by Harley Stone
It amazed me how at nine-years-old Kari had an opinion about everything. I considered asking her another question to eat up more class time, but figured that wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the students. “Micah,” I asked, signaling for the boy behind her to list off his favorite foods.
The moment the last person finished, twenty-four sets of eyes landed on me, waiting.
Twelve minutes of class to go.
“This is the hardest part of the year, but you guys are tough, and I know you can keep your cool until the bell rings. Do you think you have what it takes to quietly make it through the last step?”
If I could bottle their energy, I could use it to power Ontario for a month. They used that precious resource to nod vigorously. A little boy named Tyler almost fell out of his seat with the effort. Stella slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.
“Good. Zip your lips and open the tops of your desks so I can come around and check that they’re clean. As soon as I okay your desk, I’ll tap your shoulder. Then I want you to go quietly clean out your cubby, put your backpack on, and return to your seat. Got it?”
More wild head banging.
“All right. Let’s do this.” I mimed zipping my lips, and all the kids followed suit. Desks were opened, and I started making the rounds. By the time I finished and everyone had returned to their seats, we had four minutes left. Perfect. Pulling a stack of gift cards out of my pocket, I smiled at my classroom. They knew what was coming, so they grinned right back. My chest tightened at the sight. I’d miss these energetic little gap-toothed crazies. Sure, they were a lot to deal with, but they’d been my entire life for the past ten months. My lucrative plans for the next two months would keep me busy and pad my bank account, but nothing I was about to do would be nearly as rewarding as seeing the personal and educational growth of my students.
“I know it’s difficult to focus during the last week of school, but you’ve all done exceptionally well.” I handed the first gift card to Jonathon. A lot of teachers frown at bribery, but around here, the last week of school is basically The Hunger Games, and I was all about survival. If the promise of a five-dollar gift card to a local ice cream parlor kept my classroom from devolving into whatever chaos was happening across the hall, I would sell my soul for those magic little cards. I moved on to the next student and handed over another card. “This is a little thank you. You guys are all amazing, and I’m going to miss each and every one of you.”
“We’ll miss you too, Ms. Davis.”
By the time the bell rang, all the gift cards were handed out, and I was misty-eyed. I didn’t allow myself to get close to too many people, but these pint-sized humans had a way of busting down the doors to my frosty, barely beating heart and demanding whatever flawed version of love I could give. Blinking back tears, I led them outside and steeled myself for the onset of hugs and goodbyes.
After handing everyone over to busses and guardians, I headed back to my classroom and hurriedly packed up the belongings I’d be taking home for the summer.
“You aren’t staying for the party?” Amy asked, leaning against my doorframe. Eyes red, hair wild, face flushed, she looked like she’d gone twelve rounds in a ring full of angry, declawed cats. There were no visible marks, but the damage was unmistakable. I knew that look well. After the end of my first year, I’d stopped on the way home for an energy drink and a bottle of vodka.
“I can’t. I have a meeting.” I scooped up my box and headed toward her. She moved aside to let me pass, and I stopped long enough to adjust my load and give her an awkward hug. Not because I wanted to, but because it seemed like she needed it. “Give me a ring, and we’ll do lunch sometime.” It was a boldfaced lie—everyone knew I was an introvert who never went out with coworkers—but I didn’t want to just leave her in my doorway, looking defeated.
“Have a good summer,” she said. “I’ll see you next year.”
Not if everything went as planned, she wouldn’t. “Thanks, you too!” I shouted over my shoulder as I headed for the door.
My car—a silver Toyota Camry with a school bumper sticker and an apple shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror—screamed ‘sensible teacher vehicle.’ Setting my box in the trunk, I climbed behind the wheel and drove toward home. My plans for tonight were far more exciting than sitting around the teacher’s lounge, eating cake and gossiping about students.
Once home, I left the box I’d brought home from school in my trunk. I had limited time to get ready for my appointment, and had to stop by the building’s leasing office to pick up my deliveries.
Like usual, Sadie, the receptionist, didn’t bat an eye at my appearance, but she had to be wondering how someone who dressed like me could afford a thirteenth-floor luxury flat that overlooked downtown Ontario. Hell, my parking spot alone was above my teaching pay grade. If any of my coworkers ever found out where I lived, I’d have all sorts of uncomfortable questions to answer, which was just one more reason to avoid the rest of the faculty.
“Hello Ms. Davis,” Sadie said, piling my boxes on the counter. “Would you like me to have someone bring these up for you?”
Having people in my space made me nervous, so I always declined. “No. I’ve got this.”
Eyeing the stack, she asked, “You sure?”
I loaded up my arms with a nod before thanking her and heading for the elevator.
Once in my flat, I dumped the boxes on my bed and paused in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, admiring the look I’d worked so hard to perfect. Four years of wearing department store ballet flats, generic tortoiseshell glasses, off-the-rack pantsuits, hair up in a no-nonsense bun, no jewelry, and no makeup. I looked like the very definition of boring grade school teacher. The disguise had been necessary, but I had no intention of keeping it up. Since my glasses were a completely unnecessary accessory, I considered tossing them in the trash.
But what if I stay?
I had no intention of returning to Central Elementary, but I tucked them away just in case. After all, I wasn’t supposed to return after last summer, either.
Tugging my hair loose from its bun, I slipped out of my cheap shoes and clothes and headed for the shower.
School was over; it was time to transform.
Since I’d gone in for a full body waxing last night, I spent my time in the shower exfoliating and scrubbing away my day before drying off and moisturizing. Wrapped in a towel, I blew out my hair and curled it into loose beach waves before pulling out my makeup chest and getting to work on my face. I contoured, highlighted, lined, shadowed, fake lashed, and glossed until I could no longer recognize the face in the mirror. Looking light-years away from the bare-faced teacher I’d been only an hour ago, I was now all sultry, smokey eyes, and glossy, pouty lips.
After my face was on, I slid a pair of silky fishnet stockings up my legs, taking the time to enjoy the sensation. Getting ready was about so much more than changing how I looked. I needed to change who I was. To feel Amelia the teacher disappearing as Selina the demimonde emerged.
Opting out of panties, I connected the stockings to my garter belt before slipping into a little blue wrap-around dress that I pulled out of one of the boxes I’d retrieved from the leasing office. The dress fit like a glove, dipping down between my breasts and hugging my curves in all the right places, before ending only inches below my ass. Every time I moved, my client would be able to see the lace tops of my stockings. He’d love it.
A quick glance in the mirror told me I looked a little too slutty to go out in public, so I classed up the outfit by covering my cleavage with a white cashmere shawl that I retrieved from a second box of recent purchases. I didn’t need to keep ordering clothes—my closet was overflowing with them—but this fancy little accessory was a perfect addition to tonight’s costume. It didn’t magically transform me into a respectable-looking woman, but hopefully moms would now feel less compelled to cover the eyes of their children as I walked by.
Fluffing
my long brown locks, I gave my appearance one last glance as my phone chimed with the email I’d been anticipating. I skimmed the client message, making note of the room number and requested arrival time before logging onto my bank and checking my account balance. $10,000 had been deposited for this weekend’s appointment. I moved half of the proceeds into my savings account and stared at the balance. $462,732. That number should be far greater by now, but with one glance at my stuffed closets and luxury apartment, it was clear to see why I couldn’t seem to reach the half a million goal I’d set for myself.
I could reason that some of my spending couldn’t be helped. My wealthy, refined clients paid a small fortune for my company and wouldn’t appreciate me showing up in off brands and making their Armani or Brooks Brothers suits look bad. They wanted a classy bitch, so when I played the part of Selina, I kept it so damn classy I pissed champagne and only ate the best caviar.
The real reason I couldn’t seem to let my savings account grow was a little more complicated.
Once I finally hit that magic number, everything would change. It had to. With my university loans long since paid off, and five-hundred grand in my bank account, all my excuses for staying would be stripped away. I’d be able to get my necessary American teaching certificates, return to the US, and live comfortably until I found a good teaching opportunity.
I’d throw away my disguises, say goodbye to the two fictional versions of me I’d created, and finally figure out who I wanted to be.
And I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I could have easily reached the goal last summer, but every time I thought about it, I went on another online shopping spree.
Not today, though.
Today, it was time to buckle down and commit to the change. I had to, because I’d made a promise I couldn’t break.
My gaze drifted to the framed photograph on my dresser. It was a beautiful shot of me and my late best friend, Polly. We were seated on barstools, with our faces smooshed together, holding cocktails in the air. Polly’s birthday. It had been a school night, and she’d dragged me out against my will. It was a fun night, but man, had I regretted it the next morning.
Polly was murdered four days later.
Turned out not everyone respected safe words and previously agreed upon boundaries, and this lifestyle was far from safe. If I didn’t get my spending under control and ditch the side hustle, I’d eventually end up in a pine box, too.
Filled with new resolve, I replied to the email and confirmed the appointment. Then I texted the transportation service I used for this business to request a ride.
Slipping on a pair of white, patent leather Tom Ford pumps, I scooped up my matching Proenza shoulder bag and the weekend bag I’d packed and headed out.
It was time for me to bring Selina out to play.
3
Mila
ALTHOUGH I’D TRAVELED around the world and stayed in hundreds of luxurious hotels since starting down this career path, the Fairmont Chateau Laurier remained my personal favorite. Originally built in 1912, the renovated old castle was like a beautiful museum with all the modern-day comforts of a five-star hotel.
Every time I stepped through the revolving doors, a ridiculous little part of me felt like a princess returning to her castle.
The Fairmont was a popular tourist attraction, and today the lobby was filled with senior citizens who oohed and aahed at the custom wood paneling and shiny marble floors. Ignoring the reception desk, I drifted into the group of blue-haired women and headed for the bank of elevators. Slipping past gilded doors and into the lift, I waited as a couple of suits joined me, casting curious glances at the short hem of my skirt and my sexy stockings.
“Tu veux de la compagnie?” one of the suits asked.
Did I want company? I already had plans and, judging by his off-the-rack suit, I doubted he could afford me. Politely declining his offer in French, I stepped aside so they could exit on the third floor before continuing my ascent solo.
Once the elevator deposited me onto the sixth floor, I found the room number and knocked twice. After waiting a beat, I knocked three more times before waiting and knocking once.
The door swung open to my code, and an Indian man in his early thirties wearing an immaculately tailored, designer suit greeted me with a smile. “Namaste, Selina. Come in.”
“Namaste, Rishi.”
His gaze roamed my body as I entered. In respect for his culture, I stepped out of my pumps and placed them neatly beside the door as I took in the suite. To the left was a classic living room area. Beyond the matching sofa and chair stood a mahogany desk tucked against a windowed alcove. A king-sized bed took up the space to the right of the desk. Beyond the bed was a door that no doubt led to the his-and-hers walk-in closets and a bathroom.
“Beautiful suite,” I said.
His smile widened. “You will be comfortable here.”
Yes, I would. I removed my bag and set it, and my weekend bag, on the chair by the door, already making myself at home.
I was officially on the clock, and it was time to get to work. Sliding my shawl seductively over the spaghetti straps of my dress, I watched Rishi beneath my lashes. My flirty reveal snagged his full attention, and his gaze followed the lines of my dress down to my cleavage. The amount of skin I showed was illegal in several countries and forbidden in his. Of course, if Rishi was looking for socially acceptable, he never would have reached out to me.
When we first met, I was fresh out of college facing a seemingly endless pile of debt I didn’t know how to pay, and he was a young businessman on his first unsupervised work trip outside of India. One of his associates—a client of Polly’s—had put him in touch with me. He was looking for an experience unlike anything he could find back home. I prepared for our first encounter by studying his native culture, hoping I wouldn’t somehow offend him. I expected a rich, entitled asshole who’d use me to get his rocks off, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Rishi was a sweet virgin who’d been sexually repressed by his culture and was desperate for the opportunity to finally fly his freak flag. That was years ago. This was our seventh session together, and he was still every bit the circumspect gentleman I’d first encountered.
“It’s good to see you. I love the dress.” His smile was wide and genuine. “Would you like a glass of water or a cup of tea?”
His manners shone through even as his gaze molested me. He got off on the taboo, and I was more than willing to oblige with my attire, language, and actions. “No thank you. I was hoping you’d like the dress.” Blue was his favorite color, and the minute I’d seen it, I knew it would be a perfect start for our weekend together. I spun around, letting the fabric twirl up and reveal my bare ass. “I appreciate the opportunity to wear it for you.”
“You’re not wearing any underwear.” His eyes darkened with desire.
“Nope. Scandalous, isn’t it? Anyone could have gotten a peek. Good thing I took the elevator and not the stairs.” I tugged at the straps of my dress. “It’s such a thin piece of fabric.”
Rishi swallowed, picking up on my hint.
I added heat to my gaze and let it drift down his body to the tent already pitching in the front of his trousers. “Could you imagine walking with me while I’m dressed like this?” I asked. Releasing my straps, I trailed the tips of my fingers across the hard ridges of his chest. “What would people say? Would they suspect that you prefer me like this? That you get off on putting me on display before you fuck me?”
Some clients liked me to play shy. Some liked to start out slow and build up to sex. Some liked to slam me against the wall and treat me like their dirty little bitch the moment I stepped into the room. Rishi liked to hand me the reins so I could lead him out of his comfort zone and into my naughty little world.
“Selina.”
It had been months since our last session, and he was trying to show restraint. Sweet, but unnecessary. “What’s wrong, Rishi? Don’t you want to fuck me?
”
His breathing grew heavier. He was so sexually frustrated it never took much to set him off, and I enjoyed watching him give in to his real desires. Hell, it’s what he paid me for. Closing the narrow distance between us, he gently brushed a kiss against my forehead. Big, strong hands covered my back and pressed me to him. His lips sought out my cheeks, and then my mouth. With his erection digging into my stomach, his trembling hands lowered to the swell of my ass and gave me a little squeeze.
I gasped in mock disbelief.
“You drive me crazy. You make me want to do all the things I know I shouldn’t.”
I nipped at his bottom lip. “Who says you shouldn’t? It’s just you and me here. Nobody will ever know what we do. Tell me what you want.” Nibbling on his earlobe, I let my hands drift down his sides in a slow caress before coming together to give his cock a squeeze. “Do you want me to do this?”
His eyes rolled back in his head as he thrust against my hand, silently requesting more.
Stroking his cock through his trousers, I kissed his chin, and then his neck. “You can have anything you want from me. I’ll never judge you or tell you no. I’m all about your pleasure. What’s your dirtiest desire?”
There were some clients I wouldn’t make this offer to, but Rishi was safe. I knew he would never take things too far or hurt me. He was just a good guy trying to understand his sexual appetite.
His breath hitched. I could almost see an idea forming in his mind as he claimed my mouth. Deepening the kiss, he walked us past the living room area. Stopping beside the desk, he released my body to clutch the thin material of my dress. Ending the kiss long enough to flash me a devious smirk, he tugged. Fabric bit into my shoulders as it shredded before falling to the floor.
He enjoyed literally ripping my clothes off. He’d discovered this kink two sessions ago, and I was prepared for it now. He’d compensate me for the expense, and although I liked the dress, the way his eyes lit up made it well worth the sacrifice.