The Tutor, Part 51

All of my patience was about to finally pay off.

In retrospect, it didn’t make logical sense for me to wait so long to have a conversation with Annabelle. At the same time, however, that plan had been disrupted since the moment I arrived, and it was tough to sort out where things went wrong. When I put on a maid uniform? Or perhaps when I agreed to help with chores in the first place, instead of putting my foot down and saying I was only here to tutor.

Honestly, it didn’t really matter. Focusing on the present was more important. I was half dressed and being led by my hand up to Annabelle’s suite. Although finding a moment alone with her to speak candidly–one where I wasn’t attending to her and following all the rules that came with such a submissive duty–had been what I had been waiting for all this time, I needed to be careful. If she could get me to kiss her at the dining room table, I could only imagine what might happen on the sofa in her private living room. Again.

It wasn’t until we were upstairs and walking towards the familiar wing of the house that I realized I should probably think of something to say. Filtering through the countless thoughts since leaving her place yesterday had been difficult enough, to the point where I had only been able to come up with a rough outline in my mind. Knowing Annabelle, she would effortlessly steamroll the conversation no matter what I tried, in that frustratingly nonchalant yet subtly manipulative way. The craziest part was, I knew how impossible she was, and yet I continued being affected by her in a variety of ways nonetheless.

About two seconds before we reached her door, I came to the conclusion that a mental outline wasn’t good enough. I had to commit to a single thought, and get it out before she started stripping herself, or telling me to kiss her, or adding more responsibilities that went along with being her ‘pet.’ Right as she walked me into the familiar room, I blurted out, “Annabelle, we need to talk.”

It wasn’t the most elegant approach, and I had been half tempted to call her ‘Ms. Annabelle’ instead. Except that was ridiculous. She was younger than me, and that’s not how we did things during our first tutoring session. It would be tough to get things back on track if I allowed stuff like that to continue.

She didn’t say anything right away, and it didn’t take much lingering silence before I started feeling nervous and self conscious. That’s all it took, apparently. Annabelle let go of my hand and took a moment to close the door behind us. Then she circled around me and placed both of her hands on my shoulders. Her expression was neutral, rather than the warm or judgmental extremes of the pendulum she so quickly swung between. And, as always, Annabelle was noticeably tall when we were face to face like this. “Not yet, Mere,” she finally said, “First, you need to take off my dress.”

That’s- that’s exactly what I had been worried about! Rather than removing it herself and echoing her little mantra about clothes, however, she was telling me to strip her. I didn’t feel particularly strong after the last few hours, and there was admittedly a small part of me that wanted to see her without that little black dress on, yet I tried to commit to the resolve I briefly talked myself into on the way here. “Annabelle-”

“Mere. I thought you were brave. You are a brave girl, yes?”

I reluctantly nodded. This was the same thing as yesterday, albeit in the reverse in terms of who was removing clothes from whom. “Please, can we just-”

“Soon, Meredith. I promise,” she smiled, “But first, do this for me. We both know you prefer me without clothes on, anyway.”

“I- I . . . ” Less than a minute, and she had already rendered me speechless. And not because of the servant thing. Blushing all over again at the statement that was somewhat true despite its amused arrogance, I forced myself to give a small shake of my head. Sure, she was unfairly attractive when undressed. But while I couldn’t deny that fact, I could insist that I would prefer her to keep her dress on. And, ideally, I would be wearing my clothes as well.

Professional.

Appropriate.

Somehow, some way, I needed to find a way to make her understand that we were supposed to be tutor and student. Not whatever this was turning into, with me playing an embarrassing combination of maid, pet, and servant. Not to mention a hint of ‘slut,’ considering how easy it was for Annabelle to get me into these intimate and/or promiscuous situations again and again and again despite how I kept telling myself it was a bad idea.

“I can’t,” I eventually muttered. Not exactly true. Right when I said it, I realized it would take next to nothing for Annabelle to point out that I very much could. Trying my best to get ahead of it while still flustered by, well, everything, I added, “We shouldn’t. Let’s . . . math, Annabelle. I’m here to tutor you.”

“Mm hmm,” she hummed. Gazing down at me with what appeared to be genuine warmth, she affirmed, “And you will. Now, kiss me.”

Hopeless. How in the world was I supposed to have a straightforward conversation with this girl? “Wait-”

“Here, this will help.” Annabelle’s hands slowly shifted from my shoulders to my neck, until she was cupping the back of my head. Like always, she managed to find that perfect balance of gentle and assertive. It didn’t truly feel like I was trapped in her grip, and yet backing up or looking away wasn’t an acceptable option when she was holding me in place with both her touch and her eyes. “You’re not just a tutor, Mere,” she muttered, “You’re also my obedient pet. You promised.”

I hesitantly shook my head. No. I didn’t really promise. But I also didn’t necessarily say ‘no’ along the way, and we had circled around the concept enough times that it was going to be tough to insist that she wasn’t entirely correct.

“You did,” Annabelle countered, “Anything I say, remember? We sealed it with a kiss.” As if to remind me, she took a step closer and leaned in.

Just like the last few times, I naturally closed my eyes and slightly parted my lips in preparation for hers. What was wrong with me? I had asked myself that question multiple times since Annabelle had first pounced for our first kiss, and had yet to figure out how I kept falling for the simplest of moves. And I had just–literally just–coached myself through the idea that I needed to get us back to how things were at the beginning.

In the increasingly familiar and wildly frustrating approach, Annabelle didn’t actually kiss me. She merely teased me with the lightest brush of her lips. Exaggerating the build-up to a kiss, and aiming once again to make me the one who technically initiated something between us despite how she was the one who leaned in first. Only this time, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

Not even thinking about the fact that playing the game at all was losing on my end, I nudged my lips against hers in response.