I stand on the dimly lit stage, just behind the heavy red curtains. The auditorium is empty, except for Rachel and me; these are the best moments, when it's so quiet you can hear the echo of a ladybug's wings. It's peaceful, and the peace is comforting. She stands in the spotlight, her silhouette casting a captivating glow against the surrounding darkness. She flies across the stage, every move precise, lighting and alighting a hundred times as the music swells.

Rachel's presence commands the space, her eyes ablaze with intensity. Until suddenly, it stops. She is still, striking a final pose, her chest heaving. She relaxes, a slight smile plays on her lips, otherwise, her face is the picture of stoicism; she's mastered the number. But there's something else there too, something electric and undeniable. It pulls me in. My heart races, pounding against my ribs as I take a hesitant step forward. I swallow hard, nerves buzzing beneath my skin like a swarm of restless bees.

I close the distance separating Rachel and me, my movement slow and deliberate. The spotlight paints her features with a soft, ethereal glow, highlighting the curve of her lips and the spark in her eyes. With each step, the air crackles with tension, thick and heavy between us.

Without a second thought, I reach out and cup her face in my hands. Her breath hitches; a soft gasp escapes her lips as our eyes lock in a wordless exchange. Time stands still as I lean in, the heat of her skin searing against mine. And in a moment of reckless abandon, I press my lips to hers in a kiss that ignites a firestorm within me. It's a rush of sensation, overwhelming and intoxicating. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer. But it isn't close enough, it can't be, even as our bodies melt together in the darkness.

Here I am safe, I am wanted, and I'm where I'm meant to be.

The kiss lingers, a sweet collision of lips and hearts, sending shivers down my spine. Rachel responds with a fervor that matches my own, her hands finding their way to my waist, clinging on for dear life.

I lose myself in the taste of her, in the softness of her lips, and the way her body fits against mine as though we were a matched set. It's a heady rush, this forbidden dance we're caught up in, but I don't care. Everything fades away -- the empty auditorium, the dimly lit stage -- until there's only Rachel and me, lost in the heat of our shared desire. All that matters is the here and now, the intoxicating rush, binding us together in a silent promise of something more.

But even as the kiss deepens, a vice in the back of my mind whispers warnings, it reminds me of the consequences of our actions... of the taboo. If our secret were found out, she'd be fired at the very least. And it'd be my fault.

And as the kiss finally comes to an end, I find myself craving more, hungry for the connection that only Rachel can provide.

Our eyes meet. She smiles.  

"I've been waiting for that," she whispers.

A blush creeps onto my cheeks, but I can't help but return her smile. "Me too," I admit, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.

~

I watch as Rachel moves gracefully around the apartment, her movements fluid and hypnotic. She's dressed in a simple silk robe that clings to her curves, the fabric shimmering in the dim light. Every step she takes draws me in, my heart pounding with anticipation.

She turns to face me, a playful smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "You look like you could use a drink," she said, her voice husky with desire. Without waiting for a response, she pours two glasses of wine and hands one to me, her fingers brushing against mine.

I take a sip. Rachel watches me intently, her eyes smoldering. With a flick of her wrist, she sets her glass down and takes a step closer. The air crackles with electricity as she reaches out to trace a finger along the curve of my jaw. I lean into her touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us. Our breath mingles in the space between, thick with longing.

She lifts her leg and rests it on the base of a bar stool, revealing a flash of red cotton beneath the silk robe. I want it - to feel the soft fabric beneath my fingertips, to feel the warmth and the softness that it conceals. I bite my lip.

I hesitate for too long; Rachel takes my hand and guides it to the spot. She whispers, "It's okay," her breath hot against my ear. For a moment she leads, showing me how she likes it, showing the right amount of pressure. Then she lets out a small moan. And I'm hungry; I push beyond the panties. I press my fingers against her skin, feeling the slickness. It's so hot, touching her. My heart pounds in my chest and my head. I take deep, measured breaths; I concentrate, listening for her response. And I plunge inside. She gasps.

In that moment, there are no words, our bodies speak a language all their own, communicating the passion and rhythm that grows from within. The world outside fades away, leaving the two of us entwined in a dance of ecstasy. Until - she grabs my wrists, forcing me to stop. I look into her eyes, pleading.

"Good," she says. "You're eager. But you've got to learn some self-control."

Rachel brings my hand up to my lips and pushes my glistening fingers forward. "Taste," she commands. I don't resist. It's a bit strange, sucking my own fingers, but I'm rewarded with the earthy-sweet taste of my mentor, of my trusted friend, of my mistress. I smile and whisper, "Thank you," as she again takes my hand and guides me to her room.

~

The liquid is cold on my bare skin. Rachel works it in, massaging firmly, first up my back and around my shoulders. She spreads the oil down all the way to my fingertips. Then she starts again, in the same pattern. I moan at her touch; she's done this before. I relax, floating between a state of pleasure and sleep.

Satisfied, she squirts more oil into her palm. It squishes and slicks when she rubs her hands together. And she continues the massage, this time starting at the small of my back and working toward the curve of my ass. She spreads the oil between my cheeks, using one hand to slide in and then around the labia - careful to never actually touch and then again on the other side with the other hand. I burn with desire. I wish she'd stop teasing. I lift my hips off the bed and hope she'll take me.

I'm not that lucky. She pushes my hips back down.

Rachel leans into my ear. "Patience," she whispers, "we have time."

She begins her work again, massaging one foot, then my calf, and up and up until she's tracing around the labia again. And on the other side, beginning at the bottom of the foot and making her way up toward my sex.

Finally, she stops. She crawls up my body and kisses my neck. She slides a hand under me, down my stomach, until it rests on my mound. She presses firmly against it and issues a one-word command: "Up."

I lift my hips, ready for her; but she keeps pressing until I'm on my knees, pushing my body toward her. She glides her fingers across my lips, slowly, back and forth. Then she rubs my clit in small, delicate circles.

For the last time, Rachel leans down and whispers, "Are you ready?" I nod my head furiously. She slides her fingers to the opening, stopping at the first knuckle. "Beg me," she says.