SubscribeStar Story: The Tutor, Part 33

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Part 33

It felt like an eternity between her effortlessly quick reply and when I spoke next.

In truth, it was probably only two or three seconds. But when it comes to silence, that kind of time can be so daunting. I didn’t have anything clever on the tip of my tongue, but I had to say something. Had to show Annabelle that I could keep up with her, even if we both knew she was better at the social game. While she was younger than me, I could picture her growing up with an expectation to walk and talk properly. Add her teenage immaturity and flirty tendencies to the mix, and it was way too much to handle.

“I didn’t ask to be collared,” I blurted out. God, I was glad she wasn’t with me in person. There wasn’t a mirror nearby, but the sheer heat on my cheeks made it easy to guess how deeply I was blushing. Something about the word ‘collared’ hit me pretty hard. Obviously I was locked in the accessory, but it felt a lot more real now that I was talking about it with the girl who had put me in the thing.

Annabelle just giggled again. “Didn’t you? You said you’d be a good girl, Mere. An obedient little pet.”

Yeah, but- That wasn’t . . . I bit my lip in nervousness. It was true. I had definitely said those words, and had said them when my bra was undone and loose on my chest. When Annabelle was massaging me. When she was kissing my neck. While a lot of it was a blur, I distinctly remembered blurting out those words as a means to slam the brakes and return to the massage and only the massage. “Annabelle,” I muttered into the phone, once again speaking more for the sake of avoiding too much silence than anything else. Except that afternoon, I had opted to echo her degrading phrases instead of simply rejecting her advances. Because, at some level, I had wanted it. Let my body lead, instead of my mind. Leaned into the relaxation of the massage and the temptation of everything else. “That’s not what I meant,” I said, a second later. Tutor. I was her tutor, and yet somehow I had been collared and proceeded to leave the Alodias’ almost-mansion without doing anything remotely mathematics related with Annabelle.

“Are you saying you’re a bad girl?” Annabelle asked. I could practically hear her little smirk on the other end of the phone.

It was a total trap of a question, too. “You know what I mean,” I replied, flipping my previous statement. Less was more, especially when I had yet to sort out how I felt about this whole thing.

Annabelle huffed. “A good girl would take a sexy picture of herself like she was told to do. I don’t waste my time with bad girls, Mere.”

“I-”

*Click*

She hung up on me? “Fucking bitch,” I muttered to myself, before clasping a hand over my mouth. That was so inappropriate. The call was over, and I was alone, but there was still no excuse for saying something like that about a teenager. An adult, technically, but Annabelle was both in my eyes. And, once again, she was having an effect on me without actually being present in my apartment. I was a girl who swore pretty selectively, and my average had skyrocketed ever since meeting Annabelle.

While I meant it in the moment, I also didn’t mean it. Because that makes sense. It was like the best friend or family member that drove you crazy but you still willingly spent time with them. Although ‘bitch’ wasn’t quite the right word for Annabelle, the concept still stood. The call was over, I was home alone, and I was pretty sure I’d still keep in contact with the girl even if I wasn’t locked in her collar. Although that was certainly a bonus motivator for continuing this tutoring and more. Or, if not a motivator, another excuse.

But a picture? I was still torn about that. It was one thing to return to her house and brave another one on one encounter in her suite. It was something else entirely to send the kind of incriminating selfie I had refrained from my entire life thus far. And what kind of precedent would that set? If I took one, then there wouldn’t be any harm in taking a second and third. And if I did so as a ‘good girl,’ would I be implying that Annabelle could request similar things of me?

Groaning, I pushed back from my desk and stood up. ‘Fine.’ This time, I merely thought it. Taking a moment to close the blinds, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and haphazardly pulled it up and over my head. The truth was, I didn’t fully understand why I was actually doing it. A lot of my motivations lay in the fact that I was tired of overthinking the whole thing. The more I tried to work through Annabelle’s games and how I felt about both her and everything that had happened between us so far, the more flustered and frustrated I got. Why not be a little impulsive? I would show her that this didn’t bother me, even if there was a strong chance that I was playing right into her hands.

Clothes are a construct, Annabelle. Right? Then whatever. I’d prove that I was just as bold and shameless and all that.

Except not in the bra I was wearing. It was way too plain compared to the expensive looking ones she had on every time I saw her half dressed. I knew which undergarment I was going to choose before I opened the drawer. The dark blue bra I pulled out was normally reserved for dates when I thought there was a chance things would progress beyond just dinner or wherever it was we met. It felt a little weird letting Annabelle glimpse something a bit more meaningful in terms of my sex life, but I couldn’t help myself. After the embarrassingly plain bra she saw me in that afternoon, I felt the need to show her that I had nice underwear as well. Unlike her, however, I saved it for the proper occasion instead of wearing it to a tutoring session.

Switching out the bra on my chest with the new one, I definitely wasn’t wondering whether or not Annabelle’s ‘special occasion’ bras were even more expensive and exquisite than the ones she so casually wore around me. My boobs weren’t quite as impressive as hers, but my upper half did look good in the cut of the dark bra. A decent amount of cleavage, and a bit of lace on the cups that made it stand out compared to my everyday underwear. Normally I would be wearing the matching thong and a pretty outfit over the lingerie, but this was different than preparing for an outing I was excited for. The more accurate word for this would be ‘daunting.’

I was still torn. Deep down, I knew that this was a terrible idea. That whatever I was trying to prove was more to Annabelle’s benefit than it was to mine. The impulsive urges from a few moments ago weren’t quite as strong now that I was standing half topless and thinking about the next part. But also, I felt compelled to see it through.

Picking up my phone and taking a deep breath, I angled the camera from above and checked myself out on the screen. Annabelle had been so quick about it, but I needed a few seconds to adjust it from what would normally be a selfie to frame my chest and just the lower half of my face. Right away, I noticed the problem. While it was one of my favorite bras, the dark blue fabric clashed with the black leather of the collar. Did it matter? Maybe it would be better, actually. I wasn’t big into fashion like she was, but I knew enough. There were ways to pull off black and blue, but this didn’t look like one of them at first glance. But if Annabelle didn’t like the combination, maybe she would be more motivated to give me the key right away. After all, I could give her a better picture if my neck complemented the bra like the rest of my bare skin did.

Deciding that it was the perfect way to subtly rebel against her while still being ‘obedient,’ I stayed just how I was. There were plenty of other options in my drawer that would go better with black, but she would have to deal with this instead. Also, my chest really did look good in the current bra.

Speaking of daunting, I still had to actually take the picture. While smirking. I remembered the insistence well, mostly because it had followed the phrase ‘my girls.’ Not just possessive, but an implication that there were more. I knew she could have easily been flirting, or teasing, or referencing her history/preferences rather than suggesting she had a harem or a collection of ‘pets,’ but-

God, what was wrong with me? Shaking that image out of my head as best as I could, I tried to push the blush away while attempting to contort my face into an expression that matched the smugness and sultry attitude that Annabelle had managed to capture in the partial nude selfie she had taken for me as an example. It had clearly been effortless for her. That was not at all the case for me. I was absolutely not the smirking type in any aspect of my life, and especially not in unfamiliar territory like this.

Pursing my lips and trying to draw on some version of myself that might be able to be so unnecessarily brash and confident while also being subtly seductive at the same time, my thoughts flashed to Bridget. She was absolutely the smirking type, to the point that I could hear it over the phone back then. Looking back, she absolutely did not have the nuances that Annabelle did, but I wasn’t trying to compare the two of them. If anything, I was trying to channel how it might feel to tell Bridget that I kept this job from her.

I wasn’t the gloating type, either. But if anyone could draw out my competitiveness and a sore winner attitude, it was her. So, keeping her and that little fantasy in mind, I shifted my lips into an arrogant little smile. It felt entirely unnatural and unfamiliar, so I quickly snapped the selfie before it faded.

Checking myself out a second later, I immediately wondered whether or not I should try again. Despite how I had aimed for a thought that was socially driven, I still ended up looking rather slutty when my smirk paired with the bra and collar adorning my otherwise topless self. Was I really going to send this to Annabelle? It would certainly prove that I wasn’t shy or scared or whatever. But, still . . .

Locking the phone and letting out a heavy sigh, I tossed it onto my bed. I had time. I didn’t need to commit right away.

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