Teacher part 3
I crawled toward her, the friction of the carpet burning slightly against my knees, a tactile reminder of my descent. Every inch of progress felt like a deliberate shedding of the teacher I used to be. I stopped precisely where she wanted me, at the edge of the sofa, my head lowered, my breath warm against the leather. The air in the apartment felt different now, stripped of its minimalist sterility and replaced by something raw and musk-heavy. “Lead me to the bedroom,” Julia commanded, the words arriving not as a request, but as a structural requirement of the evening. She didn’t move to help me, nor did she offer a hand to steady my ascent. Instead, she remained draped across the leather, her body a languid sprawl of post-orgasmic satisfaction, waiting for me to …