’t save you. Now be a good teacher and close your eyes for me.”

I did. Something rustled next to her, and then I felt fabric wrap around my head and pull tight. A blindfold! My heart picked up speed.

“What…” I started to ask.

“Hush!” Her finger on my lips silenced me. I smelled her perfume, sweet and airy, with a tiny hint of spicy bitterness, perfect for her.

Her fingers started to undo the buttons of my blouse and I gasped, drawing another chime-like giggle from her. She pushed the flaps apart, and then I felt her fingers stroke my breasts. I couldn’t stop the pleasured moans that sprang forth in my chest at her glorious touch.

Her thumbs brushed over my stiff nipples and my breath shuddered. She kept stroking me, caressing me, and I was in heaven. Feeling her soft, pretty fingers on my skin was the sweetest of tortures, and while it was not enough to bring me to that edge I yearned to topple over, my arousal still grew and grew with every second. My heart beat fast and hard, and it did tiny somersaults each time she brushed over my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

“We’re here,” she suddenly announced, and I noticed belatedly that we had stopped moving. Her hands withdrew, the door latch clicked and cool air streamed inside.

My arm shot up to cover my exposed, throbbing breasts, but her fingers on my wrists stilled them, and the clucking of her tongue told me to abandon all attempts at modesty. Surely, the driver could see me right now. I couldn’t hear any voices outside, just the muffled sounds of cars a few streets away, but I had now guarantee that we were alone.

I wasn’t given time to think. “Thank you,” Cordelia spoke sweetly and pulled me after her out of the limousine.

My cheeks were on fire, but I wobbled after her as good as my blindfolded state allowed.

She suddenly stopped, and I almost bumped into her. A muted knock sounded, and after a few seconds, the slight creaking of a door broke the silence.

“Yes?” A female voice asked.

“I’m Cordelia. Natalia has set something up for tonight.”

My stomach tightened, but my pussy had a mind of its own, and I felt it moisten up at the thought of the tall, exotic eastern European beauty.

“Ah, I see. Then this is…”

“This is Jocelyn-Anne Wilkins, my teacher.” My skin burned. If she had called me her slut or something else derogatory, it wouldn’t have been half as shameful as being introduced with my full name and the forbidden nature of our relationship. “Say hello, Miss Wilkins!”

“Hello,” I stammered and extended a hand, waiting for the unseen stranger to shake it.

Instead, cool fingers gripped my breasts and squeezed them. I moaned.

“Not bad for her age.” The cold assessment hit me like a sap to the face, but then the fingers withdrew and I yearned to feel their touch again. “Come inside.”

We entered. The noises of our steps were swallowed by a thick carpet. Cordelia and the stranger whispered between each other, too quiet for me to make out a single word. I trailed blindly after them, guided by my beloved student’s hand. Then we entered a side door and the floor changed to wood which made loud, clacking sounds that resonated around us with each step.

“Kneel.” It was the stranger’s voice and her soft touch on my shoulder, not Cordelia’s, which guided my body into its submissive position. “Chin up. Stick out your chest.” Then she walked away.

A chair scratched over the floor in front of me. Breath tickled my ear. “If you behave well, I’ll let you come tonight.”

My heart thumped hard. Blood rushed in my ear. Heat shot through my womb, and all other thoughts were swept from my mind. Release! Finally! “Thank you,” I whispered back, heartfelt and breathless.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

I knew that my fulfillment would not come without a price. Her words were too fresh. She wanted to show me off, expose me to strangers. She had already started, but I was certain that this was just the beginning.

And I understood the game she played too well, felt every moment of power that made her heart soar just as intensely in the pleasure of my shame and submission. She was steadily tipping the scales of our power balance in her favor, and I let her, secretly urged her, to keep piling her naughty wishes on my side of the scales.

I’d do anything she wished of me right now, with the sweet promise of that long withheld moment of bliss dangling just out of my reach. And she knew it. I had no idea what exactly her devious mind had come up with, but I was certain that it would end with me in a shivering, trembling, deeply shamed heap of pleasure.

My own heart soared too.