Meeting My Mistress

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to my real Mistress. She instructed me to create the work below for her entertainment. I am not capable of denying her anything, so here it is.

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A soft, pastel pink hue cascades across my room, with small, razor-thin lines of shadow cutting through. The early morning sunshine has finally found the time to shine through my window, and although it may be sliced by the shape of the venetian blinds, the light of the sun fills every inch of my room.

The brightening walls, now the color of cherry blossoms, sets off a chain reaction. First, my eyes perk up, lifting from the pages of my book. Next the small alarm clock on the bedside table lets out an ungodly noise, made even worse by the awful stigma I've associated the clock to waking up. And lastly, upon the arrival of the clock's cries to my ears, I jump out of my bed, tossing my mounds of blankets aside.

The cold January air chills my toes as they leave the comfort of the bed, but I pay them little mind. Instead, I drop the book on my bedroom desk and make a run for the bathroom. Only the warm water of the shower can save my cold body from the freezing temperatures. I'm dressed only in a ACDC T-shirt (two sizes too big, I confiscated this wonderful article of clothing from my boyfriend) and a pair of black cotton panties. At least, that's what I was wearing. As quickly as I left my room and entered the small bathroom, I turned on the shower and dropped my pajamas in a heap on the floor.

I step into the cramped shower, warm water washing over my long black hair. As I always do when stepping into a warm shower, I let out a long, content sigh. The calming sound of the falling water, the comforting embrace of warmth... Is there anything better?

But I should stop myself before going further. This is all mundane crap! Nobody cares about taking a shower, right? Well, this very morning was probably one of the most important days of my life. Today, January 4th, is when I first met my Mistress. But I don't want to get ahead of myself! I'll just skip ahead to what really matters.

I read the clock on my car's dashboard, making sure that I'm not running late to class. It's the first day back from winter break, and a part of me really wants to get back to school. While weeks of vacation certainly is nice, I miss my friends and classes, to be completely honest. I know, I know, how typical. The teacher's pet and salutatorian wants to go to school. It's just in my nature.

Anyways, it was 7:23, giving me enough time to see my friends before class. I've been itching to see them all break, but things never work out how you want them to. Between work schedules, sports practices and games, and family matters, there's wasn't enough time to get together.

I grab my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and exit my car. The crisp winter air washes over me like a blanket of ice, sending a few shivers up my spine. Even with my layers, it seems like the weather wants to kill me.

Hugging my arms close to my chest to conserve as much warmth as possible, I make my way to the entrance of Appleton High. It's red-bricked exterior is draped with snow accumulated from days of light precipitation. Yellow busses trail through the slushy roads, unloading lines of kids reluctant to return to school. A periwinkle, cloudless sky and rows of leafless oak or muffled-green pine trees completes the landscape.

I muscle my way through the parking lot, dodging the cars and kids. Even though the Appleton High seniors have their own lot, my classmates aren't the most mature drivers. Combined with the slippery roads, I can't trust any passing car. Hell, I've almost been killed by some of these people...

After the parking lot, I'm home free. I'm welcomed by the rush of air from the lobby's heaters, shaking off any of winter's lingering chills. Finally. While not as good as a warm shower, this may do. I shrug off my heavy overcoat and drape it over my forearm, carrying it to my locker. Up a set of stairs, take a left down the hallway, another left, and I find my little piece of the school. Tucked away near the art classrooms, I find my locker. And next to it, a small circle of three friends: Monika, Quinn, and Olivia. My face immediately lights up.

They notice me before I notice them, and I'm greeted by a million greetings, hugs, and 'So nice to see you!'s. Monika, a tall, softball-playing blonde, towers over me, almost suffocating me with her trademarked bear hug.

Quinn, only slightly taller than I, stands a little off to the side, waiting her turn to join the festivities. She's introverted, sure, but those who know her get to see her true side: A passionate, dorky nerd who spends all her time watching anime, playing video games, or drawing. Picasso would be jealous if he saw what Quinn has been working on.

And Olivia, my best friend, is sandwiched between Monika and I. We've been through thick and thin together, having met in the 2nd grade. We've danced ballet together, played volleyball together, even fought over the same guy together... But nothing can tear us apart. That, and her red hair and freckles are so pretty, I wish I could snatch them up for myself.

Monika interrupts the flurry of giggles, simultaneously releasing me from her death grip. "Nice to see ya, Belle! It's been awhile."

I nod, turning to my locker to fidget with the lock. "Good! I mostly sat around and watched Netflix, but it was good. Certainly happy to be back and see you guys, though!" I pop open the lock and open the creaky door, hanging up my heavy coat. I'm left in a cardigan the color of cherries, a beige shirt, and skinny khaki pants.

"Yeah, we were wondering why you didn't come to the party," Olivia chimed in. "You were invited, yeah?"

I turn, closing my locker. "Party? What do you mean?"

It was Quinn's turn to speak up, rather quietly I may add. "Y- yeah, it was Saturday. At Clay's house, we were all there." Quinn's uncharacteristic party-attending and the creeping smiles on Monika and Olivia's face showed their true intentions of poking fun at me.

"Oh, shut up." I say flippantly. "I don't care about him, honestly." I feel a soft warmth reach my cheeks and tips of my ears.

Clay Richardson is a guy in my American Government class. I've been silently "observing" him for a couple years now, and it's been no secret to my friends. All three of my present company are also in that class, and let me tell you, all three will be the death of me. They're constantly teasing me about him. Friendly teasing, of course, but I never have the guts to get up, ask him out, silence my friends.

He's this super sweet guy, tall, brown hair. In my AP Physics class too, so he's got smarts and looks. He plays hockey and football for the school. He's not a superstar by any means, but I'm a fan of the underdogs. I admit, I've went to some of the school's sports games just to see Clay play. I haven't heard the end of it from Olivia.

"You're head over heels, admit it." Olivia chimes in, snapping me back to reality. "But c'mon, we gotta go to Anatomy. It's almost 7:35.

I nod and part ways with Monika and Quinn, waving them a quick goodbye and promising to catch up later. Olivia and I prefer to get to class early so we have time to finish our homework or play on or phones or just talk. And talk we would.

Our Anatomy teacher from the beginning of the year, Mrs. Hoza, conveniently left for her maternity leave near the beginning of winter break, so we're getting a new teacher for the remainder of the school year. I've heard a bunch of different rumors about the new person. That it's some old, ancient Ph.D who's teaching out of the kindness of his heart. Or some former runway model. I even heard that it was Clay's dad. Obviously untrue (yet a part of me wanted it to be). I had some choice words for the creators of that rumor.

Winding through the halls and up a set of stairs, Olivia and I make some small chat. Just how out holidays were, what crazy gifts we got, what crazier relatives we have.

We reached Room 326, finding our seats towards the front of the room. Only a couple of other students were already here: Jack Lopez, who caught in trouble for smoking weed in the bathroom, and Sarah Schultz, a goody-two-shoes who likes to passive-aggressively correct people during class. Only the finest in Appleton.

Of course, Olivia and I sat right next to each other. No seating arrangement could break us apart. The small talk continue as more students shuffled in, their conversations adding to the chatter. Only when the bell rang and a final two people entered the room did anyone shut up.

In walked the principal, a round woman named Mrs. Hegerty (nicknamed Heavy Hegerty, although I promise I've never used that nickname in my life, I swear), leading in a tall, drop-dead gorgeous woman. I remember this moment very, very vividly, so I'll give you a little taste.

My educated guess was that she was around thirty years old. Long, beautiful brown hair cascaded down this woman's shoulders, like a waterfall of silk. It must have reached the small of her back, and draped over her left shoulder. Piercing, vibrant blue eyes gazed across the room, surveying the students, and I may or may not have gasped when those aqua orbs met my hazels. Her lips, full and wearing a small, teasing amount of gloss, were curved upwards in a polite smile. Thick rimmed glasses, professor styled, sat high on her nose. Dressed in a tasteful black dress coat with a hint of her white button-up underneath, I could see a bit of skin underneath her collar. A black pencil skirt and matching heels completed the ensamble, along with gray stockings. She was carrying with her a dark brown satchel, slung over her shoulder. If you looked up "beautiful woman" in the dictionary, I bet her picture would be right there. Definition: Miss LaFleur. I was starting to wonder if those 'runway model' rumors were true...

I felt small in her presence. She commanded the room. All eyes were drawn to her, mesmerized by the holy glow she controlled. The light always hit her face perfectly, her mascara was always even, no zits dared to break through her skin. She dominated all aspects of her life.

Mrs. Hegerty waddled to the front of the room and turned to the class, catching her breath. I guess she had climbed the stairs by the way she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at her neck and forehead.

"Class, as I'm sure you've heard, Mrs. Hoza had a child over break. So, without further ado, Miss LaFleur will be joining us for the rest of the year." Mrs. Hegerty said in between heavy breaths, offering the class a forced smile.

An unforced, welcome smile was a wonderful first impression. "Hello class! My name is Jess LaFleur. I'm very happy to be here, and I look forward to getting to know each and everyone as we move through the school year." She bowed her head, meeting my eyes for a brief, fleeting moment. I felt a soft breath leave my lips.

Mrs. Hoza shuffled around for a few moments, guiding Miss LaFleur to her desk to get settled. In the meantime, the rest of the class talked rather loudly amongst themselves.

I hear many conversations. All of them are raving about our new teacher.

"She is the runway model!"

"Holy shit, dude. She's hot as fuck for a teacher."

Olivia turned to me, wide-eyed and grinning. "She seems awesome!"

I sneak a few glances at the new teacher, sizing her up. Perfect face, already noted. Large bust... I felt a twinge of envy, my breasts were nothing to write home about... Her bottom, from what I could infer while it was hidden by her skirt, was round and well toned.

Why the hell would I be looking at her body? Sure, she was gorgeous. A body to die for. But I'm not a lesbian. My secret admiring of Clay Richardson made it clear.

"Belle?" Olivia brought me back.

"Y- yeah! She looks nice." My eyes return to my friend, and I smile a little awkwardly. My eyes betray me, and dart back to my new teacher.

The principal ungracefully exited the room, waving to the class goodbye. But nobody paid her any mind, Miss LaFleur was the one who wordlessly demanded our attention.

She set aside her satchel and pulled out a few papers before addressing the class properly. Standing at her desk, she gave off a little more of a casual air now that the principal was gone.

"Hey everyone! Like I said, I'm Jess LaFleur. But you may call me Miss LaFleur," She strode to the front of the room, one foot in front of the other, shoulders square, head high. Like a goddamn model.

"A little about me. I graduated from Penn State last year, with a Ph.D in Anatomical Sciences with a minor in Women's and Gender Studies,"

Whispers. All scattered and too quiet to hear. But my own mind screamed, "A runway model and a goddamn Ph.D?! All the rumors are true!"

"... so I got my teaching degree and taught at Chelmsford High School for a couple years. It wasn't necessarily the right environment for me, so here I am!" She finished with a peppy smile, eyes focused on me.

I froze. I know I've been sneaking looks at her already... Had she noticed? Was she purposely looking at me? Did I get on her bad side? Almost every paranoid, negative thought rushed through my mind. I didn't want to make a bad first impression with my new teacher! I tucked that feeling deep within my gut and steeled myself for class.

The room was silent, halting all else to focus on the woman. All eyes on her. And by the looks of things, it wasn't going to change. Everyone silently agreed to submit to her, to offer her our attention. We didn't give it willingly, not by a long shot. But we also wouldn't admit that our attention was taken from us. We just accepted it and fully submitted to her.

The rest of class could have been the most interesting, life-changing, wonderful class of my life. But after attendance, I checked out. The lesson went in one ear and out the other, because it wasn't a lecture that I needed to see. It was that woman at the front of the class. The woman who wrote notes on the whiteboard, the woman to commanded the classroom like a battalion. I prayed that she would turn to the class so I could see the small bear skin of her chest. I prayed that her blinding, piercing blue eyes might fall on mine.

In retrospect, that moment is when I gave myself to my Mistress. I look back with a happy heart. Because that day, January 4th, was the day that everything changed.