SubscribeStar Story: The Tutor, Part 29

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Part 29

If Annabelle had written such a thing when I first arrived, or spoke the words out loud for that matter, I would have been tempted to turn around and walk right back to my car.

The whole point of this session was supposed to be resetting our dynamic to something more appropriate. Tutoring her in a more public space, with clothes on. Only being there to teach mathematics, rather than being sent off to do chores. And somehow, I had failed miserably across the board. Annabelle had kissed me, and I kissed her back. It was a reflex, and I hadn’t fully meant to, but it still happened. I allowed myself to be sent off to do laundry. I let her strip my top half, and collar me, and I was honestly losing track of all the words she drew from my lips both during and after the massage. And now there was a reminder of one of those phrases drawn in thick black marker on the back of my hand.

And yet, I was too far gone to utter a single word about how my skin was marred by the demeaning words. Instead, I found myself just as conflicted as before. My better judgment told me that I still needed to get dressed and leave, while my more confused self wanted to stay and willingly fall into whatever game Annabelle was playing. The former won out, as I still had some sense about me despite everything I had gone through with the young redhead. “My shirt?” I asked.

Annabelle sighed. “So boring, Mere. Fine. Stay right here.” She got up from her spot next to me on the sofa, brushing against the side of my thigh in the process. The girl really had been sitting closely to me. It was then that I figured out that she hadn’t even done something immature like hiding my top. Instead, she had merely folded it and placed it on the edge of the counter separating the small kitchen in her suite from the living room. Of course, I only noticed as much when she walked over and picked it up to bring it back to me. “What’s your name?” Annabelle asked, standing over me and holding out the shirt with one hand.

It was another lose/lose setup. Either I could insist on my full name, and end up being in just a bra for even longer, or go with the nickname in order to expedite the process. Now that I had committed to leaving in the name of clearing my head, it wasn’t a difficult decision. “My name is Mere,” I answered.

She waited until I had my own grip on the shirt before asking a follow-up question. “And what are you?” Her own hand continued to hold my top, rather than letting go.

There were a lot of potential answers, based on all the conversations she had guided me through recently. Pretty. Honest. Brave. But, based on the back of my dominant hand that was extended to take my shift from Annabelle, I had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to hear. Reluctantly looking up to meet her eyes, I quietly said, “I’m your obedient pet.” I immediately blushed upon actually saying it out loud.

“And don’t you forget it, Mere.” Annabelle loosened her grip on the shirt and stepped back. “Okay, pet. Get dressed.”

Still feeling heat radiating off my cheeks, I did as I was told. What alternative was there? If I didn’t, I would have to continue sitting in front of Annabelle in just my bra. So, being obedient like my hand and my words suggested, I awkwardly pulled my shirt back on while she watched. Adjusted it after pulling my arms through, my eyes widened as the fabric brushed against the collar that I had temporarily forgotten about. “Umm, Annabelle,” I reached up to give a pointless little tug to the black leather. My attempts to remove the locked accessory in the bathroom had been futile, so doing so without my reflection to help wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “You-”

“Miss Annabelle,” she insisted. Placing a hand on her hip like the very first time she had corrected me on her name after I shoved her, she said, “You promised to behave, Mere. That means addressing me properly. Yes?”

“Right, but-”

“Mere . . . ”

“Yes, Miss Annabelle,” I mumbled. The eighteen year old was my junior by two years and was supposed to be my student, yet I felt so powerless around her.

“Good girl.” She took a few steps forward and took my chin in that possessive way. Only this time, she was standing while I was seated. Annabelle looked down at me with those piercing green eyes, idly smiling as she said, “You’re a brave girl, Mere. Aren’t you?”

Normally, I might nod out of nervousness, but my head was positioned so I could only crane my neck and look up at the confident, gets-whatever-she-wants girl. “Yes,” I murmured, though my soft voice sounded anything but brave.

Moving right on, she followed up with, “And you’re obedient?”

“Yes,” I replied, just as reluctantly.

“We’ll see,” Annabelle said, “As much as I’d love to trust you, Mere, I think we should test your obedience. So, you’re going to do something for me, okay?”

This time, my answer wasn’t quite as immediate. Glancing away for a moment, I had to remind myself to maintain eye contact. I was the older girl. I was brave. Even if I seemed to be yet another dominant spell cast by the teen girl. “Do what?” I hesitantly asked.

Pausing for a few seconds, probably more for effect than because she had to think of something, Annabelle finally replied, “Tonight, you’re going to put on your sexiest lingerie and send me a selfie of you wearing your pretty collar.”

Wait, what? “Annabelle- Miss Annabelle, I can’t . . . ” I blurted out right away. For years, I had been adamantly against sending such things, no matter how into someone I was. It was too much of a risk. One immature, petty ex later, and your most private photos could be circulated online or, worse, to people that you actually knew. Also, Annabelle was still in high school; eighteen, sure, but that still felt like a dangerous line to play with.

“Can’t, or won’t?” she casually replied. This time, right away.

“Won’t,” I clarified. For once, standing up for myself.

“Because you don’t trust me?”

“N-no. It’s not like that. It’s just- nudes are a bad idea in general, Annabelle.”

“Says you. Tell me why, Mere. Is it because you don’t think you’re pretty in lingerie? Because you think I’ll share them with the world?”

Of course, the other factors weren’t even on her mind. Stood to reason. Miss ‘Clothes Are a Construct’ probably had similar philosophies about relationships, as clearly she didn’t flinch at the prospect of kissing a university girl. Still, her suggestions didn’t leave me with much to work with. While I perhaps felt a little self conscious around a girl as gorgeous as Annabelle, it’s not like I had any major hangups about my own body. But that still didn’t mean I wanted to take inappropriate pictures of myself. “It’s not worth the risk,” I replied, settling on a more neutral version of her second suggestion. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her; it’s that I didn’t trust anyone with such personal and vulnerable things.

Annabelle just sighed again. “You know, Mere, there’s a way around that.” She turned away, letting her fingers trace my chin all the way until her arm pulled out of reach. With no warning, she took the hem of her dark red blouse and effortlessly stripped herself of it. Now in just a black bra that had a little more lace than the similarly colored one I saw her in last time, which contrasted the conservative white skirt she thankfully kept on, Annabelle picked up my phone from the coffee table.

“Wait, Annabelle. What are you doing?” I was slightly concerned, but remained seated for the time being. My question was mostly meant in regards to my phone, though I also had no idea why she had taken off her top.

“‘Miss Annabelle,’” she corrected. After a single swipe of her finger, she turned my smart phone around to show me that she had simply opened up my camera app. Something anyone could do without a password from the lock screen. “And this is how you take pictures for other girls without being scared of it turning into a whole thing.”

She took a few seconds to pull her hair in front of her shoulders on both sides, then softly smirked for the camera while holding it up in the classic selfie position. My volume hadn’t been on before, but Annabelle must have flicked the switch before taking the picture. There was an audible *click* as she took the selfie, and then she was sauntering back over to me.

This time, shirtless.

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