SubscribeStar Story: The Tutor, Part 26

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Part 26

I stared at my reflection in pure shock.

The undone bra I was still clutching to my chest was suddenly a secondary concern as I took in the slim black accessory. It starkly contrasted the bare skin surrounding it, and was the obvious source of the noticeable tightness I felt around my neck.

Annabelle had put a collar on me?! The girl had been bold in a lot of ways since we first met, but this was crossing a line. Narrowing my eyes, my expression softened almost immediately when I realized I wasn’t exactly in the best state to give the eighteen year old a piece of my mind. Taking a moment to clasp my bra and properly adjust it on my chest, I reached up to deal with the collar next.

Not such an easy task, apparently. At first, I thought it was just the fact that I was familiar with bras and unfamiliar with something like this. But the more I pulled and fiddled with the strap at the back, the more I figured out it might not be that simple. The tiny ring sitting on the front was clearly not part of the attachment process; while the somewhat slutty accessory was clearly meant for a human, there were enough similarities in its design to tell that the metal ring was meant to parallel the section designed for a tag, or leash, or whatever.

Smooth as the leather was, it still took a frustrating amount of tugging to work the tightly fastened collar 180 degrees around my neck to examine the strap. My eyes widened as I saw what the problem was–there was a LOCK on the strap! A small silver thing that looked more like it was meant for a cheap diary or a charm bracelet. And yet, it held surprisingly well. Even with visual access to it, and various attempts to snap it free, I couldn’t find the proper leverage while my sensitive neck ended up paying the price for any tug that was too aggressive. And, since I obviously couldn’t rip leather with my bare hands, it was becoming more and more clear that the only way out of it was with the key.

Taking the time to swivel the collar back around with a few tugs, if only to look as presentable as possible in my current situation, Annabelle ended up beating me to the punch before I could storm out and confront her. “Mere?” she called through the bathroom door. She knocked twice. “You okay in there? I thought you were just checking yourself out.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If she could be casual and confident in her underwear, then so could I. Not fully convinced, but knowing I couldn’t just hide in the bathroom when she was literally right outside the door, I grabbed the handle and pulled with as much bravado as I could muster. “Annabelle!” I exclaimed, “You-”

Before I could get any further than that, she slapped me across the face.

Not the light, catty kind. Despite the speed and abruptness, it was like the girl had wound up and struck me as hard as she could. My head snapped to the side and I instantly felt a twinge of pain in my jaw from the way I had been hit while mid-word. Glaring down at me, her few inches of height on me feeling a lot more intimidating all of a sudden, she started with a sharp, “NO.” The single syllable seemed to pierce the space around me, though it was difficult to tell whether it was the resonance of the bathroom or that I suddenly felt a lot smaller. “You promised to behave, Mere. You said you would be a good girl. You agreed to be my obedient pet.”

W-what . . . ? No, I didn’t! I mean, I said a thing or two in the name of keeping the massage innocent. Because I could tell earlier that I was getting a little flustered and confused from her touch even though I had claimed to her that I was fine. But not- not that. She had to be twisting my words. Although it was difficult to think straight when I was trying to remember hazy details while simultaneously dealing with a stinging cheek as the aftereffects of the slap began creeping in. “I- no, I, umm . . .” I stammered. The private bathroom behind me was plenty spacious, but I still felt somewhat trapped when the frowning red haired girl was blocking my only avenue of escape.

Her arms shifted, and I instantly flinched at the thought of being hit again. Instead, she merely placed them on her hips. “Mere. Did you promise to behave? Yes, or no?”

Yes. I vaguely remembered something about being pretty, or brave, but couldn’t quite put things in order. Paying attention normally came naturally to me, but apparently not when my body was in a relaxed state. Or when I was flustered, for that matter. “Yes, but-”

“Yes. You promised to behave,” Annabelle iterated, “And you promised to be a good girl, right?”

“Umm . . .” I actually wasn’t sure. It was such a high school thing to do, even if the wealthy eighteen year old before me acted anything but a teenager most of the time. Still, I remember when I was her age, and it was such a classic girl tactic to turn a half-hearted agreement into a promise. Or, in this case, to turn a single promise with vague intentions into something that bound me to all the things I said when I was distracted by a more pressing issue at the time. But I DID agree, which made things tricky. Especially when I was topless and locked in a collar. “I didn’t promise,” I clarified, finding the brave girl within that I had insisted I was a number of times, “I just-” blushing at the demeaning phrase we were talking about, I lost a bit of steam at the end of my thought, “just said I would. Be good, I mean. Not a promise . . .”

Speaking of teenage tendencies, Annabelle gave a half eye roll at my response. Then she was back to her usual proper and casually confident attitude. “Okay, you said you would be a good girl. Right?”

My blush darkened as my distinction ended up being used against me. Now it just sounded as if I was a child fussing over an insignificant detail instead of focusing on the bigger picture. “You were-” I cut myself off. Why couldn’t I bring myself to explode?! When I had opened the door, I was ready to give Annabelle a piece of my mind. She was my tutee, for crying out loud. But it was all too much–the collar, the slap, the way she was looking at me–I felt beyond judged, and it was all I could do to somehow prove myself to the girl I objectively shouldn’t have anything to prove to.

“I was what?” Annabelle asked.

Before I could stop myself, I mumbled, “You were kissing me.” But, not like that. “I mean, my neck!”

“You promised to be a good girl because I was kissing your neck?”

“NO. I promised- I didn’t promise. I’m not even . . . Annabelle, it’s not appropriate. Can we please just go back to tutoring?”

“In a minute, Mere. Once we get through this, okay? Can you be brave for me?”

I felt less and less brave by the second, but I nodded in affirmation nonetheless.

“Brave girls are honest, Mere. So, what did you promise, and what did you say?”

Wrong. Embarrassing. Demeaning. I should have closed my mouth and not said another word, but all I wanted was my shirt and the key that would set me free. To get that, I needed Annabelle to move, because I was too nervous to push forward myself. “I promised to behave,” I quietly said. It took a conscious effort to meet her eyes, “And I said I’d be a good girl.”

“Almost. Present tense, okay? You do know what that is, right? I hope math isn’t your only thing.”

“But-”

“Mere. Say it.”

“I promise to behave. And I’ll be a good girl.”

Annabelle stepped forward, “Again, Mere. For me?”

Resisting the urge to step back, showing her in some small way that I wasn’t afraid despite how close I was to crumbling under the pressure and the way the redhead somehow exuded an air of ‘impress me’ even when the adult, university girl somewhere deep within me was whisper-screaming at me to snap out of it, I echoed the words. “I promise to behave. And I’ll be a good girl.”

“Mm hmm,” she said. Taking a second step, she reached out and placed a hand on my sore cheek. I flinched twice–both from the advance, and the hint of stinging as she made contact–yet allowed her to cup half my face while I looked up with nervous anticipation.

Annabelle quietly instructed, “Mere. Close your eyes.”

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