She finally took pity on me and helped me to her bed where, exhausted, I fell asleep in her arms.She’d sent me home the next morning, laughing when I asked when I’d see her again.“That’s up to you, pet,” she said with a wink, the by now familiar pop of the ‘p’ in pet. “You know where to find me.”I’d resisted for an entire day. It hadn’t been easy. She was never far from my thoughts and it didn’t help that my bottom was still sore from the spanking she’d given me. Still, I felt the need to fight the urge. This wasn’t good for me, after all. The things she had done to me. The way she made me feel. The fantasies my twisted brain had spent the day concocting… It wasn’t normal. That night, I’d lain in bed, my tender flesh still smarting from the blows of her crop, replaying it in my mind, my hand resting just above my pussy, fingers tracking the elastic band of my panties as I fought the urge to slip them beneath it. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t so turned on that my panties were. Swelling as the minutes ebbed and flowed. Always swelling. He was becoming incapable of even feigned interest in the graphs, charts and diagrams that Chloe had so diligently continued to explain. All he had eyes for now were Sophie’s two softly peaked swells, each exquisitely held and supported, outlined in weight and shape through lilac lace, covertly glimpsed in tantalizing brevity beneath the starched white open necked ’v’ of her buttoned lab coat.Barely a minute later after subjecting himself to this constant tease of fleeting sensory provocation, only the wide elasticised waistband of his slit fronted issue shorts secured Arran’s now swollen cockhead against a lower belly slick with fresh sweat. He belatedly realised any sudden movement on his part would surely see his cockstem slip its tenuous mooring and unfettered, spring free through the folds of his gown into plain view. It was a deliciously perilous torture from which he neither desired, or indeed could escape. There was.
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