Present

"Pourquoi tu pleures, cherie (Why are you crying, darling?" She muttered, leaning her head against mine. My eyes darted to the door in panic. What the hell was she doing? We were so exposed, and anyone could come back in. She didn't want this; she had made that clear last semester when I'd dismissed what my mind said and did what my body wanted by openly propositioning her during our last study sessions. She had flirted back up until that night, and I convinced myself that maybe her marriage wasn't a happy one, so it was okay. It wasn't logical, but reason, and morality, seemed to escape me when it came to her. I never needed a tutor; I caught on just fine. But I couldn't seem to help trying to get her to notice me, even if it was negative attention.

The pills I had taken this morning were wearing off and the panic that was bubbling to the surface was already threatening to suffocate me. My reality was seconds away from crashing into me like a freight train and I knew that if I let it, my body would be too mangled to repair. That would be it for me. My mind was hanging on by a tattered rope. I craved blissful numbness in the form of a smokeless cloud, and with it, the only normalcy I will ever know again.

The comfort she offered me now was a fucking painful reminder of everything that I had lost. Because giving in to her would mean that I was no longer bound by the opinions and expectations of my family. The dead didn't have opinions; they didn't have thoughts. The sickly guilt I felt for just being fucking alive and staring at everything I ever wanted was enough to swipe the air from my lungs. I clutched at my chest feeling like my lungs were filling to the brim with concrete. Is this what drowning felt like? I shook my head, pulling away from her tender concern and loaded questions. What happened? Where the fuck did I even begin? What did I say? Hi Professor, I spent the summer burying my entire family after an accident where I was the sole survivor! Did that cover it? Or let's talk about how I came to and watched our car plummet off the side of a cliff right into a ravine while my body lay fucked up on the asphalt. Let's talk about how metal sounds when it meets stone at a high velocity or the smell of gasoline and burning carcasses. At least there were no screams, except in my nightmares.

I ran from her… because the alternative was to stand there and expose her to the demons that I fought and lost to daily. I couldn't risk infecting her purity with my corruption…my addiction. I dug into my bag, looking for my bottle of Xanex to smother my rising heart rate. My shoulder ached slightly from when she wrenched my body close to hers. The oxycontin the doctors had originally prescribed me snuffed out the pain then…the fucked up shoulder, cracked ribs, the debilitating migraines, but the pain in my heart never subsided for long.

Quickly throwing back the pills, I splashed my face with water and leaned over the porcelain sink. I desperately waited to feel that familiar expansion that would grant me some blessed air. Suddenly, her smell permeated the bathroom as if I had just stepped foot in a cloud of her perfume. I couldn't help but shudder. Nothing could prevent me from noticing how beautiful she was, not pain or anxiety. God, I could feel her all around me. She was consuming me entirely.

"Look at me," she said, and I jumped. I didn't even see her get that close to me. My heart thumped wildly despite the depressant I had just taken, and my hands felt clammy as I slowly turned. I expected her expression to convey her sympathy or even pity. That wasn't even close to what I wanted from her. I was ready to mouth off to her and berate her for invading my space and my fucking sanity. I was torn between screaming for her to back the fuck off and begging her to hold me closer. I didn't know what the hell I wanted, but I didn't want to choose. I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted the past to have never happened so that my future could see her in it. But it did happen and this couldn't.

"Listen, I…" I had barely gotten out two words before her lips slammed on mine. Taking my face between her hands, she held me still while she expertly parted my lips and stroked her tongue against mine. Holy shit. Her lips and tongue were like velvet. Her fingertips felt like downy feathers, but her touch was still firm. Did that make any sense? I was losing my mind, but I was finding it at the same time. She didn't try to choke me with her tongue like many of the men I've kissed. Hell, even Graison was heavy on the tongue sometimes. She gave me sure strokes and delicate flicks. I was kissing a girl, and I liked it. The more she kissed me, the more I felt the tension flow out of my body and the indecision turned to assuredness. I would surrender to this moment and replay it day after day, a molecule of contentment in an otherwise dismal existence. Because I was just existing; I sure as hell wasn't living. I walked through life now as a phantom, either blissfully dazed or painfully aware. A creature that could be felt yet hardly seen. But she saw me.

When I felt her pull back, my eyes were still closed and my lips were still parted in a gasp.

"Look at me. Etre une bonne fille." My eyes popped open at the gentle sternness in her hypnotic voice, my body obeying her command. She said to be a good girl. God, I wish I could be, but a good girl is innocent and not damaged. I was more like a cracked porcelain doll, once beautiful but now seconds away from shattering.

"Give me your address, Cherie," she said before releasing my chin and straightening her skirt.

She pulled out a tube of lipstick to retouch what she undoubtedly smeared across my lips. It was a deep mulberry shade that made her pale skin and those electric, blue eyes shine from within.

"Professor, you are married. I don't think that's a good…" She held her fingers to my lips to silence me once again.

"You are not helping me to cheat on my husband. I will explain everything, but not here. I'm not going to let you run from this, Jaime. And I'm not going to let you succumb to your scars. I see your pain, even if you are trying like hell to hide it. So, put your number and your address in my phone, and I'll see you later for dinner." Even the mention of food made the acid churn in my stomach, but the thought of her in my space gave me butterflies. This was such a bad idea, but I couldn't bring myself to deny her. The house was so empty now, taunting me with the memories of when it was brimming with life. Did I dare let her in? The Jaime that she had gotten to know died with her family. Nevertheless, I did what she asked because I couldn't seem to do anything to the contrary.

The rain beat mercilessly against our little Kia sedan. The wiper blades squeaked as they desperately tried to keep the droplets from blinding Dad completely. Jenai had everyone laughing from some joke, but all I could see were the headlights that had suddenly swerved in our lane.

"Dad!" I screamed, but it was too late. I heard glass shattering, and pain erupted in my body before everything went black.

Screams. In the darkness, I heard the voices of my family bellowing my name. They begged me to save them, but I couldn't see. They were as lost to me as I was to them. When I could open my eyes the car was slipping over the edge of the cliff with my sister banging on the rear window trying to get out.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my pulse in my ears and my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I kicked off the covers and fell in my haste to get to the cabinet in my bathroom. Fumbling with the bottle, I finally managed to control my hands long enough to get the top off and swallow two Xanny. I popped two oxy too because my head was threatening to explode. Fuck, I was running low. I would need to hit up that dealer soon. I kept reliving that night every time I closed my eyes, but it was more horrific in my dreams. In reality, I was thrown through the front window, and everyone else died on impact. A small mercy rather than being aware as you were crushed to death, I imagine. I glanced at the bedside clock and it was almost 6 pm. After class, I made it home and fell asleep quickly after many sleepless nights. I smelled the pungent odor of my own sweat, my eyes felt like sandpaper, and the deep circles of relentless nightmares cast shadows beneath them.

I stood beneath the shower spray as the tinnitus stopped and the weightlessness of my high settled in. God, what a relief it was. Finally dragging myself out of the shower, a glance at my phone showed 6:15 and a ton of missed calls and messages.

Unknown: I'm at your door.

Unknown: Let me in, Cherie.

Unknown: I can't leave until I see you.

Shit. I muttered and hurried to wrap a towel around my body. The world spun a little as I tried to get downstairs to the door. When I flung it open, absolute perfection stood on my porch with takeout in her hands. Her blue eyes seemed like a crystal blue ocean whose tide was pulling me further and further out to sea.

Fingers snapped in front of me, and I was jolted out of my trance. Sheepishly, I stepped aside to let her in. When her gaze locked onto mine, her expression morphed into frustration, maybe. Her worry was evident, but there was also anger directed at me. I wasn't stupid. There was no way she didn't see my dilated pupils and glassy eyes, but what was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to apologize for my desperation to numb the pain, to remove the weight that felt anchored to my chest? It was certainly better than swallowing an entire bottle and going to sleep with no intention of waking back up. I contemplated slitting my wrists in the shower while I watched my life force mingle with the puddle of water, just as it had that night. Hell, I even thought about purposefully driving my car over the cliffside; it seemed like…poetic justice.

"I'm sorry. I… umm… fell asleep after class and had an unwelcome awakening. Forgive me for keeping you waiting."

"Do you know why I'm here, Cherie?"

I shook my head because I really didn't. She had spurned my advances already, and I wasn't confident to try again.

"The night you asked me to show you what passion was has been resonating in my soul since you murmured the words. I turned you down, not because you identify as a woman, our age difference, or even the fact that I'm your professor. I turned you down because, as much as I wanted to devour that sweet body of yours, I needed permission."

I had heard she was married, but I was never sure. I never asked, because my lustfulness overrode my common sense. When we were alone in that library, I could pretend that no one existed but us. God, I was such a whore. I would have been defiling the sanctity of marriage. Wait, what does she mean by permission? Do they have an open marriage or something? I must have looked as confused as I felt because she went on explaining herself.

"I needed permission from my husband and Master. My husband is my Dominant, and I am his submissive. Have you heard of those terms before?"

"Yes, my friend Noelle went to a munch early in the summer. She wouldn't shut up about it, and I was intrigued enough to read some of the recommended literature. We were supposed to go to another one together, but…" But my entire fucking life fell apart and the last thing I have been able to think about is having fun. I haven't even spoken to Noelle longer than 2 minutes at a time, just long enough to tell her I'm alive so she doesn't call the cops. She had graduated, and I moved back home after the accident when I found out the house was willed to me. I thought it would make me feel closer to them, but it just hurt.

"But?" She pressed. I could tell she wasn't going to leave this alone. I don't know if that tight feeling pulling at my heart was annoyance that this beautiful woman was in my space, pulling threads that threatened to unravel me, or relief that somebody fucking cared enough to force me to face what I'm feeling. Because I was drowning in silence …and every day, I felt less and less like kicking my way to the surface.

"Never mind, it's nothing." I couldn't do this. I couldn't rake up all this shit and dump it on her. It wasn't her problem.

And I didn't need to be coddled.

"I asked you a question, Cherie. Answer me," she commanded. Her voice was stern and unwavering. She wasn't going to let this go, but how dare she try to bulldoze my boundaries? I didn't want her to know; that weakness could never be attractive to someone like her, and I didn't need to remind her that I was barely out of childhood.

"Are you trying to be my shrink now?" I scoffed. "Give it a rest already."

She grabbed my chin roughly and seemed to pin me in place with her gaze. I stopped moving; I even stopped talking as fear and longing played hopscotch with my guts. She looked pissed; her face contorted into a snarl, but her eyes were soft.

"I don't want to be your shrink, Jaime. I want to be your Mistress."

Mistress. I didn't profess to know much about the lifestyle. I had only just begun researching when the accident happened, but I recognized that title when I was reading about different dynamics. A Mistress was a Dominant, though what kind of dominant she was referring to, I wasn't sure.

Though my mind was racing, no sound was coming out of my mouth.

"I want to protect you, guide you, comfort you, pleasure you…punish you. You are spiraling, Cherie, and I want to save you."

Fuck, I could fill the tears welling in my eyes. She knew just what to say to break through my defenses. Deep down, buried beneath the guilt, I knew that what happened wasn't my fault. I wanted someone to save me from myself because subconsciously, I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to be without my family. I didn't want to be alone. Now here she was, the figurehead of my fantasies, offering to be my savior.

"How?" I asked, sniffling.

"You just have to communicate, Cherie. Tell me what you are feeling and what you need. Tell me what you don't like and what you crave to experience more of. Will you try this with me?"

"I'm so messed up. Why would you want me? My family is dead, and I'm trapped in this pit of self-hatred. The only thing that numbs the pain and gets me through debilitating anxiety attacks are pills."

"Merde, je suis tres desolee, Cherie (Shit, I am very sorry, darling)." She reached for me, stepping over the threshold and drawing me into her arms. She cradled my head against her bosom and whispered, "Let me teach you a better outlet for your pain."

Sobbing, I nodded because I desperately wanted what she was offering. I knew that drugs weren't the healthy way to grieve and cope, but in those moments, I'd do anything to kill that pain.

"Eventually, I want you to trust me with everything. Give every thought and every decision over to me, but for now, will you let me give you what I know you need?"

I shuddered as her voice took on a deeper register. Need as I've never known was quickly flooding my senses; I was surrounded by her voice and her scent, and my body responded in tune. My nipples strained against the cotton of the towel. Christ, I forgot I was only wearing a towel. Heat seared me from head to toe when I thought about how little she had to take off before I was naked to her gaze. I nodded my head, biting my lip as I waited to see what she would do. I was not expecting what she would do next.

Her entire demeanor changed. Her back straightened, and I could tell that this persona wouldn't hesitate to call me on my bullshit. Because that's what all this was…the pills were a one-way ticket to oblivion, and I knew it. Part of me wished for it, and the other part of me argued that the ride was too fast for me to jump off now.

"We are going to try something. If it is too much, just say red for now. If I'm approaching a breaking point, tell me yellow. Am I clear?"

"Yes…umm…I'm not sure what to call you," I murmured. Her name was Marcheline, but of course, I never called her that. She was Professor Valois to me.

"Call me Madame and see how it feels," she purred at me.

"Qui…Madame" I tasted the title on my tongue. A tingle of excitement zapped along my spine. I blew out a breath I didn't know I was holding and smiled for the first time since that fatal accident left me an orphan.

"Drop your towel and kneel."

Clutching and unclutching the towel, I hesitantly stood and dropped it to my feet. I looked down at my feet because I couldn't look at her and started chastising myself for not shaving, waxing, getting a pedicure, or any of that standard shit people do when they know they are about to have sex. I tried to maneuver my hand in front of my breasts and my vagina but Prof…I mean Madame wasn't having it. She took my hands and pulled, drawing me to my knees. Biting her lip, she assessed me, and I could see the fire burning in her eyes. The embers between us were stoked long before now, a blaze was on the verge of being ignited.

"So beautiful," she murmured before kicking off her heels and mirroring my position on the floor. Her touch was as light as a feather as her fingers trailed over my skin. Her fingertip smoothed over my bottom lip, pulling it slightly before moving to caress it down my neck. My flesh pebbled everywhere she skimmed, and my core tightened as I anticipated her touching my sensitive peaks. Why was this so damn erotic? It's like she was memorizing the curves and planes of my body, cataloging its reactions to everything that she did. Pretty soon, she will know how to wrench every shudder from me, elicit every moan, and steal every gasp of pleasure. She will make me dance to her tune just to get a taste of what she has to offer. It didn't sound like such a bad thing at all.

Pretty soon, she had made her way to where I was wet and wanting. A single finger dipped into my heat, and I gasped, head bowed, because what the fuck! My walls engulfed her delicate but lithe digit and clamped onto it like it was a lifeline. It had been so long since someone had touched me including myself. My mind was so lost in my turmoil that pleasure did nothing to numb the pain. My only solace was the temporary peace that my pills provided. At least, it had been. Her touch was more euphoric than any high I have ever gotten with oxy. I want to breathe her scent into my bloodstream, exhale it out, and get high on the fumes of her.

All too soon, she pulled her finger out, leaving me bereft and aching from emptiness. Being inside of my body was as close as we could get, and only then did my mind register that I wasn't utterly alone in this world.

She brought the finger covered in my wetness to her mouth, and I watched as her painted lips and pink tongue cleaned me off effortlessly.

"Tu as un gout si doux, Cherie." (You taste so sweet, darling) This was what she meant when she said French was a language of passion. When she spoke to me, her words alone were enough to saturate my thighs. I don't know if it was her accent or the syllabic rhythm, but it was the most potent aphrodisiac that I had ever encountered. What would it feel like to have those lips on me, kissing me in my most intimate place? What would it feel like to kiss her down there? I had no experience whatsoever with a woman's anatomy other than my own, but something tells me that she would tell me exactly what she liked.

She stood so abruptly that I started to panic, my eyes widening. Shit, what did I do wrong? But she placed the same finger that had been knuckle-deep in my pussy and then rinsed in her mouth atop my lips to calm me. My eyes darted to where she began pulling down the zipper of her skirt. As the material fell to the floor, I appraised her long legs, lifting my eyes to take in feminine hips encased in chantilly lace the same color as her lipstick and nails. Her blue eyes blazed down at me, watching me watch her. She unbuttoned her shirt to show me a toned abdomen and a matching lace bra to the panties she was wearing. Her breasts were high and tight; I must have been drooling by now. The only indication of her age was the slight crease in the corners of her eyes.

"Do you want to touch me, Cherie?" She asked, smirking. I didn't realize that I was leaning closer to her drawn by the sweet smell coming from her pussy; she smelled of macarons and bonbons, like the sweetest syrup dripped between her folds.

Nodding and nostrils flaring, she came closer until I could press my nose in her pussy and inhaled. Fuck me, her panties were damp. God, she reminded me of happier times. I was quite the baker and sugar connoisseur once upon a time; it was why her scent was so potent to me with hints of almonds, chocolate, and sugar.

"Pull my panties to the side," she commanded. With shaking hands, I obliged.

"Have you ever touched a woman before?"

"No, Madame. I…didn't know I wanted…" I was stuttering, and my face was heating as I tried to turn away from her. God, this was embarrassing.

She turned me to face her again and said, "Go on." She spoke so softly, and her touch was so gentle, but I could see the command in her eyes. She wanted me to talk to her and open up to her in a way that I didn't with others. Hell, I didn't talk to anyone anymore. I didn't want to burden anyone else with my demons. But she wasn't just anyone. She wanted to be my Madame, and from what she said, it was her responsibility to lift the weight from my shoulders. Could she do it? She said she was submissive to her husband so could she handle the shit in my head and not be crushed too? So many questions that needed answers. I suppose the only way to find out was to give it to her, but if she folded, then I would be responsible. I wouldn't be able to survive it.

"Get out of your head, Cherie. Come back to me. I know that you are in a dark place and this is so new, but I promise that I just want to protect you. But we have to communicate to foster trust between us."

"I've only ever wanted you…" I whispered. She kissed me then, desperation and lust leeching out of her pores. I soaked it right up and moved my lips against hers, tangling our tongues together before she broke away.

"I'm going to teach you how to touch me." I simply nodded because I desperately wanted to know how to please her. The thought of satisfying her gave me intense pleasure.

"Lick me right down the middle." I buried my face against her cunt and did just that. She tasted heavenly, just as I thought she would, like a Candyland paradise.

"Now lick along each lip." I did that and more. The more I tasted her, the more ravenous I became. Instinctually, I licked and sucked before turning my attention to her clit. I licked all around and flicked my tongue against it, feeling it swell beneath my ministrations. A tremor ran through her body, and she grasped my shoulders as I latched on and sucked.

"Such a good student, Cherie. Make me come."

"May I use my hands, Madame?" My old boyfriend always put his fingers inside me while he ate me out. It was the only way I could orgasm with him which was probably another reason why that relationship didn't last.

"Absolutement."

I grasped her thigh, slowly drawing my fingers down her silky thigh-highs. I raised her leg to rest on my shoulder, while I brought my mouth back to her wet heat. I resumed sucking on her clit, inserting my finger inside to stroke her walls.

"Yes, Cherie. Mon Dieu," she moaned. Another finger joined the other and I pumped her faster, curling my fingers to find her sweet spot. Her hips jerked, and her thighs quivered. When I lifted my eyes to see her face, her eyes stared back at me. It felt like she was staring into my soul. The chemistry between us felt like a palpable thing, and for just a moment, the void that was slowly consuming me felt smaller. Almost like she was standing in between me and vast nothingness. She was quickly becoming my anchor to reality. I flicked my fingertips against that spot deep inside, and I felt her orgasm submerge her in a tidal wave of pleasure. Her walls held my fingers in place while her hands in my hair held me still. When she removed her leg, she helped me up and kissed her arousal from my lips.

"Do you want to come, Cherie?"

"Qui, Madame." I nodded.

"Come, sit," she said as she sat on the couch, pulling me to where I was straddling her. Her fingers stroked me, and my hips bucked against her hand, seeking delicious friction. It wouldn't take me long; I was hovering on the edge already just from tasting her. My eyes closed, and I felt her slip her fingers inside pumping me deliciously slow.

"Your pussy is so wet for me," she whispered, nipping my ear. Oh God, I was going to come. I tried to take her fingers faster, but her hand held down my hips. I needed more, just a little bit more.

"Madame, please," I whined. I couldn't help it. She had driven me to this desperation. Her fingers slowed even more, barely even moving. My eyes popped open to find her watching me.

"Do you think you deserve to come?" What? I thought I was being good for her. She look pleased.

"Umm…" I said, biting my lip suddenly nervous, "Yes, Madame."

Her fingers sped up, building the heat once more. And then she slowed again.

"Because I don't," she said with no inflection in her tone. She didn't sound happy or upset, more like she was simply stating a fact. I deflated, my orgasm forgotten in a sea of embarrassment. I thought that she liked what I did to her. I tried to get up, but she still held me down. My head dipped as the urge to cry took over. God, I did not need her to see me cry. Her knuckle under my chin lifted my head once more, and her eyes softened when she saw the tears about to spill over.

"Tell me if this is too much for you and it all stops. I am not going to let you orgasm because you have been hurting yourself. You came to class high on something and then tonight, you were high again. I want you to call me when you feel like everything is caving in on you. If you call me, I will give you pleasure. If you don't, I will deny you. Call it negative punishment. Do you understand, Cherie?"

Her fingers found my clit and her lips found my breast, and I gasped. Could I do this? Could I give everything to her? This was torture, but so was what I was doing to myself. She cared for me; I could tell.

"Punish me, Madame."

"C'est ma gentille fille (That's my good girl). Come, let me feed you." She fed me lo mein from the white takeout boxes she had brought with her. As she held the chopsticks to my lips, she spoke, "Have you been eating, Cherie?" I grabbed my towel from the floor to cover my naked body, suddenly feeling sheepish about the slight protrusion of my ribs. I was once very shapely, and I still had my curves, but I had lost a few pounds. The anxiety attacks took a lot out of me, and I was so exhausted once the Xanax kicked in. Admittedly, I was sleeping more than I was eating.

"Don't hide. Answer me." I shook my head, refusing to meet her eyes. She didn't want me. I was too thin.

"Cherie, look at me. You are devastatingly beautiful and mind-blowingly sexy. Do you think I would be here if I didn't find you so? I could have asked all of this at school under the guise of being a concerned professor. I crossed a line because I want a relationship with you, but I need you healthy to participate in that relationship."

Tears threatened to spill over, but I held them back. She had assuaged every fear…every insecurity, and every doubt. She knew what I was thinking, even when I was being stubbornly silent. She continued to feed me in silence, but it spoke volumes. This woman cared for me. She wanted me to exist. There was still a place for me here… and it was in her arms.