Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Larissa craved it. Warmth beneath her palms, sweetness melting on her tongue, the dance of her fingertips along the porcelain edge. With her eyes closed, she summoned the memory and trained her senses on what it was like to have it in her hands. A nice cup of hot chocolate.

The tension in her neck left her no choice but to surrender. Her head dropped against the backrest of the armchair she’d curled up in. In front of the fire, she at least had a semblance of the warmth she longed for. And what the fire could not provide, the wine glass, with its stem threaded between her middle and ring finger and the bowl of it resting in her palm, made up for. She swirled it in light circles as she sank into the alcohol-drenched feather pillow that had formed around her restless mind and smothered the pain that had driven tears into her eyes.

The evening drew a long, deep sigh from her, and she started to hum along to Billie Holiday’s melancholic tunes resonating from the gramophone in the other corner of the office. Large rooms were only nice so long until they echoed her sobs. She hated the sounds of them and thus, drowned them with the last sip of wine her glass had to offer, stared and blinked at the ornamented ceiling where painted, dreamy cherubs gazed back at her. Their round little faces and cheeky smiles made her heart ache as she felt the clock in her lap tick far away from her. If one of them fell from the ceiling, she’d catch it in her arms and hold it tight.

Her chest heaved at the thought and collapsed. She blindly grabbed for the bottle on the floor, somewhere next to her discarded heels. Upon lifting it, she regrettably found it empty and groaned, running her fingers through the front coif of her up-do. The pinky of her left hand missed its red colour since the cold had drained her energy earlier when she had painted her nails.

It was as if she had to tell each of her individual muscles to move only to slip out of the armchair and drag her long, unsteady limbs to the desk. She stopped at the window to look out into the night, but lost her balance and just about caught herself in the floor-length curtain that wrapped itself around her. She clung to the fabric, cheek resting in a slope, as the silhouettes of a few trees outside came in and out of focus. The curtain hugged her curves like no man or woman had ever done before—not because they hadn’t wanted to but because she hadn’t let them. And now that she was willing to let herself be touched, nobody wanted to any more. Absence had left her skin raw and dry.

Dropping the curtain, she slumped into her office chair and stared at the laptop screen. Her wallpaper was a photo of the dog she used to have growing up, with his white shaggy hair and googly brown eyes that still made her heart melt everytime she looked at them. 

Her skin reacted to the memory of him licking her neck and face, of his nose nudging her hand until she’d stroke him. He’d loved her affection, and she’d loved giving it; she couldn’t help but feel protective of small creatures. Perhaps a furry companion would be the cure for the cancerous loneliness infiltrating every cell of her body. 

Opening the browser to search for nearby animal shelters — because nothing is more reasonable than to make important life decisions while being drunk — a number of pop ups sprang in her face. 

“Hot milfs in your area” 

Instantly, her cheeks and chest were covered in a hot blush and she closed the windows quickly. She cursed herself for seemingly having caught some kind of adware again from the ways she tried to quench her thirst for intimacy. At the same time, she couldn’t help but be curious about those things… 

What it would feel like to be this close with another person, so close that she would feel them inside herself. Be desired, wanted, needed and able to express these things in return. To be pleasured by another hand, to be explored, known and— owned . 

Drunk and aroused, the dampness between her legs made her refrain from closing the last window and instead click on it. There was one particularly urgent need a pet could not help her with… but a dominatrix might. The word alone sent a shiver down her spine, not exactly from excitement but the feeling she was about to do something remarkably scandalous. 

With a hammering heart in her chest, she scanned the website and found that it was truthfully a woman based in Jericho—how small the world was. No matter how long she searched, there was no picture of her face. Instead, the sub-pages for the different serívices and rates were decorated with tasteful boudoir detail shots. One was of her veiny hands holding a riding crop, intricate rings on two fingers; another zoomed in on the garter around her stocking-clad thigh; and even one with her thumb on another woman’s scarlet-painted lips. 

She felt her lips part to allow the air she desperately needed to flow better, looking at those pictures for longer than was appropriate. She squeezed her thighs together as she read through the list of services and got hung up on one in particular. One that made her heart skip a beat and caused her mind to be flooded with fantasies of this woman whose face she hadn’t even seen yet. 

The alcohol made her eyelids grow heavier the more she tried to read. Running out of time and breath with the ache between her thighs, she hit the “contact” button and quickly typed an email, suggesting a meeting at the Weathervane for a warm beverage. 

Her body was buzzing with excitement, her face almost feverish. Spending another night like this was no option, even if she had to pay a sex-worker to touch her. This way she wouldn’t have to risk rejection, or worse, homophobia and humiliation. And she would finally, finally get to feel a woman’s body pressed to hers after all those years of denial and self-restraint. 

… And so it happened that Larissa Weems decided it was time to treat herself to a hot chocolate. 

Chapter Text

On this Saturday morning, the principal of Nevermore Academy was spotted waiting for her dominatrix in Jericho’s most prestigious café.

Everything about this sounded wrong. If anything, it was fit to be the next big scoop in the local newspaper. Larissa could only shake her head at her drunken self and made a mental note to lock away any devices that had an internet connection before opening a bottle of wine in the future. Frankly, she could’ve cancelled… but she hadn’t. 

It was a clear morning, and the sun shone gently on her face through the large window she was sitting at. It was this certain type of warm spring morning that one could taste on their tongue like the smell of coffee that filled the air—Larissa’s favourite type of synesthesia. 

Vaguely recalling exhilarating dreams about the hands she had seen on the website the previous night, she swirled her long fingers around the rim of her glass of water. The waiter had offered it out of pity for the length of time she’d sat unaccompanied. It didn’t speak well for the woman that she would show up late for their first meeting. 

Once noticing the slight tremble in her hand as it moved, she stopped, closed her fist, and then retracted it to rest in her lap. She never usually let nerves get the better of her as her rather challenging life had led her to develop a thick skin and nerves of steel from an early age. 

Subsequently, she’d come to believe that nothing could get beneath the armour. But maybe, just maybe, this woman could—a thought that both frightened and thrilled her.

The bell above the door chimed, snapping Larissa from her thoughts, and her gaze fell upon one of the most impressive women she’d ever laid eyes on. Her auburn curls bounced as she strode towards the counter, where she ordered a plain black coffee with a nonchalance that Larissa could only wish she possessed.

It was only in recent years that she had allowed herself to even so much as entertain the thought of being attracted to women after the first four decades of her life had been spent in shame of her feelings. Just the sight of the woman stirred something in her, and she wanted nothing more than to be proud enough to ask her out herself. If she could be brave for a moment, perhaps the dominatrix wouldn’t be needed after all, and she could do this the old fashioned way instead. 

And so, — entranced by the way the woman removed her sunglasses and tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited — Larissa gathered the courage and stood from her seat to approach the woman who, in turn, collected her coffee and intently headed right her way. Caught off guard, Larissa quickly sat back down as the woman proceeded towards her. The fleeting moment of confidence she had gathered dissolved into nothing, just like that. 

Surely, she must be mistaken—the woman looked nothing like a dominatrix. Then again, what was she expecting? For her to walk around in leather and latex carrying a whip? Her cheeks warmed at her own foolishness.  

Stereotypes aside, the elegant woman in front of her donned a classy blue satin shirt with trousers, and not a shred of leather in sight. With that thought, her eyes shot to her own leather gloves that she’d earlier placed on the table beside her glass. She shoved them on the seat, beneath her thigh, as she didn‘t want to risk offending the woman with having them on display.

“Miss Weems, I presume?” she said, her voice stern with a transatlantic ring to it. 

She extended her hand for Larissa to shake, which she did, once collecting her stumbling thoughts and wiping the clamminess on her grey pencil skirt. Their eyes locked and her heart surrendered to the inevitable enchantment these deep green forests cast on her. 

“Yes, but Larissa, please,” she offered and smiled, which the woman did not return. 

Glancing at their joined hands, Larissa noticed the woman’s porcelain skin was emphasised by a collection of dark gemmed rings decorating her fingers and a set of black nails at their tips. It wasn’t often she got to touch the delicate skin of a woman’s hand. Mesmerised by her beauty and the feeling of her hand enclosed in hers, she held on for longer than perhaps one should before realisation hit and she swiftly let go.

“Thank you, Miss Weems, but I do believe it’s best to keep things formal—at least until we’ve discussed what arrangement is to come of this.”

Amidst all this, Larissa didn’t even think to acknowledge the fact that the woman was running late, given that she had no doubt that she could afford it. She put down her coffee and bag before removing her fur coat, and for a split second, Larissa got a sense that the woman looked vaguely familiar. 

As she sat before Larissa, she clasped her veiny hands on top of the table and pointed her nose upwards. The same hands she’d seen on the website and that had caused her breathing to falter—Larissa swallowed at the sight of them. 

“Of course,” Larissa accepted and took a sip of her water, wishing it was something stronger. 

As the waiter passed, Larissa caught his attention and ordered a hot chocolate, deciding coffee wasn’t the best in combination with her nerves. 

“Sweet tooth?” the woman questioned and raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” Larissa laughed nervously, already feeling the woman was taking notes. “Not usually, but I can never resist a hot chocolate.” She paused, but the woman’s eyebrow was raised expectantly, leaving her no choice but to go on. “It’s my favourite guilty pleasure…” she ran her fingers over her necklace, “I suppose it does give one a sense of comfort.” 

There were a few moments of silence as the woman took a sip of her own drink, and Larissa noticed her mysterious eyes studying her. 

“I see…” She glanced down to the side before reestablishing their eye-contact even firmer than she had previously. “Are you in need of comfort, Miss Weems?” she asked, straight to the point.

Wounded in her weak spot, Larissa stuttered, “I’m-n-not-s-”

“Now, now,” she cut in, “No need to get nervous… yet.” Producing a notebook from her bag, she laid it beside her cup of coffee and smirked. “Let’s get right to business, shall we?” 

As Larissa watched her write her name in ornate letters at the top of an empty page, she felt… honoured? 

Holding the pen between her slender fingers and hovering it above the lined page, the woman continued, “Tell me, Miss Weems, what exactly do you wish to gain from this experience?”

Larissa sat there speechless. Yes, she’d invited a dominatrix for coffee, but she’d also failed to realise how peculiar it would be to talk about a delicate matter like this in such a public setting. Well, the alternative would have been to invite a sex-worker to her very own school…

The woman took another sip from her coffee, then looked at Larissa again, who was scrambling for the words to answer her. Letting the nib of her pen press against the paper, the woman cocked her eyebrow at Larissa in an attempt to spur her on. 

“ Do you know what you want from this?” she rephrased her question, leaning forward and folding her hands on the table, pen caught between them. 

Larissa’s eyes darted around the café, smiling as the waiter passed them by, before returning her gaze to that of the woman opposite her. For the second time today, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she somehow knew her.

“I would-” She tried to choose her words carefully, pondering just how transparent she wanted to be. “I would simply like to try something new,” Larissa replied, feeling slightly embarrassed at her plain request. She’d of course withheld details, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. The woman would have most definitely sniffed out a lie, she was sure of it. 

She reached the conclusion that this stranger didn’t need to know that she was a lonely virgin, who was terrified of dying without the human contact she craved. The thought itself made her wince, and the revelation would have most certainly made the woman run a mile. Any woman, for that matter, and therefore the main reason she’d never put herself out there.

“Hm.” She seemed to consider her answer, as if it told her more about Larissa than she’d intended to reveal. “There is no significant other in your life to provide this for you, I presume?” she enquired as she scribbled down a note in her book. 

Did she do that with all her clients? 

“Unfortunately not.” Larissa swallowed and looked down, her fingers having resumed their nervous circling of her glass.

“And you’re certain that it’s my services you require?” the woman followed up. “I assume you’ve done your research regarding what I have to offer.” 

Indeed, she had done her research, yet uncertainty still swam around her thoughts. She wanted nothing more than the touch of another human being, and was so desperate for it that she was willing to put herself in the hands of this woman—no matter what those hands may do.

“Quite,” Larissa replied and produced a sweet smile, scratching the hairline on her neck.

The woman held out for a moment, tilting her head and drumming her fingers on the table. “Miss Weems, are you aware of the risks involved with this kind of play?”

Larissa mulled the question over. Yes, she was marginally aware of the risks, but couldn’t see herself partaking in anything that she would deem harmful given her very limited sexual experience.

“Of course,” Larissa assured, smiling the question away as she would whenever she didn’t want to elaborate. 

“And are there any health issues I need to be aware of? Heart condition, epilepsy, that sort of thing?” 

“No.”

“Excellent.” She seemed satisfied, and Larissa instantly relaxed. In the corner of her eye, she could see the waiter approaching with her order.

“Now, Miss Weems -” Larissa's eyelids fluttered at the way her name dripped from the woman’s lips. She’d used it quite often, different every time in a way that made Larissa think it had a purpose. “-Is sex the desired outcome for this or are you only interested in the play?” she asked without so much as batting an eyelid.

The waiter was just putting the steaming mug in front of her when she’d finished her sentence. Larissa’s eyes widened at the woman’s directness in the proximity of a civilian, feeling heat begin to prickle her cheeks. If her voice could evoke such a reaction from her, she could only imagine what else she could do behind closed doors. 

“Could I request that you please keep your voice down?” she spoke hushedly, so as not to draw attention to them.

The woman chuckled. “Oh, are we embarrassed?” she teased as she made another note in her book. Larissa remained silent and avoided her stare as she fiddled with her hands in her lap. “Very well. But the question still stands. It’s imperative for me to know how far this is to go, consent is key and can, of course, be retracted at anypoint.”

Sitting up straight, she inhaled deeply. “Alright, yes, sex is the desired outcome,” she repeated back, trying to ignore the raging blush no doubt decorating her cheeks and neck, and watched as the woman’s eyes lit up. It made Larissa wonder if the woman found her attractive at all. 

“See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She continued with her note taking. At this point Larissa was dying to know what it said and tried to catch a glimpse of the upside-down handwriting. 

“I-is there a specific way I should dress for the session?” Larissa asked and almost instantly remembered where she recognised the woman. “Wait…you run the boutique on the Main Street, don’t you? She-Demon?” It was a lingerie store she’d had to be dragged to because she struggled to feel feminine and desirable and would never go herself. “A… friend and I used to browse there. It’s quite the collection you have,” Larissa complimented. 

Obviously taken aback by her statement, the woman quickly retorted, “ Own the boutique, but yes. And since I do prefer to separate church from state, Miss Weems, you’d do well to keep that information to yourself. Is that clear?” she said rather sharply as her eyes burned holes into Larissa, whose expression must’ve mirrored a deer caught in headlights.

“Crystal,” Larissa confirmed and drank from her hot chocolate under the woman’s watchful eye. She hadn’t meant to cause offence; the very thought of upsetting the woman whose warm hands she’d held minutes ago resulted in an ache behind her chest bone. Are you in need of comfort? echoed in her mind. 

“Then good. And no dress requirement. Whatever you feel comfortable wearing…” She focused her eyes on particular details of Larissa’s outfit as if evaluating . Earrings, brooch, heels, calf. “… Although you look good enough to eat in the skirt and heels,” she concluded seductively, and Larissa felt herself begin to feel hot in areas other than her cheeks.

It was the first non-platonic compliment she’d ever gotten from a woman.

“One last thing: I need a safeword. Did you have one in mind?” 

“A safeword?” Larissa asked in confusion, having never heard the term. It seemed her research hadn’t been as thorough as she’d thought. 

“You are indeed very new to this, aren’t you?” she sighed, “Well, a safeword is a word that when said at any point during our time together, will stop everything immediately, no questions.”

“Oh, erm, ‘stop’?” she named the obvious, and embarrassment washed over her again when the woman rolled her eyes. 

“Try again and make it memorable.”

Frantically looking around the café for something, Larissa’s eyes settled on the cup in front of her.

“How about ‘hot chocolate’?” 

“If you’re sure.” She noted it down and drew a sharp line beneath it. “Hopefully, we’ll have no use for it.” 

Closing the book, she pulled out a note and scribbled on it while speaking. “If that’s all, then I suggest Tuesday, 7 pm sharp at this address.” She put it in front of Larissa, keeping her nail pressed on it for a moment as she clarified, “I do not appreciate tardiness.” The irony didn’t go unnoticed. “And I expect you to provide proof of your sexual health, of course.”

“Certainly,” Larissa played along. Having neither touched nor been touched by another person in all her life, she had a clean bill of sexual health. At least one thing she wouldn’t have to worry about.

“Before I leave,” the woman began, retrieving a piece of paper from her bag, “I have some homework I’d like you to complete and bring along to your first session.”

She handed it over and Larissa unfolded the paper, skimming over what appeared to be a yes/no/maybe checklist of – very interesting to say – kinks, tools and scenarios that she was to study to see if they would appeal to her. As she read, her eyebrows shot to her hairline at the extensive list—the majority of which she could never have even imagined.

A few in particular, however, piqued her curiosity.

Restraints. 

Vibrators. 

Praise.

Larissa’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. She’d never really thought she’d be interested in the idea of such things, but her mind was instantly filled with thoughts of being completely at the mercy of this woman. 

She briefly looked up from the paper to find the woman’s eyes glimmering in amusement. It was almost as if she could read her thoughts. Clearing her throat, Larissa folded the paper and then safely tucked it in her coat pocket.

“Of course, this isn’t all, but it would give us a good indicator of your interests to begin with. I would also like you to think very carefully about what is completely off limits.”

One or two on the list had already caused Larissa to frown, and she would certainly cross them off as a definite no. At the same time, looking into the woman’s comforting yet chilling eyes, she could see herself going places she didn’t think she would.

The woman placed her stationary back into her bag before standing from the booth and slipping on her coat. “I have a suspicion that you and I are going to have a tremendous time together, Miss Weems.” 

Larissa swallowed, she had no doubt in her mind about that. “Um… I don’t believe I got your name,” she asked rather sheepishly, unsure of whether or not she was even supposed to ask her name.

“Quite right. I’m careful not to divulge personal details, however, I have confidence that you are someone to be trusted. You wouldn’t disappoint me… would you ?” The woman looked at Larissa in a way that made her want to do nothing but please her.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” Larissa confirmed, feeling slightly smug that she’d been deemed trustworthy enough for her to share it.

A smirk briefly flickered on the woman’s red lip, sparkling like that of a witch who’s spell had come to fruition. 

“The name is Zelda Spellman…” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, glanced back and said, “…but you may call me Directrix.”

Chapter Text

As the single last droplet of coffee trickled from her thermos into the empty cup, Larissa let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. She set the thermos back on the table and took the cup in her hand, swirling it around as if it would magically refill from doing so. The emptiness of the cup resembled her energy reserves for the rest of the day, and it was only 2 pm. 

Clinking her freshly manicured nails on the porcelain, she decided that it would have to be a solid meal then. Usually, she didn’t eat anything larger than the palm of her hand at work as she got rather tired after a filling meal, and she couldn’t have that. It was unfortunate enough that she’d had to waste her free period by going to the nail salon today. The lady had even had the gall to point out her missing acrylic and the poor state of her natural nails underneath the press ons.  

However, it was a sacrifice she’d had to make if she wanted to appear at least somewhat dignified in front of Ms Spellman tomorrow. She’d walked past the boutique on her way back, but hadn’t seen the woman. 

Setting the cup down, Larissa walked to the mirror and wiped under her eyes to get rid of the worn off mascara before leaving for the cafeteria, hoping they would have a spare dish for her. 

Entering the cafeteria, she let her eyes drift over the chattering crowd of students sitting at the tables, watching out for anything out of order. Satisfied that everything seemed to be in its right place, she wore a gentle smile as she made for the kitchen.

Lucky as she was, they had some pasta left, and Larissa returned with a bowl of steaming noodles to her desk. If it was unavoidable to have lunch, she would at least get some work done while doing it. She opened her mails and read them between bites of her meal; a few students wanted her approval for an after school club, the PTA had appointed a new chair, and the mayor asked for her support in his re-election. 

She licked the sauce from her lips while typing a reply for the students around the still half-full bowl when a notification from her calendar popped up in the corner of the screen: 

Tuesday, 7 pm

Directrix Spellman

The woman’s voice rang through her mind, deep and seductive, turning this simple title into a vulgar word she shouldn’t dare put in her mouth. And yet, Larissa found herself murmuring Directrix as her eyes remained fixed on the notification and the image from the website of presumably the woman’s fingers on those red lips clouded her mind.

Larissa typed in the web address and navigated to where she’d seen the photos. Remembering she still had the bowl of pasta in front of her, she mindlessly took the fork and pushed it into her mouth while perusing the site. When she finally got to the picture she’d been looking for, she stopped. And instead of picking up another bite, she played with the fork on her bottom lip. 

Glistening scarlet lipstick; not matte like hers, but glossy, juicy. It made the comparatively thin lips appear fuller; like those apples one saw in ads, ready to be bitten into. Larissa’s lips parted and the fork tips dug into her lip just enough to cause a prickling sensation that matched the electric sparks the picture was conjuring all over her skin. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, she would consume the forbidden fruit and perhaps get eaten too. She wondered if it would be like in the fantasies that had been haunting her dreams for so long now. Or like the cheap romance novels hidden in the drawer of her desk. Or even the videos she’d never admit to having watched. 

It had been curiosity, most of all. The desire to experience female pleasure in sound and sight, see their faces in ecstasy; the sighs, moans, curses, pleas —The fork fell from Larissa’s hand into the bowl, ripping her from her blissful reverie with the noise. Her heart was hammering in her chest, surely from being startled, but not only, for it matched the pounding she felt between her legs. 

Pressing her thighs together, Larissa hovered the mouse over the x in the top right corner, watching it turn red and then grey again as the tugging low in her belly demanded her to stay. The pressure was building up, and a thin layer of sweat spread on her forehead. Glancing to the clock on the wall, she figured she still had about 15 minutes of her lunch break. 

Her fingers were itching to go on a journey south, but what kind of principal would she be, what kind of teacher? Besides, shouldn’t she save herself for the woman? Even if that was the case, the pictures on the website, the soft curves and supple thighs on royal display, were luring her in. If it was a test, she was failing. 

The skin she trailed her fingertips over was flaming hot, and she felt her pulse pounding away as she glided over her groin. Leaning back in the chair, she opened the button and zipper of her pencil skirt and dove under the waistband of her underwear when a knock came from the door that swung open immediately after. 

Larissa almost fell from the chair when she forcefully pushed herself forward and crossed her legs to hide her state, hastily tucking strands of her behind her ear. Under the table, her skirt was still wide open, which brought colour to her pale cheeks. 

In front of her appeared no other than Morticia Addams, her roommate from the old days and declared arch enemy. Childish, perhaps, but one should allow oneself one or another pleasure in their tiresome life, right?

“Larissa, how wonderful! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Morticia chirped in this exaggerated tone that always left Larissa wondering if she was being sarcastic. 

“Not at all.” She cleared her throat, folding her hands on the table and squeezing her thighs together, hoping to contain the dampness that had gathered and not let it stain her skirt. Smiling widely, she asked, “Whatever can I do for you?”

Only when she saw Morticia’s expression did Larissa realise the mess that was her desk. The fork had landed somewhere on the other side of the table, the bowl of pasta looked as if a child had played with it and—the laptop! Her eyebrows shot to the ceiling and her eyes went wide as she quickly shut the laptop with a bit too much force. Her smile, however, remained firm. 

“Are you sure this is a good time? You look rather… stressed, chérie.”

Chérie , of course. She’d been fooled by that before. 

Larissa steeled her features, her hands gripped each other tightly, and she assured, “It is absolutely fine, Morticia. Sit down please and tell me what brings you here.”

Morticia sat in the chair opposite Larissa’s desk and placed her hands elegantly on the arm rests. She knew how to put herself in the limelight with the posture of a ballet dancer, leaving Larissa no choice but to draw her eyes over her lithe figure. Noticing the slip up, she returned her gaze to her folded hands. 

“I have good news to tell, Lyssa,” Morticia began, “The PTA has just appointed me their chair woman, which means we will get to organise this year’s Rave’N together. Isn’t that great?”

Larissa’s eyes shot up and her muscles turned to stone. “I-um-sorry-what?” As she stuttered her question, she already concluded that it made sense. Morticia had been the popular girl in school too, why would it be different among the parents? 

“Just like old times! I was your captain and you were my sailor, remember?” Morticia was euphoric, letting her eyes wander as she reminisced about old times. She took in a deep breath and appeared as if the joy would burst out of her any moment. “We’ll be such a great team!”

Team? Larissa scoffed. If Morticia’s idea of a team was to undermine her every decision and take credit for her hard work again, she was sadly mistaken. “Actually, um, Morticia, I’m very busy at the minute and I think it’d be easier if I’d just do it my—”

“Oh, don’t worry then! I can do it,” she offered quickly, reaching out to pat Larissa’s wrist on the table. Her voice again sounded too friendly, belittling, to Larissa’s ears. “We don’t want you to overwork yourself, do we?”

As Morticia retracted, Larissa clenched her jaw and put her palms flat on the desk to stand up, but she was reminded of the state of her skirt and sat back down. She wouldn’t let Morticia take this away from her too. A sour taste lingered in her mouth as she defended herself. “I am perfectly fine, thank you.” While her face almost never betrayed her, the pulsing artery on her neck almost always did. “Shall we schedule a meeting and see if we can sort it?”

Their eyes were locked and a certain tension stretched out between them. Without breaking away, Morticia replied, “That would be just wonderful. Do you have anything in mind?” She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips slightly. 

Larissa couldn’t shake the feeling there was another level to this conversation. Or was Morticia manipulating her with her psychic powers? In all those years, she’d never quite figured out if Morticia was really as well-intentioned as she pretended to be. The naïve dark fairy, or the devastating femme fatale. 

Pulling out her calendar and running a pen down the page, she rammed it on a free spot. “Next Wednesday during my lunch break would be fitting. Does that work for you?” She all but hoped it didn’t, Lord knows she wanted to spend as little time with this woman as possible.

“I will be there,” she said and rose as gracefully from her seat as she’d sat down. Clasping her hands in front of her, she stepped a little closer to Larissa. 

“Great.” Larissa gave her widest, toothy grin to hide the sarcasm.

Given that she was unable to stand up, Larissa was forced to look up at Morticia. This usually didn’t happen to her, and she found it most unpleasant. “Is there anything else?” Her tone had something harsh to it, despite the polite overtones. 

“Oh, I just- let me-” Morticia bent over the desk, reached her hand out and brushed a spot of tomato sauce from her mouth. 

It happened so quickly that Larissa didn’t have time to protest, and frankly, she would’ve been too stunned to do so. Instinctively, she drew back at the touch and inhaled sharply. The spot she’d touched felt bruised and Larissa brought up her hand to cover it.

“So sorry, I didn’t mean to… You had something there…”

Despite the profuse apology and Larissa’s reaction, Morticia was still leaning on her desk in a position that exposed her cleavage fully to Larissa. She swallowed and prayed her eyes wouldn’t betray her. Blinking rapidly, she returned to her former position, aware that if Morticia did so much as glance down, she’d find her skirt and underwear out of place. 

“Thank you, Morticia. I appreciate your commitment to the school.” She reigned the anger, embarrassment, and competitive zeal brewing inside her chest in, and put on an air of professionalism. “I will see you next week. Give Gomez and Wednesday my best.”

Her body was buzzing, and she couldn’t wait for Morticia to leave—similarly to the night of their graduation. She’d really thought she’d seen the last of her, that she could put everything behind her… And then, 30 years later, Morticia had stood at her door, her sixteen year-old daughter in tow, and now she was forced to play this game all over again. 

“Sure will do. Au revoir, cher.” She gave a soft wave as she turned, leaving with a an unreadable expression that only fed into Larissa’s suspicions.

It had her think that there must be a hidden agenda. Some sort of plan to beat her once and for all in the game of life. Steal the school? Her reputation? Erase her accomplishments and make Jericho her own? 

Musings of a similar nature kept her occupied for the rest of the day, and through all her lessons. Together with the stirred up feelings regarding her roommate, it made for a dangerous mix that had her snap at one of her students during her Outcast History class for being unable to recall the date of the first Outreach Day.

It wasn’t like her, but it was very much like her family line. 

By the time the bell had finally rung, the guilt had made Larissa completely nauseous and she dropped everything to go to the student and apologise promptly. While he seemed understanding and accepted, Larissa wanted to sink into the ground with shame. She gathered her things and dragged herself back to the office, where she threw her bag on the nearest chair and kicked her heels off. 

For a moment, she just stood in the room with her hands on her hips. It was only 4 pm and she had enough papers to grade to last her until 7, but the only thing she wanted right now was to put on Nina Simone and relax with a glass of wine. Knowing the work couldn’t wait, she settled on a compromise and poured herself a glass, put the vinyl on, and placed the staple of papers on her lap. 

Every time the conversation with Morticia came to her mind, she took another sip. That way, the first glass emptied within the next half hour; then came the second, then the third. Somewhere in the middle of the night, she woke up to the sizzling of the played out record in the back. The bottle at her feet was empty, the papers were still in her lap, and a headache was forming behind her eyes. 

Glancing to the door to her bedroom, a shiver ran down Larissa’s spine. She didn’t want to go there—cold sheets on an empty bed. No one was waiting for her, no warm embrace to snuggle into, no one asking how her day had been. She might as well stay here where it was warm, perhaps relight the fire, and just curl up to sleep in the armchair. 

Chewing on the end of her pen, Larissa pondered the whole situation with a surprising clarity. If she’d only had that three nights ago she wouldn’t be scheduled for a session with a dominatrix without having had sex once in her life. She became painfully aware that she’d be making a fool of herself, and started to doodle aimlessly in her notebook.

All knowledge she possessed came from erotic fiction and adult media; it would take the woman two minutes tops to figure her out. And what then? Would she throw her out or laugh at her? Larissa couldn’t decide what would be worse. 

She dragged the pen with purpose on the paper, writing the woman’s name with her astute pen stroke. 

Zelda

It calmed her nerves; the reason she’d kept practising calligraphy since her teens. Concentrating on the letters she was writing alone decluttered the mess of thoughts so she could look at one at a time. 

Morticia

She pressed her lips together as she fought the urge to tear the page from her notebook and throw it into the fire the way she had done with Morticia’s page from the yearbook. It was all coming back to her, and there was no way to escape it—no matter how many times she crossed her former roommate’s name out on the paper, tearing it in the process. 

The name above remained intact though, and Larissa brushed her fingers over it, then brought them to her lips. They carried the faint taste of hope that she wanted to savour every last drop of. Actual human touch was within her reach, another being's heartbeat close to hers. 

She had to take it, for it might be her only chance.

Chapter Text

Driving down the muddy path to the address scribbled onto the paper note that was lying on the passenger seat, Larissa wondered if she’d come to the wrong place. It was a slightly chilly spring evening, and the sun was just starting to set. There was no way she’d taken a wrong turn in broad daylight. If this was the right place for her, however, she had yet to find out.

Her leather gloved hands flexed nervously around the steering wheel as a tiny, apparently well-kept cottage appeared in the distance. Tugging at the strap sitting uncomfortably on her shoulder, Larissa wondered how on earth women wore this sort of thing on a daily basis without ending up braless by midday. Similarly, the itchy and wirelike waistband of her briefs made her curse the day she’d been dragged into the lingerie shop to purchase the items. 

At the same time, she was grateful Morticia had done it. Not only because she otherwise would have to show up at Ms Spellman’s doorstep in underwear best suited to a grandmother, but also because the way Morticia had looked at her when she’d insisted that Larissa try them on had done wonders for her self esteem back in the day. It had been one of the rare occasions when she’d actually felt good about herself, desirable even. 

The main problem now was that she’d been about 26 years younger when she’d bought this set, and it kept reminding her of that. Her proportions had changed over the years, whether she liked it or not. She’d used to tell herself that this would be the good thing about remaining childless; that the pregnancy wouldn’t ruin her body—instead, solitude had. 

While Larissa was certainly a woman of class and style, first and foremost, she was a woman of comfort. And she craved it in whatever form it came: her job, her choice of beverage, and especially her clothes. This—in combination with the fact that she’d never seen herself being the centre of someone's desire—was why she owned just one set of decent lingerie.

It wasn’t long before Larissa was staring intensely at the digital clock showing 6:50 on her dashboard. She was on time, perhaps slightly early, but she wanted to make a good impression. Willing herself to get out of the car before she’d have second thoughts, she opened the trunk and took out her heels. 

… You look good enough to eat in the skirt and heels.

Smirking as she put them on and drew her hands up the smooth fabric of her hold ups, she made sure her pale pink dress was free of wrinkles and shimmered the way it was intended to. 

The cottage looked as though it housed a sweet elderly lady, with flowers and shrubbery decorating the outskirts of the building and a warm glow emanating from the small window beside the door. It didn’t look like a place where ungodly things were taking place within its walls. 

It took everything in her to not turn heel and run as she knocked on the door that was soon opened and revealed the woman from the weekend. 

“Good evening,” she paused, hands clutching her purse in front of her thighs before adding, “… Ma’am?” It sounded like a question, but the woman ignored it and smirked. 

“I find nothing more exhilarating than a woman who shows up on time.” Like before, she was dressed as elegant as could be: a simple black knee-length dress with an array of red beads decorating the high neckline. “Very good, Miss Weems,” she praised and gestured for Larissa to enter. “Welcome.”

Stepping up into the house, Larissa noted Ms Spellman’s eyes raking from her carefully selected heels all the way up to her neatly coiffed updo. Following her further into the house, Larissa wondered if Ms Spellman found her height attractive. After all, she had no clue what a woman looked like when she saw another she fancied. She hardly ever allowed herself to look, out of fear it would make her no better than a man. Watching Ms Spellman’s form as she walked, though, she couldn’t help but admire the curves of her wide hips.

Taking in the décor and walls adorned with various intimate imagery, one in particular caught her attention as it reminded her of the photo on her website, and she felt the familiar tingling low in her belly.

“Another client of yours?” Larissa motioned towards the tasteful picture of a dark haired woman with red lips and her eyes covered by a delicate blindfold.  

“Oh, heavens no,” Ms Spellman said, her face awash with amusement. “Sadly, that woman wouldn’t let me dominate her if her life depended on it.” She bit her lip as she looked at the picture, her eyes glazed with lust. 

Larissa couldn’t believe that any one wouldn’t want to be at the mercy of this woman. “Surely that’s not true. I have a sense that you’re exceptional at your job.”

Cocking her eyebrow at Larissa—who quickly averted her eyes after her comment—Ms Spellman remarked, “Yes, well, let’s see how you feel about that after our session.” She placed her hand on Larissa’s shoulder. “Shall we?” 

Allowing herself to be guided by the woman’s warm hand, Larissa sat in one of the rather comfy looking chairs in front of the fire. It crackled from over her right shoulder, just like in her office, yet instead of being alone with Nina Simone, she was here with a woman of flesh and blood. 

Sitting opposite, Ms Spellman held out her hand and wiggled her fingers expectantly. “Before we begin, you have something for me, I hope?” 

“Sorry?” Larissa was confused at first, but then quickly recalled what had been asked of her a few days prior. “Oh, oh, yes, of course.” 

She pulled out two folded pieces of  paper from her pocket. It hadn’t been easy to get an appointment with her doctor at this short notice, but thankfully, she had contacts in Jericho. 

“Oh excellent,” she mused as she skimmed the medical document confirming Larissa's clean bill of sexual health, and passed it back to her. 

Upon unfolding the second piece of paper, Ms Spellman’s eyes twinkled. “My, my. You’ve been a busy girl.” 

Larissa was looking anywhere but at the woman as she scanned over the checklist she’d been given as homework.

“Interesting.” A smirk formed on her burgundy lips, causing embarrassment to wash over Larissa. She wanted the ground to swallow her whole at the fact that this woman was essentially reading her deepest, darkest fantasies in her very presence. 

“Oh really?” Ms Spellman’s eyes snapped to hers. Not sure of which part she was referring to, Larissa gave a sheepish smile, thankful for the light from the fire masking her no doubt raging blush. 

“Well then, Miss Weems, I’m certain that’s something we could try if you’re sure.” 

And with that, she delicately folded the paper and set it to one side. Wanting to take the heat off herself for a moment, Larissa quickly changed the subject. “Do forgive me, but I believe I forgot to ask about payment,” she blurted.

Chuckling softly as she picked up a packet of cigarettes from the table beside the chair, Ms Spellman withdrew one, lit it, and inhaled it deeply. Not being a fan of the habit, a frown flickered on Larissa’s face.

“Luckily for you, my first sessions are free.” She released the stream of smoke in Larissa’s direction and watched as she coughed and wafted it away from her face with her hand. “At least for those I like. A ‘try before you buy,’ if you will.” 

“I couldn’t possibly—” 

“Consider it complimentary,” she said, her tone suggesting she wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was then Larissa learned that insisting would get her nowhere with this woman.

“Now we’ve got that out of the way, I have a bit of paperwork of my own I’d like you to take a look at.” She produced a form stating that their arrangement would remain completely confidential on both ends together with some other legal precautions. “If you’d be so kind.”

Taking the paper and pen from her, Larissa’s fingers brushed lightly against her hand, causing her to retract it comically fast for someone who was likely about to engage in sex with the woman. 

Noting that Ms Spellman had already signed the form, Larissa fondly admired the elegance of her signature, and how it perfectly matched her persona. 

“Second thoughts?” she inquired as Larissa stared at the paper, seemingly taking longer than expected to sign it.

“No, no, not at all.” She quickly scribbled her name and handed it back with a smile.

“Marvellous.” The woman took another long drag from her cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke up into the air as she stood up and walked in front of the fire. Larissa had to admit that despite her distaste for smoking, there was something oddly alluring about the way this woman did it. 

As she was waiting for what would be next, Larissa held on to the purse in her lap and tried to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on it. She couldn’t tell whether the woman was testing her patience or just trying to make sure she didn’t forget any step of the necessary legal procedure. 

Turning over her shoulder, Ms Spellman asked, “Miss Weems, do you remember your safe word?”

She took a few steps toward Larissa until she stood right at her shoulder, this time taller than her sitting form, so that she had to look up as she replied, “I do.”

For some reason, Larissa was anticipating to feel her hand on her shoulder again. The firm yet gentle touch had left an impression on her skin, and she wanted it again; like an injection of calmness that her frayed nerves demanded. 

“Very good.” She put her cigarette out. “And did you have anything in mind for today?”

A few moments of silence passed as Larissa thought about what her expectations were, concluding that she genuinely didn’t know, only that she wanted to… feel.  “Not entirely.” 

“I see.” Her eyebrows furrowed briefly, signalling a degree of dissatisfaction that had Larissa shift in her seat. “Well, I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Apologies, I’ve just… never done anything like this before.”

Ms Spellman shrugged as she turned on her heel, and started to walk towards a corridor, beckoning her finger over her shoulder for Larissa to follow as she spoke. “It’s quite alright. You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.” 

She led her into a room in the back of the house and elegantly spread her arms as she turned in its middle before bringing her hands back together as if she were a realtor. The red hair moved through the air with so little resistance that Larissa could only imagine how soft it must be. 

Would she get to touch it? 

“Welcome to my dominion, Miss Weems.” Her heels clicked as she took a few steps. “You may have a look around as it’s your first time here. Bathroom is over there too.”

As Ms Spellman turned her back to her, Larissa started to explore her surroundings and only then became aware of the kink elements in the room. They’d blended nicely into the decor, and only upon a closer look did she spot the hooks on the bed frame, the leash hanging next to the door, and the whips and crops placed in an ornamented umbrella holder in the corner that Ms Spellman was walking to. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood at the thought she might want to use these on her; impact play had been a maybe on her checklist, but she was intrigued. To be frank, she wasn’t sure about any of the things she’d decided for and against on that list, simply for lack of experience. Gladly, Ms Spellman passed the umbrella holder and opened a cabinet instead. 

She looked over her shoulder and Larissa averted her gaze, feeling her face redden as it always did when she was caught staring. Moving on, she put her purse down and gave in to the urge to look at Ms Spellman again. This time, the woman took out her book and skimmed the pages with pursed lips before putting it on the side table, in plain sight. Her fingers tapped on it a couple of times while she scanned the remaining contents of the cabinet. 

Stepping into the bathroom that was clearly designed for voyeurism, Larissa used the opportunity to splash some cold water into her face to cool her nerves. She couldn’t even tell if it was anxiety or arousal anymore, just that she’d never felt this way before. Brushing a strand of her behind her ear, she held her own gaze in the mirror until the face of Ms Spellman appeared next to hers in the reflection. 

“There’s no need to hide from me,” she husked in a way that made Larissa’s knees feel weak. As if that wasn’t enough, she came closer and brought her lips close to her ear. “You’d be surprised how nice I can be.”

Shivering, Larissa turned around and brushed past Ms Spellman back into the bedroom, suddenly feeling claustrophobic being in such a small space with the woman. 

Ms Spellman furrowed her brows. 

“Um… Do you want me to… undress?” Larissa guessed, clasping her hands in front of her body. It was a pitiful attempt to regain control that the woman had surely seen through. 

Noticing, Ms Spellman closed the space between them and put her hand over Larissa’s. “Do you want to?”

Her breath hitched and a long exhale followed. The warmth, the tenderness—If she stayed very still maybe it would last a little bit longer. “I thought you were… in charge here? … Ma’am?”

“Oh, I am.” Ms Spellman smirked and removed her hand, starting to walk around her. She stopped behind her, so close that Larissa could feel her body heat reach her back. “May I assist you?”

“That… would be lovely.” Larissa could only roll her eyes at her clumsy wordings. Where was the woman who held speeches in front of the whole town when she was needed? 

As the zipper got pulled down, Larissa heard that comforting chuckle. And as she closed her eyes, she hoped Ms Spellmans arms would slip around her waist and pull her into a tight hug. None of the sort happened, though, and the warmth disappeared as Ms Spellman sat on the bed, patting her thigh. 

Surely, she didn’t mean—?

Ms Spellman raised an eyebrow, and Larissa knew she did mean it. “Come.”

It would be humiliating, but how could she already protest at the first thing Ms Spellman made her do? Larissa hadn’t seen her take a crop or a cane, but she wasn’t keen on meeting her bare hand either. Or was she? Either way, Larissa decided now was not the time to show weakness and stepped forward, clasping her hands again until Ms Spellman’s knees met her shins. 

Before she knew it, her hands were on the side of her thighs, pulling her legs to rest on the mattress left and right beside her hips. Larissa almost fell over, but caught herself on Ms Spellman’s shoulders with a gasp. 

“My, my, already collapsing?” she quipped, and slowly but surely removed Larissa’s hands from her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry… Directrix.”

Ms Spellman hummed and looked her up, ignoring that Larissa didn’t know what to do with her hands now. It was strange how despite Larissa towering over her, the fact that she was sitting on Ms Spellman’s lap was putting the woman in a position of power. There was something strangely intimate about this, and Larissa was sure the woman was doing this with a purpose. 

“It’s as clear as day that you have no idea what you’re doing here…” she said, leaning back on her hands. “So, we will figure it out together… If you trust me.” She fixed on Larissa and drew her nails up her stockings. “ Do you trust me?”

Larissa’s hand had come to rest on her thigh and was aching to catch Ms Spellman’s right next to hers, but something told her she shouldn’t. She opened her mouth to answer, but Ms Spellman cut her off.

“Words are trivial.” She waved it off and flicked her hair back. “You need to show me.”

“How?” Larissa breathed, both intrigued and confused by the woman’s games, which’s rules she had yet to learn or be taught. 

Ms Spellman guided her hand further up over her hip and along the side of her waist, her fingertips ghosting over her clothes so light Larissa could barely feel it and therefore leaned into the touch, holding her breath. 

“Roll down your dress, would you?”

Exhaling again, she nodded, somewhat hypnotised by the way Ms Spellman was looking at her as her fingers were tapping her side. “Yes.” Ms Spellman’s lips pursed. “… Directrix,” Larissa added, and watched them curve into a smirk. 

She was starting to understand what this was about, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find it enjoyable. Every smile, hum or touch she received in turn for pleasing Ms Spellman sparked a feeling of reward she could feel herself getting addicted to. 

Tugging on her sleeves, she slipped out of them and let the dress fold on its own, exposing her lace-clad top half. A chill ran through her, and goosebumps formed on her skin, making it all the more sensitive to any movement nearby. 

“Now, how about you let that magnificent hair of yours down?” 

“Um, I’d prefer not to…”

“Is that so?” Ms Spellman narrowed her eyes and retracted her hand. “And just why do you think it’s for you to decide?” 

“I-uh—” Her heart was hammering away in her ears.

“Hush,” she put two fingers on Larissa’s painted lips, and slowly dragged them down as she continued, “I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t think I’ll forget.” Reaching her chin, Ms Spellman stopped and took it between her fingers to wipe the smudged lipstick away with her thumb. 

The gesture was so gentle that the feeling of having disappointed the woman settled even deeper in her chest. “Can I make it up to you?” she proposed, sounding more eager than she had intended to. She grasped Ms Spellman’s wrist, who instantly slapped it away as her features turned to stone. 

“Don’t ever touch me without my explicit permission.” 

Her eyes were boring into Larissa’s, and she was taken aback. Swallowing hard, she nodded, but realised the slap had caused a twitch between her legs that she prayed Ms Spellman hadn’t registered. 

“Good.” Her face softened as quickly as it had hardened, and she smiled almost too sweetly. “Say, did you enjoy that?”

Oh god she knows. 

Larissa hesitated, feeling too exposed with her nipples poking through her bra, her crotch hot on Ms Spellman’s lap. 

Fetching something from behind her, she said, “Go on, tell your Directrix.” 

“I… think so.”

“Interesting,” Ms Spellman said while tying her hands at the wrists as casually as making coffee in the morning. “That should keep those busy hands from wandering.”

Larissa stared at the red silk bow perplexed, then looked up to find Ms Spellman with an all too amused expression.

“You’ll be fine,” Ms Spellman hummed and leaned back again as if to give her space to process. 

“You’re a lot nicer than I’d anticipated.”

Ms Spellman threw her head back laughing. “Would you rather I was mean?”

Perhaps?

Flustered as she was, Larissa wanted to wrap her arms around herself, but her bound wrists prevented this. “Isn’t that what you do?” 

“Oh, silly child. A dominatrix's job is not to be mean.” She rubbed Larissa’s thigh with her whole hand this time. “It’s about leading, creating an experience, pleasure .”

Comforted by the sensation on her thigh, Larissa relaxed and thought how lovely Ms Spellman looked laughing like that. Telling from the subtle wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth, she didn’t seem to be doing it very often. It made her want to kiss her all the more. But how did one even go about kissing a woman, a woman like her ? 

Ms Spellman checked the rope around her wrists to see if it was too tight, and Larissa’s fingers twitched before she put hers over them, holding and caressing them calmly while she studied her face. “What are you afraid of?”

Her fingers moved away from Larissa’s hands, back to her waist, and continued on a path upwards. 

“You,” Larissa replied, following the movement of her fingers on her body. 

“Me?” She seemed surprised and paused. “But that’s not true, is it?”

“No, directrix.” 

It had nothing to do with Ms Spellman herself, but the foreignness of intimacy and all the feelings it stirred in her. A suspension bridge lay ahead, and she had to trust it would carry her weight across the gorge.

Ms Spellman reached the band of her brassiere and traced it along the curve of her ribcage to her sternum, where she placed her hand flat on her stomach so that the tips of three of her fingers could slip underneath the band of the bra, nudging it away from her skin as if playing. 

“Do you want to tell me the truth?” 

She let her hand glide away again, to her back this time and up to her shoulders, taking in every inch as if measuring. She moved her fingertips ever so lightly along her shoulders, then her collarbone, down her arms as if outlining her shape. Her breaths were slow; Larissa could hear them in the quietness of the room. 

I want to tell you everything, directrix. 

Larissa’s breath, on the other hand, hitched when Ms Spellman brushed over her nipple, starting to fondle it through the lace. It released a wave of emotion dissimilar to sadness, but so strong Larissa thought she might cry.

“Missing out,” she whispered, and found comfort in Ms Spellman's green eyes. 

“Mh,” she swiped her thumb another time, “I see…” 

Hooking her index finger around the fabric, she pulled it gently to beneath her breast. Larissa arched into the woman, desperate for contact, but she was pushed away again. 

“Did you not listen?” she hissed and swatted her arm. 

It barely hurt, but it was loud enough to startle her. “S-sorry, directrix.”

“And here was me thinking you would behave.” She shook her head in displeasure and tightened the knot on her wrists. “One more misstep and I’m going to have to bend you over after all. Is that what you want?”

“It won’t happen again, directrix.” 

“That was not my question,” the woman enforced, starting to circle both her areolas, adding to the emotional pressure. 

“I—”

Larissa watched her mouth descend on her nipple, holding full eye contact with her. Before she sucked, she asked, “Yes?”

Larissa let out a long breath when Ms Spellman’s tongue swirled around her peak, and looked to the ceiling as the pleasure spread through her body and wetness pooled between her legs. 

“I don’t know.” Tears pricked in Larissa’s eyes. Ms Spellman being upset got to her more than she had expected, no matter how many times she told herself it was just acting. 

“Please…” Her voice was thin, and she wanted to cover her face with her hands, but couldn’t. It was all going so fast, and no matter how much she wanted it, she couldn’t handle all these sensations and impressions at once. 

Ms Spellman let off her and untied her hands. “Something is very off here and you better tell me now what it is.” 

There was a sharpness to her tone that made Larissa shiver, knowing this wasn’t part of the game. She’d made her angry, she’d ruined everything after what can’t have been more than half an hour. Her one chance. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t asking for an apology!” She firmly but carefully removed Larissa from her lap and stepped away from the bed.

“It’s… I—I’m new to this…” Larissa stumbled over her words, terrified that she might now reject her.

“As we’ve already established.” 

Larissa remained silent, holding up the dress to cover her chest and looked at Ms Spellman, who stood with crossed arms and the corners of her mouth turned downwards. A few seconds later, she could see the penny drop and her features as well.

“Oh, Lord in Heaven! Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.” 

Larissa’s gaze darted to the floor in quiet confirmation. 

Sighing loudly and rolling her eyes, Ms Spellman strode to the drawers beside the bed to retrieve a cigarette and lighter, then to a nearby closet and pulled out a floral robe.

“Here,” she handed it to Larissa, who looked at her sheepishly and gratefully took it.

Slipping off the mess that was her dress, she then put the robe around her shoulders. It smelled of perfume, smoke, and Ms Spellman, which brought her an odd sense of comfort. She pulled it tight around herself—the closest she would get to an embrace from the woman, she was sure of it.

Lighting the cigarette, Ms Spellman softly scolded, “You should’ve told me. I usually don’t take virgins, they’re too… fragile.” Her voice was firm but somewhat calmer than it had been just a few minutes ago, which made Larissa feel even more ashamed for having failed to be honest with her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Will you stop apologising!” 

Completely overwhelmed with the turn the evening had taken, Larissa made her way back to the bed where she slumped down at the edge of it, her head in her hands. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, don’t cry now!” Ms Spellman followed and stood in front of her, taking another long drag.

“I’m not crying, I’m just—” 

Tapping her cigarette, some ash fell to the floor as Ms Spellman sat down beside Larissa, who masked her annoyance at the vice. She glanced at the book laying on the table and wondered what Ms Spellman would write about her after this disaster. 

“What did you come here for?” 

Ms Spellman placed her hand on Larissa’s fidgeting ones in her lap to stop them, then used her knuckles to stroke her in a soothing motion. The gesture itself was more intimate than anything she’d taken part in during the evening so far. 

Out of fear the answer would sound pathetic, Larissa decided against deceiving the woman for a second time. She mustered up the courage to say, “Company.”

“Well, then.“ Ms Spellman stood from the bed and walked to its head, flicking her cigarette again before sliding off her heels. She then reclined on the soft pillows and ran her hand along the duvet as an invitation for Larissa to join her. She took another drag. “Company it is.” 

Larissa watched on, not quite knowing what to do with herself. Following Ms Spellman’s lead to kick off her heels, she was suddenly halted.

“No, no. Leave them on,” she insisted and raised an eyebrow, causing Larissa to blush. “I like the heels.”

Larissa paused. “I like yours too.”

“Getting bolder, are we?” 

Stretched out on the bed, Ms Spellman looked better than she had any right to, her legs crossed at the ankles, still in her form-fitting dress, one hand under her head and the other lazily bringing the cigarette to her mouth and back. 

Pulling the robe closer around herself, Larissa climbed onto the bed to recline on her side next to the woman, waiting for any further commands. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you now, hm?”

“I… I’d understand, of course, if you didn’t want to continue our arrangement.”

Ms Spellman fixed on her, took her face in, then sighed and averted her gaze, taking another drag. “No.” 

“No?”

“Tell me Miss Weems, how old are you?” 

“Um,” Larissa was struck by the woman’s forwardness, “44.”

“And how come no one’s defiled you yet?” Noticing Larissa withdrawing, she took the sharpness off by adding, “I’m not judging you.” Her lips pursed, she made eye contact, and Larissa saw sadness there as she said, “I wish I’d waited for someone kind.”

The moment of vulnerability gave Larissa confidence to open up. “I couldn’t stand men touching me. And then I couldn’t stand myself once I’d realised why.”

Rolling onto her side, Ms Spellman lifted her cigarette to her lips before letting the same hand find Larissa’s on the mattress between them. Flinching briefly, Larissa focused her attention on their hands— her hands— as she let her own fingers move. She avoided making eye contact, yet allowed herself fleeting glances at the curve of Ms Spellman’s hip and at the curls that had fallen forward whilst their fingers danced around each other. 

“And I take it that went on for a long time?”

Larissa nodded her answer as Ms Spellman shifted to prop her head up on her hand and bury her fingers into her soft tresses. Larissa still hoped she’d get a chance to feel it for herself. The hand holding her cigarette ceased its playing to trail up Larissa’s wrist to her upper arm as if sensing the exact touch she needed.

“Was there ever someone?”

Her lips pressed together on their own accord, so that she had to force her answer out in a pained hiss. “Yes.” 

Ms Spellman was quiet and scooted a bit closer as she kept running her fingers along her arm. 

Despite being a fairly private person, the closeness and sensations this woman was providing left her feeling safe enough to continue. “I couldn’t even look at her, and I started to resent her for it.” Larissa surrendered to Ms Spellman’s caresses and rested her head further into the pillow; the woman’s face above her like a mother's. “The years went by and I worked until it was all I had left, and now it’s all I am.”

“I doubt that, Miss Weems,” she echoed, “I doubt that, very much.”

“Well, it’s true,” Larissa said matter-of-factly, end of discussion. 

“And you’ve decided for yourself that a woman would only look at you if you paid her…” Ms Spellman concluded. “What a shame.” Her fingers twirled along Larissa’s arm.

For the first time since lying beside Ms Spellman, she met her gaze. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you?” Ms Spellman scoffed, but then realised Larissa was being serious. “You really want your first time to be with a dominatrix?” 

“I’m 44. Who am I supposed to wait for?”

Stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand behind her, Ms Spellman got up and smoothed out her dress. “I’ll do it.”

Shooting up, Larissa couldn’t help but smile out of relief; not about the fact that she was going to get laid after all, but that Ms Spellman didn’t hate her. The woman had her back turned to her as she slipped her heels back on; the muscles of her calves tensed. 

“Come,” she said for the second time this evening, and just like the first time, Larissa’s thoughts were impure. 

Like a good pet, she followed, collecting her clothes and bag on the go. Back in the room with the fireplace Larissa reluctantly removed Ms Spellman’s robe, but not before discreetly nuzzling her face into it one last time and then slipping on her dress. Much to Larissa’s pleasure, Ms Spellman made her a hot chocolate and herself an Irish coffee, she guessed, and they sat on the couch. Her interest piqued as she saw her scribble in her notebook while the kettle was brewing. They discussed their arrangement again, now that some new information had surfaced, and this time, Ms Spellman requested full transparency, to which Larissa agreed. 

As their mugs had emptied and the clock announced the end of their session, Larissa got up to grab her coat, but Ms Spellman caught her arm. 

“So did I get that right, you hired a dominatrix because you wanted… a hug?” 

Embarrassed about hearing it spoken out loud, Larissa couldn’t even look at her. Staring at her feet, she didn’t see Ms Spellman approach as she wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into a tight, wordless embrace. Larissa held on to her for dear life as she tried not to break out in tears at her first hug in… decades. 

As Ms Spellman pulled back, she kept her hands firm on Larissa’s upper arms and made sure she was looking her in the eyes. “Never be afraid to ask. Understood?”

“Yes, directrix,” Larissa said dutifully, and Ms Spellman smirked. 

“Atta girl.”

The door closed behind her, and Larissa needed to take a deep breath of the cool spring air to ground herself. It was like walking on air when she headed for the car, her heart was still pounding— ecstasy . She didn’t want to go, the time had gone by too quickly. She swore she could talk to this woman forever as if she’d put a spell on her. 

Even more so, she wanted Ms Spellman to know her. 

If she closed her eyes she could still feel the aftermath of her touch lingering on her skin. And she’d spend the whole night in her bed dreaming Ms Spellman up again. If anything, she felt more hungry for touch than before. After all these years of starvation, she wanted nothing more than to binge on this experience; catch up on all she had missed. 

Her previous worries about the upcoming meeting with Morticia seemed to have vanished into thin air as her mind was filled with only Ms Spellman, and the certainty that next time, she wanted her to touch her, wanted her even closer. Would she let her fall asleep in her arms? 

Larissa drove back in the knowledge that she’d come to the right place

Chapter Text

Throughout her life, Larissa had made the experience that when she wanted things too much, they’d be taken away from her. Given that she’d spent the week leading up to her next session in a state of eager anticipation—Ms Spellman never far from her thoughts—she feared that she might be too fixated. Every touch, caress, and smile from her had burned themselves into her mind so vividly that she would make it her personal mission to please the woman and earn them again. 

And before she knew it, she was being led through the cottage for a second time, though, this time to a different room than the week prior. Stopping directly outside, Ms Spellman turned to Larissa with a warmth in her eyes she hadn’t seen before. “I do believe first-times belong in the comfort of a bed, Miss Weems,” she said, turning the handle and opening the door. 

First-times. 

Despite it being the main purpose of this session, it only just dawned on her that she would likely get to sleep with Ms Spellman, causing a fresh wave of anxiety to wash over her. Unsure of what she had been expecting, Larissa found that the room revealed to her certainly wasn’t it. The deep green walls and tasteful décor mirrored that of the rest of the house, but unlike the other rooms, floral fabric and net curtains decorated the window, and a large brass bed adorned with a number of pillows sat in the centre of it. There was neither a whip, crop or flogger in sight and it looked—dare she think it—homely. Larissa wondered if Ms Spellman brought clients here often and the notion that this could potentially be the woman’s own, personal bedroom thrilled her all the more.

“Chop, chop, Miss Weems,” Ms Spellman clapped her hands together, eyebrows raised as she motioned for her to go inside.

Uncertain of what to do next, Larissa opted to stand and await further instruction as Ms Spellman made her way across the room with that signature sway of her hips. She sat in the wingback armchair in the corner with a cigarette in her hand, which Larissa was almost convinced she’d conjured out of thin air. 

When she crossed one stocking-clad leg over the other, Larissa's heart was hammering in her chest and she let her eyes wander across the fur rug on the floor to Ms Spellman’s heels, up her strong calves to the hem of her dress, and further until they were met with her expectant gaze.

“What would you like me to do?” before she could comment, she added, “directrix.”

Leaning forward, Ms Spellman crossed her forearms on top of her thigh, the cigarette burning away between her fingers. “Unless you’d like your first sexual experience fully clothed, I might suggest that you undress,” she said with a hint of sarcasm and took a drag. 

Larissa could sense that she was trying to be gentle with her, but it was also evident that this wasn’t her daily business. “Right, yes.” 

Despite the intimacy of their last session, she was now faced with the task of disrobing entirely in front of a dominatrix of all people—the thought alone filled her with dread. Feeling her cheeks start to burn, Larissa turned away to at least spare herself the inevitable disappointment she believed she’d see on Ms Spellman’s face.

“No need to be shy, Miss Weems. We’re all girls here,” Ms Spellman reassured as Larissa began to remove her coat. 

Neatly folding and laying it down on the bed, Larissa’s trembling fingers then reached for the buckle of her grey plaid dress. She willed them to move, but her nerves prevented her, and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, praying for courage.

“ Larissa, ” Ms Spellman purred, and Larissa flinched at the sound of her own first name. It was as if a bolt of electricity had shot through her and straight between her legs. “I’m not a fan of being ignored.”

It hadn’t been Larissa’s intention to ignore Ms Spellman, more the fact that she was too terrified to turn around—so she remained in place, eyes fixed to the ground.

The air shifted as Ms Spellman approached, and Larissa winced again as she felt her warm hands slide around her waist from behind. Just like last time, Larissa hoped they’d pull her into the tight embrace she craved. Instead, they came to rest on her own, clasped around the buckle. 

Larissa gasped when the hands that had once been so gentle suddenly loosened the belt and forcefully ripped it from her, making it whip in the air. The action caused Larissa to face Ms Spellman, who looked back with an expression of accomplishment at having managed to get her attention.

“I’d like to play a little game,” she proposed, running the fabric of the belt between her slender fingers. 

The thought of Ms Spellman bending her over the nearest surface and using it on her briefly flickered in Larissa’s  mind. “A-a game?” she faltered.

“Yes.” Ms Spellman began to walk around Larissa like a predator circling its prey, and Larissa could feel her eyes boring into her as she moved. “You’re very curious, aren’t you, Miss Weems?”

Omitting to respond, Larissa instead just listened, intrigued as to where this was going. 

“Now, you may ask me any question you like, but for every answer I give, you must remove a piece of clothing in return.” She went back to the chair, crossed her legs and resumed her smoking as she waited for her own personal show to begin. “By my calculations—unless you chose to forego underwear completely—you have approximately five questions, so choose wisely.” She gave a wink. “...And the heels don’t count.”

Desperately wanting to please Ms Spellman, to be on the receiving end of a warm smile, Larissa considered her suggestion. She wanted to know more about her, what kind of person she was or what type of wine she preferred, but she couldn’t tell if her curiosity could outweigh her insecurities. 

Finding that this was her one chance at making a friend, she pushed back her shoulders to feign the confidence she wished she possessed and said, “As you wish.” She paused to think about her first question, which didn’t take long. “When did you first realise you enjoyed the company of other women?” 

Ms Spellman smiled her approval. “A strong start, well done.”

Heart blooming in her chest at the words, a soft smile pulled at Larissa’s lips.

“When I was a girl, I read about the first witch.” She looked up and narrowed her eyes, recalling the memory. “I remember being so captivated by her story. Her bravery, perseverance, rage… I think that was when I started to look at women differently.”

Having expected some sort of cliché story about crushing on her highschool best friend or something, Larissa’s interest was piqued. The way she said it left her wondering why she still took male clients if she was this infatuated with the divine feminine (a fascination Larissa found deeply relatable). 

Ms Spellman tapped her fingers on the armrest, signalling her impatience, and Larissa realised it was too late to change her mind now and back out without some kind of consequence. Admittedly, there was a little voice in her head saying maybe she should wait and see what would happen, but her eagerness to please was just too strong. 

In an attempt to mask the slight trembling of her hands, Larissa raised them to undo the first button resting on her chest, noting how Ms Spellman nodded for her to continue. Making short work of the rest of the buttons, she slid off the dress and let it pool at her feet, leaving herself standing in front of Ms Spellman in nothing but her lace underwear and hold ups. Instinctively, she crossed her hands in front of herself and saw the disappointment wash over Ms Spellman’s face, resulting in a purse of her lips. 

“Ah ah, we’ll have none of that,” she scolded, and Larissa reluctantly dropped her hands to her sides. Ms Spellman’s eyes twinkled as her eyes raked up her form. “Mh, as ravishing as you look in those, I’d much like to see what lies beneath…”  

Although she felt it was likely out of obligation to butter up her clients, deep down Larissa hoped that the woman’s words were genuine and that she really did think she was attractive. Before she could dwell and ruin the mood again, she posed her second question. “How did a woman like you become a dominatrix?” 

“A woman like me?” She raised her eyebrow, which made Larissa panic that she’d upset her again with her clumsy wording.

“What I meant was, you’re, quite frankly, exceptionally beautiful,” she explained, “and evidently just as intelligent… Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

Good save—or so she thought.

Ms Spellman threw her head back laughing, and despite it becoming one of Larissa’s favourite sight and sound, she was unsure of what could possibly be this funny. 

“If that’s so, then why shouldn’t I make them pay…to have me, hm?” 

It made her feel foolish, like she knew nothing of the world, and maybe that was true. Her reclusive life might’ve driven her so far from the real world that the only thing she truly understood was the microcosm of her school. Worried that she’d said the wrong thing, she turned away. 

“The answer to your question is power,” Ms Spellman clarified. “I had it taken from me and now I’m reclaiming it. Your turn,” she said rather abruptly, then took a long drag, and Larissa knew not to press the matter any further, no matter how much she wanted to know more. 

Hoping that she hadn’t caused offence, Larissa proceeded, reaching down to remove a hold up and Ms Spellman tutted loudly before putting out her cigarette. Larissa felt like a tightrope walker; every inch forward was rewarded with a grand round of applause, but every misplaced step made her feel like she was about to fall a hundred feet.  

“I must admit, Miss Weems, I’d hoped you’d be a little more bold,” she pursed her lips and Larissa stilled her hands. “Come here,” she beckoned, but Larissa didn’t move, afraid that she’d be made to sit on her lap again when she couldn’t risk breaking down for a second time. 

“I don’t bite...” a smile played at the corners of her mouth, “...without consent.”

Imagining the sensation of having Ms Spellman’s teeth graze her neck in hungry passion, Larissa was sent into a trance as she made her way over. 

“Very good, thank you,” she praised with an expression that told Larissa she knew full well she had her in the palm of her hand. 

Once again, Larissa tried to cover her body with her hands, only for Ms Spellman to grip them before she had the chance. 

“Don’t make me tie those hands of yours again, Miss Weems,” she warned, and once certain that Larissa wouldn’t try to move them again, she drew her hands up Larissa’s arms until they reached the fabric of her bra straps, where she brushed them until they slid from her shoulders.

“Fair is fair,” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

Closing her eyes to summon her courage, Larissa hesitantly reached around to unhook her bra and let it fall from her chest directly into Ms Spellmans lap. She picked it up and ran her thumbs along the lace before putting it on her armrest like a trophy. 

Standing from the chair, Ms Spellman wasted no time in letting her hands roam the expanse of Larissa’s uncovered body as if examining her newest collector’s acquisition. First her hips, and then up her sides, causing Larissa to flinch and draw in a sharp breath. She could only hope that she hadn’t realised she was ticklish, which she likely had.

As Ms Spellman’s hands rested on her ribs and her thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, she asked, “Anything else you’d like to know?”

“I—” Larissa began until Ms Spellman reached up, gently squeezing it in her palm.

“Do go on.” 

Struggling to form a coherent thought, Larissa uttered,“The book…”

“Yes?” She smirked, her finger twirling lightly around Larissa’s nipple and her eyes twinkled as it hardened under her touch.

“What do you write in there?”

An expression played upon Ms Spellman’s face as if she’d been expecting this question all along. “I take great interest in my clients, Miss Weems, especially those I’m fond of.” 

She looked up and Larissa’s heart leapt in her chest. Had Ms Spellman just suggested that she liked her? 

“I want to know their deep, dark desires,” she continued. “I like to take note of what they enjoy…” she rolled a rosy nipple between her fingers and Larissa’s eye’s fluttered shut, “... and don’t,” she said, removing her hand completely. 

Letting out a trembling breath close to a sob, Larissa’s eyes shot open, though she knew better than to protest. It hadn’t taken long, but Ms Spellman had no doubt detected her craving for touch—no matter how little—and would likely use that to her advantage.

Having fulfilled her part of the deal, Ms Spellman sat back in the chair with her hands neatly clasped in her lap. Her eyes darted from Larissa’s own, to her crotch and back again, wordlessly implying that she’d like her to remove her underwear next. 

A substantial amount of time passed when Larissa’s self consciousness reared its ugly head at the thought of being entirely nude in front of her. Ms Spellman appeared to sense her discomfort, and—for the second time—gently patted her thighs.

“Oh, I—” she started to politely decline.

“Your foot, Miss Weems,” she clarified and held out her hand to guide it—heel and all—to rest in her lap.

Larissa’s embarrassment at the situation vanished the moment Ms Spellman’s soft hands ran up her calf, stopping directly where the band of her hold up clung to her thigh, and her fingers slid beneath the delicate material.

“Wait, no, I can—” Larissa quickly placed her hands on top of Ms Spellman’s to still them.

“No, no. Allow me,” Ms Spellman insisted, proceeding to slowly and sensually roll the top down.

When she felt warm lips on the flesh directly above her newly exposed knee, Larissa glanced down, meeting Ms Spellman’s emerald eyes. Her breath hitched and she had to reign herself in at Ms Spellman’s undeniable talent of arousing her to no end. She got to enjoy the feeling of her mouth on her skin a few more times as she removed the hold up and left featherlight kisses all over her long leg. 

It felt like worship, having all of a person’s attention solely on her, and Larissa both enjoyed and feared it as she had no idea of how to handle this sort of interaction. Was she expected to return the favour or was this a gift with no conditions attached? 

As soon as she’d removed every remaining piece of clothing, Ms Spellman took her by the hand and led her to the bed. Somehow she knew exactly when to push Larissa to leave her comfort zone and when to make things natural and uncomplicated. As Larissa laid down on her back, Ms Spellman opened the bedside drawer and she asked, “Did you shave for me?”

Larissa only nodded, distracted by the curve of her backside as she bent. 

“You’re free to do whatever you feel most comfortable with, just know that I like my women as they come.” 

Her tone didn’t help the ambiguity of the statement, but Larissa didn’t have time to examine it as Ms Spellman was taking out ropes from the drawer and presented them to her. 

“Yes or no?”

Thinking only briefly, Larissa answered “yes, directrix”and offered her wrists.

“How endearing.” She guided Larissa’s hands above her head and started tying them to the curved metal bar of the backrest. “You’re a quick learner, I see.” 

She slipped her fingers under the rope to make sure it wasn’t too tight and then pulled up her dress so that she could comfortably climb onto the bed to kneel next to Larissa’s legs, which she kept tightly shut—both, to not reveal what an awful mess she was already and to ease the ache through small squeezes of her thighs. 

“I don’t keep a lot of kink props in this room, but I do have a crop, if you’re interested?”

“I’m not sure, directrix.” The idea that she might be struck during her first sexual encounter worried Larissa. She didn’t want this experience to be associated with pain. “I mean, I am interested, but—”

“Mh,” Ms Spellman hummed, “I think I understand. You know, there are other uses for crops apart from hits.”

“There are?”

“Oh yes, and it might just be the thing for you.” 

“Alright then, yes.”

“Wonderful.” There was a hint of excitement in her voice and face as she reached under the bed and retrieved a comparatively small riding crop. Seeing Larissa’s tense features, she put on an extra gentle tone when she said, “Don’t worry about a thing, Larissa. You will be just fine.”

Holding eye-contact, she removed the rings from her fingers one by one and put them on the nightstand before hovering over Larissa, her face so close that Larissa could kiss her if she wanted, which she did, but knew better. 

Ms Spellman cupped her cheek. “If at any point you should want me to stop, you know which word to say.” 

Her hand dropped from Larissa’s cheek to her chest and she glided over her breast, and down the middle of her stomach to her hip. All the while, she looked so intensely at Larissa’s face as if she was just waiting for her to close her eyes, but Larissa struggled to let go. 

Using her nails, Ms Spellman started to draw circles on her hip. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Uh… Good.” 

She shook her head, pursing her lips. “Use your words, darling.” Her nails drew down the side of Larissa’s thigh and she instinctively bent the leg, thereby allowing Ms Spellman to continue her caresses on the sensitive inside of her thigh. 

“I feel, um, aroused.” Saying the word out loud made her face feel hot; a contrast to Ms Spellman’s breath fanning her skin.

“Aroused…” she echoed, “And would you like me to do something about that?”

She brushed her fingers upwards towards her crotch and goosebumps formed all over Larissa’s body, her hips jolting unintentionally. It was impossible to think or speak or even dream. 

“I can’t hear you, Larissa.”

“I–You’re making me nervous,” she stammered, hands wringing in their bounds. 

“Am I now?” Ms Spellman chuckled in a sultry tone and let off Larissa, making her whimper at the loss. “Try again, loud and clear, and I will make you feel very good .”

“W-well...I…” Larissa looked at the ceiling to escape Ms Spellman’s piercing eyes, which was why the sensation of the crop dragging from her ankle up her shin came as a surprise. 

“I’m waiting.” 

The tension became unbearable; Larissa was squirming, straining the rope until she finally blurted out, “Please touch me, Directrix Spellman.”

Instantly, Ms Spellman moved and pressed her knee against Larissa’s sex, making her bite back a forceful moan. She starts to move slowly while brushing the crop along Larissa’s collarbones now. 

“Does that feel good, darling?”

“Mh-hm.” Larissa watched Ms Spellman towering over her, circling her knee between her legs, and bit her lip harder as the pleasure built up. 

Smiling down on her, almost lovingly, Ms Spellman licked her lips. “Say, do you want my fingers inside you?”  She brushed the crop over one of Larissa’s pert nipples, and her chest began to heave as she breathed faster with every passing second of Ms Spellman’s teasing. 

Larissa nodded frantically, trying not to let that whimper escape; her head was restless in the pillow. Feeling the pins in her hair poking into the back of her head with every squirm, Larissa wished she’d let her hair down before, regardless of how much time she spent styling it every morning. 

Setting the crop aside, Ms Spellman lay down next to Larissa, her upper body elevated to caress Larissa’s face. “You can close your eyes if you want.”

Her affection was foreign to Larissa, and it almost brought her to tears. She turned her face and kissed her palm, and in return, Ms Spellman kissed her lips softly. She’d expected a slap for the unsolicited action, and received her very first kiss from a woman. It was a million times better than anything she had dreamt it would be. 

“That’s my girl,” she praised, and her hand travelled down Larissa’s whole body, dragging her knuckles over her heated skin until she reached her mound. 

The moment she slid her fingertips over Larissa’s damp sex, her eyes fluttered shut and she inhaled a deep breath. Her fingers slipped between her folds with ease and she lathered them with arousal before circling her clit and watching her hands grip the rope that held them in place.

Larissa’s face flushed deep red with desire as her body trembled violently and she looked away, embarrassed—she hadn’t lost control over her body’s responses like this before. 

“No, no. I won’t have any of that.” Ms Spellman grabbed Larissa’s cheeks and turned her face back to her, harsh in the action but soft in her tone. 

Opening her eyes, Larissa stared at Ms Spellman with dilated pupils, her breath coming in short bursts. Now she finally understood why these people in films could never keep their hands off each other, how something as simple as want could overpower common sense. 

“I want to hear you, Larissa,” Ms Spellman contended, inserting a finger into her.

The moan that broke free was shy and Larissa instinctively bit down on her lip to muffle it out of habit, but Ms Spellman let it count. Eyes closed tightly, she struggled to control her breathing and arched upwards. Her head pressed back into the pillow as Ms Spellman slid her finger in and out a couple of times.

Calm beside her, with her head propped up in her hand as she fucked her with the other, Ms Spellman casually asked, “Do you want two?”

Giving in to her pleasure, Larissa let the words pass her lips without resistance. “Yes, mh-hm…”

Immediately, Ms Spellman pressed another finger into her and started to thrust rather than to slide, pulling a string of sighs from Larissa. Appreciative of the sounds, Ms Spellman husked “good girl” into her ear and fucked her harder, listening to her frantic pants.

Getting closer, Larissa gasped and panted without mercy; her hips bucking into Ms Spellman’s hand to meet the thrusts. “Directrix, I—mh—”

“Do you want to come?”  

The rope tightened as Larissa writhed around Ms Spellman’s fingers, emitting unintelligible sounds of affirmation. 

“Then let go, Larissa,” she purred sweetly, and curled her fingers inside her while using her thumb to rub her clit until Larissa started orgasming. “ Marvellous .”

The word washed over her; clenching her teeth together, Larissa’s hips jerked violently as she came, but Ms Spellman stayed inside her and kept stroking her walls all the way through, prolonging the orgasm until Larissa collapsed into her, seeking sanctuary in her chest. 

Ms Spellman swiftly untied Larissa’s hands, pulled her close, and rubbed her back as she was still shaking in her hold. “You did so well, Larissa.”  

“Thank you, Directrix,” Larissa breathed, welling up at how protected she felt in the woman’s confident arms. “I don't know what I’d do….”

“You’d still be a lesbian virgin,” Ms Spellman quipped and lit herself a cigarette as they laid in bed together, looking at the ceiling.

Larissa chortled, rested her head on her chest, and sighed with a lightness unknown to her. “This feels nice…”

“Just wait until you take my strap for the first time…” Ms Spellman said smugly, pulling on her cigarette. “ That feels nice,” 

Letting her eyes draw down Ms Spellman’s shapely figure, the dress, her calves and to her feet, Larissa felt a certain pride blooming in her chest. She had officially lost her virginity to a woman of this calibre—something other people could only dream of. 

Remembering she was supposed to ask permission, Larissa spoke up. “May I touch you, directrix?”

Locking eyes with Larissa for a moment before averting her gaze again, Ms Spellman replied, “You may.”

Wrapped up in the mix of Ms Spellman’s perfume and the cigarette smoke, Larissa found that she already didn’t mind it as much anymore. It belonged to the woman, and was now irrevocably tied to the most profound experience of her life.

Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand on Ms Spellman’s round hip, feeling the smooth fabric of her dress and how the softness of her hip dipped in. It felt almost spiritual to touch her like this—but the moment was interrupted when a phone rang and Ms Spellman all but jumped up. 

“Apologies. My phone only rings in emergencies, I must take this,” she said as she was already halfway across the room. 

Larissa blinked a couple of times and sat up, trying to cover herself as she was still buck naked. She scanned the room for her clothes and found her dress folded on the end of the bed, but her bra was—to her surprise—currently being twirled around Ms Spellman’s index finger while she was on the phone. 

“What happened? Are you with her?” 

Larissa had missed the beginning of the conversation and couldn’t tell who she was talking to or whom about.

“Good. I’m with a client, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Ms Spellman pressed her palm against her forehead, appearing stressed now. “Just don’t leave her alone.” 

Did she have a daughter?

“It’ll be alright.” Ms Spellman turned around and let the bra fly in her direction. “See you there. Bye.”

After stepping into her heels, Ms Spellman quickly walked over and told Larissa she had to leave soon, apologising profusely. She wouldn’t let her go without a hot chocolate though, insisting on aftercare. 

Having her bubble of tranquillity burst so abruptly left Larissa with a terrible aftertaste, and she could only blame herself for having wanted it too much.

Chapter Text

A deep flush had spread across Larissa’s chest, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the sheer heat of her steaming bath, or from the flashbacks of last night’s dream that kept replaying in her mind. 

“Come for me, there’s a good girl,” Ms Spellman cooed, kissing Larissa’s shoulder as she writhed on her lap.

Closing her eyes, Larissa sunk further into the hot water.

“Look at the mess you’ve made. Is that all for me, my darling?” Ms Spellman drew her fingers through the wet spot left behind on her skirt.

“Yes, mommy.”

Larissa’s eyes shot open—mommy?—and she jolted into a sitting position, making the water splash over the edges of the tub. Never in her life had she had such a thought about a woman, and frankly, she was appalled by her own subconscious, thankful that the occurrence would remain within the privacy of her mind. 

As she stepped out of the tub, her train of thought brought her to wonder about the mysterious phone call from their last session. Could Ms Spellman, in fact, be a mother? Larissa didn’t know what to think about the possibility, and was quick to judge a woman for working in this sort of business with a child at home… but she’d come to realise during their little game of naked truth that her mind had been a bit narrow in that regard and therefore reigned herself in. 

Water dripped from the ends of Larissa’s hair resting just below where the towel wrapped across her chest. Assessing her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she imagined what Ms Spellman would look like fresh out of the shower, what shampoo she’d use and what her skin would smell like, and had to suppress a smirk. Up until now, the only bare skin she’d been exposed to had been that of her hands, neck, and face—not that she was complaining—but she longed to see more of her directrix.

The bubble of contentment Larissa had found herself in since the night before had given her more energy than she knew what to do with, and so, uncharacteristically humming along to Hey Baby playing in the background, she gathered together the bottles and jars that made up her skincare routine. Massaging the various creams into her face, she wondered if Ms Spellman had a similar ritual or if her skin was just effortlessly soft and blemish free. 

What she’d give to simply reach out to touch her cheek without the risk of being slapped away. Perhaps if she pleased Ms Spellman enough in future she’d let her do so. The brief moment she’d been allowed to lay a hand on her hip had engrained itself so deeply that it had become a craving she was desperate to satisfy.

As she finished her morning beauty routine, Larissa set about doing her hair, lost in thoughts of the woman that had ended her days of loneliness. She dried her long tresses and styled them into the old reliable updo; nothing special, but consistent and trusted. Completing her make-up with a classic deep red lip, it didn’t take much longer to get ready for her day. 

When she came to sit behind the desk in her office, Larissa winced at the slight pain that had developed in her lower back, though brushed it off as a symptom of sitting for too long. As she adjusted her dress and opened the laptop to double check her schedule for the day, the momentary peace fell victim to her calendar popping up, reminding of her dreaded meeting with no one other than Morticia “the thorn in her eye” Addams. She sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, already sick of having to deal with the woman and her overenthusiasm. 

Knowing full well she’d not get a single productive thing done in her current state of mind, Larissa forced herself to push the thoughts of Ms Spellman away—the woman had certainly made her mark and it was difficult to ignore. She tried to focus her attention on ideas for the upcoming Rave’N, although she felt she needn’t bother given that Morticia would likely attend their meeting with the thing fully planned out already.

Before long, Larissa was being pulled from her thoughts by what turned out to be Morticia’s talon-like claws tapping rapidly on her partially open door. Glancing up from her desk to be met with Morticia wiggling said claws in her direction, Larissa put on her best forced smile.

“Larissa,” Morticia’s unmistakable drawl rang across the room. 

“Morticia, how lovely of you to join me,” she greeted as Morticia made her way across the office, a cup holder containing two hot drinks balanced in one hand, and a folder of what appeared to be paperwork tucked under her arm.

“Oh, don’t you look a dream?” Morticia complimented as she put down the drinks and surveyed Larissa. “Did you do something to your hair?” 

Suddenly conscious of her appearance, Larissa’s hand instinctively went to smooth out the hair behind her ear. The woman certainly had a knack for sniffing out people’s secrets, and she could only hope that she wouldn’t give herself away. “Oh,I—” She laughed nervously.

“—Anyway, these are the idea’s I had for this year’s Rave’N theme, do take a look and tell me what you think,” Morticia cut her off, and just this once, Larissa was grateful for the rude interruption. 

Tensing as Morticia circled the table and came to stand beside her, Larissa busied herself looking through what was essentially a dossier with pictures of gothic parties—unsurprising, given Morticia’s aesthetic. 

Being this close to the woman made Larissa uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but notice Morticia observing her from the corner of her eye. She’d never had a sense of personal space with her touchiness, especially when it came to her. Every time she’d won an award or the yearly election for head boy or girl, she’d flung her arms around her neck and squeezed her tightly as if to rub in her face that she’d always be in her shadow. 

“There’s something different about you,” Morticia noted and playfully narrowed her eyes.

Larissa scoffed at the notion. “Don’t be absurd, there's nothing at all different,” she lied, avoiding Morticia’s prying eyes as she dove back into the paperwork, impressed with what Morticia had to offer, though she wouldn't dare tell her that.

“I know my oldest friend, and you, Larissa, have this aura about you, this…glow.” She waved her hand in a circle for emphasis before folding her arms and drumming her long black fingernails on her lip. 

Oldest friend. How could she possibly claim to know her when they’d not been in contact for decades? 

“I can assure you, nothing has oc—”

“Oh, pray tell, you had a coup d’un soir, didn’t you?” Morticia interrupted once again, her face awash with amusement as she placed her hand on Larissa’s arm. 

Flinching at the contact, Larissa’s face began to burn. “What on earth are you talking about?” 

She pulled her arm from Morticia’s grasp and stood from the chair, wanting to get as far away from her without rousing further suspicion.

“You did! Who is he?” Morticia pressed.

Larissa’s eyes widened and she willed the ground to open up and swallow her; a feeling she was experiencing frequently these days. Not wishing to give Morticia the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her, Larissa inhaled sharply and pulled back her shoulders. “We’re here to discuss the Rave’N, not my sex life, and quite frankly, I don’t have the time, so if you’d be so kind as to divert your attention.” She gestured towards the images and moodboards scattered across her desk.

Morticia suppressed a laugh—evidently smug at the reaction she’d gotten—but she did as she was asked. Larissa failed to remove her eyes from the lace top of Morticia’s thigh when she sat on the desk and revealed a dangerous amount of thigh as the skirt she was wearing had a cut that parted in the motion. She explained the ideas, costs and details that the Rave’N could entail, but Larissa was taking in none of it and cursed herself for not having the restraint she’d shown the last time Morticia had put herself on display. 

It made her feel like a teenage boy, regardless of the fact that she would never look at a woman with anything other than utter admiration. During their time at Nevermore, Morticia had often told her how much she loved making the boys flustered, thrived in the attention, without knowing that she tended to make her feel the same way with a mere look at times. And it had always been that in the moments of her deepest contempt for Morticia, that her yearning for her had burned the fiercest.

The conversation with Ms Spellman had stirred her silly feelings from the past, and now they were threatening to re-emerge, when Larissa had no desire to go down this road again. Shoving the thoughts from her mind and ceasing to look at Morticia altogether, Larissa sat back down and got to work. Surprisingly, the rest of the meeting went without a hitch and they came to a suitable agreement regarding the event.

As Morticia gathered up the paperwork, she placed her hand over Larissa’s resting on the desk, but this time she didn’t pull away. “I was only teasing, Larissa… but you know you can talk to me, don’t you?” 

Unable to imagine anything worse than telling Morticia Addams, her former high school crush, that she’d sought out the services of a dominatrix to have her cherry popped at the ripe old age of 44, she simply replied, “thank you, Morticia,” and escorted her to the door.

“Oh! Before I go: a few teachers and parents from the PTA are having a little gathering this weekend, an ice breaker so to speak, to get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Ushering her further outside, Larissa was barely paying attention to her words. “Apologies, I have lots to attend to, and my back has been causing me discomfort, if I’m honest.”

Morticia pouted. “Aw, Marilyn will be there and I'll be bringing Gomez along, we'd be just thrilled if you could make it! Are you sure you couldn’t take the night off playing principal and come out for a little fun like old times? Your back may thank you for the break.” 

Evidently, Morticia’s memory of old times was vastly different from Larissa’s. The alienation she’d felt standing on the side with the teachers while Morticia was sweeping across the dance floor with Gomez. The paradoxical sense of responsibility when she’d carried her back to their room when she’d had too much to drink at a Nightshade gathering. The sympathy she’d felt for her foremost adversary as she’d sat on her bedside instead of going on a date with Garrett Gates, because her roommates had suffered from debilitating migraines.

Morticia nudged Larissa with her elbow, but Larissa declined the offer, and upon closing the door, leaned back against it, exhaling a deep breath. Reluctantly returning to her desk, Larissa’s hand shot to her lower back and she groaned, making a mental note to book an appointment with a chiropractor in the near future. 

With her lunch break over and having not eaten or drank anything since the night before, Larissa resigned to the fact that with such a busy afternoon scheduled, she’d have no time to eat until the evening. Frustration had already weaved itself into every fibre of her body, not just from hunger but the figurative bloodlust Morticia aroused in her. 

Refusing to surrender to the helplessness, Larissa thought that perhaps there was something she could do about it now. Heading straight to her laptop, she pulled up her emails and cringed as she re-read her drunken first contact with Ms Spellman. 

Promptly beginning a new email, she requested a session for the weekend, thinking it might ease her guilt for having turned down Morticia’s invitation. Clicking send, her skin prickled with excitement at the thought of seeing Ms Spellman again, and she busied herself with her mountain of work as she awaited a response.

An hour or so had passed when her laptop alerted her to Ms Spellman’s reply, which she opened without delay.

Dearest Miss Weems, 

What a pleasant surprise to hear from you again, and so soon. 

A smile spread on Larissa’s face at the thought that she was happy about being contacted by her. 

Surely, a successful woman like yourself has something to occupy her on a weekend—or could you simply not wait until our scheduled session next week?

Yours,

Directrix

Suddenly feeling pathetic at the eagerness she’d expressed, she chided herself for having sent the email in the first place and briefly considered replying that she wouldn’t require a session after all—but no, she wouldn’t retract her request. Ms Spellman had preferred when she told her what she wanted and she wasn’t going to disappoint her now.

Typing out a reply, she explained that she had, in fact, been invited out at the weekend, but was experiencing back pain, so had, of course, declined. However, she omitted to add that she felt out of place with her peers while deep down, she would like to socialise with them. Those issues were best dealt with by an entirely different paid professional, one which Larissa had no desire to seek out. 

Not even a few minutes later, Ms Spellman had responded.

Back pain, Miss Weems? I hadn’t thought I was all that rough with you… 

Even via email, she had the ability to make Larissa blush with her teasing, and she pressed her cool palm against her suddenly heated cheeks.

On a serious note, if that’s the case, perhaps a session isn’t the best course of action and you should take the rest of the week to rest.

Rest? She had a school to run and a Rave’N to plan, and if she was being completely honest with herself, for a long time, nothing had relaxed her and enabled her to have a peaceful night's sleep quite like her session the night before. 

Larissa simply replied that she was far too busy to rest and that she would really benefit from an extra session.

That wasn’t a request, Miss Weems. 

Oh God. 

However, I can understand that you’re a busy woman. 

What I will offer—should you choose to do as I say—is a double session Saturday afternoon on the condition that after work each evening, you do nothing but rest.

That seems reasonable enough and certainly something she could do, Larissa thought.

Most importantly, Miss Weems, I’d like you to take care of that itch you seem so desperate to scratch in requesting another session not even one day after your first. 

Larissa almost slammed her laptop shut in embarrassment of coming across as so desperate that the woman had essentially told her, rather respectfully, to fuck herself until she could. It took her a solid ten minutes to reign her conflicting emotions in, and she was forced to acknowledge that it was time to start wearing her gloves again since her cuticles were bitten entirely raw, a nasty habit she’d been contending with since her early childhood days.

Opening the laptop again to finish reading the mail and move on to her afternoon duties, she took a deep breath and straightened her position. 

Lastly, I would strongly advise against attempting any sort of deception as I can assure you that I will know. And you don’t want to make me cross, do you? To simplify this process, I am going to attach my phone number, so that you can provide proof of your rest in the form of a photograph. 

May your evening be most pleasurable, 

Your Directrix 

It was an understatement to say that Larissa was stunned that Ms Spellman would provide her with her presumed private phone number, but it also painted a smug smirk on her lips. Ms Spellman clearly was taken with her, giving Larissa a new sense of confidence in the knowledge that other women not only found her attractive but also enjoyed her company.

Typing the displayed number into her own phone, she hesitated for a moment, debating whether she should put her in as Ms Spellman or Directrix . Neither was too obvious, given that she associated with other schools regularly. Following the pleasant tingle that the word elicited between her legs, she settled for Directrix . 

When she rose from her chair, the sharp pain shot to her lower back and her features contorted. She caught herself on the table and counted to ten, breathing through it. Once she’d managed to get upright, it became bearable, but she feared that she’d have to trade her beloved pair of stiletto heels for flats soon. 

Surprisingly, her aching body didn’t bother her as much as she’d have thought during the afternoon as she’d found herself pleasantly distracted by the articles her talented students had written for Nevermore’s school newspaper. She’d chosen to sit this time as she reviewed them since she never felt the need to boost her authority with the advantage of her height while overseeing the after school club. They were good kids, and hard working as well.

She currently had Wednesday Addams piece in her hands, and the girl particularly impressed her with her essay on the theme of solipsism in Philip K. Dick’s short story The Electric Ant . Recalling how Morticia and she had sat on the floor of their room working on their assignments together, she felt a pang in her chest.

The girl was certainly as clever as her mother, with an extraordinary view on the world and a perceptiveness way beyond her age. Back in the day, they’d been tasked to write an essay about a piece of literature of their choosing in order to earn extra credit, and while neither of them had needed it, they’d naturally done it anyway—with a twist however. Morticia had had the idea to switch topics, so that Larissa had ended up writing about The Outsider by H. P. Lovecraft and Morticia had been forced to stick her nose into Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway.

Interestingly enough, they’d both ended up enjoying the works and Larissa still had the story in her bookshelf. She wondered if Morticia had kept Mrs Dalloway too, or if she’d discarded it like she had done with her, over and over again. After they’d both read the other’s book of choice, they’d realised that both dealt with a similar theme of loneliness, albeit in completely different ways. The reason Larissa had kept the book was that through participating in the switch, she’d come to see the world through Morticia’s eyes; an intimate act of its own. 

Lifting her eyes from the paper, she looked at Wednesday sitting at her desk and eagerly hammering the keys of her typewriter. Softness settled within her, and she was glad that her disdain for the girl’s mother didn’t extend to her. If anything, she had a fondness for her infuriatingly stubborn yet sharp mind, and whenever they’d run their heads in and she’d gear up, she’d remember that Wednesday wasn’t her mother despite the similarities they shared.

When the clock showed 4 pm and she’d gone through all the articles for the next issue, she gathered everything up and stood slowly this time before going to Wednesday’s desk. Returning the paper, her long red nail pressing on it so that Wednesday looked up with her dark-rimmed eyes, she said, “Well done, Ms Addams. I would love to read more.”

Once extra curricular activities and minor administrative matters had been tied up for the day, Larissa retired to her room for the evening. Despite usually being one to head straight to the drinks cabinet after taxing days, she for once didn’t feel the need. With her thoughts full of Ms Spellman and all the things she craved from her, Larissa went to the drawer of her desk to retrieve her current erotica of choice. She’d read all of Helga Stillwell’s works and enjoyed them thoroughly. While the plot of Buxom and the Beast was intriguing enough, she had an eye not on one of the main characters, but the protagonist’s sister, who shared a few characteristics with Ms Spellman as it happened.

Depositing the book, a candle and lighter, and her phone in the bedroom, she stripped off her clothes and slipped into her favourite nightgown. It was only half past six, but Ms Spellman had told her to engage in some self-care, so an early night it was. As she stood in front of her bed, hands on her hips, she felt that something was missing. Catching herself biting her cuticles again, she rubbed her hand, and then realised that the ambience was lacking music. 

When she’d balanced the needle onto the vinyl of Marilyn Monroe singing Teach me Tiger, Larissa unpinned her hair and shook her head to release her waves before settling in bed with a blanket draped over her knees and the book in her lap. She hadn’t expected the amount of relief she felt when lying down, releasing the weight from her spine and sinking blissfully deeper into the warm embrace of her bed. 

Remembering she needed to send proof of her relaxation to Ms Spellman, she took her phone and put the open book face down on the mattress beside her, so she wouldn't lose her page. She snapped a few pictures, but when she looked at them, shook her head as she was more than displeased with them. Feeling a little bold, she shifted the blanket a little to reveal part of her long legs, knowing that Ms Spellman had a fondness for them, and took another one. 

Opening a new chat with the number Ms Spellman gave her, she typed, “For my directrix,” and attached the image, pressing send with a hammering heart. 

Shortly after, she saw that Ms Spellman was typing and received the reply. 

Such a good girl. 

Suddenly reminded of her more than inappropriate dream from last night, Larissa pressed the phone to her chest, feeling the words thrum through her body. 

You are aware of the other part our agreement entailed?

In all honesty, she wouldn’t forget that until the end of her days. The prospect of earning herself a double session with something as trivial as slipping her hand down her underwear seemed almost too good to be true. What was spending Friday night alone compared to being in the arms of a beautiful woman for a whole afternoon? 

She typed her reply. “Yes, Ma’am.”  

Then I shall leave you to it. Enjoy. 

Wrapped up in the haze of flashbacks to that night, Larissa wasn’t quite ready to end the conversation. Messaging her made her feel close to the woman, and god did she want to keep her close, all night, if she could. 

“Goodnight, Ms Spellman,” she sent, whispering it as if she was lying next to her. 

Goodnight, dear.

Larissa stared at the texts for a while, soaking them up to keep them in her heart until the next time they shall see each other. Then she put the phone on her nightstand and reclined with one arm behind her head, opening the book and starting to read. It started off with a sickeningly sweet scene that almost made her roll her eyes, but then Stillwell’s humour made her laugh and forget all about it. Reaching the steamy parts, she felt her fingertips get tingly with arousal and then pressed her thighs together, glued to the page. 

Hearing her Directrix’ voice in her mind, telling her to “take care of herself,” her chest flushed and she squirmed at the steamy scene playing in her mind. Soon, she put the book aside and reached her hand between her legs.

Chapter Text

Larissa considered herself a woman who didn’t tire easily. 

She lived by that in every way possible, turning her into a workaholic who would even go as far as to take her admin work to bed, where she would technically be resting and have less of a workload the following day—a win-win situation. 

This attitude, however, collided fiercely with Ms Spellman’s advice of doing nothing but rest after school, and she wasn’t sure if she’d have seen it through had it not been for her firm direction via text messages. As soon as she’d sat with the paper in her lap and a pen twirling between her fingers, her phone had chimed from the nightstand.

I sincerely hope that you’re in a state of absolute relaxation and not even remotely thinking about work, Miss Weems. 

Larissa had all but thrown the paper from her lap—the woman surely had some sort of sixth sense—scared out of the very notion of doing any work that night. The words “You don’t want to make me cross, do you?” repeated in her mind and left no shred of doubt that Ms Spellman would know if she was being deceived. 

Picking up her phone she replied, “Of course, directrix,” and reclined back against the soft pillows. Unsure of what to do with herself, having never usually been one to have much free time, she drummed her long red nails on the back of the phone—and then it chimed again.

Very good. 

Before the prickle could even begin to fade from Larissa’s skin, another message had come through. 

I rest more peacefully knowing that my delicate flowers are tended to. And you would like me to sleep soundly, wouldn’t you now?

Her delicate flower.

It wasn’t something Larissa would ever have thought anyone would call her or even compare her to. She wasn’t delicate… was she? 

The question had brushed her mind frequently since that day, and was present even now as she reached around to unzip her dress, standing with her heels removed as instructed already—a surprising request considering Ms Spellman’s fondness for them.

By Friday, she’d noticed a marginal improvement in her back pain, so much so that she’d momentarily considered going to the PTA gathering after all. That was until she’d realised that her last minute appearance would put her in the spotlight and bring about awkward looks from her peers. Not to mention the fact that Morticia dearly loved drawing unwanted attention to her and not always in the most flattering of ways.

On second thoughts, she hadn’t attended the gathering and spent the night alone sharing a glass of Bordeaux with the sounds of Evita and daydreams of Ms Spellman’s body on her.

“Do allow me.” Ms Spellman removed Larissa’s hands from the zipper and guided them to her sides before taking their place.

During their time together, she’d noticed she was yet to fully undress herself. Ms Spellman had always offered to assist her in one way or another, and she momentarily thought it might be some kind of power play. Although, spending a solitary life of self-sufficiency had the simple gesture make her feel cared for—a feeling she would have to get used to.

After lowering the zip and letting her hands linger at her lower back for longer than Larissa deemed necessary, Ms Spellman took a step back and watched as Larissa continued to undress. The dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before Ms Spellman in nothing but her underwear. 

Eyes darkening as she observed her, Ms Spellman drawled, “Mh, as lovely as this lingerie is on you,” she traced her finger along the lace of her bra cup, “might I suggest you stop by the boutique and treat yourself to a new set?”

“Oh-uh.” Larissa flushed with embarrassment at wearing the same set twice. She’d never had the need to buy fancy lingerie in the past and didn’t think it would be an issue considering the little time she’d spend wearing it.

“Now, now, don’t blush.” The roundness of Ms Spellman’s cheeks became more prominent as she smiled. “I for one don’t care what you choose to wear. It’s merely that lingerie can be quite empowering.” She looked Larissa dead in the eye. “Perhaps you could bring your friend along?” 

“Morticia?” Larissa would rather stick pins in her eyes than have Morticia drag her around a lingerie store again. She could just envision the smug expression on her face when she’d find out she’d been right about her sexual encounter, and couldn’t stand it. “Oh no, that won’t be necessary.”

“If you say so,” Ms Spellman said nonchalantly before moving to pull out the notebook from her bag, opening it, and drawing her index finger down the page. 

Larissa was itching to know what on earth she’d written about her there. It felt odd, knowing that there was someone who took notes on her, but since Ms Kinbott’s patients didn’t seem to have a problem with it, she decided that she shouldn’t have one either—Ms Spellman did make for a magnificent “therapist”, after all.

Tapping her finger on the page, she continued, “I’ve had some time to prepare what I’d like to teach you, Miss Weems.” Larissa jolted when she slammed the book shut in her hand. “Or do you have something in mind that you’d like us to commence the session with?” 

Of course, Larissa had thought about it, almost nonstop in fact since their first session. Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together in an attempt to hide it. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

“That’s quite alright. Lucky for you, I’m an old hand and have lots of ideas,” she said in such a seductive tone that Larissa had to look away, afraid the woman would be able to see all of her sinful thoughts. 

Putting the notebook aside, Ms Spellman stepped forward and gripped her chin. “Do I still make you nervous, Miss Weems?”

As if she didn’t know what effect she had. 

Larissa glanced down at her wrist, where three pearl bracelets were still jiggling from the sudden movement, and swallowed before speaking with a trembling voice, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“We’ll have to do something about that then, won’t we?” Ms Spellman promptly let go of Larissa and let her gaze drift down the length of her.

Usually, when nerves took hold, Larissa would head directly for some liquid courage. The realisation that she’d likely get to touch not just any woman for the first time—but Ms Spellman—was beginning to set in. “Perhaps a drink, directrix?” she suggested, trying very hard not to let her eagerness show.

Ms Spellman’s eyes darted to Larissa’s, causing her to hold her breath. Unable to decipher her expression, Larissa immediately presumed she’d made her mad, but then her lips twitched into a smirk and she tutted.

“I see, somebody didn’t read the rules thoroughly,” she mocked and raised a single eyebrow.

Larissa remained silent; she was sure she had.

Turning more towards the side table, Ms Spellman started to slowly pull her rings from her fingers, one by one, while keeping her eyes trained on Larissa’s. “Am I going to have to sit you down and have you read them aloud?”

“No, directrix.” The mere implication of why she was taking her rings off made Larissa want to rid herself of her underwear.

“Good.” She licked her lips, too deliberately for Larissa’s fragile composure. “There are other things I’d quite like to be getting on with. However, there is to be no alcohol involved under any circumstances, for your own safety and mine. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” 

It seemed she was making her stand naked in the middle of the room on purpose. To train her? To test her obedience? She felt utterly on display, but at the same time, she grew more comfortable each time. 

“Superb. Before we start, I have it on good authority that you have a taste for erotic novels,” Ms Spellman stated without batting an eyelid, rubbing her now jewellery-free hands together as if she were using moisturiser. 

“Wh-who told you that?” Larissa stammered, wondering how she could possibly know something as personal as this.

“You did,” she shrugged, “when you failed to remove the book from view in the rather lovely photograph you sent me the other evening.” 

Her eyes lingered on Larissa’s long legs, devouring. Somehow, Ms Spellman knowing she read erotica left her feeling more exposed than the fact that she was semi-nude in front of the woman.

“That… makes sense.” Once again, Larissa was grateful for the dimly lit room hiding the sheen of sweat that had formed on her skin.

“I might have guessed you were an avid reader. However, I would also have thought the classics had been more to your liking.” Heading back over to the book, Ms Spellman scribbled a note and drew a sharp line under it.

Desperate to know what she’d written and worried that Ms Spellman would think less of her for reading such things, Larissa tried to defend herself. “They have very interesting plotlines, surprisingly,” she lied—they didn’t. 

The books she had a penchant for were pure, unadulterated filth and she could only hope that was the end of the discussion.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Perhaps I could borrow it and see what all the fuss is about? What’s the name of the author?” 

God no. The thought of having Ms Spellman read something like that knowing she had, mortified her.

“Helga Stillwell,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Hm, I can’t say I’m familiar with her.” 

Larissa dearly wished for it to remain that way and shifted uncomfortably as yet another note was made in the book.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Miss Weems. Those books could be most beneficial to you, depending on the content of course. Have you ever read anything with women?”

“I haven’t, sadly.” It wasn’t out of not wanting to, more that she didn’t have the courage to go into a shop to buy such books—especially those of the women loving women variety—given the fact that Jericho was a very small town, where everybody knew everybody else’s business and she was the principal. 

“That’s a pity. Maybe it’s time to broaden your horizons and purchase a new book. What do you say?”

Larissa only nodded diffidently. Despite wanting to get into the session, Larissa felt herself stalling, and curiosity over the mysterious phone call had been eating away at her for the last few days. She needed to get it out of her system in order to continue. 

“One last thing… directrix. If I may?” 

Ms Spellman sighed. “Time is of the essence, Miss Weems, but do go on,” she said, gathering together a few items and placing them on the nightstand.

“Right, yes.” Larissa mulled the words over, not wanting to offend the woman, “Forgive me if this is out of line, but I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation at the end of our last session.”

“I see.” Ms Spellman paused momentarily before carrying on and Larissa turned to follow as she moved about the room with an effortless elegance. 

“May I ask if you have a daughter?”

Seeming to contemplate for a moment, Ms Spellman replied, “You may. And no, I do not—nor a son for that matter.” 

Part of Larissa was relieved that she didn’t have a child whilst conducting a business such as this one, yet the sombre expression on Ms Spellman’s face made her feel she shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place—but she couldn’t help but want to know more about Ms Spellman. How she lived, where she slept, what she had for breakfast. 

“Apologies if I overstepped, I—”

“No need. There will be plenty of things to be sorry for, but not this one.”

A short time passed before Ms Spellman finished what she was doing, straightened her back, and inhaled deeply.

“Now, without further ado, shall we proceed with the more physical side of your education?” 

She held out her slender hand, which Larissa took.

 “Yes, directrix.” She smiled.

“Very well.” Ms Spellman guided Larissa to the side of the bed. “I must say, you’re still wearing far too many clothes for my liking,” she stated, reaching one hand around Larissa’s back to unhook her bra with an efficiency that blew Larissa’s mind. Tossing the item onto the bed, she returned her hand to Larissa, though this time palmed her breast.

“You see, undressing each other can very well be part of the foreplay if conducted proficiently.”

The warmth and proximity of Ms Spellman, and her fingers ever so gently squeezing the flesh had arousal settling low in Larissa’s belly and she let her eyes fall shut.

“I-um, I struggle to open my own brassier,” Larissa admitted, at the risk of ruining the mood, but she wanted, needed, to learn.  

“Don’t trouble yourself. If you’re well behaved I might let you practise on me at a suitable time.” 

Larissa’s lips parted in need of more air. Ms Spellman’s heady scent, the purr in her voice, the ideas she was purposely planting in her mind, and the added sensations—she started to understand how arousal worked, but wasn’t sure if she could pull it off. 

“Outside of our last session, had you ever kissed a woman before, Miss Weems?”

Larissa shook her head. Her eyes remained closed as she revelled in the sensation Ms Spellman’s fingers were creating. “Only you.” 

“Is that so?” Ms Spellman’s hand ceased its movement. “A gentleman, perhaps?”

The mere suggestion made her feel nauseous. Yes, she had tried to make out with boys a couple of times—if one could call it that—but it had been so void of emotion, waxen, dry, that it barely counted. 

“Then that is where we will begin, if you’re agreeable?” 

“I’d like that,” Larissa confirmed and felt her heart rate increase so much that she suspected Ms Spellman would feel it beneath her hand.

Trailing it further up Larissa’s chest and neck, she cupped the side of it and rested her thumb in front of her ear, then gently pulled Larissa closer, ghosting her lips over hers until Larissa simply couldn’t stand the teasing, and closed the distance herself. 

The kiss was soft, much like their first. If this was the only intimacy she’d ever share with Ms Spellman again, Larissa could die a happy woman. Although she itched to run her hands over the soft hips bumping into hers, she knew of the repercussions she would face for doing so, and instead kept her trembling hands by her sides.

As if reading her mind, Ms Spellman splayed her other hand on Larissa’s lower back, pulling her flush against her and causing Larissa to hum against her mouth when she finally felt the heat of her body. She parted her lips, allowing Larissa the first taste of her tongue; slowly at first. The ragged breaths leaving Ms Spellman’s throat as she deepened the kiss added fuel to an already burning fire. Never had she known that a simple act like this could elicit such feelings. 

Encouraged by the ferocity of the blooming passion, she dared to push Ms Spellman’s tongue back and invade her mouth instead. The woman groaned in surprise but let her proceed, tilting her head back. It felt natural, to swipe her tongue against her palate and over her counterpart, and she didn’t even have to think about what she was doing. 

Just as Larissa’s knees threatened to give way, Ms Spellman slowly but forcefully backed her onto the bed. Propping herself up on her hands, she brought her own trouser-clad knee to sit between her thighs, dangerously close to her sex, which drew a quiet gasp from Larissa. Pulling her lips away and leaving Larissa breathless, Ms Spellman asked, “Are you certain you’ve never french-kissed anyone, Miss Weems? You’re wickedly good at it, I must say.” 

Removing a tissue from the box on the nightstand, Ms Spellman leaned back towards Larissa, where she carefully wiped away the smudged lipstick from around her mouth before tending to her own and commenting, “Some people enjoy leaving behind markings. For me personally, it depends on the circumstances.”

Blushing deeper at the compliment and the simple act of tenderness, Larissa could only smile. The thought that she’d pleased Ms Spellman bolstered her confidence to no end. 

It shattered however, the moment Ms Spellman husked into her ear, “Now, what should I do next, Ms Weems?” When Larissa remained silent, she went on to lecture, “Communicating needs is not only key to a fulfilled sex life but also an underestimated tool for creating an environment of mutual trust.”

“I don’t know,” Larissa whispered, clamming up. Anything, everything, she wanted to say, longing to have Ms Spellman’s hands on her in whatever way she was willing to. It’s not that she didn’t understand that it was part of safe sex practice, but voicing such things was still so very new to her, especially since she grew up with so many taboos surrounding the topic. 

“I think you do.“ She smirked, removing her knee from between Larissa’s legs, only to straddle her hips seconds later. 

For as long as she lived, Larissa would never forget the weight of a woman on her, nor the sight of the glorious Ms Spellman looking down at her.  Lost in the feelings and without a single thought of the consequences, Larissa reached out her hands to rest on Ms Spellman’s thighs, digging her fingers into the soft flesh she found there, seeking comfort.

It was evident she’d made a grave mistake when Ms Spellman’s body tensed and she promptly vacated Larissa’s lap.

Retracting her hand as if burned, Larissa begged, “No please! I didn’t mean to.” She shot up as Ms Spellman turned her back and sat at the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress with her shoulder pulled up to her ears.

“Let me make myself clear: If you touch me again without consent, I’ll not so much as lay a finger on you.” Calm as it was, her voice dripped with venom, and it was then that Larissa fully realised this was no act—the woman was deadly serious and the thought that she’d upset her terrified Larissa.

Ms Spellman glanced over her shoulder, and Larissa’s heart felt like it had leapt into her throat.

“...and you wouldn’t like that, would you, Miss Weems?” 

Her sudden shift in tone threw Larissa, and as her brain tried to comprehend the fact that, despite breaking her most important rule, Ms Spellman wasn’t going to immediately end the session and throw her out, Larissa replied, “No. Do forgive me.” 

She blinked back the tears that had begun to form.

“Forgive you?” She considered for a moment and clicked her tongue as she reached her decision. “I can be very forgiving,”

Relief washed over Larissa.

“Although, to make up for your transgression, if you’d like me to continue, I’m going to need you to use your words and tell me what you want.” 

She leisurely traced her fingers up Larissa’s side. Damn the woman for knowing her weaknesses and using them against her so soon.

Reclining back on the bed, Larissa gathered the courage and breathed out, “Touch me, directrix.”

A smirk played at the edges of Ms Spellman’s lips. “And just where would you like me to touch you, hm?” 

God, don’t make me say it. Larissa’s cheeks burned, not only from arousal but from sheer embarrassment of having to voice her desires. She was a grown woman and this was the most natural occurrence in the world, yet she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Ms Spellman continued to trace her fingernails gently along Larissa’s skin until evidently taking pity on her and twirling a finger around her nipple. “You’ll talk to me one of these days,” she assured as she cocked an eyebrow, marvelling when Larissa’s nipple hardened beneath her touch. Her voice was calm, barely above a whisper as her grip tightened into a pinch. “Even if I have to force it out of you.” 

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Larissa squeezed her eyes shut, chewing on her lip so as not to let a sound escape.

“Ah yes,” she mused. “I had noticed you responded quite well to this last time.” Ms Spellman’s finger resumed before disappearing completely, only to be replaced with the warmth of her mouth.

Larissa’s eyes shot open, and when she looked down, she was met with the sight of Ms Spellman leaning over her, eyes closed with her tongue swirling over her taut skin, and she had to suppress another moan. Placing featherlight kisses along the valley between her breasts, Ms Spellman then took the other in her mouth and sucked gently. 

Clenching her thighs together to relieve the ache, Larissa was made aware of the evidence of her arousal soaking through her underwear.

Releasing the breast from her mouth Ms Spellman moved to lie on the duvet beside Larissa, her head resting on her palm as her fingers made their way south. Goosebumps erupted all over Larissa’s skin when Ms Spellman’s hand reached its destination, tracing along the edge of her underwear before pushing her nimble fingers beneath the waistband.

“ Off .”

Before self-consciousness had a chance to take hold at the prospect of being entirely nude in Ms Spellman’s fully clothed presence again, Larissa promptly lifted her hips and peeled off her underwear, noting how they were now almost ruined as she tossed them to the ground.

Upon lying back down, Larissa instinctively closed her legs to hide herself, much to Ms Spellman’s apparent amusement as she quipped, “No need to be shy. There’s nothing I haven’t seen… or enjoyed , before.” 

Her hand found Larissa’s knees and prised them apart.

True as it was, Larissa’s inexperience didn’t make this any easier, and she had to resist the urge to look away once Ms Spellman’s gaze travelled down her body, letting out a shaky breath when her hand met the flesh of her inner thigh and squeezed before slipping between them. 

Once learning Ms Spellman wasn’t opposed to body hair, she’d gladly forgone shaving, evidently much to the woman’s approval. Her fingers brushed the soft curls and then she slid one between her folds. “My, my, Miss Weems, you’re positively dripping, ” she said with faux astonishment, and swirled a single finger in her wetness, drawing slowly around her clit.

The words themselves shot straight to Larissa’s core, and she almost let slip a guttural sound, but caught herself and stifled it instead as she bit her bottom lip so hard she thought it might bleed.

“ Larissa .” She dipped her finger back into Larissa’s arousal and returned to her clit, this time with added pressure. “If I can’t hear how much you enjoy this, I might be inclined to stop.” 

“No please, don’t stop,” Larissa breathed haltingly and Ms Spellman’s lips curved into a smirk.

Brushing the hand that was propping up her head against Larissa’s warm cheek, Ms Spellman watched as she leaned into it. “Oh, I simply adore it when my clients beg.” 

A gentle hum reverberated in Larissa’s throat as Ms Spellman worked her clit. “That’s it, let me hear how good you feel,” she said, slowly sliding a finger into Larissa, whose eyes fluttered as she clenched and gasped in delight. 

Not once halting her movements, Ms Spellman sat up to straddle Larissa once again, leaning over her and tracing the back of her nails along Larissa’s skin in a soothing motion. Despite almost being overcome by the feeling of Ms Spellman on and in her, Larissa was desperate for more.

“Mmo—” she began, the word dying in her throat when Ms Spellman retracted her finger to resume its circling of her clit.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement, though her actions were preventing Larissa from forming a coherent word.

“More directrix,” Larissa just about managed before Ms Spellman complied, adding another finger.

“Like this?” she asked, lathering them up and entering her with a firm thrust. “See, timing is imperative, Miss Weems.”

Pushing her head further back into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut, Larissa moaned loudly as Ms Spellman curled her digits deep within her.

“Repeat that for me, would you?”

“Timing- oh .” Why would she give her such tasks and then make it impossible for her to complete them? As if she wanted her to fail. “Timing is- mh. Imperative.”

Turning her face towards Ms Spellman in anticipation of a soft hand on her cheek, she was momentarily disappointed when nothing came. Although, the instant Ms Spellman leaned over and brought her lips to Larissa’s ear, so close she could feel the hot breath blowing against her hair, the feeling dissipated. 

“Good girl,” she praised, curling her fingers again and placing a wet kiss on the side of her neck, gently sucking on her pulse point before moving on to plant kisses to her chest. “It’s always good to add other sensations to the mix. If a gorgeous woman is surrendering her whole body to you, you should better honour it in its entirety.” 

Gorgeous. 

A whimper broke free when Ms Spellman used her thumb to press on her swollen clit; her chest and abdomen rising and falling rapidly. Placing her hand on the pillow beside Larissa’s head, she hovered over her, fanning her face with each exhale.

“That’s my girl. Be present in the pleasure,” she encouraged, her fingers thrusting hard between her legs. “You’ve waited so long.” 

Sensing the pressure building, Larissa’s hands twisted in the sheets, so as not to unintentionally touch Ms Spellman again, and her whimpers turned to frantic pants. 

“Please,” Larissa said between breaths, her hips rocking desperately into Ms Spellman’s hand.

“Ah ah, not yet. Not until I say so,” she commanded, yet did nothing to stop the pleasure her fingers were coaxing from her. Smirking as she watched Larissa writhing beneath her, she repeated, “Don’t, come,” but her words fell on deaf ears.

Already at the point of no return, Larissa couldn’t hold back, crying out as her climax engulfed her and she contracted around Ms Spellman’s deft fingers. Lost in the whirlwind of the orgasm, she listened expectantly for her magic word, marvellous, and when it never came, the orgasm subsided as unexpectedly as it had come. The thought she’d done something terribly wrong flashed in her mind, and when she finally opened her eyes to find Ms Spellman glaring back—evidently unamused—her fear was confirmed.

“Miss Weems,” she said, a hint of hostility in her voice as she carefully removed her fingers from Larissa—who shivered at the loss—and sat back on her legs, “you’d think a headmistress of all people would know how to follow instructions.”

Her breathing slowed down and she could only look back in confusion. “Pardon?” She panicked, scrambling for anything to cover herself to no avail. 

“I expect complete obedience from my clients.” She pursed her lips and her eyes flashed with green, contained rage. “So when I say ‘don’t come’ I mean: Don’t. Come. Is that understood?”

Flushing a deeper shade of red, Larissa nodded sheepishly, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest to try and regain a modicum of modesty.

“Is that understood?” she repeated, louder.

“Yes, directrix.”

“Good.” She traced a sharp fingernail down the middle of Larissa’s breasts to her stomach.“You should know by now, Principal Weems , that part of learning is finding that actions have consequences. And this often means discipline .”

Skin aflame with both anticipation and trepidation, Larissa gulped hard at the word. As a teacher, she could only imagine that her idea of discipline was frightfully different to that of Ms Spellman. “Discipline?” 

“That’s right.” Ms Spellman climbed off and sauntered over to the umbrella holder that Larissa had spotted the first time she’d entered the room.

Watching as the woman’s fingertips brushed along the assortment of tools neatly displayed in it, Larissa shuddered. 

Swiftly turning to face Larissa, her soft, auburn curls bouncing around her shoulder, Ms Spellman asked, “Pick your poison, Miss Weems: cane or bare hand?”

Being asked to choose her own punishment, Larissa could only commend the woman for her aptitude, managing to make her feel both excited and terrified at the prospect of being struck. “I-um—” Larissa stuttered. 

As much as she loved how gently Ms Spellman touched her, the thought of being punished by the same hands thrilled her equally as much. Oddly, now that she had a choice, she felt herself being drawn to the cane. 

“If you don’t choose, I will,” she expressed impatiently, prompting Larissa along in her decision.

“The cane,” Larissa blurted, and Ms Spellman appeared taken aback as if not having expected her to choose it, wiggling the fingers of her angled arm. 

“You certainly are full of surprises.” Her eyes glimmered as she removed a thin cane from the holder. “This one will do the job nicely, I think,” she mused, bending it slightly to test its flexibility. Then she smacked it against her palm and Larissa jumped at the sound as she imagined the feel of it on her skin. “What do you say, Miss Weems? Three strikes to begin with? One for each infraction?”

Snapped from her thoughts, Larissa questioned, “Three?” Somehow she’d expected more, but was relieved considering she’d never been struck in such a manner before.

“That’s right. Two for touching without permission and one for coming against my explicit instruction. Why, do you think that’s insufficient?” 

“No, not at all. That seems…” Larissa searched for the word before settling on, “appropriate.”

“I’m glad to have your approval. Now, be a dear and get on your knees.”

Not wishing to add a fourth for disobedience, Larissa promptly manoeuvred—as gracefully as possible—onto her knees in the centre of the bed. She’d expected to feel humiliated for having to do such a thing, but all thoughts of that dissolved the moment Larissa glanced over her shoulder to find Ms Spellman observing her hungrily, cane clasped in one hand with the end of it resting on the upturned palm of the other as she husked, “Do continue.”

Obeying, Larissa leaned forward onto her hands, no doubt granting Ms Spellman the perfect view of her posterior. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the bed below her, she listened as Ms Spellman’s heels approached until they stopped beside her.

“Don’t forget, at any point you can stop this should you feel the need. Do you remember your safeword?”

“Yes, directrix” she confirmed, not risking another look at the woman.

“Excellent.”

Smoothing her hand down the curve of Larissa back until it reached her bottom, Ms Spellman remarked, “What a shame to mark such a lovely derrière,” before giving it a hard pinch.

Larissa squeaked.

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to what’s coming, Miss Weems.” She chuckled. “I do hope you’re prepared.” 

She wasn’t. In fact, nothing could’ve prepared Larissa for the sharp sting as—without warning—the cold wood of the cane kissed the soft flesh of her ass. She hissed, jolting forward and almost losing her balance.The pain had been expected, of course, but what Larissa certainly hadn’t anticipated was the flood of arousal that immediately followed. Wincing when Ms Spellman’s fingers gently traced over the developing welt, Larissa allowed herself to lean back into the warmth of her hand. 

“Very nice. Are you ready for another?”

“Yes, directrix,”

Trailing the cane up the back of her calf, Ms Spellman tapped it on Larissa’s inner thigh, encouraging her to spread further. She lifted the tool and snapped it hard against her, lower this time and so close to her sex that Larissa whimpered and flexed her fingers in the sheets beneath her. Wetness began to slowly trickle down her thigh, much to Ms Spellman’s delight as she cooed with a tut, “Oh, Miss Weems…you like this?”

Biting her lip, Larissa feared her voice would betray her until Ms Spellman smacked the cane on the bed beside her, causing her to flinch.

“I asked you a question!”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” Ms Spellman probed, apparently taking great pleasure in Larissa’s discomfort.

“Yes, I like it, directrix,” she confessed through gritted teeth.

“Interesting.” Ms Spellman mindlessly circled Larissa’s butt cheeks with the tip of the cane before withdrawing it, and she braced herself for impact.

Tensing when it slammed down, harder than before, Larissa’s arms gave way and she fell cheek first into the sheets below, her heavy pants blowing wisps of hair around her clammy face. 

Laying the cane down beside Larissa, Ms Spellman immediately went to inspect her welts. “You took your punishment well, Larissa,” she commended, her delicate fingers like a soothing balm on her raw skin.

Encouraged to lie on her front, Larissa gasped as the movement aggravated her injuries, yet she felt a strong sense of relief—not something she expected to feel after being caned for the first time. Pleasantly exhausted, she melted into the warmth of the bed.

“Is someone in need of a break?” Ms Spellman asked mockingly. “I didn’t think you’d tire so easily.”

Chapter Text

Larissa’s body was melting into the bed. She’d never been in a state of such utter relaxation. So much so that she didn’t mind lying on her stomach, with her bare, sore behind up in the air and her hairdo all over the place. 

For a while, Ms Spellman had sat on the bedside, writing in her book while allowing Larissa to recover. Just now, she’d gone to freshen up in the bathroom and left the book on the nightstand. After the amount of times she’d taken notes on her today, the temptation was overwhelming to just reach out and take a look. 

Ms Spellman would be furious—but only if she found out. 

Glancing to the door, Larissa made sure she wasn’t returning before propping herself up on her forearms, picking up the leather-bound notebook, and undoing the press-stud button. She had no interest in prying on the other clients, only wanted to see what she’d written about her, so she didn’t pay much attention as she flicked through the pages—not until an attached photo almost caused her to drop the book altogether.

She all but stared a hole into the picture of the woman who bore a striking resemblance to Morticia. The same long black hair splayed over her shoulders, the same chocolate-brown bambi-eyes, and a certain mystique in her expression. Her heart sped up, she tore her eyes away from the elegant face of the woman and read her name: Elaine. 

Without meaning to, she also spotted the words abandonment issues, addictive personality, and then trust underlined twice. This wasn’t for her to read, and she felt ashamed that she had. Quickly moving on, she found her own section and focused on that rather than the disgrace of having intruded on someone else’s privacy. 

Daydreamer was the first word she saw, and it made sense. It was true, she tended to lose herself in thoughts, but did Ms Spellman writing it down mean she considered it a flaw?

Boundaries . That wasn’t fair. Yes, she’d accidentally touched Ms Spellman without permission a few times, but within reasonable circumstances and never inappropriately. The judgement seemed a bit harsh and Larissa worried that Ms Spellman might think lowly of her. 

Drinking? Now that was simply offending. If Larissa was sure of one thing in her life then that she did not have the appearance of an alcoholic. She struggled to think of anything that might’ve given her that impression, but the only instances that came to mind were the clumsy first email she’d sent her that might’ve had a spelling error or two, and her earlier suggestion to have a drink. Surely, that wasn’t enough to convince someone she had a problem… but then, it was written down with a question mark. She would have to make an effort to show Ms Spellman that she was, in fact, not a drunk and had a profound understanding of how to conduct herself. 

Hearing footsteps approaching, Larissa returned the book to its former position and lay back down, trying to control her breathing. 

“How are we feeling, dear?” Ms Spellman asked as she sat on the bedside and ran her hand down Larissa’s spine, leaving goosebumps in her wake. 

“Splendid, directrix.”

“Then I say we continue,” she decided, massaging the back of Larissa’s head with her fingertips. “I’ve given you a demonstration; now it is time to put theory into practice.”

Sitting up, Larissa crossed her arms to hide her chest. “And how do you suggest we go about this?”

“Show yourself to me.” She put a gentle hand on Larissa’s wrist, encouraging her to drop her arms. “They’re exquisite.” 

It took a moment for Larissa to gather the courage before she obeyed and laid down her shield. Ms Spellman instantly smiled, appreciating the sight of her breasts, and Larissa couldn’t deny it made her feel better about herself. 

“The only thing I request before I allow you to touch me is that you let down that elegant long hair of yours.” She twirled a loose strand around her finger before tucking it behind her ear in an almost motherly fashion. 

Larissa blinked a couple of times. “But why? I already mentioned that it brings me discomfort.”

“Consider it an exchange,” Ms Spellman said, putting her hands back on the mattress and schooling her features back into her negotiation-face. “Giving control up to my clients makes me uncomfortable, so it’s only fair you relinquish a vulnerability to me.”

It did seem fair, to Larissa’s dismay. 

“Do we have a deal?” 

Nodding, Larissa cast her eyes down, losing herself in thoughts of how she was going to let her hair down as gracefully as possible and whether Ms Spellman would like her long yet rather thin mane. She’d had a phase of pulling her hair out before switching to chewing her cuticles when she’d been a young adult and it had never fully recovered from that. 

“Earth to Larissa,” Ms Spellman sang, snapping her finger in front of her face. 

“Apologies.”

With a displeased grumble, Ms Spellman repeated herself. “I said: Do we have a deal? ”

“Yes, directrix,” Larissa corrected, sitting up straight. “We have a deal.”

Pondering whether she should wait for further instruction, Larissa shifted on her haunches, but as the awkward silence stretched, she finally opted to take action and removed the first pin from her hair. An hour she’d spend every morning twirling her hair around her fingers and then pinning it in place to achieve the solid shape. It hadn’t yet proven impractical as she’d never had anyone wanting to run their fingers through it since her grandmother had died; the last person she’d received comfort from. 

Well, there had been Morticia—but Morticia hadn’t loved her. 

Bouncing her heeled foot, Ms Spellman voiced her impatience. “I don’t have all night, Miss Weems. Chop, chop.”

While Larissa continued working her hair, Ms Spellman got up and tidied, cleaning the cane and then putting it back into the umbrella holder, making it clear that Larissa was taking too long. 

Upon returning, Ms Spellman had a new offer to make. “How about we partake in another round of our Naked Truth game?” Coming to stand right in front of her, so Larissa had to look up, she ran her fingers through her now revealed hair and examined a curled end in her palm.  “Only this time, I would be the one undressing with each of my questions you answer.” She dropped her hand. “Would you like that?”

Larissa didn’t even have to consider; she wouldn’t dream of passing up the opportunity to have another intimate conversation with Ms Spellman. “Yes, ma’am, very much.” 

“Then let’s start with something simple.” While she was talking, Ms Spellman pulled a chair in front of Larissa, who eyed her with curiosity. “How many glasses of wine are needed to induce sleep for you?”

Digging her nails into the top of her bare thighs, Larissa panicked. After what she’d read in the notebook, she needed to be careful with her answer since she feared a perceived alcohol problem might make her ineligible as a client—and she couldn’t lose her. 

“What an odd question,” she remarked, furrowing her brows and trying to act surprised. 

“Backtalk, I see,” Ms Spellman hummed. “Could you please remind me just how eager you are to see me disrobed?”

“I-uh.” Larissa was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. “It won’t happen again, directrix.”

“Oh, it will.” Ms Spellman chortled, leaning over the backrest of the chair as she stood behind it. “Regardless, I’m still awaiting an answer.”

Thinking about an appropriate response, Larissa realised that she truthfully didn’t even know. She’d lose count and pass out at some point, and only now was she beginning to consider that maybe Ms Spellman wasn’t entirely wrong. Which didn’t mean she had a problem at all, but rather that she should be more mindful in the future. “I don’t know, directrix,” she admitted, releasing her flesh from the pressure of her nails. 

“A woman should always keep track of how many drinks she’s had,” Ms Spellman lectured while slowly unbuttoning her burgundy blouse. “Trust me,” she whipped her hair over her shoulder, “you only make this particular mistake one time too many.”

The weight of the statement bore down on Larissa as she watched the blouse slide from Ms Spellman’s delicate shoulders, revealing more of her than she’d ever seen before. She draped the piece carefully over the backrest of the chair, acting with an air of casualness that reminded Larissa that this and therefore she wasn’t special to her. 

“You may look.”

Larissa gulped. She’d spent years trying to avoid any glimpse of a beautiful woman, knowing she would linger and embarrass herself, and now she was given permission. Hence, she felt the need to continue the conversation to draw away at least some of the attention. “I’d just like to be clear, I do not have an issue with alcohol.”

Ms Spellman scoffed, leaning on the chair in a way that had her biceps tensing, bringing out a gentle contour along her upper arms. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“But you—”

“I merely asked you a question, Miss Weems,” Ms Spellman cut in, apparently not a fan of being misunderstood. “You answered, end of discussion. Now, would you prefer to drag this out further or shall we move on to my second question?”

Not only was it pointless to argue with her, but there was also a growing anticipation thumping within Larissa that left her with just one answer. “Continue.”

“I’ve been wondering.” Her smooth hands glided over the spindles of the chair with a similar tenderness to how she would touch her. And that was when, for the first and hopefully last time in her life, Larissa felt jealous of an inanimate piece of furniture. “We’ve established that it was loneliness that brought you to my doorstep. But what I find impressive, Ms Weems, is what lengths you go to to isolate yourself.”

“That’s not right, I—”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Ms Spellman tutted, slapping the armrest of the chair as if it were her wandering hands and eliciting a reaction from Larissa regardless in the form of a gasp. “I haven’t finished. Tell me, why did you turn down the invitation from your colleagues?”

This was beginning to seem like an interrogation and Larissa felt the need to defend herself.

“I am fairly certain I informed you that it was due to my back pain,” Larissa disclosed, pulling her legs up onto the bed and tucking them under, shielding herself from attack. 

Ms Spellman, clearly frustrated, gripped the backrest firmly and drawled, “And yet you are here, asking me to cane you. Do forgive me, but that doesn’t quite add up if my calculation is correct. So,” she pushed away, leaning into her hip, “care to tell me the truth?”

She placed her finger on the zipper of her trousers, but waited, locking eyes with Larissa, who felt like her life depended on seeing what was underneath. Not entirely out of desire, but also out of the fear of missing out on the transcending power of the divine feminine. 

Reluctantly, she explained, “I’m the principal of my school, a political figure for Jericho.” Her eyes remained transfixed on the minimal movement of her fingers at her crotch. “I’m a presence … but I’m not part of it.”

“Have you always felt this way?”

“One way or another, yes.” Larissa shrugged, casting her gaze down and picking her nails. “Morticia—” The air was running thin and she had to take a deep breath. “She was a mediator back then. Used to make me feel connected to the world, people,” she sighed, “myself…”

Larissa was shocked to find that when she looked up, Ms Spellman’s trousers had pooled at her feet and she was stepping out of them, heel by heel—and she had missed most of it. 

Carrying on as if this wasn’t the first time she was in this advanced state of undress in front of her, Ms Spellman inquired, “But if I remember correctly, she was the one who invited you in the first place. So why did you not give her the chance to be your mediator again?”

Balancing on one leg, Ms Spellman removed her black-varnished heel, hair falling to the side in soft auburn waves that seemed to be made for her to run her fingers through. 

“Because…” With Ms Spellman’s body heat away from her, Larissa ran cold and she felt it drip down her spine, making her shiver. “We’re different now.” 

“No, that won’t do.” Ms Spellman swiftly picked up her dress pants and hung them over the chair as well, collecting her heels and putting them neatly at her feet as she sat in the chair. She crossed her legs and clasped her hands around her knees. “Does she know about your past feelings for her?”

“Absolutely not.” It seemed paradoxical how much poise Ms Spellman possessed while being almost entirely nude in front of her, leaving no room to question her actions in the slightest. “She doesn’t even know I’m…” Larissa gestured helplessly, “like this.”

“So you’re saying you’re afraid that Morticia will reject you if she knew you’re a lesbian .” Ms Spellman arched her eyebrow and purposely stressed the word so much that Larissa’s whole body tensed in revulsion. 

She had to remind herself that it wasn’t a dirty word, despite what had been ingrained in her. Her thundering heart and dry throat suggested otherwise though, making her feel like watching someone humiliate themselves and feeling ashamed on their behalf. 

“Larissa, dear.” She flinched when Ms Spellman suddenly stood in front of her, rubbing her shoulder. “It’s no wonder you feel disconnected when you let no one see who you are.” Taking a step back, she beckoned Larissa to stand as well. “Mind giving me a hand with that?”

“Um, sure,” Larissa agreed, but her hands already grew sweaty at the thought of taking Ms Spellman’s bra off. After receiving a nod, she awkwardly looped her arms around the woman as if her skin would burn her if she touched it, and found the clasp. 

Glancing up in search of reassurance or perhaps in silent apology for being so inept, she found Ms Spellman with raised eyebrows. The need to hurry made her speed up her movements, fumbling, pushing, tugging in all directions, but it wouldn’t come unstuck. 

The attempt to avoid her eyes led to Larissa facing Ms Spellman’s ample bosom—a sight that didn’t help in calming her nerves either—and she gave up, dropping her hands as her shoulders sagged. “I can’t do it.”

“Oh shush!” Ms Spellman caught her wrist. “Of course, you can. Listen to me and do as I say.” When she looked up, she found that warmth in her eyes again, that ran down her throat and spread sweetly in her chest like hot chocolate. “Find the clasp. There. Now, place your fingers on either side of it.” 

Following her dominatrix’ surprisingly gentle guidance, Larissa slowly positioned her fingers, letting them glide over the scarlet lace almost like a caress. 

“And then all you have to do is give it a careful pinch.” 

Bringing her fingers together, Larissa felt the hooks untangle under their tips and the bra sprung open. Disbelieving, she just stood there dumbfounded, holding Ms Spellman in her arms as she beamed at her. 

“Well done!” she cheered, placing a hand on her waist as well and giving it a small squeeze. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Larissa confirmed coyly. 

Ms Spellman’s hand stroked her casually, intensifying the warm prickling sensation in every fibre of her body. If she could kiss her now, she’d—

“Larissa, you know…” Ms Spellman tiptoed, putting her hands on her shoulders to pull herself further up. “Sometimes things seem much harder than they really are.” She reached her throat and ghosted her lips over it in a path to the side, where she husked near her ear, “All you need is… guidance.”

Turning her head to smell her hair, Larissa replied, “But you’re not around, are you? In my daily affairs?” 

Returning to her former position, Ms Spellman had a questioning look on her face, the loose bra still hanging from her shoulders and the long end of her necklace running down the middle of her chest.

Lovingly, Larissa traced her fingers up the straps and then slid them down Ms Spellman’s arms as she elaborated, “Here, I know that you’ll cushion my fall, but out there… I’m alone.”

The bra came off and for a moment, Larissa stared at the garment in her hands, at a loss about what to do with it or the situation. Then it dawned on her that the woman in front of her was now completely and utterly topless and she hadn’t even ventured a look yet. So she did—and abandoned the bra instantly to close the gap between them.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Ms Spellman said as she took her hand in hers and guided it to her chest. “Just because you’re out of sight,” she covered her breast with it, “doesn’t mean you’re out of my mind.”

The rush was overwhelming; feeling her soft, warm breast filling the hollow of her hand for the first time, the pebbled nipple pressing into her palm and Ms Spellman’s fingers lacing between her own. Her eyes must’ve spoken volumes of the fervent adoration within her.

The tenderness in her words made Larissa wonder if it could be that Ms Spellman felt a similar pull like she did. “Really?”

Smirking, Ms Spellman removed herself from Larissa’s embrace and headed for the bed. “You’re an impressive woman, Larissa,” she said while bending over to remove her underwear bottoms. 

Larissa gulped at the sight and quickly averted her eyes before she’d get caught staring. 

Peering over her shoulder to watch her reaction, Ms Spellman added, “And although it might be unusual for a mere service provider, I do care about your happiness outside of this room.”

Care . It had been a long time since someone had cared for Larissa in a profound way. She’d thought Morticia had, but as soon as they’d graduated, she’d never heard from her again until the ten year reunion of their class. Gomez had been all Morticia had needed while Larissa had needed her—as a friend, as more. 

“Thank you, directrix.” Larissa followed her as Ms Spellman draped herself on the bed and reached for her pack of cigarettes, lighting one. “That… means more to me than you know.”

She smiled politely and then moved on so quickly that it occurred to Larissa that she might not be comfortable with such emotional expression.

“Now, let us move past the sentimentalities,” she said and rested the hand with the cigarette holder on her hip. Larissa followed the motion with her eyes and was compelled to position herself closer to Ms Spellman, cautious not to touch, but enough that she could if invited. “If I go through the trouble of stripping bare, I want something out of it.” She lifted the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply.

Before Larissa could finish saying “of course,” Ms Spellman pulled her close, stopping just before they touched, where she opened her lips and blew the smoke directly into Larissa’s unsuspecting mouth. With barely time to protest, Larissa was drawn into a passionate kiss and—encouraged by her earlier praise—slipped her tongue into Ms Spellman’s mouth to entwine with hers. 

“Use your words, Larissa,” she whispered amidst their tongues’ play. “If you want permission to touch, you just have to ask for it.”

It hadn’t occurred to her before as an option, having assumed Ms Spellman would reserve this particular privilege for herself. However, despite Larissa being granted more or less free rein now, it still felt like Ms Spellman was pulling the strings. 

“Can I touch you, directrix?” Larissa asked, trying to be brave after reading Ms Spellman’s entries about her in her book and not wanting to add more flaws to her notes. 

“You may,” she purred, “if you can tell me just where you would like to touch me.”

Despite wanting nothing more than to lay her hands on every inch of the woman, Larissa decided to play it safe. “Your waist and hips.”

“Interesting choice.” Larissa immediately felt she was being judged again. “Go ahead, then.”

Larissa reached out her hands, and much like last time, placed them on the gentle curve of Ms Spellman’s waist. This time, however, she was able to enjoy the feel of her warm flesh beneath her fingers without the restriction of clothing.  

Looking up to find a smile playing on Ms Spellman’s lips, Larissa felt slightly bolder in her request. “Your neck and… chest?” then again, perhaps not as bold as she’d like.

“Is someone too shy to use explicit terms?” Ms Spellman’s belittling tone suddenly made her feel small, regardless of her 6 '3 stature, and she lowered her eyes. “Answer me.”

“No, directrix.” 

Bringing her index finger to rest beneath Larissa’s chin, Ms Spellman guided her gaze back to her own. “Then use the proper word.”

“Your…” Larissa’s fingertips flexed on her hip.

“You don’t get to touch what you can’t say.” 

“Your breast,” she breathed out once gathering the courage. “May I touch your breast, directrix?” 

“Of course, darling.” Her demeanour changed in an instant, touching Larissa’s cheek in that marshmallow-melting-in-the-flame-tender manner that gave Larissa the wings to fly. 

Or in this case, the courage to touch Ms Spellman’s neck, moving away one of her long curls to trace the muscle on the side that connected to her chest bone with her long red nail. Playing with the senses, she remembered her teacher’s lesson about foreplay. Doing so, she got a better look at the necklace, long and gold, that seemed to have an unusual makeup. 

Taking it lower, Larissa palmed Ms Spellman’s breast like she had before and swiped her thumb over her nipple before moving on to caress the underside. The flutter of Ms Spellman’s lashes when she did sparked an undefined joy within her as did the subtle way she pushed herself further into Larissa’s touch. 

She kissed her again, locking lips, and lost herself in it so much that she didn’t notice her hand falling away. Ms Spellman caught her wrist. “Ah-ah-ah,” she warned, flashing her eyes. “Careful there.”

“May I touch your stomach?” Larissa asked dutifully to emphasise that she understood and valued her rules. 

Letting go of her wrist, Ms Spellman ran her fingers through her own hair and relaxed her body again. “Go on.”

Slowly, Larissa trailed her fingertips down the porcelain expanse of her middle, relishing in the softness of the unblemished skin. Without noticing, she scooted closer, and Ms Spellman in turn pressed her chest up against Larissa’s. With their breasts touching, their nipples caressing each other with each intake of breath, she was afraid that Ms Spellman might hear the galloping of her heart, wild horses in the desert.

Her fingers crept lower over the small pouch to its underside, just at her bikini line. Voice thick with arousal and breathy, Larissa asked, “Directrix, may I touch your centre?”

“ Centre? ” Ms Spellman mocked, breaking the intimate moment. “It’s called a vulva, Miss Weems. After all the dime-novels you’ve read I should think you would know the correct terminology. Try again.”

“V…” It felt so inappropriate to say these words out loud. They didn’t bother her on a page, but to hear them coming out of her own mouth was unimaginable. “Do I really have to?”

“Taking into account how eager you were to get your hands on me, I hadn’t thought you’d give up all that easily,” Ms Spellman teased, a smugness to her tone. 

A quitter. That was what she’d write in her book now for sure. Larissa couldn’t bear the thought of adding to the list. “No, no, I—It’s merely that I’m not used to this sort of conversation. Could you allow me some time to adjust?”

“I’m not known to be the patient type, Miss Weems. But I might just have an idea or two on how to train your delicious little mouth instead.” The smirk she gave her was incandescent enough that Larissa could easily guess what she was referring to. “But you are not to use your fingers.” She turned on her back, settling into the cushions as if she was going to have her midday siesta. “Considering your height, you might find it more comfortable to kneel on the floor at the end of the bed.”

While Larissa crawled down and knelt as she’d been told, Ms Spellman took one pillow and placed it under her lower back, explaining, “The pillow makes it easier for you and more pleasurable for me. You may want to keep that in mind.” Before reclining, she asked, “Now, shall I tie your hands behind your back or do you have enough self-restraint to keep them on the agreed body parts?”

There was a certain excitement associated with having her hands tied, but after having felt Ms Spellman’s hips underneath her fingers, she had become quite addicted to the sensation and couldn’t imagine going without it. “I can keep them in the permitted areas.”

“Alright,” Ms Spellman accepted and Larissa almost fainted when she let her legs fall open, taking a drag from her cigarette. “This is what you get to work with.” She blew out the smoke. “Is the view to your satisfaction?” 

“V-very… much.” Larissa’s brain short-circuited, staring at another woman’s genitalia for the very first time. She’d seen the male counterpart before, but the sight alone had made her skin crawl so much that she’d never gotten close to a man again. Taking in the pink, glistening delicacy in front of her, she felt quite the opposite, to say the least. 

Ms Spellman chuckled at her reaction, but it was benevolent rather than mocking in nature. “Then you may proceed.”

Larissa’s face escalated into an indignant frown.  “I—Excuse me, directrix, but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I’m sure you have an idea, Miss Weems.” Ms Spellman didn’t even bother to move her gaze away from the ceiling, resuming to smoke in infuriating tranquillity. “But our time is limited, so you’d do well to start now.”

Feeling more insecure than ever, Larissa settled on placing her hands on Ms Spellman’s hips first, since that was no longer foreign territory to her. Then she focused on her sex, gathering the courage to inch closer. When she did, she noticed the heady scent playing with her senses, coming together with a hint of her taste as she brushed her lips over her folds. 

Darting out her tongue, Larissa glanced up at Ms Spellman to gauge her reaction and saw her closing her eyes while her legs gave a minuscule shudder. Startled, she immediately backed away. “Am I in the right place?”

“If you hadn’t come up, you might’ve found it,” Ms Spellman grumbled. “Lesson number one: never alter an effective methodology.” 

It felt like that little slap on the wrist she’d given her in their first session, which somehow bothered Larissa more than the other harsh words Ms Spellman liked to kick her behind with every now and then. 

Returning her mouth to where it was demanded, Larissa sunk her tongue into the space between her labia and dragged it through the slit. Faint sighs came from Ms Spellman at that, and she assumed she’d found a good spot—until they faded and her nerves frayed. 

“A bit to the right,” Ms Spellman directed, and as soon as Larissa moved, she hissed, “yessss,” and arched her back off the bed. Smirking into her mound, Larissa nudged the tip of her tongue against the nub she’d found and was instantly rewarded with a deep moan. “Just there, mh-hm. More. More pressure.” 

In an attempt to think one step ahead, Larissa not only pressed her tongue harder against her, but also flicked it faster, which didn’t have the desired effect. The rhythmic motion of Ms Spellman’s hips stopped and she let out a groan as she took an angry puff. 

“ Pressure . Not speed, Miss Weems,” she reprimanded. 

“I’m sorry.”

With a dramatic sigh, Ms Spellman threaded her fingers into Larissa’s hair and rather abruptly pushed her face into her crotch. “Less talking, more licking.” 

Surprisingly turned on by the rough treatment, Larissa pushed all doubts aside and treated her directrix like a meal. She didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but trusted the noises she was hearing to guide her. 

“Such a good girl,” Ms Spellman mumbled between a moan and her cigarette hanging from her lips. “Indulge your directrix.”

The praise made Larissa’s hands buzz with the urge to touch her properly, give her everything she could ever want. If her long fingers were good for one thing then it was likely to pleasure women and yet she was forbidden from using them. 

On top of that, her hair was beginning to fall into her face and she had no means to brush it aside. “I need to—May I touch your thighs?”

Propping herself up, Ms Spellman scolded, “Satan help me, if you stop this close to my orgasm again, I will crush you with them.” 

Satan? A chill ran down Larissa’s spine, ending between her legs and purging her of every desire to question the phrase.

“But yes. You are forgiven for now.”

Grabbing Ms Spellman’s thighs, Larissa hooked her legs over her shoulders and pulled her down the bed, lifting her in the process to achieve the right angle to all but plunder her sex, making up for her missteps.

Yelping in surprise, Ms Spellman purred, “I like when boldness takes hold of you, Miss Weems.” She rolled her hips against Larissa’s eager mouth, seemingly enjoying the rough handling. “Try sucking on my clitoris.” Having encountered this particular organ before, she put her lips around the engorged bud and made her buck with pleasure. “ Oh heavens! Like that!”

Just when Larissa’s arm muscles began to shake from exhaustion and her jaw threatened to cramp, Ms Spellman whined, “Make me come, Larissa. Make me proud.” 

The woman was making a complete mess out of her meticulously cultivated hair, confusing and pervading it, as Larissa ate her out to her best abilities. She couldn’t even tell if it were her moans or Ms Spellman’s growing louder, singing of pleasure, and climbing to a peak. 

The sounds became ragged, quick, breathy and finally erupted in a stream of, “Ohhhhhh, mh, mh, mh.” 

It was sensational, a feeling easily surpassing her wildest dreams; the twitching and pulsing of Ms Spellman’s slick flesh against her tongue and nose, resulting in her burying herself even deeper in it as her thighs squeezed around her head, leaving no doubt that they could indeed crush her. 

Larissa kept lapping at her, unsure when to stop, until her head was pushed away and she dropped Ms Spellman back onto the mattress. Her knees were sore and red when she got up to sit on the end of the bed, watching as Ms Spellman worked through the remnants of the subsiding orgasm, smoking the last bit of her cigarette with a heaving chest.

“Should I not have kept licking you?” Larissa asked, insecurity returning too soon after her brief burst of confidence. 

“Every woman is different,” Ms Spellman explained in her ever-laid-back manner. “Some can go straight into the next round, for others it can be painful if you keep going.” 

That didn’t answer her question, and her face must’ve shown that because Ms Spellman promptly clarified, “It tends to vary for me. You didn’t do anything wrong, dear.”

“Was it,” she bit the skin around her nail, “Was it good?”

“If you’re asking if this was the best sex of my life, certainly not.” Ms Spellman snorted, shaking her head and stubbing out her cigarette. “But we’ll get there.” 

Before Larissa could feel hurt about the sharp remark, Ms Spellman sat up and leaned forward to squeeze her hand resting in her lap. “More importantly, how was it for you?” Her voice took on a soft tone. “Was it everything you imagined?”

“The words elude me.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She offered a satisfied smile and glanced at the wall behind Larissa. “I’m afraid our time is up now. Let’s get cleaned up and meet in the sitting room for a hot beverage?”

The prospect of having to leave didn’t sit well with Larissa. Time seemed to be going by twice as fast when she was with Ms Spellman, and she dreaded the wait until the next session more each time.

Clothed and refreshed, Larissa entered the sitting room, where she spotted two steaming mugs already waiting on the coffee table and a blanket laid out on the couch, where Ms Spellman was sitting. When they locked eyes, she patted the space next to her, inviting her to sit. 

Warmth flooded through Larissa, but not the scalding kind. It wrapped her up like an intimate embrace.

“I’m afraid my ride is running late, so you’re lucky,” Ms Spellman said. “We can extend our aftercare session a bit, if you’re interested.” 

Larissa sat next to her, with her hair still down albeit meticulously combed. She was too relaxed to pin it up again and Ms Spellman seemed to appreciate it since she was absently playing with it while her arm rested around her shoulders.

It was unmistakable that Ms Spellman’s mug contained irish coffee rather than hot chocolate; the smell was giving it away. Their session was over, after all, and from what she’d gathered, she was her last client today.  

They drank in silence, with merely the fire cracking in the background.

“You keep looking at me with those eyes, Larissa,” Ms Spellman commented rather cryptically, not expecting an answer. She tapped her fingers against her mug as she gazed into the dancing flames. 

After a moment, she offered, “You could lie your head in my lap, if it’s suitable?” 

She felt stupid doing it, for no particular reason other than that little voice in her head telling her that it was not suitable for a woman of her position to rest her sorrows in the lap of a dominatrix, a sex worker. 

But Ms Spellman wasn’t that to her. Just in this short time, she’d become so much more, and it was present in the manner she pulled the blanket over her, ran her fingers through her hair and tucked it intricately behind her ear. It was hard to imagine that she’d give this special treatment to just any of her clients. 

Larissa could very well imagine living here in this cottage with Ms Spellman; in the middle of the woods, a small garden to tend to, amidst deer and boars, the robin that would wake them at dawn and raven that would lull them to sleep.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A gasp fell from Larissa’s lips as she flinched, and embarrassment washed over her when she realised she’d been guilty of a reverie again. If Ms Spellman could read her mind—which didn’t seem too far-fetched—she’d be done. 

“I was just thinking of work,” Larissa lied, and regretted it. 

Ms Spellman huffed, and from the corner of her eyes, she could see her lips curl. “You might do well to remember that there is room for only one directrix in this arrangement— ” the french pronunciation of the word had a particularly enticing effect on Larissa, “that being me. Understood?” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

The sound of a key turning in the lock had Larissa shooting into an upright position, just in time to see the dark-haired woman appear in the door. 

“Apologies,” Ms Spellman murmured, slamming down her mug as she stood up. 

Larissa watched the interaction, still confused not only by the sudden disturbance but also the red-as-sin lips. They reminded her of something, though she couldn’t place it. Ms Spellman brushed her arm as they talked, keeping the volume down as if they didn’t want her to hear. 

Another client, a regular perhaps? They seemed familiar. The fortunate woman had even received a kiss to the cheek from Ms Spellman, which Larissa had never had the pleasure of before. It was only logical for Larissa to see the woman as competition. If her directrix had favourites, she’d make sure to own the title.

“Miss Weems, I’m terribly sorry about the sudden end to our session,” Ms Spellman said hastily, “but I must get going now.”

She handed her her coat, but didn’t help her into it, instead gathered her own things while the woman stood in the door, cold wind blowing past her, arms crossed in annoyance and dangling her keys. 

Larissa exchanged a glance with her, quite accidentally, when the woman had caught her staring. She couldn’t tell if it was simply her disdain for the notion that she had the privilege of taking Ms Spellman out or something about the woman herself, only that she made her feel uneasy. 

Larissa wondered if she’d missed that in the list of services, a girlfriend-experience of some sorts.

When Ms Spellman was ready to leave, donning a brown coat with fur along the collar and hem, Larissa had gathered her hair in a low ponytail, and was twirling it around her fingers to coif into a last-minute-type bun. The woman with the voluminous chocolate waves walked out first, followed by Ms Spellman, who was guiding Larissa out with a hand in the small of her back. Eventually, she waved Larissa goodbye and caught up to her companion, who was heading towards a car.

Chapter Text

Pleased with herself, Larissa’s lips curved into a smile every time she thought about the fact that just over one day ago, she’d brought a woman to climax for the very first time. It had given her a boost of confidence that made her feel she had both feet firmly on the ground again after the long, dark winter she’d experienced.

However, she found these uninvited thoughts to be rather inappropriate in the setting of teaching a lesson on art history to a class of teenagers. Inappropriate ironically being the keyword to the piece they were currently discussing. 

“ Portrait of Madame X is a piece of the American Renaissance, painted in 1884 by John Singer Sargent.” She tapped the pointer stick against the projection screen while addressing the class. “Does anyone have an idea why this painting could have caused quite the uproar?”

Giving them time to think, Larissa allowed herself a moment to take in the image. A provocative pose, sleek black dress with thin straps exposing more of her than deemed acceptable at the time and her face turned away from the viewer with a certain aloofness. 

Half the students were staring at the painting, the others pretended to be examining the piece on the mini prints handed out to them when Larissa knew full well they were on their phones. Only one student raised their hand: Wednesday Addams. 

“She looks powerful,” she said as if talking not to Larissa but to the woman in the painting. “My mother told me that powerful women are threatening to weak men, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d tried to drag her down for it.”

She was Morticia’s daughter through and through, and it didn’t surprise Larissa at all that she’d taught her daughter from a young age all about the myth of the divine feminine and what else she’d used to go on about during their time as students. Although Wednesday did everything in her power to showcase her dislike for her mother, there was no denying that it was Morticia’s blood running through her veins.

“You’re not too far off there, Miss Addams,” Larissa said. “The painting shows Virginia Amélie Avignon Gautreau, who was the wife of a French banker. The pallid complexion and luxurious satin dress accentuate her status.”

As she turned to the projection again, having the attractive woman almost life-size next to her, Larissa was reminded of Ms Spellman. Although their appearance was vastly different, the way she carried herself, the daring composition and confident pose gave her the same impression of elegant dominance.

“The scandal surrounding this painting was that originally, one of the dress’ straps hung off her shoulder.” Like those of Ms Spellman’s bra the other day. “During her era, this was regarded as vulgar and inappropriate for a woman of her status. Sargent had to alter it later.”

It was odd to think about, considering that the images she’d looked at on Ms Spellman’s website every once in a while would drain these people’s faces of their colour. But Ms Spellman was unapologetic about it, and that made her all the more irresistible. 

“It is fascinating because this woman was known as a professional beauty .” As expected, the students started to giggle and she smirked about it. “Which did not mean that she was a prostitute,” she then clarified with a raised eyebrow. “People admired her for her appearance, but assumed she used it for personal gain.”

The typical teenager behaviour gave her a sense of nostalgia, although she’d never possessed this innocent sexual curiosity, growing up in the circles she’d had. She wondered though, whether her life would’ve gone differently had she been less repressed and more aware of her preferences. Perhaps she would’ve been able to open up to Morticia before she’d started dating Gomez…

Wednesday raised her hand again and Larissa took a step towards her. “Yes, Miss Addams?”

“I find it laughable that women are simultaneously sexualised by society but also scandalised by the very same people for it.”  

“That is an interesting observation, Miss Addams.” With which she wholeheartedly agreed, but her work ethic forbade her from sharing too much of her personal views. What she could do, though, was allow discourse. “Would anyone like to add to or comment on this statement?”

At first, Larissa was grateful that another student showed enough good will to participate, but that changed the moment he opened his mouth: “Dude, that was the 19th century! You’re whining as if it’s still a thing. Probably the brainwashing from your bra-burning mumsy.” 

He cackled and gave the boy sitting next to him a high-five while Larissa just scowled at them both. She wished she could say something about it, but she’d be doing the very same he was accusing Wednesday’s mother of. 

“That’s because it is still a thing,” Wednesday retorted, seemingly unbothered by the remark about her mother, unlike Larissa. “A woman who expresses herself sexually is considered a whore and pathologised as promiscuous while a man who sleeps with multiple women is not only socially accepted but celebrated .” 

Larissa thought Wednesday was going to stop there, but she was just getting started. 

“Sex workers are criminalised and seen as dirty, but no one talks about the fact that this profession exists because there’s a demand for it. And guess who makes up the majority of that?” Raising her eyebrows, Wednesday looked around the classroom, fixing mainly on the boys. “Exactly. We don’t have a problem with prostitution, we have a problem with men who can’t keep it in their pants.”

The monologue left Larissa speechless, and she couldn’t deny she had the urge to clap. Instead, she tried to figure out how to redirect the conversation back to a safer topic. 

“Certainly an engaging argument. I’m glad this piece has enabled us to voice our views, however different they may be.”

The worst was that not long ago, she’d have harshly frowned upon Ms Spellman for the business she was conducting, unbeknownst to her that at one point in her life, she’d be in desperate need of her services to help her back on her feet. But she wasn’t lecherous (was she?), she’d been lonely and sought just a little of that human touch. And after all this time, even if she were lewd, she should be judged for the way she chose to live it rather than for the primal need itself. 

The bell rang, and of course, the students didn’t wait for her to end the lesson before packing up. It was always a minuscule kick to a teacher’s ego when they did that, but she took the blow humbly. “I’m afraid that was it for today, but we will continue to discuss this piece in the next lesson. Have a good rest of your day.”

Larissa’s voice was drowned out by the noise of people leaving; a scene she was intimately familiar with in more than one way. Taking a calming breath, she dropped into the chair to fill out the register. She’d been waiting for Ms Spellman to reply to her daily morning text all day, and still, her phone hadn’t made a noise.

To be sure, she picked it up and checked, but nothing was there. She scrolled up to last night’s conversation where they’d scheduled the next session for Tuesday. Larissa had asked about her day and Ms Spellman had told her that she’d been doing taxes for the boutique this evening—“ dreadfully dull” —but that she’d treat herself after. 

It had left Larissa indulging in fantasies about what that would entail, and if it looked similar to what she’d instructed her to do for the purpose of relaxation. 

Goodnight, Larissa. And skip the wine tonight—that is an order.

Love, Directrix Spellman xx

The two x’es pulled a smile from Larissa as she re-read them, soothing the ache of the ignored good morning. Reflecting on today’s lesson and the painting, she visited Ms Spellman’s website again and looked for a service along the lines of a girlfriend experience but came up with nothing. Trying to quench the sour taste of the lacking explanation for this special client’s appearance last night, she searched the web for “Zelda Spellman Jericho”, hoping to find some information to distract herself. 

A number of articles about the boutique’s grand opening popped up and she skimmed them all without finding anything that was new to her. The last search result, however, was a piece about Ms Spellman and her dog, Vinegar Tom, who had taken part in a competition for obedience—needless to say they won. 

Saving the photo of Ms Spellman with her adorable little beagle in her arms—both the picture of happiness—to her camera roll, Larissa locked her phone and glanced at the clock on the wall. Amidst her research, she hadn’t even registered the bell having rung for the second time, indicating the start of the next period. 

Quickly collecting the art prints her students had left behind, she set the pile down on the front desk but held onto one as a fond reminder of Ms Spellman. 

When she left the classroom, locking the door behind herself, she found it awfully quiet. As she proceeded to walk down the corridor towards her office, however, she was surprised to hear indistinct chatter coming from none other than Wednesday trouble-magnet Addams and… her mother?

Aside from the fact that a parent had no business being inside her school at 11 a. m. on a Monday without an appointment, Morticia was the last person she cared to see today. Larissa had been in too good of a mood after the weekend to have it ruined by the woman who’d been haunting her since high school, yet she had no choice but to approach the pair.

“But Wednesday,” Morticia drawled, “you should at least try and get involved. Even a lone wolf needs to rely on the pack every once in a while.” She switched to a conspiratorial murmur, gloating, “When I was your age I already captained the fencing team and had the nightshades eat out of my palm.” 

Larissa gritted her teeth as she overheard. Having been on the receiving end of similar monologues from her parents in her school days, she was disheartened to hear it directed at one of her own students, even if that student happened to be her best enemy's daughter.

“Mrs Addams, might I ask why Wednesday isn’t in her classroom?” She stepped in, purposely addressing the woman she’d once deemed her closest friend formally.

“Larissa! I didn’t see you coming,” she replied, failing to use her title in front of her student and blatantly ignoring the question. “Could you please tell my daughter how important friendships are in school.”

Being undermined in her own school? No, that won’t do.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” She offered a faux smile of her own and noticed the twitch of a smirk on Wednesday's otherwise stone-faced expression. “Off you go to class now, Miss Addams. I’ll let Ms Thornhill know it wasn’t your fault you were late.” 

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Larissa ushered her gently in the right direction.

Appearing to be taken aback by the authority she had over her in this environment, Morticia just smiled nervously and watched as Wednesday obeyed her teacher, making her way to class without so much as a goodbye.

Turning on her heels and striding down the corridor, Larissa requested, “Could you follow me to my office?” 

She was not to be tested, and her expectation was that in her school, Morticia would do as she was asked.

Once inside her office, Larissa immediately rounded the desk to create as much distance between her and Morticia as possible. As she followed, sauntering across the room and stopping on the opposite side, Larissa placed one hand on the back of her chair and one on her hip. “Why are you here Morticia? The PTA meeting isn’t until Thursday!” 

“Oh, it’s silly, really.” Morticia held out a hand in front of herself, surveying her nails. “We got rather tipsy at our gathering and when Marilyn gave me her number,” Larissa’s grip tightened on the back of the chair, “I must’ve gotten a digit wrong, so I came to ask and then ran into Wednesday, who of course was busy lurking in the shadows as always.”

The audacity. In all their years of alleged friendship, Morticia had never made such an effort for her. Yet all it took was one drunken night out for her to go to such lengths for the botanics teacher!

“So let me get this straight, you drove all the way from your house to Nevermore just to get Marilyn Thornhill’s number? ”

Looking at her as if it was the most obvious course of action, Morticia replied, “Why, yes. We got along splendidly, and I’d hate for her to think I’d forgotten about her.”

This was rapidly turning into the ugliest of jokes. Surely the irony couldn’t be completely lost on Morticia. And if it was, she must have the self-awareness of a middle-aged man. 

Knuckles practically turning white, she released the chair and instead let her hands crawl over the desk, closing the distance somewhat as she berated her. “And so you waltz into my school, unauthorised, and then interrupt your daughter’s schedule to give her a lecture of your own? Honestly, Morticia, that’s a new low, even for you.” 

Startled by the way in which Larissa raised her voice, Morticia flinched and furrowed her brow. Evidently offended by the remark, she brought her hand to her chest. “Excusez-moi? What is that supposed to mean?” 

The naïveté Morticia possessed—making her feel as though she was telling off a student—had melted Larissa’s irritation away many times in the past. Not this time though, not anymore. 

“Nothing,” she said, closing her eyes in resignation and taking a deep breath to calm her rage. Her tone was still sharp when she continued, “I just think that Wednesday is more than capable of forging her own path in this school, and forcing her to be something that she isn’t will only harm her in the long run.”

Larissa knew all about that. For years, she’d tried to be someone else, anyone, just not this . And it had left her with cold bones and nobody to warm them up. Pretending to be someone else—outgoing, charming, witty like her mother—for the sake of fitting in would do the same to Wednesday, and she’d always end up feeling small next to Morticia. 

“Do you really think so?” It came out uncharacteristically demure, her proud shoulders slumping.

Perplexed at how easily Morticia let down her guard, Larissa blinked a few times and then sighed. “I know so.” 

She stood back up straight behind her desk as some of the tension between them dissipated and smoothed out her dress that she’d specifically chosen because green was supposed to be a soothing colour, and yet she felt more wound up than ever. 

“I apologise, Larissa.” Moticia’s face took on a solemn expression. “You’re right. It’s just that I worry about her, but you wouldn’t know what it’s like,” she waved it off, “having never had children.”

Larissa physically winced when the bullet hit. 

Biting her tongue, she acknowledged that Morticia was at least considering her words. No matter how much it hurt, Larissa knew she hadn’t meant it maliciously, because while Morticia had many virtues, sensitivity had never been one of them. 

“True as that may be, I care for the wellbeing of my students,” Larissa said tactfully instead, trying to be the bigger person. She may have never birthed a child herself, but having guided hundreds of students through some of their most challenging times, she considered herself an important figure in their lives.

Nodding as though understanding, Morticia put all her drama into her lamentation. “I seem to misstep wherever I tread today, ma chérie,” she sulked and directed her gaze to the floor. 

Before she had a chance to respond, Morticia smirked. “Allow me to make it up to you.” 

When she took a step towards the desk, Larissa backed away. 

“Can I entice you into joining me on a shopping spree? My treat.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “I have yet to discover Jericho’s latest haute couture.”

The hope in Morticia’s eyes tempted Larissa to accept her offer, but she wasn’t exactly hellbent on socialising with her any more than she had to. 

“That is… charming, but—” The text tone of her phone cut her off, highlighting Ms Spellman’s name on the screen. Her heart stumbled over a beat, but she remained composed. The last thing she wanted was Morticia asking more intrusive questions that she wasn’t willing to answer.

Although part of her wanted to believe that her old rival had grown as a person, she was struggling to let go of the decades-long grudge. Reminded of Ms Spellman’s advice that she ought to give Morticia a chance, she considered that she would have to spend a lot more time with her in order to plan the Rave’N—making amends might be beneficial to her own wellbeing in the long run. 

“I know I’m not in your good graces, but please let me do this. For old times sake.” 

That again. 

Too tired to fight Morticia’s persistence in seemingly wanting to spend time with her, Larissa could feel her doe-eyes beginning to work their magic. Damn her.

“Very well,” she huffed. Better to bite the bullet and get it over with lest Morticia continue to ask.

Raising her eyebrows and averting her gaze, Morticia nonchalantly rubbed behind her ear. “You know, Larissa, you usually hide your disdain for me a little better.” 

She must’ve hurt her feelings after all. Huh. 

The urge to protect Morticia had been her downfall once. She could hug her, sweet and snug like she used to, but then, of course, Morticia just had to say something stupid again and ruin the fleeting moment of truce.

“Did something happen with that lover of yours?” 

“Oh for pity’s sake, Morticia!” Larissa slammed her hands down on the desk, entirely at the end of her tether with this line of conversation. “Once again, there is no lover.” 

“Of course, yes. My mistake.” Her eyes glimmered, having gotten the reaction she’d sought to provoke, and she cocked an eyebrow. “Am I excused now, principal ?” 

“You are.” Now get out of my sight, Larissa didn’t say. “I’ll meet you at the Weathervane in an hour once I’ve sorted the advert for the teaching assistant position.”

“Oh?” She shouldn’t have said it. “There’s a free position at your side?”

“No,” Larissa said with conviction. “Don’t even think of it.”

Chuckling and clearly pleased with herself, Morticia wiggled her fingertips in Larissa’s direction, calling, “Toodeloo, chérie,” and blowing a kiss as she left the office. 

Damn her a hundred times.

Chapter Text

Gripping her umbrella tightly, Larissa headed towards the Weathervane, where she could already see Morticia sitting behind the glass window, sipping what she presumed was black coffee. It was merely a light spring drizzle, but Larissa loathed the way the humidity affected her hair, which was why she’d pinned it extra-tight before leaving. 

She was really doing this, wasn’t she? 

The bell rang above her head as she entered the café, and a pleasant warmth wrapped around her rather bare calves that had only been warmed by a thin layer of skin-coloured tights. Morticia waved for her, and she approached without any intention of sitting down no matter how much her doe-eyes pleaded her.

“You came!” Morticia greeted, almost surprised.

Larissa didn’t mirror her joy at seeing her and laced her voice with a hint of sarcasm. “You did invite me, if my memory serves me correctly?” 

“I did!” She should clap her hands in excitement to complete the almost caricaturesque pretence, Larissa thought in annoyance. Considering they’d just had a painful argument, it was inappropriate at best and it was hard for Larissa to imagine how Morticia was so quick to forgive and forget when she just couldn’t do it, not with her. 

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment?” She patted the opposite side of the table. “I recall you had a sweet tooth for the hot chocolate here, didn’t you?”

Sweet tooth?

Her mind was immediately taken back to her initial meeting with Ms Spellman, the thrill and trepidation of seeing her for the first time, which was quite the opposite of what she was feeling now with Morticia instead. She wrung the dripping umbrella in her leather-gloved hands, feeling some of the moisture seep through. 

“That is true. However, I’m pressed for time, so I’d prefer if we got going.” The sooner they got this over with the better. “I’m surprised you remember, though.” 

It wasn’t hard to imagine why other people took to Morticia so much. There was the dark sensuality, the flirtiness, paired with intense reactions that made one feel seen and cherished—easy to fall for—but now that she was older, she saw through it, and was convinced that she didn’t mean any of it, at least not when it came to her. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Morticia smiled as she recollected. “We spent so many Friday nights here together, singing karaoke and chatting over tea and biscuits—or in your case, hot chocolate— until way past curfew.” 

Larissa squared her shoulders as Morticia chuckled and took her trip down memory lane. “Yes. Until you preferred to spend time with Gomez.” 

She just couldn’t help herself; it kept slipping out so quickly with a sense of liberation that made it all but glide from her tongue like a compliment, a pleasantry, when the content was so vastly different; as if every dig at Morticia was a perverted word of affection, as if they were speaking in a different language where hate meant love and love hate. 

“If you were jealous you could’ve just said it,” Morticia teased, giving Larissa a wink that felt like death by a thousand cuts. Another blow that made her feel embarrassingly childish for having harboured such feelings in the first place when she’d always considered Morticia to be the immature one.

“I wasn’t,” she lied, twisting the wet umbrella so hard it might rip, “but I suddenly had no best friend.” 

After all, that was how it had started: with ditching her for Gomez at any given opportunity until the aspect of friendship was gone, and the friendly competition she and Morticia had once shared over the years had turned into pure, hostile rivalry.

Morticia froze, and Larissa could watch the realisation blossom on her face for the very first time in their shared lives that she wasn’t joking .

Mulling it over for a few moments, Morticia carefully set down her cup and smiled. “Well, then we better get going. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.” 

As she stood from the table—slowly, heavily, unusual—Larissa was awashed with guilt once she took into account that Morticia might not have even realised how much she’d been hurting her over the years, and strangely, considering her hard feelings towards the woman, she had the urge to hug her like she’d used to; forgive her like she’d used to, over and over again.

Refraining from doing so, Larissa instead offered to pay for her coffee and they headed out.

“Mon dieu, it wasn’t raining when I went out this morning.” Morticia pouted as she held out her hand before stomping in a puddle with her heel.

Opening up her umbrella, Larissa gnarled, “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the weather does change during the day.” She rolled her eyes and, knowing it was the right thing to do, huffed, “Come under mine.”

“Thank you, cher.” Morticia swiftly stepped under, causing Larissa to flinch as their upper arms brushed. The forced closeness gave her a fleeting taste of the long-buried love she once had for Morticia, followed by a sense of loss.

“Don’t mention it.”

Remembering the art print of Madame X she’d taken with her earlier, Larissa made a brief detour to the art shop to get a small frame and save it from both the rain and being crumpled among the countless lipsticks, pens, and travel-sized hand moisturisers in her bag. Morticia got herself a paperweight in the shape of a raven that surprisingly did appeal to Larissa. Nevertheless, she couldn’t imagine a reason why Morticia would need it, given that she was the kind of woman who was impossible to imagine sitting at the desk doing taxes or concerning herself with any serious matters to begin with.

When they got out, the drizzle had eased up and Larissa folded the umbrella back as they continued to walk down the street, her shoulder now unpleasantly cool in Morticia’s absence. Meaningless banter ensued that was certainly easier to bear but an insult to what they used to share at the same time. 

Passing a flower shop, she peered into the window and saw a younger version of herself in the reflection, eager to buy a bouquet for their room like she’d taken to doing every week. She’d thought it made things more cheerful and gave the otherwise identical-looking dorm rooms a personal touch. The last time she’d done it, she’d bought a bouquet of black and white roses because they’d been on sale despite their brilliant condition. Not three days later, she’d retired to their room after classes and found all of their heads cut off because Gomez was allergic. 

“You know, Marilyn recommended a wonderful herbal remedy for that nasty rash Gomez has,” Mortica continued the conversation Larissa had stopped paying attention to. “She really is heaven sent.”

“How lovely.”

Larissa fought the urge to curse them all, both, at the mention of the botanics teacher who Morticia appeared to have taken a liking to, and the man she’d lost her dream to. The conflicted feelings she had about everything relating to the woman walking next to her were almost as distracting as the lingerie store they proceeded to walk towards. 

She-Demon. 

She didn’t even notice she was staring until Morticia pointed it out. “Would you like to go there, chérie?”

Taking to studying the ground and pushing some gravel around with her pumps, Larissa said, “No, not particularly.” 

“Oh, don’t be so shy.” Morticia swatted her arm playfully. “We’ve done it before, remember?” 

Dearly wishing she didn’t, Larissa chewed the inside of her cheek. They’d had to be at fencing practice in less than an hour, including the walk back to Nevermore, when Morticia had convinced her to go lingerie shopping. Unlucky as they were, there’d only been one free changing cubicle.

“And we need to get something for that non-existent lover of yours…”

While resenting Morticia for going on about it yet again, Larissa couldn’t deny that she did need a new set of lingerie and enjoyed the idea of wearing it for Ms Spellman in her next session even more. 

Before she could argue, Morticia was already pushing her into the shop with both hands firm on her shoulder blades, and when she caught a glimpse of Ms Spellman’s red hair in the back, she was grateful for Morticia’s obstinacy for once. 

The fluttering of her heart pulled her in the direction of her directrix without thinking twice about it—if it wasn’t for the dark-haired shop assistant approaching them as soon as they entered. 

“May I help you with anything?” she voiced softly, dimples showing on her cheeks as she smiled. 

Turning to acknowledge the woman, Larissa had to stop her jaw from falling open and questioned whether she’d eaten enough today, because what presented itself to her was not only unlikely but impossible .

Before she could respond, Morticia beat her to it. “Oh, look at you !” She watched as Morticia’s eyes roamed the young woman from head to toe. “The cards told me I’d be blessed by beauty today. And my, isn’t she a beauty, Larissa?” 

Opening her mouth to speak, the words failed her and all she could do was smile. The resemblance was uncanny, like seeing double, and she had to blink a few times to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. It was then she considered that perhaps she really should cut back on the wine. 

“You’re a witch too? How fantastic!” the shop assistant exclaimed, placing her hand on Morticia’s forearm and engaging her in a conversation as if they’d known each other all their lives. “As it happens, I did a love spell just last night. I should meet the love of my life any minute now!” 

She brought her hands together at her chest, eyes glistening as she raised them to the ceiling. Despite not being a fan of Morticia’s dramatics, Larissa couldn’t help but find the young woman endearing. What did bother her was how effortlessly Morticia could win the heart of anyone, man or woman, with her charm, leading them on with no intention of anything ever coming from it. 

“Now,” Morticia clasped the assistant’s hand in both of hers, “my old friend here is in need of a bedroom treasure. For no one in particular—or so she says.” 

She quirked an eyebrow as she turned to Larissa, who paid the irksome ribbing no mind since she still couldn’t quite take her eyes off the shop assistant, observing her with a certain fascination and noting how she reminded her of a slightly younger Morticia. Particularly her long hair stood out, but it was styled in a more 60s-Priscilla-Presley-fashion rather than Morticia’s sleekness. As she watched her, it slowly dawned on her that the woman in front of her was no one other than Elaine. The Elaine—from Ms Spellman’s book.

“Do you have anything in mind?” The assistant smiled, accentuating her prominent cheekbones. “Is it for a special occasion or for your personal enjoyment ?”

Fearing she might be staring, Larissa averted her gaze and took in the plum-coloured interior of the boutique with lots of black and gold ornaments, a sort of gothic style that seemed to be tailored for Morticia. In the distance, she spotted Ms Spellman sporadically observing the three of them through black-rimmed glasses—which was new—making her stomach feel queasy as if there was any way Ms Spellman could know what she’d done in her absence.

Mortified that she’d unintentionally intruded on this poor stranger’s personal life, Larissa was unable to focus on the words coming out of her mouth and failed miserably at formulating a sentence. “I-uh—” 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ms Spellman approaching, and with her came panic. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, adding to the angry school teacher look as she stalked towards them with her stiletto-heeled ankle boots, black leather pants, and leopard print blouse—a predatrix.

“Elaine, darling, would you please fetch our customer a basque? Black mesh, no padding, lace panelling and scooping finish over the derrière?” she addressed the shop assistant even before she’d come to stand beside Larissa, crossing her arms and eyeing her up and down as if it would answer every question she had. “36A cups, 37-29-38 measurements,” she assessed without any sort of opinion attached to her words, which almost saddened Larissa.  

“Of course, Ma’am,” Elaine replied, curtsied, and left at once.

Acting on an impulse, Larissa kissed Ms Spellman’s cheek as she greeted her, marking her territory, because hearing her use a pet name for anyone other than her had sparked an unexpected jealousy within her. 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” Morticia’s eyes flitted curiously between the two and Larissa detected a hint of excitement in her voice.

Caught off guard, Ms Spellman reacted with a displeased grunt, turning her cheek away and glaring at Larissa as she let off. But when she spoke to Morticia, her voice was all thick, earthy honey again. 

“Marginally,” Ms Spellman dismissed and moved on. “Welcome to our intimate établissement. Forgive my presumptuousness,” she took Morticia’s hand in both of hers, just like Morticia had with the shop assistant earlier, and connected their eyes in way that captured Morticia’s full attention, “but I am enthralled by your exquisite goblet physique. There is a brilliant piece I have in my shop that would perfectly accentuate your waistline and complement your royal complexion.”

“That sounds delightful!” Morticia cheered while Ms Spellman stood next to her, placing an arm around her and offering Larissa a challenging look as she stood opposite. “Will you show it to me?”

Before Ms Spellman could answer, a lingerie set on the hanger caught Morticia’s eye and she floated over to take it, presenting it to Larissa. The piece was red—not a colour Larissa would’ve picked out for herself, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t beautiful. As she ran her finger along the intricate lace of the balcony cups, Elaine arrived back with the requested piece and held it next to Morticia’s. 

“My dear Elaine will show it to you—she’s such a good girl,” Ms Spellman said while Larissa looked between the two pieces, unable to decide and trying to ignore the pang in her chest at the term of endearment she longed to be used for herself again. “I shall tend to your friend in the meantime.”

And then Ms Spellman’s hand was on the small of her back, discreet, but commanding in a way that had Larissa’s legs quivering right where she stood. 

“That is so kind of you, Miss—?”

“Spellman.” She removed her hand and Larissa almost whimpered, proceeding to shake Morticia’s firmly. “Zelda Spellman.”

“Morticia Addams.” Ms Spellman immediately shot a look at Larissa, letting her know that she was now, quite frankly, screwed. “I am thrilled to meet you, Ms Spellman.”

“Likewise, my darling. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?” 

At this point, Larissa was convinced she was doing it on purpose, acting sickeningly warm with everyone else all while remaining cold towards her. 

Ms Spellman smiled until Morticia had sauntered away, following Elaine and again, it was an odd feeling seeing the two much-too-similar women walking side by side. Just when they were out of sight, Ms Spellman pinched her arm and pulled her to the changing cubicle, both sets of lingerie tucked under her arm. 

“We are to be but mere acquaintances in public, Miss Weems,” she hissed as she boxed her into the middle one until her back hit the mirror. Eyes wide in panic, Larissa noticed the subtle switch in Ms Spellman’s face as she went from friendly boutique owner to cunning dominatrix in a split second.

Larissa gulped as they were both squeezed into the small cubicle, just like she’d been with Morticia years ago. They’d faced away from each other, but Larissa had been all too aware of Morticia’s— naked! —presence just behind her back the whole time. Every time their thighs had brushed when they’d rolled up the stockings, or their elbows when they’d clasped their brassiers, she’d fought for air, engulfed in the scent of Dior Poison that Morticia would wear religiously… still did. 

“Do I make myself clear?” Ms Spellman snapped her back to the present, eyebrows curled in anger and the hangers pointed to her chest like the muzzle of a gun. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Larissa stuttered, standing up straight as she eyed the pseudo weapon pressing against her, briefly considering how she would feel if it were real. 

Thrilled.

“I don’t think so.” Dropping the hangers, she shook her head and hung the lingerie up on the clothes hook on the back of the cubicle door. Still facing away from her, she continued, “ I think you came here—with your old flame, if I might add—to be punished.”

Horror washed down her body and her eyes lost focus, searching for any way out of this mortifying situation. “No, I— No. There’s been a misunderstanding . ”

“Is that so?” Ms Spellman’s voice was sweet and high, an eyebrow raised as she trailed her fingers down the front of Larissa’s coat, leaning so close that her breath caressed the base of her neck, the scalding tickle of a fresh burn. “You’re not enticed by the idea of my fingers curling inside you while she is merely a few feet away?”

“Perhaps I—”

“Larissa, Larissa,” Ms Spellman tutted, sliding her hands under her coat to slip it off her shoulders in an innocent gesture that made Larissa’s heart skip a beat regardless. “I do believe a lesson on boundaries is in order, don’t you?”

The book. 

“No, directrix!” Larissa protested. She wasn’t like that, she’d just wanted to see her, because… because Ms Spellman made her heart feel so much lighter and she was the only one who could rid her mind of Morticia’s afflicting omnipresence these days.

“Mh, but I must insist.” The coat fell to the floor with a dull thud, making Larissa flinch; Ms Spellman’s hands were still on her shoulders. “It was you who came here, after all. Deliberately making a show of kissing me on the cheek in broad daylight and in front of Morticia, no less—one might say you wanted to make her jealous—and then scowling when my attention rested on anyone else but you.” Ms Spellman’s narrowed eyes searched hers, like an assassin delivering a warning just out of spite before striking at the witching hour. “Don’t you think that’s blurring the lines just a tad too much? Some might even call it… impish .” 

Larissa’s fists clenched at the inference that she wasn’t better than a common brat, especially since, in her humble opinion, whatever Ms Spellman was playing at right now was most definitely crossing every remaining line as well. “I apologise, directrix,” she pressed through gritted teeth. 

“Apologies,” Ms Spellman repeated as if bored to death and stepped away from her, crouching to pull something out from under the bench, treating her as though this was another mundane task and she had better things to do. “I’ve heard many of those, few of them were worth a penny. What does pay off, though, in my experience, is discipline .”

The word shot through her like a lightning bolt, knowing first hand about her disciplinary methods, so that she was rather ambushed when Ms Spellman stepped on the little step stool she’d taken out and swiftly pinned her wrists above her head. 

“As always, you’re free to leave,” Ms Spellman husked, an inch from her face, “or to take your punishment like a good girl.” Tilting her head, she brushed her knuckles down the side of her face as she would and Larissa instinctively leaned into it. “ Are you my good girl?”

“Yes, directrix,” Larissa spilled in one desperate breath, sliding a bit down the mirror in complete surrender. 

She could still feel Ms Spellman’s hot breath ghosting over her closed eyelids when she commanded, “Take your clothes off. All of them.” 

It was all she could do to take a deep breath and start undressing, because now that she’d agreed to stay and take it, the only way to go was to obey—without question and without hesitation.

What puzzled her, though, was Ms Spellman turning around when she followed the order and busying herself with the lingerie, leaving her alone under the bright neon light instead of letting her hungry gaze linger on her as she’d done previously. With every piece that she took off, she felt more insecure now that she didn’t have the reassurance of Ms Spellman’s lustful eyes, and she considered if it was part of her punishment to deprive her of it. 

When she was done, Ms Spellman turned around and only spared her body a fleeting glance before pushing her glasses to the top of her head and rolling her sleeves up while instructing her. “Ass against the mirror. Legs spread.” The use of such an explicit term out of Ms Spellman’s otherwise classy crimson mouth made Larissa’s breath hitch and her body comply on its own accord. “I want to see the shape of it imprinted on the mirror after.”

Pressing herself up against the cold glass until her rear was in full contact, Larissa shivered and the pace of her heart quickened as she wondered about what Ms Spellman was going to do, given the narrowness of the space and lack of any of her usual devices. 

Eying her dress pants, she tried to assess whether there was a strap-on hidden inside them, since that was something she’d marked on the list as a maybe, but then she figured that there was no reason whatsoever why Ms Spellman would wear one since they were only scheduled for tomorrow. Unless—a thought Larissa didn’t like to entertain despite knowing how delusional that was—it was for someone else.

Expecting some of the gentle foreplay she was used to, Larissa tried to relax and pushed her chest out, waiting for Ms Spellman’s warm mouth to wrap around one of her nipples, but she soon discovered that Ms Spellman had no such thing in mind. Instead, the woman stepped up straight between her legs, licked the tips of her fingers to moisten them and gave her a questioning look. 

Upon Larissa’s a-little-too-eager nod, she brought them to massage firm circles over her clit, making her brain short-circuit and her nerves in her hands and feet tingle at the initial contact. 

“So, Miss Weems,” Ms Spellman resumed talking to her as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place, “tell me: is your friend over there merely a bad influence or is there an impudent side to you after all?”

Her lips parted at the stimulation, running out of air, and she pushed her sex into Ms Spellman’s hand, trying with all her might not to touch her shoulder or lean on her, especially when Ms Spellman entered her with a firm push of her finger, demanding, “Answer me.”  

Feeling herself squeeze around it, Larissa struggled to think clearly, only saw Morticia’s face in her mind wearing that certain expression that always meant mischief was ahead. She’d never meant to do anything that was improper or against the rules, and yet with Morticia, she’d taken every wrong turn presented to her.

“It’s Morticia.” A strangled whine followed as her features twisted from the building pleasure, heat prickling on her skin. 

“Shush!” Larissa’s eyes shot open at the sharp sound only to see Ms Spellman’s flashing at her while her finger came to a halt. “Do you want them to hear us?”

Frantically shaking her head, Larissa stared into Ms Spellman’s poisonous green eyes, begging her to continue, daring her to kiss her, wishing for her to love her. 

With a lopsided grin, Ms Spellman said, “Ah, I understand.”

“No, no! Gods!” Larissa assured, whisper-shouting.

“ Rules , Larissa,” Ms Spellman snapped, adding another finger and curling them both against a particularly sensitive spot until Larissa nearly doubled over. “I won’t tolerate you lying to my face.”

Biting her lip to suppress a whimper, Larissa’s resolve crumbled under Ms Spellman’s unwavering stare. 

“Deep down, you’re just a naughty little girl who never got to act out,” she all but growled, breath hitting her chin. “Isn’t that right?”

With all the dignity she could muster up, Larissa insisted, “No, that’s not true.”

“Oh yes, it is.” Her fingers set in motion again, thrusting steadily, deeply, until the sweat pearled from Larissa’s forehead and her pants were growing suspiciously loud. 

Ms Spellman trailed her fingers up Larissa’s bare side and over her ribs, contrasting the harshness of her words in a skilled attempt to coax what she believed to be the truth out of her while she kept a brisk pace inside her. 

“It only takes a little push from dear Morticia, an excuse, an opportunity,” she drawled, placing her lips at her collarbone before sucking the skin into her mouth with an intensity that pulled a heavy sigh from Larissa, “and you show what a nasty mare you are, huh?” 

Removing her lips after a few soothing kisses, Ms Spellman dug her nails into the flesh of her lower shoulder blade as she held her up. 

“Admit it,” she said, pushing her fingers hard enough at her entrance that her rounded ring slipped in as well, adding a stretch to her insides that had previously been unknown to Larissa. 

Caught off guard and desperate to come, Larissa gave in. “Yes, I’m an impertinent brat!” she whined, feeling her dignity slip away. “ Please , directrix!” 

With a satisfied hum, Ms Spellman gave a firm rub to her clit, allowing for some relief. Larissa’s knees buckled as she slid further down the mirror, head rolling over the mirror surface.

Just as unexpected as it had come, the ring along with the finger was gone again and the remaining one moved slow and pressureless within her, snatching the orgasm from her grasp, while Ms Spellman chuckled in this dark manner that made her toes curl. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing this, you know?” she said as if chatting with a customer. 

“I need to—” Larissa panted, losing air before she could finish her sentence. “Can I hold onto you, directrix?” 

“You may,” she answered casually before continuing where she’d left off. “Though, with you showing up at my workplace like this, coming on to me…” 

Larissa’s grip on her shoulders tightened as she sped up, adding the second finger again and burying them deep in her core, coaxing her towards release, but just when her breathy sighs got louder and longer, she stopped again and shrugged. “… You leave me no choice.”

Squirming in protest, Larissa searched for the words to tell her that she’d expected a spanking, a caning, a slap to the face, but not this . This made her feel so much more helpless than the crop on her behind had the other day. Then, she’d known for sure the hits would come, but here, she was in a state of constant fear that the sensations would be taken away from her, that Ms Spellman would leave her in suspense, or push her away when she needed her most. 

“Naw.” Ms Spellman clicked her tongue, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear and putting on a mockingly pitiful tone. “See, how would you feel if I showed up at your workplace one day? Bent you over your desk and made you scream down the hallways of your precious school?” 

Larissa suddenly had no voice, only need. She craved for the soft, strong fingers to stroke her walls again, to make her feel oh-so-good, so liberated, deserving. Ms Spellman purposely let the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t either of them who broke it—it was Morticia . 

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the familiar sensual, throaty laugh in the cubicle next to them as the door opened with a creak, accompanied by a higher, sweeter one that must be Elaine’s. What was even worse was that she didn’t only gasp but also drip into Ms Spellman’s palm at the sound. 

Tip toeing on the step stool to reach her ear, Ms Spellman purred, “This does it for you, hm? Hearing her right next to us while my fingers fill your needy cunt?” 

The profanity of the word both outraged and aroused Larissa, a riveting change from the monotonous etiquette they both seemed to follow in their everyday lives. She whimpered pathetically; couldn’t help it. 

“Mh, I thought so,” Ms Spellman smirked against the shell of her ear, rolling her thumb over her clit and almost tipping her over the edge. “Tell me, Larissa, do you think about her when you touch yourself?” 

A knot formed in Larissa’s chest and she swallowed hard, holding her breath for a second as she worked through the tightness of both her heart and her core. 

“After all these years?” Ms Spellman probed further, evidently not realising that she’d set foot on a minefield. 

Larissa knew the truth, but she also knew that she shouldn't be thinking about a married woman like that. Despite her best effort to avoid it, Ms Spellman had summoned Morticia to the forefront of her mind, pairing with the sound of her voice next door as she was likely admiring her divine body wrapped in lace together with her coincidental near-twin.

Ms Spellman didn’t need her to say it, the fresh arousal coating her fingers was enough to tell her everything she needed to know, gave her more ammunition. She used it to push her fingers deeper into her, even nudging a third at her entrance until Larissa squeezed her eyes shut in desperation. 

“Oh, that’s simply marvellous ,” Morticia drawled from the cubicle next door and Larissa’s eyes shot open, her apparently already conditioned body betraying her as she clenched hard around Ms Spellman’s fingers.

“You could come from her voice alone, couldn’t you?” Ms Spellman teased, and it was almost too much. 

“What a shame you don’t get to come today,” she then said, perhaps realising she was putting too much pressure on her and withdrawing her fingers at once. Larissa gasped at the loss, felt like the floor was pulled from beneath her feet, and had to catch herself on the cubicle bench. 

“Try these and pick one,” Ms Spellman said, looking at her trembling form with little sympathy before leaving. 

It took a few breaths and Morticia leaving the adjoining cubicle for Larissa to collect herself. Thankfully, Ms Spellman had left her a pack of tissues to clean up the mess between her legs, so she could move on and try the pieces. 

Her body felt strange as she put them on, wounded in a way. She couldn’t deny that she’d thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of this “punishment”, yet the emotional aspect had nearly brought the safe word over her lips—in an environment where aftercare was tricky to implement.

She tried on Morticia’s pick first—perhaps out of sentimentality—but soon realised that it didn’t fit well, not because of the size but simply the shape of her body. It wasn’t made for her.

The one Elaine had retrieved on the other hand fit like a glove, accentuating her best features and hiding the flaws. It gave her a stately cleavage, created a waist where there had been none and brought out the curve of her hips. She actually enjoyed her body like this, how it felt and looked—what a difference a savvy wardrobe choice could make.

Her favourite element, however, was the reddish-purple hue of her skin where Ms Spellman had nipped at her collarbone. Stepping up to the mirror to examine it, she traced her finger over the sore spot and was filled with curiosity as to what this gesture meant not only to Ms Spellman but also to her. A mark of passion, proof of a special bond, or perhaps confirmation that she was her favourite after all.

She also noticed that she’d indeed left an imprint on the mirror, and couldn’t decide whether she should find it embarrassing or exciting—unique, might be the best word. Fresh heat pooled in her stomach, to think that Ms Spellman had specifically wanted the outline of her rear on the mirror of this changing cubicle. Would she go back during the day to look at it and remember their tryst?

Still lightheaded and with a scattered mind, Larissa left the changing cubicle and hung the set Morticia had picked on the rack for the returns and kept Elaine’s. Just as she was searching for the tills, the woman in question showed up, startling her. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, poor darling,” she apologised profusely and rubbed her back. “Are you alright, sweetie?” 

Once the initial scare was over, Elaine’s bright smile flooded Larissa with warmth. “Yes, yes I am. You just caught me off guard. Nothing at all to worry about.”

“Can I help you with anything else?” When Elaine took Larissa’s hands, her deep brown eyes not only drew her in but also brought calmness to her mind. “Your aura is a bit muddled.”

She’d heard that one at least a dozen times back in their school days; Mortica would offer to cleanse her aura for her or align her vibrations and whatnot. While it wasn’t exactly her area of interest, she’d got to spend time with her, which did tend to do wonders for her emotional state albeit for different reasons. 

“I, um, was just looking for the till.”

“So you found something you like? That’s fantastic!” She seemed genuinely pleased and patted Larissa’s hand before letting go. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you,” Larissa said and followed her. “It’s the one you brought me, actually.”

“Well, Ms Spellman chose it,” she replied humbly and shrugged, playing with the long sleeve of her purple, velvet mini dress that had moons and stars all over it. “She can figure anyone out in a split second. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Terrifyingly so,” Larissa concurred and Elaine let out an adorable giggle. 

When they reached the tills, Ms Spellman was standing at the cash register, glasses back on her high-pointing, perfect nose, and paying her no mind. However, when Elaine rounded the counter and came to stand beside her, Ms Spellman gave her a squeeze and praised, “good job.”

Elaine’s eyes filled with pride and she touched the silver amulet around her neck. 

Holding out her hands for Larissa to pass her the lingerie of choice, Ms Spellman continued her conversation with Elaine as if she wasn’t there. “I should be done here in an hour. Could you give Lilith a call and let her know?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” She grinned from ear to ear, and it was quite evident she would do anything for the woman; a sentiment that Larissa wasn’t unfamiliar with. 

“That’s a girl.” 

As she wandered off, Elaine offered Larissa a kind smile, which she happily returned, but it faded from her face when she was confronted with Ms Spellman’s silence once again. Fingering at her thin silk scarf, Larissa thought about the mark on her collarbone and that she’d have to be careful to hide it—especially from Morticia. 

“It’ll be gone in a week or two,” Ms Spellman said, looking at her from the corner of her eyes while she scanned the article and typed something in the cash register. “Card or cash?”

“Oh, card please.” Larissa replied, worrying about whether Ms Spellman was still mad at her or if it was just a facade to keep her on her toes. “Is it, uh, do I need to do anything about it?”

“Only if you want to get rid of it.” Ms Spellman peered at her over her glasses as if daring her to rid herself of one of her markings. “Would you like a Pandemonium Club card? You’d get monthly discounts,” she asked, back to business.

“Uh, sure.” 

Packing the clothing into a bag, Ms Spellman regarded it approvingly, running her fingers over the lace and making Larissa feel hot under the collar thereby as she imagined her doing the same thing whilst she wore it. “Exquisite choice.” 

Larissa’s cheeks took on a blush in full force at the first and only praise Ms Spellman had given her today and in an attempt to hide it, she fumbled in her bag for her purse, finding the picture of Madame X as she did. 

“Oh, on another note. I taught an art history class on a famous painting today and it reminded me of you. I thought you’d like a print.”

With a trembling hand, Larissa gave Ms Spellman the framed picture just as she heard Elaine returning to chat with Morticia not too far behind her.

“What?” Ms Spellman scoffed, “Do you want me to pin it on the fridge?” 

Checking to make sure Elaine and Morticia weren’t within earshot, Larissa leaned on the counter. “Of course not. It was just… a gesture,” she said hushedly, her voice brittle from the rejection, and Ms Spellman looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. 

No further snide remarks came from her, yet still, Larissa felt deflated and was convinced it had been a stupid idea. Avoiding looking at her again, she just took the bag from her hands and made her way over to where Elaine and Morticia were deep in conversation about astrology. 

“Sorry to intrude but we really must be getting back,” she politely interrupted.

“Not at all!“ Elaine rested her hand on Larissa’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s been such a pleasure meeting you, Larissa. I’m so glad we found the perfect piece for you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, truly.” This shopping trip had turned out decidedly different from what she’d imagined, but even about the dull ache between her thighs she wouldn’t dare complain. “Thank you.”

Morticia, uncharacteristically silent during their exchange, only spoke when Elaine addressed her. “Goodbye, Morticia. Bright blessings!”

“Goodbye, sweet girl,” she said, with a smile that flickered only briefly over her features. “Bright blessings, and thank you.” 

When Larissa stepped out of the boutique, she felt that spring had truly arrived in her heart. A damp lightness sprinkled over her dust-collecting emotions, and the old anger regarding Morticia perhaps ready to be taken out with the trash when the time was right. Only Morticia looked like the worn-out Christmas decoration that was about to be deposited in the dreary attic for another year.

Chapter Text

The tights were beginning to make her legs feel itchy as they’d been crossed under the desk for the better part of two hours, an unwelcome reminder she needed to shave them before the session later. It was fascinating how every singular thought that crossed her mind always seemed to circle back to Ms Spellman,  so much so that it was starting to irritate her.

Clicking on the approve button for a Miss Parks, the last of the TA applications, Larissa shut the laptop and picked up her phone, scrolling through her last correspondence with the woman haunting not only her waking hours.

Good morning to you as well, Larissa.

I do hope your jaw is quite alright after

our extensive dalliance this weekend.

 

 

I sincerely apologise if I upset you today, Directrix.

Are we still scheduled for tomorrow?

Let me know if you have any doubts about our arrangement.

Have a restful night. xxx

Larissa

A queasiness settled in her stomach re-reading her pathetic attempts to mend their relationship after what transpired at the boutique, questioning whether she really had gone too far this time. Morticia had urged her to go to the boutique after all, but she hadn’t exactly resisted and her whole jealousy shtick was her fault alone.

After nearly a week of daily good morning and good night messages, and even longer regular interaction, last night’s unanswered good night text was like a bee sting. Pathetic as it was, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep without it; evidently never having been good at dealing with unfinished business—or feelings.

Larissa clinked her nails against the unicorn mug of now-cold coffee that Wednesday’s roommate had gotten her for her birthday last year. She was still in the dark about how Enid had found out, given that no one in the entire school, perhaps not even all of Jericho, knew or cared about her birthday. It stood out like a sore thumb between her neatly lined up paperweights and folders, but she kept it because not only was it a reminder of why she loved her job, but it also added a sprinkle of colour to her otherwise muddy-grey life.

She’d selected the picture of Ms Spellman with her dog for her contact icon; it appealed to her in a different way than the pictures on her website or even those of her inside the boutique did. This didn’t feel like the directrix or even Ms Spellman, it simply felt like Zelda; how she’d be if they were a couple. Despite knowing better, despite loathing herself for it already, Larissa tapped on the call button and brought the phone to her ear. It rang countless times until, eventually, it went to the voicemail with the note Ms Spellman had recorded for it.

This is Directrix Spellman. My services are currently required elsewhere so if you’d be so kind as to leave a message, I’ll be sure to deal with you later.

Larissa’s lashes fluttered and she let out a heavy breath at the sound of her low, commanding voice. The door interrupted her reverie, flinging open after too brief of a knock, and causing her phone to slip out of her hand, twisting and turning as it dropped on the desk, and Larissa cleared her throat and crossed her legs into a tight knot at the ankles to feign composure.

She would’ve expected to see Morticia barging into her office, but against all odds, it was Ms Spellman striding straight towards her desk with a small bag tucked under her arm and a pack of cigarettes held like a gun in her delicate hands. A layer of sweat formed between her skin and the already itchy tights, making her feet all but swim in the leather pumps.

“Ms-uh-Spellman. What brings you into my office?”

Pulling her skirt down as she stood from her office chair, Larissa stretched out her hand over the desk, covering her nerves with over-politeness. Ms Spellman met her hasty shake with a firm squeeze of her hand, holding it for longer than Larissa deemed necessary and appropriate with no other purpose than to toy with her, that she was sure of.

“Why, you, Miss Weems, of course.” Ms Spellman grinned, making a shiver run up Larissa’s spine that left her unsure whether to be thrilled or concerned.

Squirming as Ms Spellman released her from her grip, Larissa scurried to the door, peeking out to see that nobody was around before locking it—twice—behind herself and returning to sit at her desk.

Apparently more than comfortable, Ms Spellman had already perched on the edge of Larissa’s desk with her hands crossed on her thigh and an expression on her face that was daring her to protest. She knew better than to do so, and instead just blinked in bewilderment as the woman boldly began to finger the knick knacks on the surface, inspect them, and put them back in all the wrong places until Larissa was crawling in her skin. Ms Spellman’s fingertips lingered on the small dish of her favourite mint chocolates, and she dearly hoped that the woman wouldn’t take one of the little joys she had in her day-to-day life.

Pushing a pencil Ms Spellman had disturbed back into place with the tip of her nail, merely glancing at it, Larissa said, “And whatever might that be, couldn’t wait until our appointment in a few hours’ time?”

Ms Spellman put her palm flat on the table surface, so she could lean even more lascivious in her direction, if that was even possible. Drawing her plum-painted nails down the side of her neck, she teased, “I did suggest a meeting at your office last time we met, if you remember?”

Viscerally.

 “It is only fair now that you’ve seen my workspace that I get to know yours as well.” She shrugged and made a point of looking around the room, noting, “Very orderly.”

Then she picked up Enid’s mug, dangling it from her thumb and cocking an eyebrow.

Before she could say anything, Larissa took the mug from her and clarified, “It was a gift. From a student,” as she put it back in its designated place, patting it gently as if to apologise.

“You’re popular with the students then, I presume?”

“Are headmistresses ever popular?” Larissa sighed.

“Oh, I remember having been quite fond of mine during my school days.”

Raising an eyebrow of her own, Larissa contemplated the idea of Zelda as a bratty teenager—or would she have been more of a teacher’s pet? It was hard to decide. Much the same as with Morticia during their time at the Academy, who’d known just how to provoke the teachers with her attitude but had also had a concerning efficiency in charming them with her intelligence.

“I even wanted to become one myself,” Ms Spellman added.

“Well, you are a directrix now, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, indeed.” Amusement played on her lips at that; it suited her.

“So, what business would you like to discuss? Surely, it can’t be anything too… private, can it?” Larissa gestured with her eyes into the room, both excited and terrified. “Considering the setting?”

In mysterious silence, Ms Spellman slipped from the desk and rounded it to Larissa’s side, yet, instead of looking at her, she only had eyes for the slightly opened drawer containing her breaktime-erotica. Before Larissa could react, she’d already taken the top one out, examining it while continuing their conversation. “Settings are no problem for me, Miss Weems. I thought you’d be aware of that by now.”

What Larissa wanted to ask about was why she didn’t need glasses to read the back of the book, but what she should bring up and did was, “May I remind you that we are presently at a school full of teenagers—my school? I have neither time nor patience for games, Ms Spellman .”

“Games?” Ms Spellman scoffed. “Tapping into that brattish energy, are we?”

While up until now Larissa had felt that she had somewhat of an upper hand here, it was gone now that Ms Spellman was towering over her and spinning her with the chair to face her so that she could grip the armrests left and right, trapping her. “I would be impressed by your sudden display of confidence, if I didn’t know how much you enjoy me putting you into place.”

As much as Larissa was squirming with arousal, her sense of duty and decorum led her to be rather displeased with Ms Spellman’s conduct. “As much as I hate to disappoint, this isn’t an act. You want to keep your businesses separate, well, so do I.”

“Oh.” Feigning indifference, Ms Spellman removed herself completely, leaving Larissa with a pang in her chest. “In that case, I can always leave, and we reschedule for next week?”

Anything but that. It had been hard enough to refrain from finishing the job herself after the incident at the boutique, knowing that only Ms Spellman got to decide when and how she came. She’d waited and hoped for that message to come, but it never had. Spending another week like this was unimaginable.

Turning on her heel, Ms Spellman was already reaching for her bag when Larissa jumped up and caught her wrist—a mistake. “Please,” she pleaded and immediately let go, hoping that Ms Spellman didn’t mind, “don’t go.”

When Ms Spellman stopped in her tracks, a foreboding silence stretched between them that didn’t allow Larissa to move. One by one, Ms Spellman set her things back down, then turned around, fingers splayed on the desk as she put her other hand on her hip. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re purposely breaking my rules, Larissa.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her heels clicked as she stepped up to her. “Because I did get the impression you enjoyed my punishments more than my affections, no?”

“In my defence, your punishments are rather unconventional,” Larissa defended herself, struggling to keep her pokerface up.

Ms Spellman chuckled, whether it was about the remark or her, Larissa didn’t know. “They are. So I can mark edging and orgasm denial down with a star?”

Although grudgingly, Larissa gave an affirmative nod.

Pulling a cigarette out of her pack, she went on, “I imagine you like to get what you deserve, or think you deserve.”

“Like what?” Larissa spat, clenching her fist as she pointed out, “And you’re not supposed to smoke in here.”

“Sue me,” Ms Spellman retorted, lighting it as she expanded on her musings. “Take Morticia. You love the wound she gave you so much that you keep it open at any cost, pick at the scabs.”

“That’s ludicrous.” Larissa clenched her fist around the fountain pen Morticia had gifted her. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re still hoping that she’ll soothe it with a kiss one day.” Ms Spellman grinned around her cigarette, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Then it’d be earned, wouldn’t it? But she won’t.”

Hearing this harsh, unsolicited assessment from Ms Spellman was not something Larissa was prepared for at all. It threw her balance off, made her feel like a kicked dog and she couldn’t even bear to think about whether there was any truth to it.

“I don’t care about Morticia, I hate her.”

Ms Spellman shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “Didn’t feel like it when you spilled around my fingers at the sound of her voice,” she taunted and took another drag.

“I’d prefer not to talk about Morticia right now, if you don’t mind.”

“So be it.” Ms Spellman pursed her lips and nodded. “Are you still drinking that?”

“Uh, no?”

“Brilliant.” She flicked her half-smoked cigarette into Larissa’s cold coffee. “Now, principal. Be good for me and lean back in that chair, will you?” She gestured vaguely behind the desk while taking a rolled-up jute rope out of her bag. “I boldly assumed that you’d rather be tied up by me than your duties for once.”

“That does sound,” she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the grip Ms Spellman had on the rope, “enticing.”

“There we go then,” Ms Spellman said with a calm, almost proud lopsided smirk playing around the corner of her mouth as she formed a loop in the centre of the rope and tied it.

“Do I not need to be naked for this?”

“Unless you have a desire to strip bare in your school’s office, no.” Nudging her knees apart, Ms Spellman stepped between her legs and bent over to place the rope around her neck. Making sure the loop was positioned between her shoulder blades, she brought the two ends over her clavicles to her front, touching over the hickeys she’d left there. “I might push your dress up at a later point, but that can be done with the rope on.”

It was as caring an action as if merely adjusting her clothes, and Larissa had no doubt she’d look good in the end. Despite this being her first time getting properly tied up, she had no fear, especially not after Ms Spellman brushed her knuckles along her cheek like she did, her countless rings running coolly along the bone. It had Larissa staring at her lips in a haze, wanting her senses to be wrapped up in all that was Ms Spellman again.

Noticing her heavy-lidded eyes, Ms Spellman murmured against the side of her face, “Wouldn’t want to smudge your lipstick, would we?”

“But I… want to, directrix.”

“Mh.” She grazed her nails along her jaw and down the front of her throat, even more prominent when she swallowed against it. “I’m afraid that has to be earned.”

Her voice was quivering as much as her hands that she tried to keep in check. “How?”

“By keeping very. still.”

It seemed too simple to trust. There must be something she was planning, which was enough to give Larissa a rush of adrenaline that had her pulse throbbing as Ms Spellman proceeded to tie a knot just at the base of her throat, leaning in so close that her curls fell on her collarbone and her pearl-bracelet touched over her skin. When she was done, Larissa felt like a dog on a leash.

Reaching behind herself, Ms Spellman took another item out of her bag that was hidden from Larissa’s view—she heard it before she could see it: buzzing.

“Principal, do you think you can keep still for me?”

Considering how abundantly clear Ms Spellman had made it that there would only be one directrix in this arrangement, being addressed with her title granted Larissa a modicum of control, making her feel more at ease in the situation.

“I’m,” the buzzing increased with a flick of Ms Spellman’s finger, “not so sure.”

“You must know, I’m not beyond bestowing special privileges for good behaviour,” she switched the small vibrator off, but the nail of her index finger remained pressed against it. “So, again,” she narrowed her eyes, “can you keep still?”

Larissa licked over her dry, parted lips, stammering. “I suppose, um, I could try.”

 “That is no way to answer your directrix.” Ms Spellman’s eyes flashed with anger as she tutted and let the end of the rope crack against her own thigh—a warning. “Will you keep still?”

Lashes fluttering, Larissa this time answered with, “Yes, directrix.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear to keep still, directrix.”

Ms Spellman held her gaze as she nodded, brushing her hand down her front until she reached the hem of her dress, halting until Larissa gave her the enthusiastic nod she was waiting for. A shiver shot up her spine as she went under her dress, gliding over her tummy to where the tights sat only to dive beneath them and her underwear as well. With skilled fingers, she attached the device to her sex and Larissa winced despite it still being turned off.

A glare was enough to remind her of her promise. An instinct told her that if she’d upset her three times, she’d lose her privilege, and even though she didn’t even know what exactly it was, she knew that she wanted it. The look on Ms Spellman’s face as she came back up and tied a third knot between her breasts made Larissa aware of the wetness their little back-and-forth had already left her with, and she mouthed a ‘sorry’.

“What was that?” Ms Spellman asked with a sharpness that was bordering on a second strike, tying a further knot just above her belly button, the next below it, and then another in quick succession.

“Nothing, directrix.”

“Is someone ashamed of their state of arousal?” She parted the rope and threaded it left and right of her crotch, adding pressure on the vibrator set between them silent like a dud, before instructing her to lift her hips as she brought them to the back. “Never be afraid of your desire,” she said when Larissa didn’t answer and pulled the rope up and through the noose between her shoulder blades. “Embrace it.”

When Larissa only averted her eyes, Ms Spellman pulled the ends of the rope under her arms to the front and pulled them tight as if gripping her lapels. They dug into her skin, grounding her.

 “Understood?” Ms Spellman asked with a gentle firmness, searching her eyes.

Larissa lost herself in her gaze, her lips tingling. She wanted to take her to the movies, make out on the fire escapes, spill the vintage Pinot Noir on the Persian rug in her bedroom. “Yes, directrix.”

Hoisting one knee up beside her thigh, Ms Spellman breathed a sympathetic kiss to Larissa’s lips and drew her fingers over the bruise her mouth had left on her collarbone the day before as if she were her favourite again after how things went down at the boutique. She couldn’t deny how feverish the changing cabin incident had made her, but being here alone with Ms Spellman whose sole reason for her presence was to give her an unforgettable time gave her a sense of power she enjoyed.

It was quiet between them as Ms Spellman straddled Larissa’s lap, threading the rope back and forth to create intricate diamond shapes down the length of her body. Now that she’d tied her hands into the contraption, she seemed more relaxed being in close contact.

It took all the courage in her heart to ask, “Can you teach me how to mark you?”

A cocky smirk appeared on Ms Spellman’s lips. “Feeling possessive, are we?”

What might’ve been intended to be a playful remark stirred doubt within Larissa, perhaps because it hit too close to home. As hard as it was to admit, she did harbour feelings like that. She’d never quite had anything, and now she wanted to touch Ms Spellman every chance she got, despite knowing better than to want to put claim on her dominatrix. Insecure after the ambiguous rejection, she asked, “Am I really that overbearing? With the touching, I mean?”

“No,” Ms Spellman replied without having to think twice about it. “I simply prefer not to be touched without warning. It’s safer for us both.”

She wasn’t sure she understood, but it calmed her mind knowing that Ms Spellman didn’t think less of her. “Even with your partners?”

“I discuss it with them like I would a kink,” she explained, not quite managing to distract Larissa from the sensation of her hands on her body, skilfully fastening the rope around her ribcage without restricting her ability to breathe. “What amount and types of touching I,” she searched for the right words, “can tolerate without verbal consent.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“You may think that, but no.” Her difficulty processing this didn’t seem to faze Ms Spellman at all. “Being aware of your partner’s needs and boundaries,” she stressed the word as she pulled the constraints at her wrists tight, “is a necessity in a healthy relationship.”

It was an eye-opening moment for Larissa—and not in the most pleasant way. The disillusionment was like rope-burn on her skin, not because Ms Spellman was tying her up too harshly but because her ego had made her chest swell too much. She’d never been in a solid relationship and had been foolish to think she could meet Ms Spellman’s standards. At least in terms of experience, she had nothing to offer—and yet she wanted her, all the more.

The next moment, Larissa lost Ms Spellman’s warmth as she stood and turned the chair so that the window and curtains ended up on her left.

“You’re quite the vision tied up in this lighting,” Ms Spellman commented. “I know someone who could photograph you for your private collection.”

“Um, I’m not so sure.” It was all moving so fast, and with the vibrator’s sudden stimulation between her legs, she didn’t feel fit to make any decisions.

“Well, think about it. I could be there with you if that’s any comfort.”

Ms Spellman must have noticed that a part of her was still hung up on a previous topic, because she circled back to her earlier request. “I don’t usually permit my clients to mark me,” she turned the vibrator up a notch, making Larissa struggle with the throbbing of her clit. “But I agreed to teach you, so,” she flicked the switch again, and Larissa was whimpering, holding on by a thread, “if you take my strap-on very well, I might be persuaded to allow it.”

The thread snapped and Larissa nearly lost grip on the impending climax, soaking through her tights as she eyed Ms Spellman’s dress pants and spotted the hint of a harness on her hip, shining through her leopard print blouse. “I’ve never—”

“—been vaginally penetrated by the semblance of a penis?” Ms Spellman finished for her, smirking.

Larissa blushed at the bluntness. “Yes... that.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Just when she thought she would burst into a violent orgasm, Ms Spellman switched the device off completely and turned on her heel. “Follow me.”

She couldn’t be serious, Larissa thought while fighting to get on her feet with her hands tied on her back. The woman didn’t even wait, took what she assumed was the other part of the strap-on out of her bag and sauntered towards the exit to the balcony as if she knew every secret of this place. Swinging the glass doors open with the energy of Snow White on a summer morning, Ms Spellman stepped out and leaned on the stone railing, her hair blowing in the wind like in a shampoo commercial, while Larissa was trying her best not to fall on her face.

“Bend over,” Ms Spellman commanded without looking at her as soon as she sensed her next to her.

Exasperated, Larissa retorted, “Here?”

“All the teachers and students are busy with their classes—nothing at all to worry about.”

“But this is—”

“—a school, yes, you’ve mentioned it.” Larissa’s jaw dropped, speechless at the ignorance of this woman and in denial of the spark of excitement twinkling in her stomach. “Now, do as you’re told.” She finally faced her, leaning only with her elbow on the railing and playing with the remote. “I don’t have all day.”

Each time they met, Ms Spellman took her breath away. It was inevitable, tempting, deliciously vulgar—and Larissa found herself agreeing every single time, bending not only to her will but also over for her. Before she could wonder about the logistics of her tights being in the way, Ms Spellman’s nail was at her crotch, ripping a hole into the drenched nylon. She didn’t dare complain.

“You’re not afraid of heights, I hope?”

Hazarding a gaze down—far, far down—into the school’s backyard, she gulped and said, “No, directrix.”

“Good, I shall try to not rail you over the railing.” When Ms Spellman hiked her dress up, Larissa really felt the ropes for the first time, because unlike before, she was nervous about what laid ahead. She tensed as the silicone head of the strap-on dipped between her folds for the first time. They were slick beyond anything that was appropriate, but the toy felt too big, too imposing and foreign.

Ms Spellman squeezed the bound hands on her back, reassuring her. “Relax.”

The vibrator roared up again on a low setting, sending a pleasant hum through her body that covered the sensation of the first intrusion so much that Larissa was surprised that she barely felt it at all. It slipped into her effortlessly due to the abundance of lubrication, and after a moment of adjustment, the sensation of a penetration gave way to that of fulfilment in the truest sense of the word.

“And that, my dear, is why foreplay matters.”

Chuckling, Ms Spellman placed her hands on her hips and made the first thrust. She took it slow, pulling any thought from her mind each time she drew out of her and filling her with nothing but good whenever she pushed back in. So much so, that it almost made her forget that she was taking her in broad daylight outside her own office. Hence, the moan she let out was just that bit too loud.

Grabbing a fistful of her buttocks, Ms Spellman scolded, “Stifle yourself. You wouldn’t want to draw attention to your compromising position now, would you?”

“I can’t, it’s so ah—” The bruising grip made her dip further over the railing since she had no way of holding herself back. Luckily, Ms Spellman brought her back up, making her arch in the process and using the opportunity for a firm thrust. “Oh, dear god!”

“Try again.”

“Directrix!” Larissa corrected herself, melting like butter into the soft but deliberate strokes. “Mh!”

“That’s right.” Ms Spellman bent over her, pressing her front over her back and hands, and stopped moving. The vibrations ceased as well, leaving Larissa once again on the verge of coming yet without any stimulation. Knowing it was her best shot at earning herself permission, she gave her best to keep quiet and control the pulsing of her walls around the shaft.

“Aw, trying so hard for me, are you?

“Please,” she bit her lip to suppress the whine, “allow me to come.”

“But you’re holding back so nicely,” Ms Spellman pointed out, “very impressive.”

The praise only tripled the pressure to let go; her voice was thinned with distress. “Please.”

“However could I deny a pretty girl when she begs so politely?” She drew out and ran her fingers down the nape of her neck, giving Larissa goosebumps. “Well then, come around your directrix’ cock,” she said and bottomed out.

“Mh, marvellous,” she purred, and Larissa shattered, unable to tell whether from the word alone or the strap Ms Spellman had fired into her. Her knees gave in, but she couldn’t move, and so Ms Spellman slipped out of her and caught her in her arms, leading her back inside. While Larissa was recovering in her big chair, Ms Spellman unscrewed the toy from the harness and cleaned the vibrator before storing everything in her bag. The way she zipped her pants back up had Larissa’s breath hitch, pleasure still rolling over her like a ten-ton truck.

“I didn’t expect you to be so… pliant,” Ms Spellman mused while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out during their rendezvous, and began to undo the ropes. “You did well, Larissa.”

She said her name so lovingly that Larissa’s heart clenched. “So we’re even now?”

“Yes,” Ms Spellman gave a liberated laugh, “no more impromptu work visits. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The rope disappeared into the bag as well, and then Ms Spellman settled on her lap in a neat Sussex-slant, folding her hands atop her knee. “I do believe I spoke of special privileges, didn’t I?”

Mindful to keep her hands to herself despite how in awe she was of her grace, Larissa husked, “Yes.”

“You may touch me now.” Larissa didn’t waste a second, stroking up her back with one hand and rubbing her thigh with the other. The feeling of a warm body under her fingertips was pure comfort after the emotional turmoil of recent days. “And pick a place for your mark.”

“Your breast.” It was quick and bold, but honest.

“How nefarious” Ms Spellman tutted. “But fine, you’ve earned it.” She opened a couple of buttons on her blouse and took Larissa’s hand in her own before bringing it to her bra. “Part your lips and place them on my skin.”

Glancing up to Ms Spellman, Larissa brushed her thumb over the top of her breast—the only finger she could move freely as she was still holding her hand—and put her mouth in a spot nearby. Ms Spellman hummed at the contact and pressed her head closer. That was how having a breast squished into her face became her new favourite leisure activity of choice.

“Form an o-shape with your mouth and make sure it’s airtight. Then suck.” Ms Spellman moaned when she did—an unearthly sound—and let go of her hand. “Like that. No teeth.”

With no clue when to stop, Larissa waited until Ms Spellman told her, “That should be enough.”

As she lifted her head away, she observed the area until the lovebite became visible. Proud as a peacock, she asked, “Can I touch it?”

“Be careful.”

Larissa cupped her breast and traced the red-purplish mark with her index finger.

“And? Was it worth it?” Ms Spellman asked, a hint of hesitance in her voice.

Larissa was flat-out beaming, never having expected a gesture as simple as this to bring her this much joy. “Without a question.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Ms Spellman said and guided her chin up, so she could breathe a kiss onto her lips. “You see, I wanted to apologise.”

“Did you?”

“I was out of line yesterday.” Pensive, Ms Spellman shifted to sit on the armrest of the chair and patted her knee, leaning her elbow on her backrest and directed her gaze out of the window behind her as if she couldn’t bear to look at her for this. “In fact, I must admit that my conduct when it comes to you is… unprofessional. And I don’t quite know how to continue our arrangement under these circumstances.”

While the apology did give Larissa some peace of mind regarding yesterday’s events, the thought of cutting contact with Ms Spellman had the opposite effect. “I appreciate that, but there’s no need for such drastic measures.”

Ms Spellman took a moment to consider, rubbing her temple. “You must know that I do not intend for you to get hurt, dear.”

“It’s my own risk,” Larissa argued, covering her upset with a chortle.

Standing up, Ms Spellman hid her face from her but gave in for now. “Very well then. Friday 9 pm?”

“I’ll be there,” Larissa assured, watching Ms Spellman collect her things with mixed feelings. She didn’t even react when she pinched one of her precious mint chocolates.

When everything was in order, she turned around holding a book in her hands that she gave to Larissa. “For educational purposes.” It was erotica—lesbian erotica, likely from her personal collection. “Consider this a token of apology.”

Larissa’s thoughts were still occupied with what Ms Spellman had said about having been unprofessional and what that could mean; the hope that it might imply she’d caught feelings for her; the possibility of losing her.

“Are you quite alright?” Ms Spellman asked, biting into another piece of mint chocolate.

Fixing her hair as best as she could, Larissa replied with a breathy, “Yes, sure.”

“Very convincing,” Ms Spellman said with loud and clear sarcasm as she eyed her with concern, as if she wanted to stay and rub her back. “But I must get going now. Elaine is on her own at the boutique, likely summoning some marvellous eldritch terror.”

A sudden wave of pleasure overcame her, she inhaled sharply, and instantly hoped that Ms Spellman hadn’t noticed that her voice alone had given her another small high.

“Au revoir,” she simply said as she left, quietly this time.

Larissa needed a new pair of tights.

Chapter Text

Each time Larissa taught a class on the influences and depictions of J. C. Leyendecker and Norman Rockwell on the American Dream, she felt like an imposter of the woman she’d meant to be. While she might have the glamour of these women, the life she led was a vastly different one. Instead of being a lady of leisure who went out playing tennis in the country club, she spent her days—this one in particular—hurrying back to her office after class with a blasted hangover, hoping to get at least five minutes of peace before the mayor would show up to pester her with some menial nonsense about promoting tourism in Jericho as if people weren’t scared off by the town’s proximity to Nevermore. The only tourism to promote was the paranormal one to attract ghost hunters and lost place explorers.

Speaking of ghosts and lost places: she shouldn’t have gone through the box of old school memorabilia from her youth last night. It had led to her opening another bottle of red that was responsible for the pounding headache and nausea she was currently suffering from.

Suffering, yes.

There’d been the yearbook, which had at least been marginally fun to flick through, but then she’d found the polaroids of her and Morticia at the Raven’N of 1991. She’d spent most of the night watching Gomez sweep her through the repurposed gym, sipping punch she’d spiked with vodka. It was only towards the end, when her head had already been spinning from the alcohol, that Morticia had pulled her onto the dancefloor to Smells Like Teen Spirit. Despite not being much of a dancer, she’d given her best to keep up with Morticia and surprisingly enjoyed it—until the song had faded into November Rain by Guns N’ Roses, Morticia had laced her arms around her neck, and Larissa had begun to shake with panic.

Pushing her way through the door to her office—hands full with worksheets and projector slides—she threw her bag into a chair, lest she’d drop everything, and barely made it to her desk. After taking three deep breaths, she stuffed the worksheets into a drawer and put on a Marianne Faithful vinyl to unwind to with her feet up in front of the fireplace that was equally burnt-out as she was.

The contents of the box were still scattered on the floor surrounding her chair, together with the empty glass bottles she’d have to pick up before Noble would show up—but she needed five seconds to breathe first.

Unlocking her phone, she discovered a handful of messages from Ms Spellman she’d failed to reply to last night. She’d been concerned about her state and thanked her for the thoughtful gift that she’d so ruthlessly dismissed at the boutique. Even the good morning message Larissa had forgone today since she’d more fallen out of bed than anything, aspirin having been the first and only thing on her mind.

Apologies, Directrix. I

… got so drunk last night that I couldn’t reply to you? No.

Apologies, Directrix.

Your visit left me quite exhausted

and I was in need of an early night.

I’m hoping the business

is treating you well today?

xxx

Fearing that she might inquire further or question her, Larissa had decided to include some small talk as a diversion.

Miss Weems! The business is presently

treating me better than you are.

Larissa sunk deeper into the chair, shame heating up her cheeks at the deserved punishment of being called by her last name. She couldn’t wait until this day would be over and she could curl up in bed with her new book and relieve herself of last night’s misery tearing at her muscles.  

Another message came through:

… I am relieved to hear that you’re alright, though.

You had me worried.

She shouldn’t smile at that, but she did. Pressing the phone to her heart, she curled up in the chair and closed her eyes for a minute to listen to The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan. A woman who had everything Larissa dreamed of—partner, children, suburban house. It was strange how one could be unhappy in another one’s dearest dream. She’d always felt that being a teacher was her calling, but she’d also wanted to be a homemaker, a caretaker, and not a fulltime-stressed-out principal.

They’d shared this fantasy once, Morticia and she, only that her roommate had actually achieved it. At one point after their contact had broken off and she’d begun to figure some things out, Larissa had written her a letter, asking to meet, but she’d never sent it. It might’ve spared her humiliation considering that Morticia hadn’t wasted a single thought on her all these years.

She still had the letter, had read it last night and cried.

The music lulled her in, and she dozed off until the creak of the door opening jolted her to attention and made her snap upright.

“Noble!” she gasped, stumbling onto her feet and fixing her hair.

The horror was written on her face when she realised she hadn’t cleaned the mess up; everything was strewn on the floor, the evidence of a rough, inconsolable night of teenage angst.

“Principal Weems.” He removed his hat and held it in front of his stomach, glancing around and zeroing in on her. Her heart was pounding with fear of what he might conclude from this. “Are you all right?”

“Splendid,” she assured, forcing a smile and clasping her hands. “Take a seat.”

Larissa switched off the record player before it ad even reached its end—so much for five minutes of peace—though better to save herself the embarrassment of having him hear the soundtrack to her self-pity. Walking behind her desk and sitting in her big chair, Larissa dearly hoped her generous donations to his election campaigns in the previous years might move him to overlook what he had witnessed. The mayor sat on the other side, kneading the brim of his hat—it must be bad news then.

“What is it that you wanted to discuss?” she asked, clicking her pen and twirling it between her fingers, anything to hide the shaking of her hands and the tremor of her humiliation.

“Sure,” he cleared his throat more times than she liked, buying time, “It’s ah—”

“Oh, good lord. Spit it out!” His presence felt like an intrusion here. Her office may be a public space, a workspace, but since her private bedroom was just next door and considering everything that had taken place in here yesterday in particular and through the years in general, it had become a poignant representation of her life—one that she didn’t feel comfortable sharing. “I’m a very busy woman.”

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath, then tried again. “You see, recent surveys showed that—The citizens agree that Jericho is giving Nevermore too much funding. They think it’s not worth it.”

Dropping the pen, Larissa stood, fingers splayed on the desk as she leaned in the mayor’s direction, menacing as if the desk were the only thing preventing the panther from pounce. “Do you think my work is not worth it, Noble?”

“No, no, I do.” He let out a nervous laugh that quickly died once he saw her glacial expression; his eyes turned solemn. “I respect you, Larissa. You know that.” As a woman in this society, no, she didn’t. “The re-election is coming up and if I go down, you’re on unsteady ground as well.”

She couldn’t care less about his campaign, even if their understanding had proven useful in the past. If he was willing to jeopardise the school, he was no friend of hers. “How much are we talking?”

The coward could barely bring himself to speak up. “Nevermore would receive about half of the current funding.”

“Half? I can’t believe you!” She flashed her eyes at him, standing to her full height. He sunk into the chair. “You know how hard the winter was. I had to spend my personal savings to maintain the heating!”

“I’m aware of that.” He put his hand in the nape of his neck, rubbing the tension away as if she wasn’t the one with a myriad of problems looming. “But the winter is over now, so,” he scrambled, “perhaps you could cut back on some electricity and other extras?”

“Extras,” she scoffed. “Such as?”

“Well, the Rave’N has a reputation for being extravagant. What if you reduced the budget there?” he suggested.

“What if I reduced my support for your campaign, Noble?” Larissa countered, sharp-tongued, and he tugged at his collar as if she’d left a cut in his throat. She leaned on the backrest of her chair, the only support she could hope for, apparently. “The Rave’N is important for the kids. They’ve been looking forward to it all year.”

“Don’t act like some party will decide over their survival.”

“Maybe not their own survival, but that of their grades! We’re not in the 40s anymore where you beat children to discipline them.” Larissa knew all too well that in some households, this practice continued long after the 40s. “They need incentive, they need to feel that their dedication is valued.”

Fear was an effective motivator, but one that that left some needing to seek out a dominatrix later in life to fill the hole it had burned into them. Anyone can lead with cruelty, few with compassion—and she wanted to be one of them.

“All right, all right. You know more about these things than I do,” Noble admitted. “But there’s nothing I can do, Larissa. I’m sorry.”

Turning to the window and putting her hands on her hips, Larissa looked out through the translucent, white curtains that always prevented her from seeing the future as a clear, sharp image; always with unstable variables and stones in her way she’d rather throw than stumble over. “You may leave.”

Noble’s sigh mixed with the creak of the leather as he stood up, but his footsteps stopped before the door fell shut. “You’d tell me if you had problems, wouldn’t you?”

“My only problem right now is you.” She glared over her shoulder, enough to shove him out of her office. “Goodbye.”

It wasn’t quite true though; there was another problem named Morticia who she needed to deal with next. Cleaning up a bit of the mess, she returned to her desk and picked up the phone receiver while dialling the number Morticia had left her when she’d signed her daughter up for the school.

It cracked, then a low growl, followed by heavy breathing.

“Hello? Um, this is Principal Weems from Nevermore Academy. Is Mrs Addams available?”

Another growl, but whoever was on the other end of the line didn’t hang up. Larissa twirled the phone cable around her fingers as she waited, her heart racing purely out of frustration, she told herself.

“Larissa! How lovely of you to call,” Morticia’s usual, dizzying purr emerged.

Glancing up, Larissa rubbed her forehead with thumb and middle finger as she tried not to scream. “Hello, Morticia.” She didn’t have any pleasantries in her today and cut right to the chase. “I’m calling to tell you that we’ve lost the funding for the Rave’N, which means it cannot take place, I’m afraid. Consider your schedule cleared.”

In truth, she wanted to hang up and move on; celebrate the fact that at least she’d no longer have to have these painfully intimate meetings with Morticia anymore, but of course the woman wouldn’t let her off the hook so easily.

“Wait, cherié! Slow down. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her headache had intensified so much that every thought she had to form hurt. “The Rave’N can’t happen without money, and I have no means to provide it at the present moment.”

Morticia’s silence had her hoping this would end the conversation—it didn’t.

“Well, Gomez and I could pitch in,” Morticia suggested, sounding almost… desperate. “I wouldn’t want my little monster to miss her very first Rave’N.”

And she wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to worm her way into her Academy affairs, would she?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Morticia. It is just a party after all.”

She was well aware that she was contradicting herself, but taking her money would mean she’d owe her, or worse: they’d be even. And Larissa couldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t let her win.

“I’m coming over and we’ll discuss this in person. Don’t give up just yet, cherié, we’ll find—”

The doors swung open again, distracting her—the courtesy of knocking before entering truly seemed to have evaded people these days—and Morticia (huh?) came in. Her archenemy having mastered the art of teleportation was really the last thing she needed. No, it wasn’t her. It was… Elaine, from the boutique.

Then, glancing at the calendar opened on her laptop, she remembered: the interviews for the TA position.

“You’re not coming, and that is my last word, Morticia,” she spoke firmly into the phone. “I need to go. Something’s come up.”

Hanging up on her like that felt good. She walked around the desk, questioning whether she had the mental capacity to conduct an interview right now, but when she shook Elaine’s hand and looked into her faithful eyes, her annoyance dissipated, and she felt that she not only could but wanted to.

“Welcome, Miss…?” Shamefully, Larissa realised that she only remembered her first name, everything from that damned book, yet nothing from her resume.

“Parks,” the young woman helped her out, rosy blush make-up bringing out her cheeks as she smiled and curtsied, obviously nervous. “Enchanté?”

Not French, please. Today of all days, she wasn’t prepared to deal with the dilemma of her favourite foe and new acquaintance being so similar. 

“Please.” Larissa gestured toward where the mayor had just sat. Feeling the need to keep it casual for the sake of the poor woman, she decided to sit in the second leather chair next to her instead of behind her imposing desk. “Forgive my informality, but since we’ve met at Ms Spellman’s boutique before, I’m wondering why you would apply for another position?”

When Elaine’s removed her scarlet coat and folded it over her arm, Larissa noticed that it had a rainbow-coloured lining; radiance hidden under the guise of mundanity. The large, oval crystal rings on her fingers clinked as she brushed down the front of her hair and smiled a dazzling, pink-lipped smile as if genuinely excited to be talking to her; not because she was paid to, not because she wanted to take something from her.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to work with children! They’re still so untouched by the brutality of life.” She seemed to lose herself a bit in her thoughts, reminding Larissa of herself. Then she snapped back and explained, “The job at the boutique was only supposed to get me back on my feet.”

“Back on your feet?”

The woman sitting in front of her didn’t give her the impression that she needed help; well-dressed in tasteful white lace, her long hair throughly combed, an eyeliner wing so perfect Larissa envied her skill.

“I was lost, you know?” She laughed, a gleeful paradox, and strangely, it infected Larissa. “Ms Spellman brought me back to my true self.”

As much as Larissa didn’t understand what she meant by that, she also did understand. And it really wasn’t any of her business. She needed a TA—desperately so—and as long as she had the credentials, she shouldn’t pry, not matter how curious she was about the life the young woman was leading.

Young—yes, she was young, but the wisdom with which she spoke made her appear no less mature than herself or Ms Spellman. The fact that she too was a client of Ms Spellman was a bit odd, but technically, Larissa wasn’t supposed to know that, so she’d have to keep her questions to herself.

“Very well,” she resumed, “So, what qualifications do you have?”

“I have an Early Childhood Associate’s degree.” She handed her all the material, which was welcome considering that Larissa hadn’t gotten around to more than glancing over the applications. “And additional CPR training.”

An image of Elaine resuscitating her brushed Larissa’s mind like a noisy fly. She skimmed the documents, which seemed to be well in order. A prestigious college as well, which she knew from experience were hard to get into. She’d rewritten her application for Vienna three times before sending it and had been relieved when the acceptance letter had come and with it the knowledge that there’d be oceans between her and Morticia.

“And you’ve worked in a similar position before?”

“Briefly, yes,” Elaine confirmed, fingering at her choker; a sensitive topic, it seemed. “But the universe works in mysterious ways. I found myself in other… places after the divorce.”

“I see.” As long as it wasn’t anything dubious, Larissa wouldn’t judge a woman for what she did after getting her heart broken. “And you’d be happy to have us proceed with a criminal background check?”

“Of course!”

Larissa doubted they’d find anything on the little heap of innocence in front of her. If anything, she felt a certain need to protect her.

Since the conversation went so smoothly, Larissa relaxed into the chair as if she’d just met Elaine during vacation in Spain, reclining on a towel in the sand on an empty beach, where they would talk until the stars appeared. “Can you tell me a bit more about yourself?”

“Well, I enjoy working in the garden, growing my herbs, making soaps and candles.” The euphoria with which she spoke—a smile audible in every cadence—Larissa envied her for. She used to be like that, a long time ago. “I’ve got lavender and chamomile there, if you’d like me to pick some for you?”

Even her interviewee could tell she felt rotten, but when she pushed past the discomfort, she could appreciate the idea of someone wanting to pick flowers for her to make her feel better. “That won’t be necessary. A good night’s sleep is all I need.” Her mouth was still open as if to say more, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. After a moment of Elaine eyeing her curiously, comfortingly, she added, “Thank you, though.”

The sun emerged from behind the wall of clouds that had been hanging over Nevermore all morning and drenched the office in golden light, so that the sparkles of her green dress reflected it and her body warmed up as it would on that beach she’d imagined.

“And which subjects do you teach?” she changed the topic, shaking herself of the notion.

“The arts of course! I’m a passionate painter myself!” she emphasised, splaying her black nails on her chest and leaning towards her.

Larissa couldn’t deny that she clearly understood colour theory considering the way she dressed and chose her eyeshadow. It complimented her complexion impeccably, which she could imagine might be the reason why she had such a strong—for lack of a better word—aura.

Elaine was an exceptional fit—she could take over parts of her classes, prepare and evaluate them, and she wouldn’t have to do overtime for the accounting anymore and might even get some time to enjoy life again. She couldn’t turn this opportunity down; she needed this woman.

Clearing her throat, Larissa asked, “When would you be able to start?”

“I’ve got a notice period of four weeks at the boutique, but I could do some trial work before, get to know everything and then start properly later on?”

Larissa would rather have her start tomorrow, but considering she had gone years working herself into the ground, pushing through until then without a major breakdown should be doable.

It wasn’t like her to hire people on a whim, but Elaine was someone she wanted around; energetic, curious, invigorating. And so, she stood up and stretched her hand out. “Congratulations, you have got the job.”

“Oh, the universe is on my side today!” Elaine cheered, jumping up as she shook her hand. “How fantastic!”

Larissa hadn’t seen the basil-leaf-scented hug coming that she found herself enveloped in. It was tight and honest, which was why she only tentatively freed herself from the much-needed warmth.

“Uh, careful,” she chuckled, pushing the young woman back while her hands remained on her upper arms. “I’m your future employer, remember?”

“I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again,” Elaine gasped, leaping backwards.

“Don’t worry about it.” Larissa had to hide her smirk behind her fingertips, inappropriately delighted by Elaine’s tiptoeing around her. She just knew this woman would enchant these school halls. “I’ll be in touch. Have a wonderful day, Miss Parks.”

Relieved, Elaine let Larissa help her into her coat. As she shouldered her small bag, she never took her eyes off Larissa in a manner that was so triumphant that her subsequent faux pas almost came across as intended. “Goodbye, Miss Larissa.”

“Weems, it’s Miss Weems,” Larissa laughed despite herself, shaking her head.

“I’ll remember!” Elaine winked over her shoulder as she left, untucking her hip-length hair from her coat.

Larissa couldn’t wipe the stupid smile from her lips for the whole afternoon and found herself going grocery shopping even after the long, hangover-darkened day and not minding it one bit. In good spirits, she chose not to restock her wine cabinet just yet. There were still a few bottles left, but she wouldn’t be able to go into the store until next week, making it a risk should the night get too lonely again. But it was already Wednesday, and she had a session scheduled for Friday, which wasn’t all that long now considering she had that new book in her drawer she was dying to enjoy in every meaning of the word.

Perhaps she was a lady of leisure after all, if not one of pleasure.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, Larissa had fallen asleep content with the remnants of Ms Spellman’s visit and Elaine’s embrace coursing through her, and utterly spent after reading nearly half of her new book. She’d underestimated how stimulating it would be to read about women loving other women.

On Thursday, she’d had a long, but riveting day as she’d taken the class Wednesday was part of on an excursion to Jericho’s small art gallery, where the kids not only got to see local artist’s works displayed but had also been given the opportunity to learn from the artists themselves and take the painting brush into their own hands.

As she’d strolled along the gallery, one of the pieces exhibited had caught her eye. It had portrayed a tiger in front of the sun and a nude, redheaded woman. To befriend the beast within, the untameable, the ravenous—something like that. She’d been surprised to find that on the bronze plaque beneath, the name Elaine Parks had been engraved.

On Friday, Ms Spellman had cancelled their session due to “family business” she’d needed to see to and told her that she couldn’t schedule her until the following week. Not even a call, just a message. After that, her beloved pasta had lost its flavour while her taste for wine had been awakened. This time, she’d been smart enough to lock her door prior to settling on the floor and leaning against it with a glass and a bottle, wishing she’d stocked up when she’d had the chance.

Then Morticia had made true of her promise and shown up around two, asking to speak to her. Larissa had sipped her wine and pretended not to be there, despite Morticia’s insistent knocking and begging, telling her she’d seen the light in her window. It hadn’t been her problem, she’d made it unmistakable that she’d not wanted her here, but as always, Morticia had ignored and disrespected her wishes. So, she’d remained steadfast until Morticia had left again.

Now it was Saturday, and Larissa didn’t know what do with herself. With nothing to look forward to, everything she touched did not turn into ashes but, worse, into triviality. She’d started to read a few more pages of the book but couldn’t find enjoyment in it because it only made her more aware that she wouldn’t be receiving any affections for longer than she could bear.

The sun was shining brighter by the day, but going outside had never been all that appealing to her. Until her dying breath, she’d be spending her days haunting the Academy halls like the Canterville Ghost, perhaps after if the fancy struck her. She’d even made her bed, which she usually never bothered to do since there was no one but her to see it anyway.

At the very least, Larissa had been able to pass the time with these menial tasks and had now decided to reward herself with the last drops of her self-medication in a hot bubble bath. The scalding heat intensified her intoxication. Despite the gentle oblivion it shipped her off to, she also had to be careful not to fall asleep and drown in here; a rather unseemly setting to be found cold dead in.

The bathroom overlooked the forest surrounding Nevermore, and Larissa could spend a good while window-gazing, with her feet propped up on the other end of the tub. The bruises on her hips left from being bent over the stone balcony were fading like the memory of touch she nursed on, and all she could do was trace and try to remember the shape of them.

It ached in her bones.

I miss you.

She put her phone away immediately after sending the message, before she’d get second thoughts. Better to empty the bottle and forget about it, now that she’d gotten the words off her chest. The knuckles on her cheek, the radicalism, and the whispered praise.

A few minutes later, the phone chimed.

How endearing.

It appears that luck is on your side, Miss Weems.

I was abandoned by my 6 o’clock appointment,

so I expect you on my doorstep in their stead.

Larissa nearly dropped the phone into the water, her heart pounding away in her chest. Not wasting a second, she stumbled out of bathtub and threw the clothes she’d worn before back on; long brown leather skirt, burgundy long sleeve. In front of the mirror, she tried to bring her still pinned up but due to the dampness slightly curled hair back into shape as best as she could. On her way out, she grabbed a coat and her purse and all but ran to her car, heels be damned.

The sun was setting on the horizon as she drove, the roof of the car open, and a breeze ruffling through her hair, drying her skin. It was alight just from the thought of Ms Spellman’s hands on her body, her name—Zelda—falling from her lips as she sped down the highway with a firm grip on the steering wheel.

Oh, it was simmering within her; heat on her breath.

By the time she pulled up in front of the cottage, the sky had darkened a fair bit, and she could barely see herself in the rearview mirror to check her appearance one last time before hurrying up to the door and knocking, barely grasping the doorframe as she threatened to fall over.

“It’s open!” Ms Spellman called from inside, and Larissa entered.

“Goodev’nin’,” Larissa greeted as she spotted Ms Spellman on the couch, writing in her notebook, then blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “Why’re you, uh, not wearin’ glasses sometimes?”

Putting the pen down with force, Ms Spellman took a deep, long breath. “Miss Weems. Please tell me you’re not under the influence.”

The sharpness of her tone made Larissa wince. “No, I—just a nightcap.”

Ms Spellman turned to look at her now and let her eyes drift up and down her figure, pursing her lips. “Then why, may I ask, are you wearing a bathrobe?”

Confused, Larissa looked down at herself and found that, yes, indeed, she was wearing her white terry cloth bathrobe instead of a coat. She must’ve erred when gathering her things in a hurry.

Sighing, Ms Spellman stood up and rounded the couch, her elegantly lifted hand clenched into a fist. “To answer your question: glasses tend to hinder me in a practical setting, where I do want to see everything.” She came to stand in front of Larissa, assessing the situation. “Now, would you do me the honour as well and explain yourself?”

The sarcasm tasted more bitter than the insignificant bit of wine she’d had. “I’m not drunk! ‘twas just—you cancelled an’ I—”

“What?” Ms Spellman scoffed. “Felt the need to wallow in self-pity? I held you in higher esteem.”

“But you don’ understand!” Larissa argued, teary-eyed. “I can’t, I-I need—”

The crease between Ms Spellman’s eyebrows smoothed out and she closed her eyes momentarily. Her voice was far less of a growl than before when she spoke again. “Larissa, what you need is an AA meeting.”

“I’m not an alcoholic!” Larissa all but shrieked, glaring down at Ms Spellman who only seemed to grow taller in size.

“You drink for the wrong reasons and without measure, which is just as bad,” she scolded and somewhat roughly pulled the bathrobe off her shoulders, hanging it up and then giving her a generous smack on the behind to coax her towards the couch that aroused Larissa more than she wanted to admit. “And you drove here yourself?”

“Yes?” Larissa dropped into the couch, struggling not to fall over. “But I’m fine, ‘twasn’t much.”

“It was irresponsible, that’s what it was,” Ms Spellman hissed and stomped off to the kitchen, muttering, “I can’t believe it.”

Left alone and outraged, Larissa pulled a pillow into her lap and held it against her chest, hoping to feel less exposed. The kettle began to brew, but there was something else she heard; Ms Spellman was talking to someone, presumably on the phone, though she couldn’t make out what she was saying, only that she was fuming.

When Ms Spellman returned, she gave her a mug that distinctly smelled of hot chocolate. “Here, drink this.”

“Who’re you talkin’ to?” Larissa shot at her as she took it.

“I arranged transport for your journey home.” Running her hands over her pencil skirt, Ms Spellman sat down and fumbled a cigarette out of the pack lying on the coffee table.

“There’s no need, I’ve a car.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I will under no circumstances allow you to drive.” Her laugh was an insult, stifled as she perched the cigarette between her lips. “Pick it up when you’re sober.”

“But—” A glare was enough to shut her up. “What ‘bout our session?”

“You know the rules. I wouldn’t dream of touching you in this state.” The disgust flashing on her features stung behind her ribs; the cigarette lit up. “Should you dare show up intoxicated again, our relations are over. Understood?”

The strikes were too precise and came too fast for Larissa not to break out in sobs. Setting the mug aside, she pressed the ball of her hand to her forehead and hid her face, shuddering when Ms Spellman began to stroke her back. It was what she’d wanted, but not after being dealt one blow after another.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean,” Ms Spellman conceded, withdrawing her hand too soon. “I need to keep us both safe here.”

“It’s too ‘ard,” Larissa cried, wiping at her eyes.

“What do you mean, dear? Did something happen with that Morticia of yours again?” She handed her the hot chocolate again, forcing her to shift her focus away from her breakdown. “Drink this, that’s a good girl.”

Larissa had no choice but to take a sip with the way Ms Spellman was pushing it in her face. The praise helped it go down more smoothly, the smell with its associations of satisfaction and bliss eased her heart, and her breathing slowed down eventually. “Things keep goin’ wrong ‘nd I—have no one.”

“Only me,” Ms Spellman said as if she’d given her the solution to Schroedinger’s equation.

While Larissa only nodded, Ms Spellman picked up her pen and scribbled in her notebook, then ripped the page out and flung it to her, tucked between index and middle finger, as she took a drag from her cigarette.

Dr Kinbott

Women’s Support Group

Every Sunday, Jericho Town Hall, 5 pm.

“It’s not specific to alcohol problems, but there’s people who will listen to you.”

“I couldn’t,” Larissa trailed off, merely glancing at the shaky letters. “What if the parents found out?”

“What if they find out the principal is a drunk?” Ms Spellman countered and scoffed.

Point taken. The thought alone was sobering.

“If you need motivation, then only when you’ve attended at least one meeting will your car be returned to you.” Ms Spellman held out her hand. “And as always, I will know.”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Larissa said meekly and placed her keys into her waiting palm but refused to let go of her hand, begging, “Can I stay with you tonight? I need to, uh,” she pulled their hands more towards herself, “feel someone.”

With a loud exhale, Ms Spellman gently peeled the keys from her palm and set them aside, retook Larissa’s hand and in both of her own, and rubbed her knuckles. “That’s not possible, I’m afraid. I have people to get home to.”

“I don’t,” Larissa huffed, and nearly wept again.

Setting their joined hands on Larissa’s knee, Ms Spellman brushed it with her thumb. “I can imagine it must be hard, my girl. I really do, but there’s only so much I can do.”

Her heart sank with her hope until she thought back on their first meeting and the promise Ms Spellman had made to her that night. “Would you hug me again, then?”

“Of course,” Ms Spellman tutted and pulled her against her chest.

The cigarette smell didn’t even bother Larissa anymore, it was comforting, reminded her of happy times. She’d even entertained the thought of buying cigarettes and burning them like incense to summon Ms Spellman’s presence to her empty chambers.

After a while of rocking her, Ms Spellman brought Larissa’s head to rest in her lap, where she caressed her hair. The heaviness that had clung to her all day finally began to lift, the spiral of thoughts uncurled until they were bouncing aimlessly back and forth. “Are you still doing the obedience competitions with your dog?” she wondered, unaware that she’d said it out loud.

“Larissa, Larissa.” Ms Spellman chuckled. “If you have to snoop around in my private life, at least be thorough. Vinegar Tom died three years ago.”

Larissa’s face ran hot at her own foolishness; she hid it in Ms Spellman’s thighs, thinking they should crush her after all. At every turn, there was a new disaster waiting for her, so that all she could do, really, was to spin in circles so that the world may turn in a different direction.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Ms Spellman said then, already having moved on from the mishap. The way she spoke led her to believe it was more than an empty phrase. “You need to work through your problems—and not with me.”

“But I like you.”

“I like you too, Larissa.” A fond smile laced her words, comforting her despite the following. “But I am not qualified to help you with this. And frankly, I couldn’t watch another person I care so deeply about go through this.”

Deeply.

The sombreness sinking over Ms Spellman wasn’t lost on Larissa, making her wonder who she might be referring to—child, parents, sister?

“So I can’t be your client anymore?”

Ms Spellman ceased her caresses of the hair at the nape of her neck and held onto her firmly, protectively. “It means you need to respect the boundaries I set.”

No matter how hard she tried, she always ended up feeling that she didn’t even quite know what that meant or where this invisible line was that she was apparently toeing on at all times. Roommate to lover, dominatrix to crush.

Should someone have taught her, Larissa wondered as her mind grew weary and eventually, she nodded off.

“… I’d hate to leave her alone like this.”

“Another kitten—really, Zelda?” a voice—melodiously venomous—murmured somewhere distant. “We’re not a wayward house.”

Slumber still had her in its grip, making her swing in and out of consciousness like a hammock with merely Ms Spellman’s hand and the voices periodically pulling her towards the waking world.

“… Elaine and I will make dinner in the meantime, all right?”

Elaine—the name tugged at her, shook her awake.

It was a rumble from a dragon's core, something infernal, that came back. “If I must. But you are to pay your dues later tonight.”

“I shall.” Ms Spellman had a playful grin on her lips directed at the woman standing behind the backrest of the sofa.

As Larissa sat up, she fought the spinning of her head and her unease at the woman’s menacing appearance in her long black leather coat and with her raven hair; looming there like a bad omen, the dawn of doom. The ashtray beside Ms Spellman was overflowing with cigarette butts and the lady didn’t seem happy about it.

“Who, um?”

“This is Lilith,” Ms Spellman introduced. “She will take you home.”

The woman named Lilith had in the meantime fetched her coat—bathrobe—from the hanger, letting it dangle from her curled index finger and raising an eyebrow at Ms Spellman as she brought it to her. Intimidated by the woman’s obvious display of disfavour of her person, Larissa kept quiet as Ms Spellman wrapped the robe around her shoulders, helping her find the sleeves.

“We’ll be off then?” Lilith said in Ms Spellman’s direction, over her shoulder, as she flung the door open and a wall of cold air and cold blue eyes hit Larissa in the middle of the sea, making her shiver and sink.

“Drive safely,” Ms Spellman told her, then pinched the fabric in the small of Larissa’s back to stop her. Leaning as close to her ear she could reach, she murmured, “You won’t do anything stupid, though, will you?”

Larissa straightened up, always already yearning for her again. “I won’t, directrix.”

“Good girl,” she praised, but it sounded more like a breath of relief. “I’ll see you on Monday then… for a warranted punishment.”

With a firm yet affectionate push, Ms Spellman shoved her outside and shut the door behind her, leaving Larissa to dash after Lilith. She’d all but expected to be riding on the back of a bike with her, but it was a regular sedan she led her to; black on the outside, red-lined seats inside.

Tapping her pointy, varnished heel, Lilith held the passenger door open for her, gesturing inside. “Hop in.”

While Lilith stood with a hand on her hip, Larissa tried to get into the car as gracefully as possible, startling as the door fell shut the second she’d lifted her foot in. She watched the front door of the cottage, clinging to it, as Lilith got into the driver’s seat, unsure what she was wishing for. As the key clicked in the ignition and the motor roared up, she felt Lilith’s eyes on her and held still as if a panther was breathing into her neck. Shivering—either from the cold or Lilith’s scrutiny—she pulled the bathrobe tighter around herself.

“Music?” Lilith asked as she rolled onto the narrow wooden path that lay shrouded in complete darkness.

“Please.”

Since there were no street lamps anywhere near, they had to rely on the headlights of the car alone to show them the way. It could’ve been straight from one of those old horror films Morticia had used to make her watch, huddled under the same blanket and her own hand clammy in hers as she’d sat through them for her sake.

The first of things Larissa wouldn’t have expected was for Bonnie Tyler to start playing, the second for there to be a persistent smell of molten cheese emanating from somewhere in front of her, causing her stomach to rumble and demand filling.

“This migh’ be an odd question, but: does there happen t’ be a cheeseburger in the glove compartment?”

“Yup.” Lilith’s lip sprung free with a plop at the end. “It’s for Zelda.”

As if that would explain anything. She’d imagined Ms Spellman dining at a long table with a six-course menu between caviar and shrimp, licking the mousse au chocolat off her spoon with a skilled tongue she had yet to experience first-hand.

“What?” Lilith huffed out a laugh. “If I don’t feed my predator her after-work snack she’ll bury me in the yard.”

“I… uh, just wouldn’t have pegged her as a fast-food person.”

“Well, she isn’t.” Lilith shrugged, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes like a cat as they passed a particularly unsteady portion of the road. “That’s why nobody’s supposed to know about it.”

“I see.”

If she’d had the energy and clarity of mind, she’d try to figure out who exactly Lilith was to Ms Spellman and why she was picking her up every day after work, but as it was now, the only thing she could do with her head was to lie it on the window ledge and tango the line between waking and sleep once again.

They reached the main street and passed the orange lamplight rhythmically, casting light on Lilith’s face that she’d been studying from the corner of her eye. Her mouth in particular, felt familiar, though she couldn’t place it; the slight smirk as she drummed her fingers on the wheel to the beat of Holding out for a Hero, humming.

A faded memory pushed into her mind of when her grandmother had taken her out of the family home, covered her with a blanket while she’d curled in the passenger seat, and taken her home—to her. Things got better after that horrible night, until she’d passed away too soon.

Larissa had just settled into a relaxed-adjacent state when they reached the Academy and Lilith made a harsh brake that shook her out of her comfort. “Right, kitten. That’s you.”

Collecting her belongings and dignity, Larissa stepped out and said, “Thank you for drivin’ me. T’wouldn’t’ve been necessary.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Opening the glove compartment, Lilith took a pack of tablets out and Larissa caught a glimpse of the burger wrapped in paper and a small round chip with the roman numeral for five written in a triangle on it. Throwing the aspirin at her, she said, “You’ll need those in the morning.”

Appreciating the gesture, she took them even though she always had them in her office for rough mornings, although it did make her think that it probably didn’t speak for her that she needed to have them at hand.

With an embarrassed smile, she said her goodbyes. “I hope you’ve a pleasant night.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Lilith pulled the passenger door shut and drove off. Larissa stood watching after her for a while, clutching her robe at her chest. Her hair had come loose and blew in the breeze, the mascara run down on her face, and a package of tablets in her pocket. If one of the students were to see her like this, she might as well take that nap in the tub after all.

When she climbed into bed, a message came through with an image attached. It showed a whip with nine knotted cords attached to the handle that rested in Ms Spellman’s veiny hand. The message read:

Since you so recklessly toyed with the law earlier,

 perhaps I should do the same with you?

Your Directrix

Chapter Text

Ever since Larissa had been a small child, she’d loved playing dress-up, spending hours in her mother’s closet and coming out in disguise. This time, however, she’d been kidding herself thinking that a pair of big sunglasses, a headscarf, and a coat with a collar up to her nose would maintain her anonymity. In a ten-mile-radius, she was the only woman with legs longer than the range of Ms Spellman’s horse whip that she’d seen leaned against a corner of her playroom.

Speaking of which, Larissa had looked at that blasted picture more times than she liked to admit and frankly, it was the only reason she was presently sat in this uncomfortable wooden chair made for first graders rather than grown women, in a circle with people she wished she didn’t know half of.

The mayor’s wife, Dr Kinbott herself, Mrs Alcott—the librarian she’d known since her teenage years—, three women she wasn’t acquainted with, and one empty seat. It must be a regular attendant if they were waiting for her.

She’d had enough time to sober up and sleep off her hangover, so it wasn’t like her life depended on the stale, cold coffee in the soaked-through paper cup, but it would’ve been nice to have at least one source of joy whilst sitting through this. The sip tasted of nothing but her guilt over last night, drunk driving and upsetting her dominatrix—she must’ve had a run.

“Well,” Dr Kinbott said, stretching her arms to her knees, “I think we should get started now and welcome the new face in our round.”

With a sweeping gesture, Larissa lifted the cup to her face as to not give the turtle-necked woman any ideas that she would be introducing herself. Unfortunately for her, Dr Kinbott did not care for that and addressed her directly. “Larissa, would you like to tell us a bit about what brought you here?”

It would be improper to say that the reason for her presence was that she showed up at her dominatrix’ sex cottage drunk and would only get her car back after attending this group meeting.

“No, thank you,” she declined instead, offering a pressed, polite smile and taking a sip.

“Don’t be shy!” Dr Kinbott reassured, tilting her head like therapists do. “Everything you say stays in this judgement-free room. It’s our golden ru—”

She cut herself off when the door opened and another woman hurried in, her heels awkwardly loud in the sudden silence. All heads turned, and Larissa nudged her sunglasses down to see better before quickly shoving them back onto her nose once she’d realised it was no one other than Elaine, her TA to-be.

This couldn’t get any more mortifying; she kept running into this young woman at the most inopportune of moments. Once she’d accepted that there was little to be done about the situation, curiosity got the better of her and she studied Elaine as she slumped into the empty seat opposite her.

“So sorry,” she said, out of breath and between the frantic clicks of her lighter. “I was—at home, we—”

“Slow down, Elaine,” Dr Kinbott calmed her, graciously shifting her attention away from Larissa. “You’re not allowed to smoke in here, though.”

Elaine dropped the cigarette from between her pink lips, spilling, “Oh, I forgot! I forgot!”

Each time Larissa had met Elaine, she’d appeared so… neat, whereas presently, her foot was tapping relentlessly, her eyeliner wing drawn with an unsteady hand, and her hair stuck flat to her head without its glamorous volume from the other day. It wasn’t very proper of Larissa to pry about Elaine’s affairs, and yet she couldn’t help but want to know what had caused this sweetness to unravel.

“It’s all right,” Dr Kinbott cooed. “Take a deep breath, and then tell the group what is upsetting you so much, hm?”

The more everyone focused on Elaine instead of her, the more Larissa could release some tension from her muscles and settled back into her chair. She appreciated that Elaine somewhat had saved the day—again—and was eager to listen to whatever she had to say.

“So, um, I had a… setback,” she struggled for the right word and nearly choked on it, “Friday. My matrons were there for me, they always are, but I can’t help but feel guilty when they have to cancel meetings because of me.”

Matrons, what a strange word to use—but what was even more unusual was how their lives paralleled. Friday had also been the day Ms Spellman had cancelled on her and she had reached for the bottle again.

“Did you ask them to?” Dr Kinbott inquired.

“No,” Elaine smiled through the tears, “I would never.”

“Wouldn’t you agree then that they set their duties aside willingly?” Elaine straightened up, bringing some shape back to her slumped form, and Dr Kinbott’s eyes softened. “They do it because they care about you, Elaine.”

It was admirable how naturally Elaine found comfort in this group, how soon after arriving in a state as distraught as Larissa had been the night she’d broken down in Ms Spellman’s arms Elaine’s pain had been eased, making Larissa consider whether she should give it a try as well.

“I suppose.” Sniffling, Elaine mulled it over and took a tissue from the box Dr Kinbott was offering to her. “But they’ve been fighting.”

That was when the mayor’s wife—Kendra?—spoke up with a grin. “Didn’t you say before that the ladies fight for fun?”

“They do.” Elaine chortled, rubbing the tissue between her fingers. “I think it’s some sort of kink, but no… this felt different, tense.”

That was the point when Larissa listened up, wondering what kind of people those matrons were that Elaine was living with.

“But don’t you think that is a matter between them?” Kendra pushed.

“Maybe, I just… feel responsible.” Larissa had felt that way often as a child, whenever her parents would toss vases and other heirlooms at each other. Innocent people carried the most guilt, or at least that’s what she thought of Elaine, whose voice ran thick again. “I think they were arguing about me last night. Something about taking in ‘rescue kittens’.”

Larissa’s body reacted to what she said, tingling with a peculiar sense of déjà vu, although she failed to remember where she could’ve heard this phrase before.

“Based on what you’ve told us, they took you in without any conditions,” Kendra reasoned with her, “and you’ve made so much progress lately, looking for another job, trying to find a place of your own.”

“You don’t think I’m a burden to them?” Elaine looked up to Kendra, and Larissa’s heart melted at the expression in her eyes; the depth, the emotion, the sincerity. Damn anyone who ever made this woman feel like she was a problem.

As Larissa checked the round, every last woman was shaking her head and Kendra said, “No. From how I’ve come to know you, you always try to make life easier for the people you love.”

Another woman who Larissa wasn’t acquainted with, threw in, “Hell, you brighten our days when you’re here!”

“That’s nice of you to say.” Elaine all but blushed and wiped her nose with the tissue, leaving it with an endearing redness.  

“See? Just as our group enjoys having you around, I am sure your matrons do as well,” Dr Kinbott concluded and turned to the group after. “Sometimes, it is good to see our situation from different perspectives, especially if our experiences have led us to believe that other people’s negative emotions are our fault and responsibility.”

It sounded obvious enough, but Larissa knew that she tended to fall into this pattern of thinking as well. Perhaps sometimes, one needed reminding to take a step back—and she hadn’t had a person like this for a while.

“Would anyone like to share something either related to this or different?”

Encouraged after Elaine’s part and seeing how thoughtful these personal matters were handled here, Larissa did feel the need to speak—although she still shied away from addressing her complicated relationship with the vino, telling herself it was because of her future working relationship with Elaine and not because she didn’t want her to get the wrong impression of her.

Clearing her throat, she raised her hand in a small gesture and said, “I’d like to, um—”

“Yes, Larissa.”

Dr Kinbott stretched her hand out in a reassuring manner, and all Larissa could think was, Lord in heaven, don’t say my name. But it was too late; Elaine suddenly trained her big eyes on her, wearing an expression she couldn’t make sense of.

“Go ahead,” Dr Kinbott came again, snapping her out of it.

“Well, um. You already know who I am, I suppose there’s no point in… hiding anymore.” Larissa took off the sunglasses and untied the headscarf, letting it float to the ground as she took in the reactions of the women she was with. She’d expected consternation, but every one of them was offering her a sense of safety.

“You did a great job in coming here,” Dr Kinbott emphasised, “and there is nothing to be afraid of.”

“Thanks, although me being here is… delicate for reasons I think you understand.” She chipped at the soaked cardboard of the paper cup. “So, without preamble: I need someone.” Her breath shuddered, and not even the last sip of the awful coffee helped ease the dryness irritating her throat. “I’ve been alone for a very long time, and… am not coping too well.”

“What is keeping you from making friends or going out with someone?”

She didn’t like to be interrogated, even if she knew the Dr Kinbott meant well. It caused her to lose access to her feelings, close up and get defensive.

“I’m not sure, I just—the school has always been my priority,” she forced herself to continue, staring at her scarlet nails playing along the edge of the cup rather than meet Elaine’s inquisitive eyes, “and in recent years, I’ve discovered some things about myself that I’m only now coming to terms with, so…”

She got stuck again and wanted to leave as tears began to prick in her eyes. Crying in public was not an endeavour she desired to pursue; never had, never would.

“Would you like to share what that is?”

“No!” she snapped, then reminded herself to be calm. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Larissa,” Dr Kinbott assured. “Do you need a moment? Should someone else continue?”

Admitting to all of this out loud was more of a challenge than she would’ve expected, and she had yet to decide whether she found it helpful, because as of now, she felt more fragile than before, only nodding in response.

She was supposed to look after minors, how could she have let herself go like this?

It took a moment before she registered that it was Elaine who spoke up. “As it happens, my recent situation was about something like this too. Could I…?”

The lights flickered, all of them except for the one above Elaine, as if putting a spotlight on her. If they even shared these struggles, then their lives were more entwined than Larissa could find a reasonable explanation for.

“Of course.” Dr Kinbott’s enthusiasm was starting to irritate Larissa. “I was meaning to ask why you’ve been struggling anyway.”

Elaine was more hesitant with this than with the previous issue she’d talked about, so she must be grappling a lot more with it.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been dreaming about meeting my Prince Charming. I thought I’d found him many times. I thought I’d found him in Jerry.” She shivered at the name; there must be history. “But in the end, I realised that they never were what I wished them to be, because—I don’t know. I like to be treated like a princess, not a mother. And when I wasn’t that, I was air to Jerry.”

Larissa sympathised, knowing all too well what it was like to feel invisible.

“And then, a while ago, I met this woman.”

For seemingly no reason, Larissa’s heart turned into a mustang, galloping for miles and miles, and she shifted forward in her seat.

“And she-she saw me.” Their eyes met across the room, colliding, imploring, dallying, until Elaine resumed to fiddle with her rings. “So I was wondering, if perhaps it’s not a Prince Charming I should be looking for,” she shrugged, “if you know what I mean.”

A deep sigh pulled from her as she covered her face with her hands, regretting what she’d said. “It’s silly, I know.”

“No, it’s not,” Larissa heard herself say, unaware she’d spoken the thought aloud.

Elaine smiled.

It was too hard to understand; she barely knew the woman, had no idea what any of this meant or whether she was reading into things too much. What she did know was that they shared this hardship, figuring out their sexuality late in life, and it was chance to bond with someone, to relate—she should take it, she knew that, but it was so unbelievably hard to stand by who she was, even after everything Ms Spellman had done to boost her confidence.

“And why was it that this upset you so much the other day, dear?” Mrs Alcott asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe because it would change everything, and I… I’m not sure if I’m ready for that or if-if she even likes women or… me.”

It could’ve been her own story, and Larissa’s heart clenched for that. The identity crisis, the doubt, the shame. They were different though; it was impossible not to like Elaine, regardless of whether the woman in question was that way inclined.

“You’ve come such a long way since you first joined the group, Elaine,” the old lady said. Mrs Alcott had always been nice, to Larissa too. She might’ve been the reason the library had been her favourite place. “I think we all agree that you are more than ready to face this. Have you seen the woman again since?”

“I have.” After a nervous glance in the vague direction of Larissa, Elaine closed off. “Can someone else take over please now?”

“Sure. Who’s next?”

The other women talked all things from quitting a job that had been holding them back to the lovelessness of their marriage. Kendra, the mayor’s wife didn’t agree with how her husband more and more focused on the prestige of his position rather than the town he used to advocate for so passionately in the beginning.

Despite how vastly different their lives were, Larissa could always relate to the underlying feelings of their situations and recognised that women were fighting the same battles, each in their own ways. She’d only met some of them today, but during the course of this session, she’d developed a sense of solidarity with them, and could imagine coming back here every now and then.

The session ended with Dr Kinbott making them all hold hands and speak some affirmation that Larissa didn’t bother to pay attention to—it wasn’t quite to her taste. Afterwards, the women chatted as they put on their jackets and grabbed a few more biscuits on their way out, but since Larissa wasn’t really close with anyone yet, she was on her own as she gave in to her sugar craving and made her way to the buffet.

To her surprise, Elaine came up beside her and she mustered up the courage to talk to her.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Larissa said, and their fingers brushed as they reached for the same biscuit. Neither of them moved away for a moment.

“Miss Larissa!” Elaine jumped.  

“Weems.” Larissa chuckled, forgiving the slip up easily. “But in here I’m just Larissa, if that’s alright?”

“Yes, sorry.” She shut herself up with the biscuit, hiding the smirk behind her hand.

To avoid awkwardness, Larissa turned away and poured herself another cup of coffee, knowing full-well she’d want to spit it out in a second. “For what it’s worth, I admire your openness.”

The desire to tell her that she was also attracted to women was burning in her chest, but she just couldn’t bring it over her lips and opted for a more ambiguous statement. “I wish I was brave enough to do that.”

Elaine brushed it off, tracing the white paper tablecloth absently. “I’ve been coming here for a very long time, so it’s no big deal. The women here are my friends.”

“That sounds… lovely.” Elaine’s presence sweetened the horrible coffee, and she drank it in a haste to cover the silence when she couldn’t find the right words. Sighing at her own ridiculousness, she managed to admit, “I could do with a friend.”

“Well, I’m, I mean, I could,” Elaine stammered. “Sorry, mh, we don’t know each other. But I’m here to talk… I guess?”

The poor girl must be more nervous than Larissa was around women, especially those she fancied.

“If I’m honest, I’m not to sure what us meeting under these circumstances means for our professional relationship, given that we’ll be directly working together.”

“I understand.”

The disappointment tugged at Larissa, so she tried to save it. “Besides, you might want to focus your attention on this lady of yours?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d… like to.”

Her words had the opposite effect, the hopeful twinkle in Elaine’s eyes vanished, and the tension thickened. Larissa didn’t want to presume and jeopardise their blossoming friendship.

“But I don’t even know her interests, in that way,” Elaine reasoned. “I wouldn’t know how to approach her.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to get to know you.”

Facing Larissa, Elaine welled up and Larissa couldn’t help herself. She took the young woman in her arms and held her close, smiling to herself at the irony of it being her this time doing the surprise-hugging.

“I’m so sorry, this whole thing is just,” she apologised as they parted, “my head is a mess.”

“It’s not a problem, love. I know how hard it is.”

She wished she had the guts to tell her just how well she knew.

“Do you often hug your future employees?” Elaine joked and it made a laugh burst out of Larissa’s chest.

“No, I don’t really… hug at all.”

“That’s a shame, you give good hugs,” she said then, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “And nothing leaves this room, does it?”

“Except for me. I must get going I’m afraid.” She tilted her head apologetically, placing a soft hand on Elaine’s shoulder. “But I will see you soon for your new job.”

Nodding, Elaine patted the hand, looking up through her long lashes. “Take care… Larissa.”

“Goodbye,” Larissa said over her shoulder, giving a small wave as she left and considered that she might just have found a friend, if not a blessing in disguise.

Chapter Text

It wouldn’t be a surprise if whoever was in charge of her life did turn out to be a dominatrix too, because they sure liked to punish Larissa—hard. Not only did she have to ask her old high school crush of all people to drive her to her session with Ms Spellman—if she’d walked, she’d arrived there a sweating mess—but also did her husband need the chauffeur, so that Morticia was sat behind the steering wheel herself and Larissa was holding on for dear life.

“And when was it did you say you last drove a car?” Larissa asked, her knuckles turning white clutching the handle for the umpteenth time because Morticia kept stalling the car at every traffic light.

“I’m a little out of practice,” she admitted, giving Larissa a sheepish look and forgetting to look at the street.

“Morticia!” She nearly had a heart attack when they rolled on to the other side. “Stay in the lane!”

“Sorry.”

 She gripped the wheel harder, making Larissa wonder whether her long black nails were already stabbing into her palm like they’d done into her shoulders when Morticia had massaged them once after she’d nearly dislocated the joint during fencing practice. Giving her a hard time wouldn’t make it better, so she rid herself of some excess tension with a long breath, then suggested, “Why don’t you let me drive?”

“I said I’d help you get to the meeting.”

“It’s not helping if you get us both killed!” she pressed through gritted teeth and closed her eyes, wondering whether she was just in a snappy mood or if it was Morticia getting under her skin.

“Please,” she said thinly, almost begging. “I want to do this for you.”

Larissa could tell she was staring at her again, and before she realised the implications of that feeling, the car swerved again and her eyes shot open, reaching over and grabbing the wheel to get them back onto their side before crashing into the oncoming traffic. She knew Morticia had a death wish—for aesthetic reasons—but she didn’t want to be part of it.

“Why, Morticia?” Larissa shouted, heart still racing from the close call as she shifted back into her seat, a strand of hair having escaped her up-do.

“Because you won’t let Gomez and I pay for the Rave’N!” Morticia pouted, at least focusing on the road now aside from the occasional glance at Larissa as she was flipping down the vanity mirror and tucking the strand back into place. The walk would’ve left her appearance and mind less disturbed. “And I—the least I can do is make sure you can meet the new sponsor.”

There was no need to be so dramatic about a dance, and Larissa would rather sell her midlife-crisis-car to pay for the darned thing than accept money from the Addams.

“As… thoughtful as that is, there’s no need.” She was internally counting up and down to ten to keep her cool. Since the beginning of time, when they’d first met, Morticia had been the one able to make her burn—with rage, with envy, with desire. “I’ve always been able to handle school matters by myself.”

In a few minutes, they’d be at Ms Spellman’s cottage, she reminded herself, and then all this tension would be whipped away. She’d be calm and centred again, focused solely on the sting of her skin and the pleasure thrumming in her core.

“I know that,” Morticia said. “You’ve always been better with pressure than I.”

Although that was arguably true, it wasn’t like she hadn’t walked in on her screaming into her pillow cursing Morticia’s bloodline on multiple occasions during their final year. Exams, engagement, estrangement.

When Larissa didn’t say anything further, Morticia turned the car radio up and let the music do the talking. The road towards the forest was straight and smooth and lush green, not too difficult to follow even with the drizzle turning the concrete into a grey mirror. Like a window into another universe of the what ifs—what if it had been her, what if she hadn’t lost but loved her.

It smelled of spring rain, even inside the car; refreshing, but the humidity clung to her bones and made them weary, not the past, not at all.

Of all songs recorded since the invention of the phonautograph, it was November Rain that came on and Larissa couldn’t bear it. After Morticia had started humming to the first few bars like she had into her ear the night they’d danced too close to the moon, she switched it and her off.

Without commentary, Larissa turned her head away from the source of all her ailments and looked out the window, watching the landscape pass them by like nothing outside of this car mattered. It hadn’t then, her whole life had revolved around Morticia when they’d been at school. She’d gotten so wrapped up in this whole delusion that she might love her back, clung to her because she didn’t know what else to do; perhaps that was what had destroyed them in the end, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that thought yet.

“Why wouldn’t you let me in?” Morticia asked weakly as she pulled onto the dirt road Larissa had shown her.

Albeit knowing that she was referring to last Friday when she’d come to her office against her wishes, Larissa answered more truthfully, hoping that Morticia might understand that them working together hadn’t been a good idea to begin with. “Because I’ve made that mistake before.”

Once they’d made the curve, Morticia pressed her foot on the accelerator pedal again but forgot to change gears, and so, without thinking, Larissa did it for her; her hand covering Morticia’s on the gearstick—she realised her mistake too late. The current was already flowing, charging a lightbulb that should’ve run out of power years ago.

“You were my friend, Larissa,” Morticia said with a hiccuping sound when Larissa removed her hand. “What happened to us?”

The road into the forest was bumpy, shook them, and Morticia struggled to keep them on this narrow path, the fine line they’d used to skip rope with instead of paying respect to.

“Gomez happened.” She bit her tongue after that; she shouldn’t have said it.  

The car hadn’t even come to halt yet when Larissa jumped out. “Thanks for the lift.”

She walked away as fast as she could, but Morticia came running after her, the car parked square across the front yard in the careless fashion that was nothing new.

“The sponsor lives in the middle of the woods? Is she a witch?” she rambled, desperate to say something. “If so, I’d like to meet her.”

“Go home, Morticia,” Larissa said a little too harshly, stopping in her tracks and looming over Morticia. She’d never used her height to diminish her before, and she shouldn’t have. To soften the blow, she added, “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

Unlucky as she was, Ms Spellman—clad in an impossibly arousing red dress, half of it lace—opened the door just in that moment and Larissa could only pinch the bridge of her nose and let instant karma take its course.

“Miss Weems!” Ms Spellman called out; her tone laced with a smug cheerfulness that surely meant trouble. “And Mrs… Addams, I recall?”

“Oh, that’s the lady from the boutique, isn’t it?” Morticia chirped, padding towards her with a graceful sway of her arms as if to run into the arms of an old friend.

All Larissa could do was follow her and give Ms Spellman the most pleading, big eyes she could muster in hopes that she would resist the temptation to make this as awkward as possible for her, or worse, expose her.

“Ms Spellman, hello,” Larissa greeted tightly, and lost all hope as soon as she saw the smirk emerge on her burgundy lips. “It seems Mrs Addams would like to join us in our meeting about the… funding for the Rave’N, if that is quite alright with you?”

The look of a jester flashed over Ms Spellman’s features. “Most certainly, Miss Weems. Most certainly.” She stepped aside, flattening her palm against the door as she held it open. “Do come in.”

As they passed her, Ms Spellman flicked her nail against the nape of Larissa’s neck, chastising her for bringing Morticia—deserved. Glancing back to her, the spark in her eyes as she closed the door and stroked its edge in an unnecessarily lascivious manner, made her sincerely hope she wouldn’t spank her in front of Morticia.

… after she’d gone however, well…

“Make yourself at home, I’ll see if I have some treats at hand to… sweeten the deal, so to speak?”

If there was one thing Ms Spellman knew how to do well, it was choosing her words with precision just to rattle her up.

Once the woman had left for the kitchen, they settled on the couch and as long as she didn’t allow Morticia to look too closely, she might not notice all the hooks and pleasure equipment camouflaged in the cozy cottage décor.

“What a charming woman!” Morticia purred, perfectly made up as she gave Larissa a half-lidded look that let the dark and dusty hues of her eyeshadow show. “Are you two friends?”

“Not parti—”

“Miss Weems and I are intimately familiar, aren’t we, dearest?” Ms Spellman cut her off and put both her on the spot and a tray of caramel chocolates on the table.

Larissa cursed her body for responding to the term of endearment in such close proximity to Morticia, and clasped her hands crushingly tight. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh, come now,” Ms Spellman tutted as if she outright wanted to push Larissa to climax. If she’d say marvellous next, she’d be done for. Her body had gone from a wooden plank of agitation to slickened putty in the matter of minutes. “After you’ve spent so much time cleaning my carpet.”

Just when she’d reached for the sweets, Ms Spellman floored her with the extremely crude slang term, and she all but stuffed it into her mouth to cover the gasp, coughing instead as she tried to save it. “Antique rugs need proper care.”

Only after she’d said it, she realised that she wasn’t making it any better. Ms Spellman sipped her espresso, her pinky wriggling in delight as she splayed it from the tiny cup.

“Indeed. It didn’t take long until dear Miss Weems was all but purring in my lap.”

“We did get along quite well. Ms Spellman’s wit,” she pressed through gritted teeth, “is unmatched.”

Much to her relief, Morticia seemed entirely unsuspecting and laughed along as if the three of them were old friends.

“And how did you two meet?” Morticia asked, caramel melting on her plump bottom lip like honey on the petal of a black dahlia as she bit into the chocolate. It was if they were both out to get her today.

“Miss Weems found my services online.”

“The boutique!” Larissa blurted, spitting the bite she’d just taken into her palm—very subtle. “I came across an article about Ms Spellman’s story as a female entrepreneur.”

“Yes, indeed. Miss Weems had a passionate interest in my business. I showed her the ropes.” She quirked an eyebrow, sipping her espresso in infuriating calmness and Larissa’s eyes went wide, begging her to stop.

“I’d never have guessed, Larissa! You were never keen to hear about Gomez’ business endeavours.” Morticia turned to Ms Spellman and added an explanatory, “My dear husband.”

Ms Spellman nodded with a polite chuckle. “Miss Weems isn’t all that interested in men, is she?”

That was it—Larissa was seething.

“Because they’re privileged in our society as it is,” she hissed, and proceeded to mouth the words ‘hot chocolate’ to Ms Spellman, who gave her an apologetic look and tugged at the delicate golden chain looped through a ring she’d previously seen around her neck.

“Shall we discuss the funding now?”

“Oh, yes!” Morticia clapped the tips of her fingers together and the tension left Larissa’s shoulders. “So, you’d like to help us, Ms Spellman? I think it’s incredible when local shops invest in the children of their hometown.”

“I do so like to help sweet things out.” She met Larissa’s eyes with a wink like a personal, genuine comment that made her feel all warm inside. And, still fixing on her but with increasing sharpness, she added, “As long as they behave.”

Pressing her thighs together at the sudden rush of heat, Larissa attempted to lean away from the women she was more or less trapped between, although Ms Spellman was sat a bit more opposite than Morticia, who’s shoulder and hip she was practically pressed up against. “The students of Nevermore are well-mannered,” she assured, forcing her meandering thoughts back on the matter at hand.

“Larissa teaches them so well,” Morticia gushed, stretching her long, long—oh, heaven help her—fingers out for another treat. “She was a star pupil herself back in our day.”

“Why, isn’t that surprising.” Larissa flashed her eyes at Ms Spellman at the insinuation. “So, you’ve gone to school together?” she asked, batting her lashes as if she didn’t already know all about their shared history.

“Yes, we were roommates!” Morticia squealed, and squeezed Larissa’s knee deftly, doing nothing to quench the arousal that had already been quietly brewing this whole time. Quite the opposite—a whimper escaped her and sweat pearled down her neck. “But we lost touch after school.”

All this time when they’d been asleep in the same room, she’d prayed to be touched like this, to have Morticia’s hand riding up her thigh. And all she could want for now, was it for her touch to be gone.

 “Well, I’m glad to see you reunited then. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” Her predicament must’ve been so painfully obvious that Ms Spellman felt the need to intervene. She set down her espresso cup and suggested, “Shall we leave it at that then?”

Morticia appeared almost disappointed. She’d be stealing her dominatrix next. “Isn’t there more to discuss?”

“No need to bother you with the details, Mrs Addams.” Raising her chin, she assured, “I shall be ruthless in taking Miss Weems,” Larissa throbbed in her long, far too hot, leather skirt as Ms Spellman trained her eyes on her for a split second, “through them—multiple times, if need be.”

Morticia’s eyes flickered, Larissa’s heart pounded, and Ms Spellman… was most pleased. “Of course, I will personally see that she gets home safe, if that is your concern.”

“Anything is safer than driving with her,” Larissa mumbled to herself, scratching behind her hot, reddened ear.

“I do worry for my dear friend,” Morticia drawled, a serious note hidden in her pout that Larissa didn’t expect to find there, a pearl in a clam on a lone beach. “But I can tell, she’s in good hands. It’s been a thrill to meet you again, Ms Spellman.”

“Likewise,” Ms Spellman husked, and when they stood up, she took Morticia’s hand firmly in both of hers. To everyone’s surprise, she suddenly pulled her enragingly close—with a sure glance to Larissa—and then said in her ear, “You can trust me to take good care of Larissa.”

Did this woman honestly just use her first name, and in such a patronising manner? Larissa wanted to stomp her feet on the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Instead, she just crossed her arms, so tight she could barely breathe—or maybe it was the sizzling rage.

“All right then.” Morticia brushed hair from her face, hiding her fluster like Larissa had done countless times with both her and Ms Spellman. “I need to get back in time before Pugsley returns from school.”

Her sudden urgency to leave combined with her reaction to Ms Spellman’s suave did spark questions within Larissa. She’d thought she’d seen her pupils dilate when their bodies had been pressed close at the end of a fencing match, when they’d fallen together. Had she really misjudged Morticia’s behaviour towards her in their youth or had it not all been her wishful thinking and she’d simply been the unlucky one instead of the chosen?

“Au revoir, my loves!” she said, throwing a sultry, yet uncertain look over her delicate shoulder as Ms Spellman saw her out.

Following them to the cottage door, Larissa came to stand beside Ms Spellman, who was waving after Morticia. Swiftly, she began to trail her fingers up Larissa’s spine, sending a chill down to her very tailbone.

She smiled after Morticia as she got in the car, never stopping even when she said, “Truth be told, at first when you brought her, I assumed you intended for us to have a ménage à trois.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Larissa snapped under her breath all the while keeping up the appearance, wondering whether Ms Spellman was purposely taunting her with the sodding French.

“Wouldn’t you?” Ms Spellman wiggled her fingers one last time, and then sighed with contentment before saying, “Little does she know you’ll soon be coming all over the couch she just sat on, hm?”

Larissa’s knees wobbled, but since Morticia was directly looking at her as she turned the car around to drive off—with great difficulty—she had to secure her stance and keep a straight face. What eased her torment was the safety in the knowledge that a much better punishment would ensue.

Chapter Text

The greatest of pains were those one inflicted upon themselves, were they not?

If she hadn’t drowned herself in wine and self-pity for as pathetic a reason as being cancelled on, her relationship with Ms Spellman wouldn’t be strained, Morticia wouldn’t have robbed her last nerve, and she’d have maintained her dignity.

“Well, well, Miss Weems.” Ms Spellman’s hand slid from its resting place on Larissa’s shoulder to the small of her back. “Haven’t you racked up a nice, long list of sins in need of repentance?” she said through the exaggerated smile plastered on her face as they both waved Morticia goodbye.  

The hand on her back, firm and dominating, and her pulse’s immediate reaction to it, were reason enough to consider whether the ulterior motive of most of her actions as of late was to bring Ms Spellman to discipline her. She’d come to her looking for consolation, had then received punishments, and against all odds, found even more comfort in them.

“Do you truly intend on funding the Rave’N?”

“At a cost, yes.”

“Which would be?”

“You attend a meeting with the support group each week.” She said it as if she knew she’d already been there, which sparked all sorts of questions as to how that could be.

It seemed too simple, but she’d rather take it than crawl at Morticia’s feet begging for money. “Then it’s settled.”

Closing the door behind them, Ms Spellman leaned back against it with a twinkle in her eyes, retrieving her chequebook and pen from the leather purse on the side table. “What a remarkable woman, that Morticia of yours.” She drew out her words as she scribbled, which got under Larissa’s skin, and cocked an eyebrow as she stuffed the cheque into Larissa’s coat pocket as if it were as trivial a thing to do as anything. “Are you certain you wouldn’t want to invite her back?” She raked her eyes from her feet to the top of her head. “There is plenty of you to go around after all.”

“Absolutely not! I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

And so would Morticia, if she was being honest.

“Stifle yourself, Miss Weems. It was merely a suggestion.”

The woman thrived on provoking her. After all, she’d spent at least the last half an hour winding her up—and it would take next to nothing to make her unravel.

“Now, shall we?”

An old hand at this point, Larissa began making her way towards the bedroom, stopping only when she failed to hear Ms Spellman’s heels behind her.

“Actually, Miss Weems, I was entirely serious when I mentioned the couch,” she said, standing by the unlit fireplace.

“Right, yes.” Larissa scanned the room and tried to pinpoint any telltale tools in the vicinity, wiping her clammy hands down the sides of her skirt, which turned out to be a mistake, given the fact that it was leather.

“Come now, sit.” Ms Spellman insisted, pointing to the space where Morticia had sat.

Somewhat conflicted about the idea of getting punished on a seat warmed by her high school crush, Larissa remained standing.

“Do as you’re told,” Ms Spellman snarled, eyes flashing with what Larissa recognised to be genuine irritation peeking through.

This time Larissa obeyed, not wishing to anger Ms Spellman any further, and without hesitation, she gathered Larissa’s wrists in loops of rope and secured them tightly with a bow.

“Due to the gravity of your recent actions,” Ms Spellman stepped back, producing the very nine-tailed flogger she’d sent Larissa a picture of from beside her armchair, “it is my duty to ensure you are deterred from doing such things in future.”

She’d slipped into her role; the playful expression she’d worn during the exchange with Morticia was replaced with that of a strict headmistress, a directrix, reminiscent of that of her own Nevermore Academy days. She was about to be taught a lesson that she wouldn’t so soon forget.

“And you shall remain in detention until you’ve learned.”

The knotted cords rested on Ms Spellman’s upturned palm while her elegant fingers squeezed at the leather handle, planting the desire to feel each individual thread against her skin in Larissa’s mind.

The thud as Ms Spellman lifted her stiletto heel and stomped it onto the coffee table ripped Larissa from her imagination.

“Am I understood, Miss Weems?

The sight of Ms Spellman’s toned calf caught Larissa off guard, and she gulped as her eyes trailed upwards to meet the lace around her stocking-clad thigh peeking out from under the hiked-up dress. A quick crack of the flogger against Ms Spellman’s hand was warning enough, and she tore her eyes away.

“Mh? Yes, directrix.” Frantic nods escaped Larissa’s control before she clasped her tied hands around her knees.

“Very good.” Ms Spellman bounced the flogger in subtle threat as she leaned on her thigh, allowing the cords to rustle as she toyed with them between her fingers.

Not wishing to look Ms Spellman in the eye lest she give away just how much she craved the punishment, Larissa stared at the tray of chocolates on the table, close to Ms Spellman’s heel, drawn especially to the half-eaten piece with caramel dripping from it that Morticia had left behind.

She licked her lips on instinct, and the flogger bounced again, like a ticking time-bomb warning her that sooner or later, the countdown would reach zero.

“Hm.” Observant as she was, Ms Spellman reached into the tray to retrieve the chocolate she’d been fixing on, and Larissa followed the movement as she lifted it in front of her. “You want this, I presume?”

She brought the chocolate so close to her face that the caramel almost touched Larissa’s lips. Against her will, her mouth watered like that of a dog picking up the scent of food; she’d been reduced to that.

“What? I—no.” She turned her face away, embarrassed at how easily Ms Spellman saw through her.

“Denial is convenient, Miss Weems, but what good has it done you?” She heard the leather straps rustle again, preparing for their time to shine. “So, I repeat: do you want this?”

Larissa preferred to look at her tied hands instead of her eyes, sheepish as she surrendered. “Yes, directrix.”

Contradicting the pleased smirk of her lips, Ms Spellman made a show of putting the chocolate back down instead of giving her what she’d admitted to wanting, creating an incentive.

“Then tell me why you insist on making a perfectly delightful woman out to be such a villain?”

Larissa scoffed. “Well of course you’d think she’s delightful, you hardly know h—”

Without warning, the flogger smacked down on Larissa’s wrists, cutting her off as she gasped at the sharpness of the sting. She’d never known how delicate the skin of the wrist was, so much she found it hard not to take it to heart.

“Why are you so hostile towards someone whose lips you’re so desperate to taste?” She dragged the flogger up Larissa’s arm, each leather knot playing against her chiffon sleeve as she walked around her. “Do enlighten me.”

Although it was a fair question, Larissa didn’t have a one in her body that wanted to dwell on all the details of her buried yet undead past. Unfortunately, after bringing Morticia here unannounced and behaving the way she had, Larissa did owe Ms Spellman.

“She abandoned me.” Cold leather snapped against her upper arm for no reason that was apparent to her, leaving her shocked. “Because of Gomez.”

“Did Morticia know of your affection for her?

“No.”

“So, could she have made an informed decision to choose you if she wasn’t aware of your true feelings to begin with?”

Speechless at the lack of pity she was shown, Larissa’s thoughts were nothing but a stutter, an uneven path leading to the evident answer, an admission of guilt.

“No. I—she didn’t have a choice.”

“You can do better.” Ms Spellman’s voice was commanding, coming from above her shoulder like a little angle and devil whispering to her.

“I didn’t give her a choice,” she corrected herself and Ms Spellman affirmed, “Exactly,” brushing her knuckles along her cheek; Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut at the enhanced pleasantness of the gesture after the hit, but she couldn’t let it stand like this, as if her loneliness were her own fault.  

Balling her fists as much as it was possible in the restraints, she protested, “But she cut of me off for decades!”

The smack burned even more on her delicate knuckles that she already tended to pick on.

“Did you make an effort to contact her?”

“I didn’t,” she gasped before she’d be hit again.

Ms Spellman grabbed her shoulder as she moved in front of her again, forcing her into eye contact. “Then did you not do the very thing you’re punishing her for?” She held on for a moment, giving her time to think, and then dropped her hand, twisting the flogger. “I’d like to know how that makes sense.”

“It’s complicated.” Larissa pouted and picked imaginary dust from her skirt. When she spoke again it was a grumble. “She suddenly shows up again after all this time and decides to worm her way into my place of work—you have no idea how difficult that was for me.”

Crack. This time, her shoulder was the target, and Larissa was grateful for the blouse buffering some of its might.

“Had it crossed your mind that she came back because she was trying to make amends?” Behind her again, Ms Spellman ran the nine tails from her chest over the shoulder she’d just flogged, soothing the prickling skin as she rasped in her ear, “Or to take it even further: because you’ve been on her mind all those years?”

“I—” The words died in her mouth that was secretly hungering for the assumption to be true. “You don’t know what she’s like.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I do know you, Larissa.”

Ms Spellman let the statement sit without further explanation, leaving Larissa to reflect on what she was referring to. Their conversation made it out as if she liked to bathe in her wrath towards Morticia, but she didn’t. There was no joy for her in hating the woman she’d so desperately wanted that she’d never been able to move on.

“Perhaps I—” She breathed in deep, exhaled it with a tremble; it brought no stability. “My actions haven’t been as dignified as they should’ve been.”  

It all went wrong, utterly and regrettably wrong, and there was nothing to be done about it. She was tired of fighting Ms Spellman about it and would do about anything to make her drop the matter.

Upon another dissatisfied huff from Ms Spellman, she made her final offer, feigning poise when she was well aware of the unspeakable state of her underwear, despite everything. “All right. The hostility was unwarranted. I should give Morticia a chance.”

Accepting this as progress, Ms Spellman returned to the other side and laid the flogger on the table, disarming herself, before picking up Morticia’s piece of chocolate and all but crawling over the coffee table to nudge Larissa’s chin up and bring the chocolate to her lips.

“There’s a good girl,” Ms Spellman praised as Larissa opened her mouth, let her put it onto her tongue in full eye-contact, and closed her lips around the chocolate along with the tips of Ms Spellman’s fingers—she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d used to do that with Vinegar Tom.

“That’s it, swallow that for me.”

She removed her fingers from her mouth and cleaned them with her tongue. Larissa’s cheeks were burning up like they did when she had that horrible fever one winter, and she wasn’t ready yet to let go of the caramel-sweetness, the taste of Morticia’s black honey lipstick, the rich chocolate—but she had to do as she’d been told.

It slid down her throat, thickly like the revelation that this was as close as she’d ever get to tasting Morticia’s kiss; gone too soon, and yet she had a hunch that it would haunt her forever.

If Ms Spellman thought thought she could whip Larissa into having some sort of aporetic epiphany and forgive her, she was sorely mistaken—but she needn’t know. It gave her enough relief to mutter under her breath, once Ms Spellman had turned her back to her, about how she hadn’t expected an unsolicited lecture on her past when she’d come here today. Punishment, yes, but not for things the woman had no clue about.

“Excuse me?’ Ms Spellman shot around, her hair cutting like flames through the air.

She’d heard.

“I-I” Larissa stammered, knowing she’d gotten herself into a great deal of trouble.

“Turn around and get on your knees.”

“Sor—”

“Now!” Ms Spellman shouted, picking up the flogger and slamming it onto the table in warning.

Larissa winced and dripped. She’d thought Ms Spellman had held back in using the device before, but now it dawned on her that her punishment had only just begun.

Although she knew full well Ms Spellman wouldn’t seriously harm her and was probably only pretending, for the first time during a session, Larissa was afraid—of what Ms Spellman would do and afraid that she’d ruined the one relationship that had been going well for her.

Since Larissa wouldn’t dare disobey Ms Spellman now, she turned on the couch and manoeuvred onto her knees with bound wrists, unsure of what the next move would be.  

It came not even a moment later in the form of Ms Spellman tearing the blouse out of her skirt and pulling it over her head, so that it came to rest at her front, in her arm bend, leaving her back exposed.

“You never learn, do you?’ she growled, without a trace of the playful mischievousness Larissa adored.  

The warmth of Ms Spellman’s hand on her back eased the tension at least partially until it shoved her forward so hard the air got knocked out of her lungs as she slammed into the backrest.

The first lash came down thick and fast across her shoulder blade, she hissed in pain, straining the rope as she grabbed the upholstery. “You arrive to a session drunk.”

“I was upset,” Larissa protested, interrupting Ms Spellman, who then yanked her head back by her hair, careless of ruining her up-do.

“That’s no excuse,” she snarled back, “You put your life and that of others at risk!”

Giving her a push forward, Ms Spellman spun the flogger in the air with a rhythmic whoosh before letting the cords rain down on her opposing shoulder before the burning of the first strike even had a chance to subside.

Preventing her from doing so much as taking a breath in between, Ms Spellman dragged the knots over the rising welts like she had done before, only this time, her skin was bare and raw with no protective layer of clothing alleviating the pain.

Larissa had to stop herself from whimpering as she did so, took a few deep breaths as she hung over the backrest of the couch.

“You jeopardise my business by bringing in an outsider, the risks of which are far greater than you realise.”

She struck her where the first two overlapped, making her arch and gulp in air. Her knuckles turned white as she bit back a moan, not wanting to show Ms Spellman that her core clenched each time the leather hit her skin out of fear she’d take it as another sign of disrespect.

“And now, Miss Weems,” her voice was closer behind her, looming, as her name rolled from a sharp tongue, “you have the nerve to mock me.”

“Please.” She swallowed her arousal, voice trembling as she used her title in a bid to redeem herself. “It won’t happen again… directrix.”

‘No, that simply won’t do,” she said without a hint of sympathy, making Larissa all the more desperate for it. “You’ve had far more chances than I would ever allow another client.”

Her heart made that all-too-familiar hop that it did whenever Ms Spellman led on that she favoured her, the pride pumping blood to her groin.

“From now on, you will count each strike,” she moved some of the hair that had spilled aside, a loving touch amidst the bruising, “and then thank me for it.”

Larissa leaned into it, but it disappeared. “As you wish, directrix.”

The flogging began right away, two lashes in quick succession; Larissa had trouble catching up with the counting. “One, two, thank you, directrix.”

No praise, no “good girl,” only more blows to her goosebump-covered back.

“Three, thank you, four, directrix,” she panted, as they landed in a cross-cross, the intersection soaring up with a stabbing pain. “Five, six, seven, thank you, directrix.”

Ms Spellman went hell for leather whipping her, each lash bleeding into the next, setting her back on fire, at times feeling as if it had been cut with a knife. The throbs of her sex filled her with shame; she must seem like a sadist to derive sexual pleasure from upsetting the woman who had shown so much care for her.

No, she deserved it, she really did. She wanted it. Wanted to repent and make up for her ill treatment of Ms Spellman.

Tears pricked in her eyes, her body was sore, her soul ached. “Enough,” she breathed out, unable to effectively use her voice—she’d lost count anyway.

Ms Spellman was kind enough to remind her of the safe word, despite not being required to. “Choose your words wisely.”

She gave her a few seconds to breathe and consider, heavy puffs of air hitting the marked skin of her inner wrists as she decided to take her punishment, show Ms Spellman that she was woman enough to own up to her mistakes, make her proud.

“Three more. You stopped at seven.”

When the hard leather cracked against her skin again and she whimpered out number eight and nine, she didn’t think she could take much more. The sting of the flogger cut deep into her skin, making her nerves sizzle and her muscles tense in preparation for the next lash.

It was cruel of Ms Spellman to make her wait for the last one, longer than before, only shuffling behind her and the sound of her heart pounding in her ear.

She let out a squeak, wincing as Ms Spellman touched her with only her fingers when she’d prepared for a hit, trailing over her marked shoulder blade. “Sh, sh, good girl,” she hushed her and proceeded to remove the pins from her half-loosened hair, running her fingers through it as it cascaded down her back with a whiff of air. “It’s time for reward.”

Larissa couldn’t believe Ms Spellman had spared her of the last one, granting special treatment once again. Her core thrummed, a motor roaring up to speed away; if she wasn’t careful, she’d come apart at Ms Spellman’s simple affection, even more sensitive to it now that she’d been met with her wrath.

When Ms Spellman pulled down the zipper of her high-waisted skirt that sat in the centre of her back, running over her buttocks, Larissa held her breath and pressed her thighs together. Between them had already been a mess before she’d started flogging her, now it had soaked into her silk tights running all the way down her inner thigh.

“I apologise, directrix,” she said with a tremor, clawing into the backrest of the sofa as Ms Spellman undressed her.

She halted in the middle of pulling skirt and tights down her thigh—a humiliating position to be in. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

“No, directrix.”

“Then you’d better refrain from doing so,” she declared, tugging the clothes from her and leaving Larissa entirely naked on the very couch Morticia had touched her knee. “Besides, there’s no shame in being eager for your directrix.” As if she could read her mind, Ms Spellman teased, “Unless… it isn’t for me?”

She wouldn’t let her know she’d hit a sore spot, and it was easy to figure out what she wanted to hear. “It is only for you, directrix.”

“What is?” Larissa hated how she kept forcing her to use explicit terms, knowing full well her discomfort with it. “Say it like a big girl.”

She closed her eyes, heightening the awareness of her ridiculous wetness, and yielded. “I’m wet for you, directrix.”

Ms Spellman’s pitiful tuts didn’t make it any better. “Would you like me to help you with that?”

“Yes, please.”

“Let’s see,” Ms Spellman said, drawing a few fingers up her sex before inserting one into her empty hole and pulling a long breath out of her as she began to move back and forth. The relief was instant, much needed after everything that’s gone wrong, better than a hot bath in candlelight. “The way you’re responding to me, I assume you have no problem coming on a count of five, yes?”

“How should I—is that even—?”

A poignant thrust cut Larissa off, highlighting that, yes, she could.

“There, see. It won’t be all that difficult.”

She wanted to growl at Ms Spellman’s smugness, but that would surely do little more than earn her a slap to her exposed arse—worth considering—instead of an orgasm. When Ms Spellman began with five, her walls obeyed and pulsed hard, one step closer to climax.

“What a grip,” Ms Spellman groaned, shifting her weight onto Larissa’s back.

No matter how much she didn’t want to submit to this undignified contest, as if she were a pet to be trained, her body already belonged to her directrix—and her heart perhaps too. On the count of four, an inescapable tug formed deep in her pelvis.

By the time Ms Spellman reached three, it tightened into a low moan, and she curled her finger in response, furthering the sensation. The persistent throbbing of her neglected clit didn’t make it easier to keep her cool. If she wasn’t careful, she’d come before the countdown ended, which would be even more mortifying than the whole ordeal already was.

“Two,” Ms Spellman announced, running her fingers through her blonde waves once more. “What a sight, what exquisite hair.”

The woman sure knew which buttons to push, how to make her heart leap with the need to please her.

“One, and—” She drew it out, forcing Larissa to hold herself on that torturous edge. Her walls fluttered around the directrix’ finger, demanding stimulation, but she gritted her teeth, waiting it out until Ms Spellman said, “—come.”

The rubber band snapped in half and Larissa all but sobbed as she was finally permitted to let go, slumping down on the backrest she’d been leaning on as the waves crashed over her. Ms Spellman’s weight didn’t leave her though, and neither did her finger. On the contrary: another one pushed into her still contracting sex, stilling after only a few strokes.  

 Leaning to just behind her ear, out of Larissa’s peripheral view but close enough for her to feel her breath and smell her musky perfume, Ms Spellman proposed, “How about I add one finger for each orgasm?” The smirk was audible when she added, “You know I like playing with you.”

Larissa blacked out then; Ms Spellman’s purr made her mind go blank and set her core on fire to the point the worry about never having taken more than two fingers, barely the strap, was but a single dot in the TV static of her mind. She knew Ms Spellman could make her come as many times as she pleased, in every shape or form, whether she wanted to or not—the woman was far more skilled than she had willpower—but it was unrealistic of her to think she could take more than two fingers; almost like she wanted to see her fail.

Her whole body was trembling in anticipation, urging Ms Spellman’s fingers to move again, but they wouldn’t. Larissa pushed out a breath, gathering strength to come up onto her forearms again with hot cheeks and damp eyes after only the first round.

“I’ll tell you something.” Ms Spellman drew her nails around the welts on her back; the area was sensitive but painless as long as she didn’t directly touch it. “If you get past three, I will sit on your face.”

Larissa gasped, involuntarily pushing her rear into Ms Spellman’s hand that had just settled there. “If you fail, however, it’s five more lashes—on your tits.”

Aside from the fact that she really needed those fingers to go on fucking her, the prize mentioned did make her salivate and she found herself sighing, “Fine.”

A smack hit her bare ass. “I expect more enthusiasm of my subordinates.”

Out of pure surprise, Larissa responded within an instant, blurting, “Please, directrix, play with me!”

When a moment later Ms Spellman had neither said anything further and nor resumed her endeavours, she hazarded a glance over her shoulder, needing to see her. Ms Spellman met her with a raised eyebrow, expecting more precise language, apparently.

If she weren’t so worked up, so full and yet unattended, she’d try to negotiate her way out of this, but she had to accept that she was in no position to do so. She needed her directrix—now. It took a lot to speak her desires, although reading the sapphic erotica Ms Spellman had gifted her helped her feel a bit more normal about it.

Taking a deep breath and opening her eyes to look into Ms Spellman’s challenging eyes, she said, “I would appreciate if you—” She stopped herself; the formal tone was futile. It became harder and harder to hold Ms Spellman’s inquiring gaze, knowing what she could do to her that she had no qualms about turning her into a sobbing, endlessly orgasming puddle should she ask. “Put as many fingers inside me as you like, directrix. Please.”

“That’s more like it.” Ms Spellman smirked, and rewarded her with a thumb on her clit, massaging a few tight circles that provide some relief from the long build up. “Attagirl.”

It was gone too soon, but Larissa suppressed the urge to ask her to keep rubbing her, deciding she’d already reached today’s limit in terms of being a wanton libertine. She wasn’t ready to give up all her dignity just yet.

As Ms Spellman set a new pace, her nipples became so hard that they pressed into the rough upholstery, rubbing against it with each of Ms Spellman’s increasingly firm strokes until it prickled, adding another sensation to the combination of her thighs rocking into the couch, the hot kisses Ms Spellman was pressing to her shoulder, no doubt leaving lipstick prints, and the two fingers fucking into her from behind.

“Mh, yes, directrix,” she moaned, giving her best to let all concern about appearances go and enjoy.

“Louder, dear.” The couch dipped when Ms Spellman set one knee on it, the other foot steady on the ground, and dropped the flogger to the left—within reach should she disobey—before reaching for her breast and tweaking her sore nipple.

One glance at the flogger as Ms Spellman shoved back inside her was enough to have her toppling into another mind-breaking high, calling out, “Thank you, directrix!” as she arched her back, walls tightening in a blissful rhythm that pumped the pleasure through her body.

The title alone sounded filthy to her these days, associated with the heels, the cane, the domineering presence of the woman who had unleashed her darkest desires.

“That’s two,” Ms Spellman husked, nibbling at her earlobe as she nudged a third finger at her entrance. “I quite liked that one.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Can you take five more lashes then?”

The sound of Ms Spellman licking her lips so close to her ear interfered with her thought process, so that the answer came straight from her salivating heat. “No, please!”

“What’s it going to be then, huh?”

The additional finger played around Larissa’s entrance, gathering up slickness in preparation and she succumbed to the insight that she’d do anything for Ms Spellman, if that meant she’d keep doing this to her.

“Your fingers.”

“Ask for it.”

Her hips ground on Ms Spellman’s hand; she couldn’t even open her eyes anymore, nauseated with need. “Would you fuck me with three, please, directrix?”

It was mortifying to hear herself say that, but cathartic at the same time, as if she’d reclaimed agency through stating what she desired.

“You want them?”

Larissa was reminded of the time Ms Spellman had said that a dominatrix wasn’t required to be mean—but now that she was choosing to be, she must’ve upset her a fair bit with her backtalk earlier. “Yes, I want them.”

“No,” she pushed the third finger in and corrected, “you need.”

Larissa’s knees wobbled at the stretch, panting so hard she made herself dizzy. “May I lie down, please?”

“Sure,” Ms Spellman replied, slipped her fingers out of her, and then the hand on her chest gave a shove, Larissa lost balance and fell backwards, and all she could do was brace herself for the impact of crashing into the coffee table—but Ms Spellman caught her a hair’s width above, lowering her slowly.

Ms Spellman’s muscles flexed against the welts on her back, and once she was settled, the cool surface soothed the ache. One of her legs was still on the couch, the heel pressing into the cushioning, the other on the ground between the coffee table and the couch, and Ms Spellman standing between her suddenly very spread legs with crossed arms, surveying her after undoing her bindings.

The maroon of her dress matched that of her lips, and the lace covering one breast left little to the imagination. Larissa’s fingers were itching to touch her, take those nipples into her mouth to muffle herself as Ms Spellman took her, but she’d learned—all in good time.

“Front the top,” Ms Spellman proclaimed with a bit of a sigh as she bent over Larissa, planting a hand beside her on the table, auburn curls falling forward as she eased her three fingers back into her—at once.

Larissa groaned at the intrusion, still not any looser than before, but more than slick enough to ensure a smooth entry. It helped that she could see Ms Spellman’s face now, with blatant enjoyment displayed on it, growing the further she advanced into her tightness.

When she was all the way inside her, even her nipples were poking through her dress, one dark areola visible through the lace, the other pulling the velvet taut in the surrounding area.

Then her eyes darted to Larissa’s lips and, thinking she was going to kiss her, she closed her eyes but against her expectations, her mouth touched not her own but her clit, making her hips buck. Intense heat rushed to her groin, and it only took a few flicks of her strong tongue to make her writhe with ecstasy.

“Three,” Ms Spellman counted, careful to spare her clit from her licks to give her time to recover and dread what this meant.

However, she had no chance to dwell on it, too wrapped up in the feeling of Ms Spellman’s mouth on her for the first time. She hoped she tasted good enough, but given the eagerness with which the woman was licking her swollen folds, it was clear that she needn’t worry.

Again, Ms Spellman withdrew her fingers from her, and Larissa made a noise of protest, even though she did have a hunch that it was necessary to get her used to the stretch without straining her too much.

She struggled to catch her breath as it was, the silhouettes of the furniture in the dimly lit cottage disappearing and resurfacing with every quick breath she took, together with the fleeting awareness that she was lying on a blessed coffee table, with actual food strewn somewhere next to her.

The windows were small, and the forest filtered most of the light even though it was still daytime. Whatever light was left was then taken up by Ms Spellman as she leaned over her again, this time capturing her lips with remnants of her arousal clinging to them. It was an odd sensation, soothed by the tongue invading her mouth.

The kiss left her breathless; her body was aching—from the flogging, from the sex—as if she’d been the victim of an animal attack, only that she’d want this particular predator to prey on her over and over again.

As it happened, Ms Spellman moved to the side of her neck and sucked the skin into her mouth, not letting off until she’d left a mark there; Larissa remembered the sensation well.

“Yours,” Larissa muttered under her laboured breath, unaware of saying it out loud as she succumbed to a fantasy she’d been falling asleep to on many nights. To take Ms Spellman to bed, properly, in a home of their own, and sleep together as equals, as lovers. The mark on her neck indulged the reverie, the idea that her dominatrix harboured similar feelings for her client.

“You may touch,” Ms Spellman said, and Larissa’s hands shot to her wide, supple hips, sliding them up to her waist and back down, moaning at the feel.

When Ms Spellman kissed her again, she put a hand on the back of her neck, amidst the spilled red curls, to pull her in deeper. In the throes of passion, she grabbed Ms Spellman’s necklace and tugged, pulling the contraption tight.

“Naughty,” Ms Spellman rasped, slapping her hand away and loosening the necklace.

Larissa mouthed a “sorry,” eyes glazed with blind lust, but Ms Spellman didn’t regard her any further, reached down between their bodies to re-insert her three fingers one by one. Then she locked eyes with Larissa, who propped her dishevelled self up.

“Do I really have to?” she asked, eyes glued to Ms Spellman’s slightly smudged, glistening mouth.

She stopped her actions, breaking character, which was rare. “You don’t have to do anything, Larissa. I am here for your enjoyment.”

A lump blocked her throat, uncertain about what she wanted. She felt good, sexy, desired in the moment, but she worried it might turn into something unpleasant if she took it one step further.

Then she had a notion that the reason she was enjoying this so much might not be that she was being filled to the brim, but the praise and prideful smiles Ms Spellman rewarded her with. Reluctant, she asked, “Would you… like to see me take all four?”

“I would,” Ms Spellman answered, succinct and honest.

The idea that this appeared to be a personal turn-on for Ms Spellman shot through every nerve fibre in her body, fresh arousal gathering around Ms Spellman’s fingers lodged inside her. It was decided then, that she wanted this as well as the prize she’d been promised more than anything.

Re-assuming her role, Ms Spellman asked, “Are you going to make me proud?”

“Yes, directrix.”

“Marvellous.”

Larissa’s head dropped back at the word, arousal going from zero to one hundred in a split second. Ms Spellman moved down to mouth at her breasts, giving her clit small nudges with her thumb to prepare her for the final challenge.

She grasped at Ms Spellman’s curves, features contorting in pleasure, and Ms Spellman pried her thighs further apart to make room, never letting off her hardened peaks, alternating.

Then she felt it, the ring finger prodding at her used entrance and clawed at Ms Spellman’s back for comfort.

“Directrix,” she hissed, lowering herself back on the table, brows knitting together, fingers proceeding to bury in Ms Spellman’s hair as she pushed it further.

“Good girl,” Ms Spellman cooed around her nipple, her low voice vibrating against it and taking her mind off the ache. “Almost there.”

It went all in, quick and dirty like a bandaid ripped off and Larissa came close to hyperventilating if it hadn’t been for Ms Spellman’s well-timed shower of praise.

“Look at that,” she marvelled, and kept toying with her clit to make it more pleasant. “Stretched beyond belief and still dripping with need for me.”

Guttural noises were all Larissa could produce for a while, the most sensitive parts of her body resembling a pipe about to burst. When she’d adjusted a bit more and could generate a clear thought, she asked with a shaky voice, “Do I have to come again?”

“You don’t have to,” Ms Spellman said, assuring her that she’d fulfilled her end of the deal, “but you’re allowed to.”

Larissa was too far gone to reply, overcome with everything that was happening, and Ms Spellman chuckled to herself in this satisfied manner that let Larissa know she’d exceeded her expectations—and that put a beaming, heartfelt smile on her face which widened even further when Ms Spellman knelt between her thighs to put her tongue back on her stuffed sex, providing tentative licks while giving small pumps.

All the while, she held her hand in a sweet gesture and kept brushing her thumb over the knuckles until she came again, around all four fingers with an indistinct whimper of, “Mother.”

“What was that?”

Larissa jolted up, eyes shooting open, and corrected herself, “Mother of God!”

“Mh, sure,” Ms Spellman said, wiping the smugness from her lips as she cleaned herself of Larissa’s fluids.

That one was certain to go in the book, but before Larissa could dwell on it, Ms Spellman was straddling her chest. After lying on this hard table for so long with a wounded back, she was starting to get uncomfortable, but she pushed it aside in favour of the privilege she had earned herself.

Ms Spellman gripped the hem of her dress, fingers curling into fists around it, white knuckles decorated with pompous rings, and rolled it up, revealing the straps connecting her lace-topped stockings to a black garter belt with no underwear in sight, only glistening auburn-greyish curls that made Larissa nearly faint on sight.

“So,” she began, lifting herself over Larissa’s face, “why don’t you make mommy feel good, hm?”

The dress fell and darkened everything around her, trapping her with the heady scent of Ms Spellman’s arousal as she sank lower and lower until her plump lips were squished into Larissa’s waiting mouth, and she had no choice but to lick if she wanted to survive. 

“Mh, yes, darling,” she groaned as soon as Larissa’s tongue slipped between her folds. “That’s it.”

The praise had Larissa moaning as well, indistinguishable from those of Ms Spellman as she put everything she’d taught her to work—swirling her tongue in a steady rhythm, feeling for the right places and focusing her attention to the spots that elicited a throaty groan here or a pulse there.

“Keep going,” Ms Spellman spurred her on, dropping her full weight onto her chest.

It limited her ability to breathe, but the feeling of Ms Spellman’s bare ass on her breasts was too thrilling to complain about. She grabbed it, guided her as she rode her face, drowning herself in her slickness and muffling the moans as she mourned her own emptiness, even after four fingers and five orgasms.

Ms Spellman’s walls tightened around her tongue as she dove in to massage her walls before returning to her clit and sucking as the air ran thin in her confinement.

“Harder,” Ms Spellman husked, her commands getting shorter—a safe tell that her climax was nearing.

She used her teeth to nip and graze, doubling her efforts despite her tongue already growing numb and heavy.

Impatient as she was, Ms Spellman ground her hips down with more force, taking some of the work from her in a desperate chase for the finish line. A frenzy developed that made it impossible to tell where exactly Larissa’s tongue was going, where she was sucking, what part of Ms Spellman’s sex was slithering over the tip of her nose—all that mattered was that the power of her orgasm made her hips jerk away from stimulation, releasing a heavy grunt of deep satisfaction.

While Larissa was still reeling from this immense confidence boost, gulping in air and sweating all over, Ms Spellman hoisted her leg across her like coming off a horse, still dripping with saliva and come, but standing steady as if nothing worth mentioning had happened—almost like she was used to having to act normal after coming, which made Larissa wonder if at one point she’d often fucked people in public spaces and then had to not bat an eye when the evidence was running down her thigh.

“You see, I’m well-trained.” Ms Spellman shrugged, answering to her puzzled expression. Reminiscent and suddenly lost in memory, she muttered to herself, “Perfect bitch…” and shuddered before flicking her hair over her shoulder regardless of its state and wandering off to clean herself up, gesturing for Larissa to do the same.

She laid there for a moment, coming back to her senses after the highly inappropriate daydream this session was—minus the flogging perhaps, although she couldn’t deny that it had made the sex following it much more intense—and then went for a cold shower that soothed her skin and cleared her mind except for the image of her and Ms Spellman standing under the spray of water together in a blissful afterglow-embrace.

On the way back, Larissa tucked her blouse back into her skirt. Two mugs of hot chocolate greeted her; the sweetness filling her senses made her warm to the idea of doing it right this time and baring her heart to Ms Spellman. She hadn’t given herself a chance with Morticia, but she deserved one with Ms Spellman.

A floor lamp in the corner had been switched on; it had darkened outside. Larissa sat and picked up the drink as they shared a mischievous look, cheeks already warming. They were both ecstatic, holding themselves up with this electrified, subtle tension and breathing low into their stomachs to make up for air lost in copulation.

“How is your back, dear?” Ms Spellman asked, setting the mug down to brush her hair to one side and allow the air to cool the flushed skin of her neck.

Larissa couldn’t stop smiling at her and following the movement of her fingers. “Nothing worth complaining about.”

She’d be revelling in all that had been done to her for the next couple of days, but the advantage of being alone was that she needn’t worry about anybody wondering about it.

A hint of… care washed over Ms Spellman’s features as she nodded. “Would you allow me to inspect it? Since it is your first time, I’d prefer to make sure all is in order.”

Grateful for any tenderness from Ms Spellman, Larissa agreed, fumbling with her necklace, red nails clinking against the chunky golden ornaments. It directed Ms Spellman’s gaze to her throat, a vulnerable place, as she crossed over to sit behind her, pulling the blouse she’d so carefully tucked into her skirt minutes before out and lifting it to her shoulders to see.

As sure as ever, the memories came to haunt Larissa when Ms Spellman examined the marks she’d left before dipping her fingers into a tub of healing cream and applying it with gentle, cool fingertips.

She shivered at it, predominantly because her skin remembered how Morticia’s hands had ghosted over a few nasty scratches she’d contracted during an unauthorised midnight fencing match without any protective gear. She’d enjoyed the personal attention then as much as she did now; Morticia had been kind, warm even, unlike the corpse she mimed for everyone else.

Special.

“Was I too rough with you today?” Morticia had said to her all those years ago; the purr, the temptation, the agonising lust stirred.

“No, Tish,” she laughed it off, not realising it was aloud in the present, instead of in the memory, “I’m built to last.”

“Tish?” Larissa heard the cocked eyebrow in Ms Spellman’s tone and sat up straight. “A Freudian slip, Miss Weems?”

“Don’t.”

It stung like an insult to be called by her last name in this intimate moment.

“I do wonder,” she began, pulling her blouse back down and setting it back in place, “have you two ever kissed?”

Larissa flinched away, tugging at her sleeves to busy herself. “No.”

“Why, that explains the ludicrous tension.”

“She was never interested in me like that,” Larissa dismissed.

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

Although not responding any further, Ms Spellman’s musings stopped her in her tracks, making her wonder for a fleeting moment, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does,” Ms Spellman insisted, returning to her former seat opposite her, “since you’re unable to let go of those sentiments.”

“I don’t have feelings for her.” Something within Larissa snapped and the mumble turned into a declaration. “I have feelings for you!”

“Nonsense.” Ms Spellman shut her off, sighing as she took a sip from her hot beverage to buy time. “Well, it is my own fault, I suppose. Blessed saviour complex.”

“Zelda. I mean it,” Larissa emphasised, taking the mug from Ms Spellman’s hands to hold them in her own. “You’ve been a blessing. The first in many years.”

“We’re not getting sentimental now, are we?” The usage of her first name had jarred Ms Spellman, and she glared at her for it as she withdrew her hands to light a cigarette, taking a few hasty drags.

Her gaze became distant and then it occurred to Larissa, the most unfortunate of thoughts. She nearly choked on her words. “Are you… with someone?”

“I am married, for Satan’s sake!” Ms Spellman barked, holding her cigarette out in a broad gesture as if calling to the heavens to get it into Larissa’s head.

“How—?” Larissa didn’t understand. “What about all this?”

“My wife is in the same profession. Well, used to be. And she doesn’t like to share.”

“That—doesn’t make sense—”

“Well, my body, yes, but not my loyalty.” She said it as if it were self-explanatory. “We honour matters of the heart.”

“But-uh-but I didn’t see a wedding band.” It was an outdated and stupid thing to say, but it was the first thing that came to her mind, unfiltered, unprocessed—raw meat cut right from a living, breathing thing.

“Oh, I don’t wear a ring, I wear a collar.” Ms Spellman ran her fingers along her necklace and tugged at it, pulling it tight like Larissa had earlier, showing how a leash could be attached to one of the two rings involved in the contraption.

Discarding her cigarette, she took it off and showed the engravings to a speechless, shocked Larissa. The one that would sit at the base of Ms Spellman’s neck said MINE in capital letters, the one further down the chain which the leash would be attached to said YOURS, my Queen.

“I regret if I gave you the wrong impression, dear,” Ms Spellman said, eyebrows knitting together as she cupped her cheek, but hot tears were already streaming down it.

Scrunching up her nose in a blend of disgust—at herself, at the situation, perhaps even Ms Spellman—and pain, Larissa jumped up and blurted, “Is that what you do to all these women in your book? Make them attached to you and then use their vulnerabilities against them?”

She knew she’d sealed her fate as soon as she’d said it.

“You did what now?” Ms Spellman seethed and shot up too, picking up the flogger and gripping it until her knuckles cracked, stalking towards Larissa. “You don’t get to touch my property and walk away.”

Stepping back at the threat, Larissa stood up taller, clenching her fists and throwing anything that crossed her mind back at her for lack of a better defence. “Is that how you wooed your wife?”

“Careful there!”

“What?” she taunted, raising her chin. “Is—”

The door flung open, almost hitting Larissa in the face as a vaguely familiar dark-haired woman barged in, rambling without pause as if Larissa wasn’t even there.

 “So sorry, dear, but they didn’t have the chilli sauce for your cheeseburger,” she kissed Ms Spellman’s cheek in passing, who stood stiff, just as bewildered as Larissa, “so I picked up salsa, hope that’s alri—”

In shock, the woman dropped one of the paper bags smelling distinctly of fast food as she turned around and spotted Larissa. Ms Spellman and Larissa were both staring at her for countless excruciating seconds before the penny dropped and she remembered the woman’s name: Lilith.

Lilith, who had driven her home the other night, was Ms Spellman’s wife.

Larissa studied her for a moment—the diamond-cutting cheekbones, the mysterious, red-lipped smirk, the raven hair—and then tore herself away to grab her things in a hurry as the pieces fell into place, bumping into Lilith’s shoulder as she ran out crying and humiliated.

The woman on the website, the photo she’d stared at for so long, it was also her. She’d had hopes that Ms Spellman would show her off in the web-gallery at one point, when she’d earned her obedience rosette, but all that was off the table now. She’d never come back to this place, never should’ve come in the first place.

Larissa’s vision was blurry with tears as she drove, and her ears rang with everything that had been said and couldn’t be taken back. The road was an endless stream, her foot heavy on the accelerator until she couldn’t stop herself anymore, driven by and driving for the wine she knew would take her in its arms and make this horrible night go away. And if she had to drink herself into unconsciousness, so be it. Anything was better than bearing the weight of having lost the only thing that had brought her comfort—as well as the funding for the Rave’N, since she could hardly cash the check now.

Larissa wanted to bang her head into the steering wheel; for trusting Ms Spellman, for taking the risk of leaving her shell, for involving Morticia. It was easy to blame them, but when all was said and done, she’d brought this upon herself.

Chapter Text

For the first time in her career, Larissa had taken a sick day. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve like the emperor parading his new gowns in Hans Christian Andersen’s tale, only to stand before the town, naked and humiliated, for she had been the fool blind to the truth—never before had she felt as violently ill as she had after that night.

Larissa had shared her bed with bottles, one clutched to her chest like a lover all through the loneliest night. And when the morning came and her alarm had lit up the phone screen showing Ms Spellman’s picture, she’d had no desire to leave the nest she’d built for herself and typed a short message to Marilyn Thornhill, asking to organise a substitute. The rest of the day was spent drunk off her head, wailing to Adele 25 in her chiffon nightgown with unkempt hair, floating through the perennial cold of her bedroom.

For all she should be an adult about it, it seemed only right now to allow herself to mourn this relationship after denying herself the same with Morticia; even if it meant acting like a heartbroken teenager for a day, to feel like the world was going to end because Ms Spellman didn’t love her back.

But today was different. Today was the day she would get up and pretend none of it had ever happened. She’d never met Ms Spellman, never been touched—a near-impossible feat considering the welts on her back that kept reminding her with each brush of fabric just what the woman had done with her.

Even now, as she was opening her bedside drawer in search of her golden watch to finish up her outfit, she hissed at the sting. Waiting for her next to the watch was the lesbian erotica Ms Spellman had gifted her. She took it and ran her fingertips over the cover. Inside, Ms Spellman had scribbled a note:

Larissa.

Consider this a treat for my good girl and a token of apology.

 – Directrix Spellman xxx

The composure Larissa had so neatly tucked into her skirt with her blouse crumbled, and so, when she passed by the bin in her office, she threw the book in with as much pretend-carelessness as she could muster.

This chapter of her life needed to be closed before its ending would turn into one she’d written before with Morticia. The thought of taking control of her narrative crossed her mind, dating men again, or no one at all. Loneliness was gentle decay, rather than a surreptitious bludgeoning.

She headed for the school yard, about to tell a horde of pubescents at the morning assembly that the party they’d been waiting and working for all year wouldn’t be taking place while graciously glossing over the fact that her overambitious infatuation with unavailable women was to blame—a cumbersome start to her day.

As she walked up to the microphone prepared for her in the yard, sweet Elaine waved to her from the archway, tilting her head under the weight of an extravagant pink sunhat.

Larissa had almost forgotten it was her first day but wouldn’t mind showing her around as it was a welcome distraction; perhaps they could chat some more. Elaine was good company—and good company was exactly what her wounded ego needed.

She tapped the microphone, and a shrill noise made all heads turn to her.

“Good morning, students.” The forced smile stretched her skin into an uncomfortable grimace. “Before we go over some organisational aspects, I have important news to share regarding this year’s Rave’N.”

As the students cheered and the awareness emerged that their collective disappointment would be defining Elaine’s first impression of the school, Larissa’s heart clenched.

Nevermore wasn’t a sad place; she spent every day fighting to ensure it.

“Quiet, please,” Larissa ordered, the crispness of her voice causing even Elaine to stand up straighter as if struck. It both puzzled and somewhat exhilarated Larissa, who had not thought herself capable of having such an effect on a young woman prior to this instance. “Regrettably, I must inform you that this year’s Rave’N cannot take place as the school is lacking funding.”

Even Marilyn, a sort of school-mum to the students, could not manage to quieten down the angered huffing and puffing, leaving Larissa to drown in the discontent noises.

“However,” she cleared her throat, “I have another, more cheerful announcement to make.”

If anything could calm the tides, it would be Elaine’s radiance; surely, her soothing effect would extend beyond Larissa, would it not?

“Today, we are most delighted to welcome a new member of staff to our team: Miss Parks, our new teaching assistant.”

Stretching out an arm, Larissa invited Elaine to stand with her and put a hand on her shoulder as she came up, wiggling her fingers at the students as she beamed with excitement—but the majority of them refused her enchantment.

“Why do you have money for her but not the Rave’N?” someone shouted, catching Larissa off guard. She dismissed the comment, yet it hit a nerve for her, which translated into giving Elaine’s puffy-sleeved shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“It’s Miss Parks’ first day today,” Larissa dismissed. “We shall give her the warm welcome she deserves.” She stepped around to catch Elaine’s mildly disappointed gaze, needing to remedy it. “Thank you for being here.”

She let her words linger in sincerity before returning to the microphone and continuing with further announcements of a more trivial nature. The students filtered back into the building after, to their upcoming lessons, Marilyn ushered her first years inside, Larissa and Elaine followed last.  

Walking the now empty and quiet corridor, Larissa apologised again. “I’m awfully sorry for the cold reception. You must understand, the circumstances are unusual.”

Elaine nodded along as she spoke, her steps so small and soft that she could be a cloud in the sky with the white Victorian-style dress flowing around her as if blown by the wind. Her weightless exuberance put a spring in Larissa’s steps too, inclining her to share more. “I’ve been struggling to find funding for the Rave’N for long, and then lost it just a few days ago.” She sighed. “My head’s a mess and the students are upset.”

“Well, mercury is in retrograde—that tends to shake things up.” She shrugged but then added after a pause, “I’m sorry you’ve had such a difficult time. I can tell you’re trying your best.”

Larissa was speechless. While astrology was arguably far from her interests—although, she’d learned much about it from Morticia—to have someone emphasise in such a genuine way was… different.

“Maybe you should wait to hire me?” Elaine suggested, and Larissa couldn’t deny that she’d considered it. After all, since she was saving both money and time without the sessions with Ms Spellman, she might as well invest both in her work, where she at least had something; something to do.

But she was selfish.

“It would be wrong to retract the position now that I’ve offered it.”

“But you seem unhappy… Miss Larissa. I don’t like that.”

The name made Larissa smirk, so did the remark. Elaine was precious—but she needed to untangle herself. What Elaine had said at the support group meeting gave Larissa the impression that she must’ve been quite taken with Morticia, meaning she herself was nowhere near her type and she’d only set herself up for rejection if she got attached.

“That’s… sweet of you.” Larissa brushed her hand over Elaine’s upper arm, their eyes met, and she gave a soft blink. “But it’s no issue, really. I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t doubt it. But if there’s any way I can help…”

“I appreciate that. Now, let me show you the school.”

They went to the printer first and had a laugh when Larissa was trying to demonstrate how to work it and it flat-out refused to turn on, then had a peek into the staff room, the PE hall, the art studio, and strolled past the restrooms.

“This is the canteen,” Larissa pointed out the obvious and added, “But I tend to take my lunch to the office, so I don’t waste too much time.”

“All by yourself?” Elaine asked as they continued their tour, swinging the hat in her hand back and forth with the motion. “Wouldn’t you like someone to talk to?”

“I’m not close with any of the staff,” Larissa tried to avoid the question at first yet somehow ended up revealing more, “but yes, sometimes it would be nice to—” she shook her head, “never mind.”

“No, no, Miss Larissa,” Elaine said with urgency, stepping in front of her and fumbling with her rings. “If you-I mean, we could always have lunch together?”

“That’s…” Her heart lightened, and her mouth opened, but she backed out. “I’ll think about it.”

With her track record of ill-chosen confidants, Larissa needed to err on the side of caution, which turned into a challenging pursuit when they roamed the school halls giggling like schoolgirls.

Much like her nightly adventures with Morticia, pretending to be vampires hunting for blood and lust, sneaking into the clocktower and climbing the bells while trying not to ring them.  

She’d felt free, then.

She felt free now.

Elaine was easy enough to talk to, made her forget about the awful night she’d gotten her heart broken by yet another unavailable woman, if only for the moment.

When the bell rung and announced the end of another lesson, the students all but broke through the door they were just walking past, and if it hadn’t been for Larissa grabbing Elaine by the waist and pulling her out of harm’s way, the door would’ve slammed right in their faces.

As she was yanked aside, Elaine’s hat slipped from her hand and Larissa ended up with her back hitting the wall and Elaine pressed up to her, gripping the lapels of her coat for stability. The shock had them both panting, staring at each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, hearts hammering between them while the horde of teenagers bounded past them.

It was only when Marilyn Thornhill followed, shouting, “No running in the hallways! For the last darn time!” that Elaine let go of Larissa’s coat and she could release the breath that her lungs had refused to let go of.

“I’m so sorry, Principal!” Marilyn blurted when she’d noticed them, covering the lower half of her face with both hands. “I’ve told them countless times—and Miss…?” She looked from Larissa to Elaine, and Larissa couldn’t shake the feeling of having been caught—in what exactly, she did not know.

“Parks,” Larissa answered for Elaine, bending down to pick up her hat and dusting it off.

“Yes, Miss Parks, are you all right?”

Elaine failed to answer at first, blinking with her long lashes and rubbing over the rose quartz stone in the centre of her golden pendant necklace, until Larissa offered her the hat back.

“I-uh-I am, yes,” she stammered, taking it from her. “Thank you.”

“What a relief! Now, I better go after them and make sure,” Marilyn trailed off. “We’ll get better acquainted another time, yes? We could have lunch in the canteen?”

“Miss Parks will be eating with me,” Larissa heard herself say and was appalled, frankly.

She wouldn’t develop a childish sense of jealously over her new colleague just because she’d been nice and wanted her to be her friend, would she?

She expected Elaine to at least give her a side-eye, but instead she simply agreed. “Yes, I” she glanced to Larissa and smiled to herself, “wouldn’t want to waste any time.”

Noticing how Elaine repeated her reasoning behind eating alone, Larissa’s features softened, showing little of how moved she was by the small gesture.

“Oh.” Marilyn tilted her head with a curious look, her unfitted glasses sliding to the side. “Morning coffee it is, then?”

“Fantastic.” Elaine nodded and watched Marilyn hurry after her flock of first years. “She’s nice,” she said, still facing the other way while Larissa more or less saw the next problem heading their way.

Wednesday Addams—coming out of the classroom last because one could trust this girl to do the opposite of her peers at any given chance.

Usually, Larissa appreciated her ability to think for herself, but nothing about this situation was usual and she didn’t know how much Wednesday had seen, how long she’d been standing in the doorway, or if she’d glanced outside. If Marilyn had made her feel caught, then Wednesday, the representation of Morticia, made her feel cornered. Her, with a woman who looked suspiciously like her mother in her arms.

“Principal Weems,” Wednesday said with that graveyard voice of hers, urgent. “We must speak about mother.”

All Larissa could do was take a deep, deep breath because by the god she didn’t believe in, she’d need nerves of steel for this. The last person she wanted to talk about in this moment, standing next to Elaine, dumped by Zelda Spellman, was Morticia.

Giving Elaine an apologetic look for this chaos of a first day, Larissa ushered Wednesday aside and vowed to do what she could because if anyone knew what a nuisance Morticia could be, it was her. “What’s the matter, Wednesday?”

“Mother has lost the plot, I’m afraid.”

Larissa frowned. “Why?”

“Well. She’s reading Virginia Woolf.”

“And what now is wrong with Virginia Woolf?” Larissa put her hand on her hip, somewhat offended since, at Wednesday’s age, Larissa had read nothing but Woolf, had even—

“Wait,” she stepped closer, narrowing her eyes, “do you happen to know which of her works?”

“Mrs Dalloway.” And just like that, they were having a different conversation altogether. “What’s worse is she’s crying over it.”

Struggling to process this piece of information, Larissa turned away to regain control of her features, her neck and shoulders aching with the force needed to keep herself together at present.

“And then she keeps going on about the Rave’N,” Wednesday went on behind her. “She’s obsessed—and not in the morbid, tortured poet’s way. As much as it pains me, Principal Weems, but I have to plead you to accept our money.”

 Larissa’s head snapped around.

Wednesday bit her cheek, explaining, “Mother needs something to fuss over and I need salvation.”

“I,” she was at a loss for words, deflated, “I can’t make any promises, Wednesday.” The girl’s unmoving eyes sank, and Larissa took pity. “But I’ll have a word with her.”

“Thanks.” Wednesday studied her, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder and, then Elaine. “The new TA …”

“What about her?” Larissa jumped in, nervous, fingering at her chunky necklace.

“Her aura blinds me.”

Relieved, Larissa chuckled and dropped her hand. “Go on, my ray of darkness,” she teased with a wink. “Don’t let Ms Thornhill wait.”

Once Wednesday was on her way, Larissa returned to Elaine’s side. “Sorry about that. Her mother and I, um, went to school together. You met her, actually, at the boutique.”

“Oh, yes, my witch friend!” Elaine remembered and mused, “Blessed with beauty… and tragedy.”

Morticia would be overjoyed to receive such a compliment, which only further proved that Morticia would make a far greater friend to Elaine than she ever could. She’d been the roommate to a mystic for years, was familiar with it to the point it even brought a sort of comfort to her, but she’d never understood it the same way Morticia and Elaine did.

“Anyway,” she diverted, “I know what the girl has to put up with.”

The last stop of the tour was the office, and as they ascended the stairs towards it, Elaine said, “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but the students seem absolutely crushed and I think you’re a much bigger person than you give yourself credit for.”

 “It’s complicated, Miss Parks, but your words mean a lot.”

Standing in the pre-room to her office, Larissa clasped her hands with a clap and announced, “So, this is your space. It was originally intended for a secretary, but I need to cut costs where I can.” Having someone do all the admin work would likely save her a few trips to the hairdresser’s to cover the greys, but her vanity shouldn’t come at the expense of the students. “And you may decorate as you see fit.”

“Fantastic!” Elaine twirled, sweeter than she had any right to. “I know exactly how to transform the vibrations of this room!”

Vibrations.

“I’m sure it’ll be delightful,” Larissa said, gulping, and guided Elaine into the office to give her the keys and have her sign the contract. “When will you be able to start?”

“Ms Spellman has given me notice until the end of the month, but I could do a few hours here and there on a trial basis, if you need help.” Larissa noted down the first of the next month. Hesitant, Elaine added, “Since, you know… you seem stressed.”

“I am, to be honest,” Larissa sighed, long fingers splayed on the contract as she slid it across the desk to Elaine. The mention of Ms Spellman didn’t make it any better. “Need all the help I can get.”

“You can count on me, Larissa-um-Miss—” Elaine got confused again as she put her signature down, and Larissa chuckled softly.

“It’s all right,” she said, handing the carbon copy to Elaine, and keeping the original for her own files. “Thank you.”

The eye contact brought about sudden shyness in Elaine, it seemed, since she averted her eyes. Larissa followed the direction of her gaze and at the exact same moment, they both spotted the lesbian erotica in the bin—but Elaine was faster to act, fishing it out before Larissa could come up with an explanation.

“Why would you throw a good book away?” Elaine tutted, turning the book to read the synopsis. “You should donate it at the very least!”

She confiscated it from a student, it was an unwanted gift, it was a prank.

“I’m not sure this is the kind of… literature one donates.”

The control had slipped from her grasp, a part of her that she had wanted to reveal on her on terms now out in the open.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Elaine said ambiguously, bursting into another spontaneous hug as it had almost become custom between them.

Each time, Larissa was less rigid in it, accepted the comfort that was offered to her, if it weren’t for the welts on her back rebelling and making her wince.

Elaine backed off instantly, in a rush to leave. “I should be going,” she put her hat back on, “Ms Spellman is swamped at the boutique. See you soon!”

“Um, goodbye,” Larissa called after her, voice thinner than she was used to, and watched Elaine patter out—with the book still in her hand.

She wanted to stop her, more than anything, and explain, but how could she explain this? It pained her that Elaine must think now that she rejected her affection, because, at present, the prospect of this friendship was the sole good thing in her life, but how could she possibly tell her that she’d been with a dominatrix, her current boss.

Settling behind her desk, falling heavy into the chair, Larissa considered that it could’ve been a mistake to hire Elaine instead of investing the money into the Rave’N, especially if her eagerness to befriend her would get in the way of their working relationship.

But she’d chosen Elaine.

Larissa eyed the telephone, the sticky note with Morticia’s number. It might very well be that her interest in Elaine was her subconscious telling her to patch things up with Morticia, because if anything, today had reminded her that she’d not only had the worst but also the best time of her life with her.

She wouldn’t be who she was without Morticia.

And Elaine was right: she needed the money.

Larissa reached for the phone with a trembling hand, gnawed at her lip as she dialled, and held her breath when it rang until the moment Morticia picked up.

It was a quick and painless affair; she asked her to meet at the Weathervane; Morticia agreed.

It took the fresh sweetness of five mint chocolates for her mind to become clear enough to remember Ms Spellman’s dedication in the book Elaine had taken with her when she left.

Her new employee, and anyone who would get their hands on this book, would know about her affiliation with a dominatrix. And once again, she would stand naked in front of the town.

Chapter Text

“where there is desire there’s gonna be a flame”

Everywhere Larissa looked, a negative of herself flashed in yellow, magenta and cyan. Whenever she sat in her favoured spot at the Weathervane, the table in the back close to the window, it was as if her whole life had taken place in here.

Her first sip of wine from Morticia’s glass as she had brought it to her lips and tipped it until she’d grimaced at the bitterness. Morticia had found her reaction hilarious, and these days, Larissa wished the taste still repulsed her as it did then.

Dancing in front of the counter on nights out with their classmates. How Morticia had once climbed a table and lip-synced to Bette Davis Eyes, trailed her teasing fingers up the split of her dress and let Gomez kiss her exposed, pale thigh while her eyes were locked in on Larissa’s as if it was all for her.

Comforting Morticia in the bathroom after a pregnancy scare as they’d sat on the old, filthy tiles with her head in her lap and she’d run her fingers though her hair between soothing whispers, treated her to a hot chocolate after.

Sitting still in excruciating delight in this very spot as Morticia had told her she was going to marry Gomez.

Her first meeting with Ms Spellman.

“Does Ms Spellman have a horse?” Morticia asked with innocent curiosity.

“What?” Larissa blurted, startled as the waiter set the ice cream they’d ordered in front of them. Hot cherry surprise for Morticia, tiramisu delight for her. She moved her large sunglasses aside to make space for it.

“Well, she had a riding crop in the cottage,” she said, picking up the long spoon, “so I thought…”

“Oh. Um.” Larissa did the same, an excuse to avoid her eyes. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Or maybe it’s for her husband,” Morticia mused, tapping the spoon against her lip after the first bite; stainless steel and vanilla stains on blood-cherry-red. “Gomez and I have one too.”

At the very least Larissa could be sure there was no husband to be found in Ms Spellman’s home. “Good, I’m glad,” she grumbled, digging into the creamy scoop. “I’ve been wondering.”

“Oh, come now. Lighten up, Larissa.” She gave a playful swat to her hand resting at the base of the ice cram dish, which induced an unwelcome flashback to time spent with Ms Spellman and a subsequent tightening low in her stomach. Bloody conditioned responses. “I’m sure you’d enjoy it too if you gave it a try.”

Larissa suppressed a chortle at that. Little did Morticia know what she had gotten around to in the past few weeks. She wasn’t wrong either, she’d found great pleasure in it—and great pain. All things considered, Morticia and she might’ve been a good match had the circumstances been different.

“I’m afraid I have other things on my mind at the minute.”

The cool sweetness dissolving on her tongue eased her nerves, gave her something to focus on instead of the fresh wound that throbbed in her chest.

“Such as?”

“The Rave’N.” She took a steadying breath. “We can no longer rely on Ms Spellman’s donation.”

“What?” Morticia nearly spat the bite she’d just taken back out. “Why? She seemed so eager!”

Eager yes, but not to support a bunch of teenagers but to punish and humiliate her. “I,” the anguish constricted her throat, “misjudged her character.”

She almost choked on her spoonful of ice cream, had to take a sip of sparkling water to wash it down.

“Really?” Morticia sounded as if her view of the world had been fundamentally shaken. “I thought you two were close.”

“It was a business arrangement, nothing more.”

Nothing more. That’s all it was to Ms Spellman. Zelda. It had never been about her, but the money, the fun, the gamble with her heart.

“What a shame.”

“Indeed.” The melting ice cream slithered around the dish as she poked at it, focusing her breath. “Which is why I wanted to ask you…”

Sensing her struggle to overcome her pride, Morticia tilted her head and finished for her. “Of course we’ll help you out, chérie.”

A shiver ran down Larissa’s spine and she directed her gaze out of the window as she couldn’t stand the warm glimmer in Morticia’s eyes. “Thank you.”

A mistake, as it turned out. The moment she turned, no one other than Ms Spellman passed the window—with her wife. They were oblivious to Larissa’s presence yet theirs cut into her skin like barbed wire.

“We’ve already placed all orders, haven’t we?” Morticia asked between mouthfuls of ice cream, but Larissa barely listened. “So all that’s left to do is pay.”

Ms Spellman and Lilith settled on the edge of the fountain. The large metal statue of Joseph Crackstone towered behind them, sprinkling clear water around them as if their love was sparking fire works just to spite her.

“Should be, yes,” she replied.

Upon a closer look, Ms Spellman jaw was tense, and her eyebrows drawn low and grim as she twirled a cigarette between her fingers. Lilith pulled a lighter out of her leather coat’s pocket to give her fire.

“That’s that then, I’ll handle it.”

Their interaction turned into a heated discussion; Ms Spellman leaned away but Lilith was insistent to calm her, tucked hair behind her ear, kissed the mole on her temple, and rubbed her back as she listened to her. Then, without warning, Lilith looked up, her eyes locked on Larissa, she was certain of it, and it sent her into a panic.

“Larissa? Chérie?”

“Yes?” Her head snapped around, leaving no chance to school her distraught features.

“You’re slipping away on me.” Again, Morticia put her hand on Larissa’s wrist; she winced at the contact. “Is something the matter? You don’t look your best.”

She knew what Morticia meant, she’d seen it too. The dry, puffy skin, broken capillaries around her nose and on her cheeks, the dull colour like old woodchip wallpaper. Not even a proud principal was exempt from the physical manifestations of a wine habit.

 Larissa gave a wide, sardonic smile. “Thank you, I needed to hear that.”

When Morticia let go of her wrist, she wanted to sob. How low had she been that she was so desperate even for the touch of the woman that had scorned her most? All while knowing that nothing and no one could compare to the soothing presence of Ms Spellman stroking her hair after a session, holding her tight; no matter how many pillows and blankets she threw into her bed to make it softer, to draw the same comfort from it, it didn’t work. No softness in the world could emulate the relief of another person’s company.

“Talk to me, ma belle,” she all but pleaded as if she had any right to—and Larissa snapped.

“Why would I talk to you?” Larissa dropped her spoon into the dish with a horrible clatter, fury rushing through her veins. “You haven’t given a damn about me in decades!”

The sudden quietness of the coffee shop at her loud outburst was deafening, and she lowered her gaze in shame.

“I most certainly have!” Morticia hissed, and her form collapsed into itself.  She twirled the stem of the ice cream dish between her fingers, adding quieter, “I just thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“But I did. I did!” Tears collected on her waterline, and it was unfair that Morticia’s eyes were reddening too. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

She could tell her, right here and now, unburden herself of twenty-six years’ worth of secrets. And maybe, just maybe she could win her friend back, her beloved confidant, a shoulder to cry on and get her through this.

Morticia let out a sympathetic tut and appealed to her. “It’s not that. I just wanted to give you space.” She took a long, trembling breath and tugged at the serviette in front of her as a large tear pearled down her cheek. “You were so upset with me…” She lifted her head with glistening eyes and moved a strand of long black hair from across her face. “I never knew why, and I-I thought you’d reach out once you’d-mh… figured it out.”

“Two decades of space? No,” Larissa shook her head., “you just wanted a perfect little life with Gomez and be rid of me. You couldn’t wait to move on.”

“You have some nerve!” Morticia all but lunged at her across the table. She’d never seen her in such an aggrieved state. “Do you honestly believe I’d have picked this school for Wednesday, gone through the effort of becoming PTA, just so I could be near you again if I didn’t care?”

As if a switch had been flicked, they stopped their argument once the waiter came to pick Morticia’s empty dish up and silently conveyed that they should either calm down or take this outside.

“You got bored,” Larissa huffed once he was gone, “that’s all.”

Morticia winced as if dodging a bullet, pressed her lips together to contain the sounds rising in her heaving chest.

“Needed some thrill and thought you’d come to my school and steal it from my hands because you woke up one night and realised that being Gomez’ housewife wasn’t enough anymore.”

“I did it for you!” Morticia insisted and pushed up, eyes flashing with hot tears and ice-cold anger. Then she paused, fighting to regain control of her rapid breathing as she reached for her coat. Her hands disappeared into her deep pockets and resurfaced with the money she’d found there that she slammed on the table, crumpled and scattered. “I wanted you back.”

Larissa held her breath until she’d left, shaken and reeling from the argument. And as absurd as it seemed in this situation, her first thought was that she’d lost her funding again. She might have to sell some of her first editions of Virginia Woolf and anything else of value she could find if the Rave’N was to take place.

Outside, Ms Spellman and Lilith were gone. Neither had she noticed them leaving as their conversation had escalated and nor that her ice cream had melted into a sad soup. Everyone had gone from her but the certainty of her estrangement. And she was still here in this coffee shop, the weakening pulse of her life, where everything came full circle.

Chapter Text

The teardrop earring pierced through the hole in her earlobe that Larissa had had since she’d been fifteen years old. It had taken a few attempts as the fading daylight her bedroom window let in complicated the task. She always underestimated how quickly the sun set and took all light with her.

She’d been scared to have her ear pierced, although she’d secretly admired the girls in school with their silver hoops—including Morticia. She’d held her hand when she’d finally convinced her to get it done.

Larissa adjusted the positioning, silk gloves slipping over encrusted diamonds, and took a step back, clasping her hands, to examine her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was pinned as tightly as it would go and sprayed with what had felt like a full bottle of setting spray in hopes that it would last an evening of chasing after teenagers running wild under the influence. There was no setting spray for her smile, however.

Forever Young was the motto of this year’s Rave’N—the Addams had paid for it despite their falling out. Accordingly, Larissa had bought a dress that resembled the one she had worn to her last Rave’N as a student at Nevermore since the years and the wine had left her plumper than in her youth when she’d been much more physically active, especially in the swimming team. It might have been the only activity which she had taken part in without Morticia, as her friend or rival. Like a cat, with her sharp nails and purrs, Morticia had hated the water.

As she drew her eyes over her figure in the glamorous, silver-sparkling, long-sleeved and high-closed dress, she was surprised to find that she was not dissatisfied at all—not with her few extra pounds and not with the signs of age that had begun to show on her body. She felt like a woman, a sad woman, but an attractive one.

The phone rang and the display lit up the bedroom behind her from where she’d discarded it on the bedspread. She didn’t check who it was and picked up right away while scanning the space for her clutch purse. “Hello?” Her voice was breathy.

“Miss Larissa?”

“Elaine.” She smiled and paused what she was doing. They’d exchanged numbers a while ago in case she needed her to help out. Elaine had butt-dialled her a couple of times since then. “I thought you were going to the group meeting?”

“I am!” She giggled, then shyness came into the mix. “Just wanted to say hi.”

Her new TA had only spent a few hours in her new position at Larissa’s side and they were already unable to stay formal in their conversations. Their agreement was to stick to last names in front of students and staff and allow themselves more freedom when alone. The realisation that, since Larissa had seen Elaine’s page in Ms Spellman’s book, she could assume that she must also be a client of hers or at least know about her side business had eased her mind about Elaine finding the erotica. She hadn’t brought it up with her, to her relief.

“I’m getting ready for the Rave’N at the moment,” she said as she thumped her purse on the office desk and sat down, eyeing the travel-sized bottle of vodka. “It’s a shame you couldn’t come.”

“Oh…” Elaine said. “Well, I would’ve loved to, I really would, but I promised,” she halted, “my matrons never to miss a meeting.”

Larissa still didn’t know much about the matron-situation apart from what Elaine had shared with the group. She tended to avoid the topic, and Larissa was left none the wiser as to what their living arrangement or relationship was like. All she knew was that their approval was of immense importance for Elaine.

Now that they spoke about it, the idea of going to the dance alone and standing invisible on the sidelines to watch while everyone else had fun made her stomach twist. She traced the label on the bottle with her gloved fingertip as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“No, I understand. It honours you—that you’re so intent on keeping your word.”

Elaine’s breath on the other end of the phone came out heavy with guilt, and Larissa felt it unnecessary. She hadn’t asked her out, she wasn’t staff meant to chaperone. “When are you coming to the group again?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s for me,” Larissa answered a little too quickly, turning the base of the vodka bottle back and forth.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Larissa half-expected a lecture, but it didn’t come. Silence followed with some phone static and Elaine’s even breathing. It was calming, like the fire crackling when she sat in front of it in the evenings, warm. She wondered what Elaine did in the evenings. Meditate? She seemed the type. Or sit with her matrons and gossip about her? No, Elaine was chatty but didn’t give her the impression of a blabbermouth.

“Look, I’m afraid I have to go now,” she said after a while, although only grudgingly. “Thank you for checking in, though, Elaine. I… appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” She heard the smile in her voice. “See you next week?”

“Unless the students take the school apart, yes,” she joked and stood up. “If you could finish marking the first-year’s essays by then, I’d be forever in your debt.”

“You can start thinking about how you’re going to make it up to me then, Miss Larissa.”

When Larissa hung up, she was blushing. The lock screen showed her childhood dog again, the white fur ball named Oggie, instead of Ms Spellman and Vinegar Tom. Perhaps a dog would be good for her, and fill the void Ms Spellman had left behind. Her stress levels were out of control without the sessions. How had she survived before them?

Larissa opened the small bottle, took a sip, and swished it around in her mouth as if it were mouth wash, then screwed the lid back on and put it in her purse. Show time.

***

As she ducked to enter the gym through the translucent, fairy-light-adorned drapes, the song by Alphaville titled like the Rave’N’s motto began to play with its nostalgic synth intro. The students in charge of the decorations outdid themselves. She felt transported back in time as she took in the pink and green neon lights reflecting on the colourful balloons and catching in the glitter of her dress.

She greeted a few teachers and students left and right as she slipped through the crowd to find a good spot overlooking everything, and gave a wave to Wednesday—the ray of darkness that cut through the rainbow. The chorus set in and she found herself eye to eye with Morticia holding a glass of punch. The picture froze like a snapshot and Larissa’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of her. She felt unsteady as the music whirred around her.

Morticia looked just like she had on their graduation night—black hair streaming in a torrent to her hips, black velvet gloves that went past her elbows, a long, silhouette-hugging neck holder dress, and Gomez’ arm draped around her waist. She wore him like an accessory.

As much as she wanted to turn on her heel, she could hardly ignore the sponsors of this event. Frankly, she hadn’t expected them to show up after how things had gone down, but here they were, like cockroaches.

Larissa approached, and Morticia tensed but never took her eyes off her. She wore her smile with confidence, after all she had experience dealing with unpleasant encounters thanks to Noble, and shook Gomez’ hand first. It was his money, so it was only right, and she might have found just a little bit of joy in watching Morticia’s black lips curl in contempt.

“Gomez! What a delight to have you and your wife here tonight,” she greeted him and crushed his hand in hers. She’d always been stronger than the coddled rich boy, despite coming from old money too.

“The pleasure is ours, Larissa.” He kissed the back of her hand in his pretentious gentleman-fashion that she was all too familiar with as opposed to the consternated expression on Morticia’s face that she wore while eyeing the gesture, the way her lips pressed together. It didn’t even occur to Larissa that the whole time her attention had been on Morticia instead of Gomez, who she’d meant to greet.

Out of politeness, she offered her hand to Morticia as well after Gomez was done, but she refused her and pointedly took a sip from her punch, which made Larissa’s blood not boil but cook over. Couldn’t she at least be civil? The action visibly confused her husband, which told Larissa that Morticia had kept their argument from him—unexpected.

“Well, I’ll have to dash and check some bags for booze, I’m afraid.”

Without further ado, Larissa made her exit from the scene, well aware that she was the one carrying vodka in her purse, and went up to the bleachers, where she would have a better view of the crowd and an opportunity to drink in peace. She turned around for a moment to take a generoussip from the small bottle in her purse and nearly choked on it when a loud clap resounded behind her.

“Principal, what a terrific event you and Mrs Addams have organised! The students are thrilled!”

“Miss Thornhill!” Larissa exclaimed, more startled than excited, and even more concerned about the stench of her breath. “Yes, warms my heart to see them so happy.”

They sat down—Larissa put her purse between them—and watched their students dance to ABBA for a while.

“Have you seen Miss Parks yet?” Marilyn asked, fumbling with a packet of gum in her lap. “I would’ve thought she’d be with you?”

“Um.” Larissa smoothed out non-existent creases in her dress. “Why would that be?”

“Oh, well, you seemed friendly is all.” She popped the gum into her mouth, then offered the packet to her. “Is she coming?”

“No, no, she isn’t.” Concerned about her breath, Larissa took it with a grateful smile. “She’s required elsewhere, I’m afraid.”

“What a pity. She would’ve loved this, for sure,” Marilyn pointed out and let her eyes drift over the gym as if in thought. “She’s a vibrant one, right?”

“She is.” Larissa could all but see Elaine twirling on the dance floor, in a colourful bouffant dress and with flowers in her hair. Would she have asked her for a dance?

“You wanna join us down by the buffet?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” For once, she really did want to, but couldn’t risk it with the increasing amounts of vodka in her purse and system. “I’d better stay up here and watch out for that lot.”

And just like that, it became awkward again.

“Well, I’ll-um-go then. Tell Elaine I said hi.”

“Will do.”

It was a riddle to her why Marilyn Thornhill was so convinced that she was in contact with Elaine, even though it was technically true. As she watched her descend the stairs, she called after her, “Uh-thank you. For the offer.”

Marilyn smiled back at her briefly and then mingled with the other teachers. Morticia and Gomez were in the middle of the dance floor—she didn’t even want to waste an eye roll on them—surrounded by hundreds of students she’d watched grow up, all of them having the time of her life while Larissa could only wonder where hers had gone. She’d missed out on all these experiences; love, motherhood, friendship. Who would she even leave her estate to? With her parents dead and no family of her own, the most she could hope for at this stage was friendship.

She emptied the small bottle and realised too late that she had misjudged the difference a few percent more on the ABV made trading her wine for vodka. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she had any feeling below the waist and pinched her thighs to check. She was vaguely aware of a blister forming on one of her toes—which, she couldn’t tell—and took her heels off.

A spectacle unfolded down below. The crowd formed a circle around Morticia and Gomez while a vaguely familiar melody began to play. Larissa narrowed her eyes to try and see what was going on, but couldn’t make sense of it. The lack of sobriety didn’t help either in sharpening her senses, and it didn’t mix well with the mint-flavoured gum. Then the vocals started and Larissa recognised that it was Bring Me To Life—and Morticia and Gomez were lip syncing to it. Christ on a bike.

Wednesday seemed to have had the same reaction, going off the grimmer-than-usual look on her face as she climbed the stairs of the bleachers. The girl must be mortified, which only fuelled Larissa’s disdain towards her former roommate. She lifted her purse and put it on the other side, then patted the space beside her.

“Come sit.”

Wednesday flopped herself onto the bench beside her and watched with Larissa as her parents successfully ruined both their nights. This was supposed to be the event of the school year for Wednesday as much as any student, and Morticia wouldn’t even let her daughter have that.

“Are you drinking because of mother?”

“M’not—!” she protested, but Wednesday was quicker.

“No, I understand. I mean, look at them. Can I have some?”

“Out of th’queshion!” Larissa glared at her, whisking a wisp of hair that had come loose away. “Look, I can’even imagine…” She trailed off because what was there even to say? “Oh, dammit. This sucks, ‘kay? M’sorry. I really am.”

It felt surprisingly good to forget about manners for once and just let it out—and it was the truth. What was much harder was to pronounce the words correctly. Her lips felt somewhat numb and didn’t move the way she wanted them to.

“Thanks.”

To ignore her daughter’s needs, even if they were a bit unusual, was just not right. Everything about Morticia was perfect—all the saints had agreed. But Larissa saw right through her now. Beneath all the charm and spell casting, she was an ignorant and self-centred mother and if Wednesday were her child, she’d do it all differently.

She’d—she’d paint the world black for her girl, would have picnics at the graveyard, would even tolerate the house crawling with spiders and scorpions as pets to even out Morticia’s shortcomings. She deserved this, she deserved a family… with Morticia. Wednesday should’ve been theirs, not his. If either of them had only said something, done something. They’d ruined it all—together; their Roman Empire.

“Principal Weems?” Wednesday asked, but Larissa barely heard her as she shot up with clenched fists and stomped down the stairs of the bleachers, barefoot and seething.

She made a beeline for the performing couple, crushing the gum between her teeth with the rock-hard tension of her jaw. The music pounded in her ears but it felt distant at the same time, and her tunnel vision centred on the black-haired bane of her existence.

The moment she reached Morticia, she grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, using her her height advantage to tower over her as she cast the first stone. “Selfish bitch,” she hissed and was pleasantly surprised these words had made it out of her mouth. “Your daughter ‘s sitting up there mortified ‘cause ‘er sorry ‘xcuseofa mother has t’make a fool out ‘f ‘erself in fron’ ‘f th’whole ‘f Nevermore!”

“What—?” Morticia looked at her wide-eyed, taken aback. No one had ever criticised or questioned her—the star pupil, the Queen bee—it was about time someone did. And it was long overdue for Larissa to let her know exactly how she felt about her parenting.

“Y’know she wouldn’t even wan’you ‘ere if y’ hadn’t hijacked th’organisation!” She had to strain her vocal cords to shout over the music, her throat just as raw as her emotions. “An’ still, you remain wif-wifful-wilfully ignorant, go an’ disappoin’er, over ‘n’ over ‘gain,” she drew large, uncoordinated circles with her index finger in the air, “an’ then act all s’prised whenshe doesn’ wan’ an’thing t’do wi’you?!”

“Lyssa, please,” Morticia calmed, and Gomez put his hands on her shoulders. He always backed up her holier-than-thou bullshit.

“What?” Larissa’s features shifted into a sympathetic grimace, batting her lashes. “This not th’attenshion you wan’ed?”

Glancing around with an unsettled expression, Morticia swallowed and her eyes closed heavily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“‘course you don’.” With a scoff, Larissa stepped up to her, closer than she had been to the woman she once loved in years, and used only her shaking middle finger to move a strand of hair out of Morticia’s face, who stood frozen and intimidated. “But I tellyou what: you make everyone ‘round you misrabble.” She dropped her hand and gaze, and muttered under a sniffle, “Jus’ lookat me.”

“Go home, Larissa,” Morticia said dismissively, features hardening. Her eyes flashed with venom as she rose to her tiptoes until her face was less than an inch away from Larissa’s face and she all but blew the words on her mouth. “You’re drunk.”

Larissa spat the gum in Morticia’s face. “I wish I’d never met you.”

The sticky mass caught in her hair as she stumbled back, and Gomez, who caught his wife, surged forward and shoved at Larissa. Morticia pulled him back harshly and snarled to him, “Don’t. We’ve been here before.”

Momentarily distracted, Morticia didn’t see Larissa coming. She pushed her and Morticia fell into the people behind her. One of them dropped their glass; it shattered on the floor. A shard pierced a hole into Morticia’s black dress, another cut her hand and it bled.

Shocked at her own actions, Larissa covered her mouth with her gloveless hand—when had she lost the glove?—her hair standing in all directions, and stared down at Morticia on the floor, who was promptly attended by a dozen people, including her husband. Briefly, her gaze flickered up to the bleachers where Wednesday stood.

Someone should have mercy and hit her over the head with a shovel, that would be delightful.

Chapter Text

A lighthouse. Built to weather every storm and guide the ships to port no matter how dense the fog or high the tide. Reinforced to stand its ground and welcome those who sought shelter. Larissa had strived to be that for her students, for their parents, for herself. But now her roof had cracks through which rain leaked and her walls came tumbling down. Still neat on the outside, but withered from within.

She had been built to sit out the storm, but this one she couldn’t brave. And so, in the dead of the night, she packed a suitcase and abandoned the school that was her home. The radio played Back to Black, the wipers streaked smudges over the windscreen, and her dishevelled reflection in it stared right back at her. Another case of driving under the influence, another testament of her failure.

She pulled up at a motel off Jericho Drive. At least a dozen motorcycles, ridiculous beasts at that, were parked outside under the only street lamp in sight. She heaved her suitcase out of the trunk and stood with her arm atop the roof of her convertible, looking up to the neon sign that appeared so out of place in the cosy countryside of Jericho. The Pit—what irony. This was the right place for her. Rock bottom.

She hoped they had a bar.

The motel was eerily quiet when she entered, which wasn’t all too unusual considering it was near midnight. What was more unsettling was that above the robust wooden door, it was not a bell that chimed but a skull that laughed like Freddie Krueger in A Nightmare on Elm Street to announce her presence. She warmed to the idea that she’d crashed her car into a tree on her way here and that this was purgatory. A stopover on her way to hell.

“Who disturbs us at witching hour?”

She must have walked straight into a house of horrors, she thought as she followed the sound of the sibilant female voice into a small, doorless room to her right that must be the reception. She rounded the corner and—

Lilith.

The receptionist was Lilith.

She was chewing gum, leaned over the counter—like the rest of the interior, it was old-fashioned and heavy; a vintage eastern Europe style—in an unusually casual pair of ripped jeans that had a chain attached to the belt loops that had a suspiciously similar make up as Ms. Spellman’s collar necklace. The denim’s blue matched her big, impish eyes, and a short leather jacket had taken the place of the long black coat she’d seen her in before.

“Nightshift,” Lilith said with a shrug, apparently having noticed Larissa’s confusion at her appearance. “If I have to sit here all night might as well be comfortable.”

Something about Lilith always struck Larissa as predatory. She wanted to turn heel and leave, but where was she to go now? Drunk driving? The next town over an hour away? And she couldn’t go back. She may never go back and show her face at Nevermore again.

Swallowing, her mouth suddenly dry, she stepped up to the counter and stared at the service bell in front of her—no need for that any more—placed on a neat doily of yellowed white. Lilith had seen her. Lilith knew who she was. Lilith knew who she’d spread her legs for.

“Um…” she began, but what was she even to say to the wife of the dominatrix she had fallen in love with, who she had humiliated herself in front of?

“Larissa—was it?” Lilith asked in an unconcerned tone unbefitting the situation. “My wife’s rescue kitten.”

“Yeah… I mean—”

Kitten?

“You need a room?”

“That would be”— she choked on the words—“lovely.”

They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, during which Larissa was overly aware of the sound of her own breathing. She tried to establish a normal rhythm for it—what even was normal—but failed, held her breath, then gasped for it, and got light-headed, which only lead to further embarrassment. In an effort to resolve the situation, she added, “Three nights, I think. Do you have a bar?”

“No,” Lilith replied after sizing her up and without further explanation. Then she flicked through the pages of the register, stopped, and grabbed a pen. “Your last name?”

The prospect of sobering up here, in this hell hole, after how she’d humiliated herself, put a lump in her throat. Her hands shook and she clasped them in front of her body. “Weems,” she said.

With a ruthful sigh, Lilith scribbled down her name, pressed the tip sharply into the paper at the end, and flicked the pen back into the mug that had been repurposed as a pen holder. The typography on it spelled the word owner.

“Look,” she said, leaning over the counter in a rather chummy manner, “if you need something, we have tea, coffee, salty snacks…”

“No thanks,” Larissa said. “More of a chocolate person.”

“Hm.” Lilith turned and took a key from the board that she then dangled from her finger as if she were playing with a cat. Kitten. Larissa reached for it, but Lilith pulled away. “Uh-uh. That would be 300 bucks. Cash or Card?”

“Card.” Larissa gave it to Lilith, who in exchange threw the key at her. She caught it with both hands. The wooden label had the number five within a circle carved into it and painted in blood-red. This place was heavy on the metaphors, which she didn’t know how to feel about.

“Last room on the left.” Lilith said as she gave the card back, holding onto it with her equally red-painted nails a moment longer than necessary, so that it sounded like a threat when she said, “I’m here all night.”

“Thanks.”

The corridor was narrow and labyrinth-like, and she had to take care not to bump her head into the neon tube lamps as she went deeper into the guts of this building. The tapestry had seen better days too and the floor was plain linoleum, easy to clean, but her heels made screeching noises on it.

She unlocked the door and entered the room, which was in every way what she would’ve expected. The window was on the opposite wall, with heavy, brown curtains and white frames that had the paint coming off, beneath it a small cast iron radiator. She put her suitcase on the single bed, and nearly screeched when she saw the creepy (vodoo?) doll that sat on the pillow.

After removing the horrific thing and setting it by the ancient tube television, she dropped onto the bed and kicked her heels off, leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp with a dust-collecting lampshade. Low snores pushed throw the wall, like a hibernating bear, and footsteps tapped in the hallway. Who would be up at this hour? They were light, too. Was Lilith spying on her?

Either way, it was time to get out of the shame-soiled dress she’d worn to the Rave’N and trade it for a nightgown she’d thrown into her luggage. The dress and tights landed in a pile on the floor, the pins in her hair followed, and she slipped under the covers in nothing but her bra and underwear.

It was only her, with the blanket up to her ears, and the metallic noises coming from the radiator, the snores from the next room, and the distant shuffling at the reception. She closed her eyes hoping Lilith wouldn’t murder her in her sleep.

***

Green.

Sharp, pointed fangs in her face and talons locked around her jaw. An open maw; black, viscous spit dripping on her chin.

Lilith was going to eat her.

Larissa shot up, her nightgown sticking to the centre of her back where the sweat had pooled, fighting for breath in the disorienting blackness. No monsters, no Lilith. Only the tremulous snores in the next room and her whirring mind. Thank god. But she couldn’t go back to sleep like this; all drenched and shaken.

A shower it was. The bathroom was small enough that she could reach the sink from the toilet if she wanted to and the tiles were cracked, thin like spider legs, and Larissa couldn’t tell whether all this was to serve the intended aesthetic or if this place was in dire need of renovation. It was hard to imagine why Lilith would let the motel get into such a state, since Ms. Spellman’s boutique was in flawless condition and so money couldn’t be a problem, could it? She offered to pay or the Rave’N, after all.

Larissa stepped out and dried up, then slipped into a burgundy long-sleeved turtle neck and brown, flared trousers, which she seldom wore. Lilith wasn’t wrong about the comfort of a pair of trousers during a long night, no matter the undeniable chic of skirts and dresses. Plus, she had pockets to stash her phone in. She made sure to close the door with minimal sound when she left her room so as to not alert Lilith to her presence—she didn’t want to get eaten—and went on a quest to find a coffee machine.

It was this huge, bulky box with gaffer tape in various places. How trustworthy. Alas, she needed the boost and pressed on the button for espresso, wrapping her arms around herself as she waited for the coffee to brew and run through. If someone were to tell her the noises were coming from a 19th century steam engine stemming from the industrial revolution instead of this comparatively small kitchen device, she would’ve believed them. It squelched and rattled and wheezed as if the poor thing were using its last breath to make her a cup of coffee. Somehow, Larissa could relate.

“Take three packets of sugar.”

Larissa startled and whipped around—Lilith. “I only take milk usually,” she said, hoping to get rid of her, but the woman only gave her a cocky, lopsided smirk and rocked back and forth on her feet, hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Trust me.”

Sure.

Upon Larissa’s incredulous look, Lilith rolled her eyes and explained, “There’s something wrong with the machine. It makes everything not even a double but a biohazard.” She hooked her index finger through a cup handle, picked it up with a swing—what a theatrical woman!—and put it under the second, unoccupied outlet of the coffee machine a second before it began to pour.

Lilith made no effort to move away and stood next to her close enough that Larissa picked up on the remnants of perfume that clung to her. Violets and something earthy, but underneath, she swore there was brimstone. A chill ran down her spine, but Lilith kept her cool, and it didn’t seem to cost her an ounce of effort, which was all the more frustrating, no, terrifying. It was something about her aura, for lack of a better word.

“Rough night?” Lilith asked.

She had no reason to be honest with Lilith, and yet, but since it had been painfully obvious that she was a mess when she’d arrived at the front desk, she simply said, “That’s an understatement.”

The cups filled and Lilith took both of them away before Larissa could intervene. She shrugged her shoulder in the direction of an open door. “Have coffee with me, will you?”

As if she had a choice. Larissa followed Lilith into the empty breakfast room with a bunch of round wooden tables that had fake sun flowers as their centre pieces. Most of the lamps were out except for the one above the table in the middle of the room that cast a spotlight on the space beneath as if it were a stage waiting for the actors to assume position.

What time was it? Had she missed her cue?

Lilith, after setting the cups down on the table, went to a cupboard and returned with a packet of something when Larissa had pulled out a chair for herself.

“Christmas party leftovers,” she said, and tossed it into Larissa’s hands, missing the cup of coffee by an inch. It was dark chocolate, by the sounds of it months old, but she craved the bittersweetness on her tongue. The first bite was satisfying beyond reason, and took any awareness of the stretching silence away for a moment. Once she swallowed, Lilith came into focus again and she scrambled for something to say. “Wouldn’t have pegged this place for a roadhouse,” she ended up saying, remembering the bikes parked outside.

“Just my old gang.”

“Your… gang?”

“Why, I was the president,” she said and blew on her coffee. “But I don’t drive any more.”

“Did Direc—“ she cut herself off and closed her eyes, then tried again. “Did, um, your wife make you give it up?”

Lilith snorted. “Zelda can’t make me do anything.” She looked at her as if she’d said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. “No. It was the reasonable thing to do, and there was an—”

The sentence ended in a forced out breath. Lilith tapped her crimson nails against the cup, and her eyes flicked back up to Larissa’s. “I was hammered and crashed, okay?”

She ran her fingers through the hair at her temple and brushed it back, then turned her head to the side and revealed a long, thick scar that went straight back. The area around it had less hair, but the thick waves of the outer layer covered it well.

It made Lilith more mortal to her, as ashamed as she was to think it. “I’m… sorry,” she said, and it was genuine.

“Don’t be.” Lilith looks into the distance out the window to the singular street lamp under which the bikes had been parked. “I worked two years as a waitress to pay for my Harley.”

“Do you still have it?”

“What do you think?” she scoffed. “Of course I do. Let her roar every week.”

As surprised as Larissa had been at first, she had no trouble envisioning Lilith riding at the front of a pack as if she were leading the legions of hell at the dawn of Armageddon. She had trouble swallowing her espresso.

“What’s your story?”

Larissa tightened her fingers around the cup. “What do you mean?”

“Every addict has a story.”

“I’m not—”

“Miss Weems.” Lilith raised her voice the same way Ms. Spellman did. It wasn’t a choice any more to submit, but an instinct. “You came here in the dead of the night looking like hell and reeking of vodka. Not to mention the time I drove you home for the same reason.”

“That was—”

“Screw your excuses.”

Her jaw dropped and left her mouth open like that of a gold fish. “I’m not—”

“Just tell me what happened.” Her words had lost their drawl, came quicker and snappier. “I won’t judge you.”

Lilith offered her another piece of chocolate that Larissa pinched between her thumb and index finger as if Lilith were a nettle and she must avoid touching her at any cost.

“I got drunk at the school event I was supposed to chaperone,” she confessed eventually, and bit off a corner.

“Oh.” Lilith raised her eyebrows. “That’s bad.”

“It turned into a whole scene with my old school crush—in front of her daughter.”

“That’s worse.”

“All because I got my heart broken by the dominatrix I hired because I wanted a hug.”

“Congrats.” Lilith tipped her imaginative hat. “That’s fucking pathetic.”

Though her words were harsh, they carried a distinct benevolent humour that made Larissa huff a laugh. It was absurd. Everything was absurd.

“It is,” she said and released her arms that she’d wrapped around her body, popping the rest of the chocolate into her mouth and licking her fingertips.

“Zelda misses you, you know?”

The light flickered and buzzed; a bothersome sound for her irritated, hungover nerves.

“Hard to believe she would say that.”

“She didn’t.” Lilith sipped and smacked her lips. “But I’ve known her for a long time and can tell when she gets attached to a client.”

“Assuming this is true—doesn’t it bother you?”

“No. She’s not in love with you, Larissa. That’s not what I meant,” Lilith said, interlacing her fingers on the table. “But she cares. And I think you need someone like that right now.”

The last time she’d seen Ms. Spellman she’d gotten the impression she didn’t want anything to do with her.

“So your dispute in town the other day wasn’t about me?”

Lilith’s jaw tensed. “You’re stalking us?”

“Of course not!” Larissa huffed. “I was in the Weathervane with Morticia—the woman I fell out with.”

“Right.” Lilith eased up. “No, it was about… an old wound.”

“What’s that?”

“As if I’ll tell a stranger.”

“You made me tell you about my—uh—misfortune!”

“You need to sort your own mess out first. And you might as well start with Zelda.”

Larissa shrugged. “I suppose I could drop by the boutique in the morning.”

“Good girl.”

Her breath hitched, and, naturally, Lilith noticed and paused her unwrapping of another piece of chocolate. “Ah, praise kink,” she said, smirking and the heat crept onto Larissa’s face. “No need for that, now. I was in the profession too, as you know.”

It took a moment of confusion to remember, but it was true. In the same breath as Ms. Spellman had told her she was married she’d also shared this piece of information with her. “Were you colleagues?” she asked.

“No.” Her clear blue eyes flashed with mischief. “She was my student.”

“Your student?!”

“Not that kind of student,” she clarified. “We were both coming up thirty and she was in my dominatrix 101 course. Wanted to make her impotent husband look at her again.”

Her phone buzzed. Curious who would text her at this hour, she had a glance at it. It was Elaine.

Hiii! I was wondering how the Rave’N went.

Did everything go as planned?

Oh, and I told Marilyn to have a

drink with you for me! How was that?

Larissa smiled, though with a pang in her chest. She couldn’t possibly tell her what had happened, could she? But she’d hear it all as soon as she got back to work any way, wouldn’t she?

Hello, Elaine. I’m surprised you’re still awake.

Sadly, there were some issues at the Rave’N and I left early.

I’m terribly embarrassed. Thank you for

thinking of me, though.

Lilith cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” Larissa said and turned her attention back to the topic of conversation. “So you trained her and then had a workplace affair with her or how can I imagine this?”

“Zelda never wanted to do this as a job—and she didn’t until…” She paused and studied Larissa, determining whether she was trustworthy enough, then took a deep breath. “Around the time of the crash, I’d hit rock bottom and couldn’t work any more. We struggled to pay for our properties and after the medical bills nearly left us bankrupt. She had to take over my side hustle. It brings good money, she doesn’t hate it, but in the end, she did it for me.”

Their marriage was bullet proof. That’s what Larissa took from Lilith’s story. Addiction, a crash, injuries, financial struggles, personal sacrifices—and yet they stood on unshakable ground.

The phone screen lit up again.

Oh, how sad! Are you alright?

And you’re welcome.

I always think of you. 🥰

Yes, I’m taking a few days off.

Do you think you and Marilyn

could fill in for me?

I would be in your debt.

She typed a quick reply, locked her phone, and looked up again. “You’re sober now?”

“Five years and counting.” Lilith raised her cup for a toast before throwing her head back and emptying it like a shot. She sure had a unique sense of humour.

“That’s admirable.” Larissa straightened out the crumpled chocolate wrapping in her lap. “I couldn’t do it.”

“You can, Larissa. And you have to.” The chair squeaked across the floor as Lilith stood up and leaned on the table, both hands planted firm in front of Larissa. She startled and lifted her gaze when Lilith spoke. “Look, I’m not much for sentimentalism, but for what it’s worth: we’re here for you. Both of us.”

Dumbfounded, Larissa blinked at her and Lilith backed off, giving her space. She ran her thumb and index finger along the chain attached to her jeans as she waited for a response, and Larissa was drawn to the motion, preferring to look anywhere but into Lilith’s eyes.

“I can be your sponsor,” Lilith said when no answer came, and sauntered towards the kitchen corner. Low voices filtered in from the hallway. “Think about it, will you?”

She didn’t know what to say. To her relief, the voices belonged to the bikers that entered the breakfast room one by one and steered straight towards Lilith, patting her shoulder between mumblings of “Morning, Madam Satan”.

Another message came in:

Of course!!! We’ve got you, Larissa. 💖

When she put her phone away, with a lighter heart at last, Lilith returned with a paper cup in her hand. She put it on the table in front of her. “For the road,” she said and winked, leaving with a knock on the table.

Dawn had broken and the rising sun shone through the crowns of the trees surrounding the motel and into the breakfast room with its colonial grid windows. She was off to make amends with Ms. Spellman—because Lilith had told her so.

Chapter Text

Much to her horror, Larissa realised—stepping out into the dewy morning air in the driveway of The Pit—that in her drunken haze, she had forgotten to switch her headlights off. It bordered on a miracle that the battery still had enough power to start the car and she was able to drive back into town. She’d have to get it checked at the next opportunity, but not right now. She was on a mission: patch things up with her dominatrix and start clawing her way out of the grave she’d dug for herself.

It was coming up nine when Larissa pulled up in the parking lot near the boutique and checked her lipstick once more in the rear-view mirror before exiting the car. A day far too joyful and bright for her hungover, hapless state greeted her and the the sun blinded her despite the large, polarised shades sitting on her nose. Needless to say she was eager to make her way over to the flimsy-lingerie-haven across the cobble stone street.

Larissa was, of course, hoping that Ms. Spellman would forgive her and offer to continue the sessions as if nothing had happened, but after everything and all that she’d learned, deemed it unlikely. The best outcome she could expect was that Ms. Spellman would agree to remain friendly with her. Still, a part of her longed to be at her mercy just one more time.

She pushed against the heavy glass door and entered the boutique. The dim lighting brought instant relief to her sensitive eyes. It took her a moment and a few blinks to adjust her vision, but once she did, she was surprised to find the entire shop floor empty. No chatter, no rustling of hangers and clothes, not even music coming from the speakers mounted to the ceiling. Were they not open yet? Had she missed a sign?

She had half a mind to go back and look, but it wouldn’t be wise to give herself a chance to reconsider and backtrack, so she lowered her gaze to the brick pattern of the golden runner leading up to the till and followed it. At the end of the rainbow, it wasn’t Ms. Spellman waiting for her but Elaine.

“Oh,” Larissa said out loud, without having meant to.

“Miss Larissa!” Elaine cheered as soon as she looked all the way up to her face from where she’d been putting anti-theft-tags onto a new delivery of clothing. “What?” she chuckled. “Don’t want to see me?”

“Goodness, no, Elaine. I’m terribly sorry.” Larissa took off her sunglasses and fumbled with them at the edge of the till. “How are you? I was just looking for Ms. Spellman?”

Glancing up, she met Elaine’s curious, sparkling gaze. On top of her usual, light-blue eyeshadow, she had dusted a layer of glitter today. Elaine’s hands stilled as she studied her for a moment, which made Larissa squirm and bite the inside of her cheek wondering if she still smelled of alcohol and cheap motel, looked as rough as she felt.

“Oh, good, but I’m afraid she left,” Elaine said. “Had a migraine.”

Larissa blinked incredulously. “She left you on your own here?”

But Elaine only laughed; that endearing, chirping sound, like a little robin. “I can handle it, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. Thank you for caring.” She touched over Larissa’s hand as she said it but then withdrew as soon as she realised it. “Mornings are usually quiet; I’ve just got some restocking to do.”

“I see.” Something within her deflated, like a candle blown out, and her shoulders slumped—though she forced a cheerful smile as was her manner. “Well, then it might be best I leave you to it and see if I can catch Ms. Spellman another time.”

Larissa was about to leave when Elaine blurted, “Wait, there’s something!”

“Hm?” She turned her head.

“There’s this set that came in last week.” Bending over, Elaine rummaged through the storage space beneath the till. Her long hair whipped around from the rapid movement. “I thought it would look fabulous on you and put it aside just in case.” She pulled out a hanger and held it up, presenting a dream of white and gold, clasps of shiny amber running down the front of the corset. “Here it is.”

The idea that Elaine had thought about her, even outside of the school and their duties, made her heart clench. “I… don’t know what to say,” she said, baffled.

“Just try it on!” Elaine all but bounced up and down, buzzing with excitement. “Come on, nobody’s here. It’s just me!”

As much as she wanted to spare herself the indignity, she couldn’t say no to that face and the thoughtfulness Elaine had met her with.

“You’re impossible.” Larissa let out a dramatic sigh, but couldn’t keep a smirk from emerging when she took the hanger from her hands and headed for the changing rooms.

Through the Lynchian curtains, she stepped into a different world marked by Ms. Spellman’s fingers inside her and taunts rasped in her ear. The mirror showed no trace of her rear pressed against it, yet the imprint was there, vivid and aching. She slipped into the set, had a bit of trouble lacing the back, and hesitated to meet her own eye in the mirror, yet again faced with her pitiful state. And the worst was that Elaine had seen her like this.

The lingerie itself was stunning, and it suited her too, but she had doubts about its appropriateness for a middle-aged spinster. Wasn’t white lingerie reserved for wedding nights? For a new spouse to tear off her body, to ruin, to stain?

“Do you like it?” Elaine called from outside. “I’ve actually got some matching stockings that would—”

She cut off when Larissa stepped out with uncertain footing and stared at her, the chatterbox gone quiet, with a pair of thin, sheer mesh stockings spanned between her hands that she then lowered. “Wow…” She swallowed. “That’s so pretty. You’re so…” With a shaky breath, she composed herself and offered Larissa the stockings. “Try these.”

“Uh, thanks, I mean—all right,” Larissa stammered quietly and lifted her leg up onto the bench to slip into it. She felt Elaine’s eyes on her and got distracted. Her fingers shook and the fabric wouldn’t slide with as much ease as it should. She left it how it was, even if it hadn’t come all the way up, and continued with the second one.

“I’m not sure…” Larissa started once she was done and Elaine took a tentative step closer, twirling her blue-gemstone-decorated ring around her fingers.

“May I—? It just needs a little adjustment-um…”

“Sure,” Larissa said, entirely unsure.

And nothing could’ve prepared her for the moment Elaine went down on one knee in front of her until her head was level with her thigh, eyes locked on hers until she reached for her leg and pulled the stocking into place with delicate, nimble fingers. Larissa didn’t dare say a word. In fact, she didn’t even dare to breathe. It was the one thing she could control as opposed to the goosebumps pebbling across her skin. It was too cold in here for a lingerie shop.

“There, et voilà!” Elaine said and came up to take her in, hands clasped at her chest close to her mouth, all but hiding behind them. “How do you feel?”

Larissa regarded herself in the mirror to her right, caught eye of the cellulite and blemishes, but ultimately decided that it was okay. “I think it’s—you’ve got a good eye, love,” she said with a shy smile.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’?”

“Don’t you think this is more suited for a bride-to-be?”

Decidedly, Elaine shook her head. “No, this set was made for someone with the aura of a goddess.” She weaved her hands through the air as if she could touch the mystic energies surrounding her. “An Aphrodite.”

“Oh my, that’s… taking it a little far, isn’t it?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Elaine winked and held the changing cabin curtain open for her. “You know, when Ms. Spellman hired me, she told me that she wanted this shop to be different. No crass neon lighting that highlights every bump in your skin, no distorted mirrors or model-measure mannequins. Her vision was to build a place where women feel elevated and step into their divine power.”

“I see,” Larissa said, bowing her head as she went back into the cabin. “Well, I’m not sure I subscribe to this—”

“The last bit might’ve been my own interpretation—but you get the idea. And you don’t have to ‘subscribe’ to anything. Just… take the set.” Elaine paused for a moment, said, “It belongs to you,” and pulled the curtain shut.

Her footsteps faded as she walked away, leaving Larissa in lingerie and none-the-wiser. She changed back into her turtle neck and trousers and returned to the till where Elaine had already prepared a bag for the set. Larissa handed it to her and intended to take out her purse while Elaine folded the items, but Elaine just shoved the bag across the counter and insisted, “It’s on me.”

“That’s too much.” Larissa withdrew her hands as if she’d just learned the bag was contaminated. “I can’t possibly—”

“Buy me coffee,” Elaine interjected. “Then we’re even, I mean.”

“A coffee really isn’t—”

“It is to me.”

Larissa was floored. “Right…” She swallowed to soothe her dry throat. “Oh, you mean, um, now?”

“I can lock up for a bit.” Elaine shrugged. “Nobody will notice.”

Elaine ordered a cappuccino with a thick scoop of cream and rainbow sprinkles on top. Naturally, Larissa paid for her and got a latte for herself to medicate the latent headache still bothering her before following Elaine to a table at the window—the same one she’d sat at when meeting Ms. Spellman for the first time, the same one she’d started what turned into a landslide at with Morticia.

Larissa couldn’t help but ask about the school’s state in her absence and was surprised at how well Elaine seemed to manage filling in for her despite only being a part time employee for now and new to the job. They lost themselves in banter that made her forget all about Ms. Spellman and her quest to crawl at her feet and beg for forgiveness.

“I can’t even express how grateful I am for filling in for me on such short notice,” she said as the topic came to a close.

“Oh, no need! Marilyn is helping lots too, you know. And she even asked me if I wanted to join her in the after school drama club. How exciting is that?”

Larissa swallowed her sip of coffee. “Very. The students are doing a magnificent job and I think you’d fit in splendidly,” she said. Elaine’s excitement rubbed off on her somehow and it was a welcome change to be talking about positive topics for once, not having a disaster to fix over coffee or some other agenda. “Just be sure not to overwork yourself, with the boutique and all.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already talked to Zelda about my shifts. She’s happy for me.”

“So… Zelda.” The usage of her first name only fuelled more questions about who Elaine was and what exactly she was to Ms. Spellman. “You two seem familiar?”

“As do you,” Elaine replied, a knowing look in her eyes that had Larissa flustered. Smiling gently, she continued after a pause, “But yes, there’s more to it for me.”

“I apologise, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s all right.” Elaine carded through her long, dark hair. One of her rings got caught; pain briefly flickered over her features before she could untangle it. “You’re my friend.”

“Employer, technically.”

“Not yet,” Elaine quipped, evidently proud at her quick-wit. “I live with Zelda and her wife at the moment.”

The ‘matrons’. Larissa’s eyes widened; she nearly chocked on her coffee, gulped it down with a restrained laugh.

“No, not like that.” Elaine laughed. “My ex-husband was—unkind.” The difficulty with which she said it led Larissa to believe ‘unkind’ was an understatement. “Zelda helped me back on my feet after I ran off. Later we”—she let out a nervous laugh—“played a little…”

Rescue kittens. Now it all fell into place and with it came a sudden, overwhelming intimacy that was plenty for Larissa to digest.

“Jerry, wasn’t it?” Larissa remembered from the group meeting. She drummed her long, slender fingers against the mug in her hands.

Though clearly surprised to hear his name from Larissa, Elaine nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. About him, I mean,” Larissa said.

“Thank you.” She paused, gaze drifting out of the window, then settling back on Larissa. She tilted her head like one of those curious, adorable chocolate Labradors. “Can I ask you something?”

“Um, sure, go ahead.”

Her skin itched where the turtle neck now strangled her. She ran her fingers under the collar, allowing some air to touch it.

“You don’t look well. What happened?”

“Ah, you heard about the Rave’N,” Larissa concluded, and Elaine smiled apologetically. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

“The PTA is breathing down our neck. Some of them want you to step back.”

It was like in cartoons, when, out of nowhere, a piano fell on the fragile, hand-drawn characters. Somehow they always came out unscathed; nothing ever had consequences on screen. This was real life.

“What happened with Mrs. Addams?”

“It’s complicated,” she sighed, fighting her emotions with deep, deliberate breaths. “We, uh, we were roommates and I… can’t even look at her without wanting to knock a few back. Ever since she showed up—”

The words died in her throat before she could say more; she buried her face in her hands. She’d just admitted to her drinking in front of Elaine. Elaine, who had her own hardships. Who cared more for her than she deserved or could allow lest she make her a casualty in her downfall. Who had been her one true friend.

It was the feeling of Elaine’s warm fingertips prying at her hands that prompted her to lower them—but Elaine didn’t let go. They rested on the table, her thumbs brushing over her knuckles and waiting as if she were asking her to spill her guts.

“And then Ms. Spellman—Zelda—I messed up,” she confessed after a beat. “Earlier—I wanted to apologise to her.”

“They were helping you too, weren’t they?”

“Not at first and then, yes—Zelda at least. Lilith didn’t seem too thrilled, but… Last night by some cosmic jest of sorts I wound up at The Pit of all places and she’s been… daunting but kind.”

“Ha ha, yes. She’s like that.” Elaine giggled, squeezing her hands. “But she really does have a wise soul.”

They sat with it for a bit, Elaine caressing Larissa’s hands, taking in the new information. The tension eased, the remaining drop of coffee ran cold in their long-forgotten mugs, and Larissa found herself smiling for no particular reason.

“Hey,” Elaine said, “you know, I would love to do a little blessing for you to help cut the old ties, invite happiness into your life. Would you like that?”

“I don’t see why not.” Larissa was no stranger to rituals and tarot readings and aura cleansing; she’d played guinea pig for Morticia many a time and had come to understand these things as a gesture of affection she could only appreciate. Elaine’s offer came with a sense of familiarity, and though she herself was no firm believer in anything supernatural, it did feel like she was speaking in a language she understood. A foreign tongue, but a dear one. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Fantastic!” Elaine patted her hands and let go; Larissa hadn’t been prepared for that. “I’ll do it right away when I get home… but I have to go back to the boutique now. Need to finish the restocking.”

“That’s all right,” Larissa said, producing a smile to hide the tinge of disappointment in her voice. “I’ve had a wonderful time.”

Elaine pushed back her chair, but before she’d even stood up, Larissa was already at her side holding Elaine’s coat up to help her into the sleeves. She rubbed her upper arms as she stood behind her.

“Thank you for this, truly,” Larissa said and Elaine turned around, closing the last button. She tiptoed, and kissed Larissa’s cheek, giggled as she looked at the lipstick smudge she’d left behind and wiped it away with her wrist. “Oopsie.”

In that moment—the tingle of her skin, the warmth flushing into her cheeks, the smile she couldn’t suppress—Larissa realised she might be in trouble… again.

“You should go see Zelda,” Elaine said. “I can give you the address.”