Lady Lucia
patreon
The Tutor, Part Nineteen
🕑 Added 2022-09-08 19:10:53 +0000 UTC“Mmm!”
My whine of surprise and mild protest hummed through Annabelle’s lips as they locked with my own. Mine had already been slightly parted to say something in response to the girl’s insistence about my nickname, so it was more than easy for her to take my bottom lip between hers.
This was the third time I had ever kissed a girl. The first was when I was a first-year at university, as a dare. The second was a few months later, to humor a lesbian friend of mine who kept teasing me about it–’Are you sure you aren’t into girls, Meredith?’ Both times involved alcohol, and neither of those girls managed to flip a switch or anything. It was certainly different than kissing guys, and perhaps exciting in the moment to try something outside my comfort zone, but that’s it. Fleeting curiosity, as well as playing along to pretend like I wasn’t the boring, studious girl that it sometimes felt like others viewed me as.
But this was Annabelle! She was eighteen, and still in high school. I was her tutor.
Before those thoughts could fully register, however, I briefly kissed her back. Purely out of instinct, as that’s how my entire life had gone up until now. A significant person kisses me, and I reciprocate. Applying pressure with my own lips to match what I was being given, feeling the unique softness of another girl, I settled into the kiss for all of one second. Then, snapping back to reality with wide eyes, I shoved Annabelle away while taking a huge step back.
“Annabelle!” I exclaimed. “What the fuck?!” The marble floor and spacious entryway by the stairs caused my raised voice to resonate and echo. It was rare for me to lose control of my emotions, or swear out loud for that matter, but this was warranted. Still, I couldn’t help but faintly flush from how my exclamation could probably be heard all the way down the hall; the unexpected kiss was no doubt a factor as well. Trying to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks, I frowned and narrowed my eyes at the audacious redhead.
As I came to my senses, I could tell that I might have pushed her a little too hard. Annabelle had nearly tripped on the bottom step and fallen backwards, but she managed to catch herself on the banister. “Language, Mere,” she said. Scowling and taking a second to brush back her hair and straighten out her outfit after finding her balance again, she met my gaze. “And what was that? I could have hurt myself.”
She wasn’t wrong. Falling back into the stairs could have hurt her head, or wrists if she caught herself poorly against the steps. Except it wasn’t fair to blame that solely on me. “You just- you can’t-” Fumbling over my words amidst the accusation, as well as the lingering feeling on my lips from the recent kiss, I finally blurted out, “Annabelle, you kissed me!!”
“And you fucking shoved me,” she snapped. Immediately swearing after getting on my case about ‘language,’ but I barely noticed since I was already dealing with everything else. “Apologize, Mere.”
“I-” My voice caught in my throat. She was the one who started this, but my instinctive physical response was putting me at a disadvantage. Instead of arguing, I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.” It was better to be the bigger person and get the apology out of the way. Then we could focus on what Annabelle did, and how it was wrong. “Now apologize for kissing me. Just because-”
Just because . . . what? Now that my shock had somewhat faded, and we were past the adverse reaction I had to the sudden advance, my flustered mind was finally making its way towards the ‘why.’ Why did Annabelle kiss me? Did she like me? All of our texts had been friendly, but maybe I had misread that positive energy. It was always more difficult to infer tone when it was typed. She had taken my hand to guide me through the house, too.
While Annabelle was technically an adult, she was still a teenager. In my haste to deny Bridget the job, I had pushed to be Annabelle’s only tutor. God, that could easily be interpreted as me liking her. I hadn’t known she was into girls, of course, but still. Could I really blame her for putting herself out there and making a move? Suddenly, my frustration faded as I trailed off in uncertainty.
“I’m sorry for shoving you.” Annabelle said.
“What?” I asked, as her voice broke me out of my thoughts.
“That’s how apologies work. You have to say the whole thing.”
“Oh. Umm, right. I’m sorry for shoving you, Annabelle.”
She placed a hand on her hip and gave me a stern look. “Miss Annabelle.”
Wait, what? Ever since the first day, she had insisted that I just use her name. That I didn’t have to follow those rules that Trixie was bound to. My head was already spinning from being kissed and the potential realization of what that might mean, and this just added to my confusion. Was she punishing me, or was my physical rejection all it took for her to stop seeing me as a crush?
“Look, can we just talk-”
“Apologize properly, Mere. NOW.”
“I-” I could feel the faint flush turn into a full on blush as Annabelle took such a demanding tone. Weak as ever when it came to confrontation, especially when I was already so flustered, I found myself mumbling, “I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle.”
“Again, Mere,” she said. Taking a step forward, exaggerating the few inches of height she had on me, she glared down at me with her deep green eyes. “And look at me when you speak.”
“I was . . .” I muttered. Wasn’t I? Now that she said otherwise, I found myself questioning it. So, nervously swallowing, I looked up and reluctantly made direct eye contact with her. “I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle.”
“Good girl.” With the smallest of nods, she reached over and took a few strands of my hair with her fingers. With an idle twirl or two, she continued the conversation while still fiddling with my long locks. “And your name is ‘Mere.’”
Not a question. “But-” I began, frozen from our newfound proximity and the affectionate yet dominant touch.
“No. Your name is Mere. And I’m ‘Miss Annabelle.’ Got it?”
What was happening?! Just seconds ago, I was trying to chastise her for springing a kiss on me. Now I was on my back foot, too caught off guard by everything that was being thrown at me. Rather than a mutual apology following an awkward moment, I was the one being punished for a perfectly reasonable reaction. Instead of trying to put those thoughts to words, however, I found myself meekly nodding. I didn’t know what else to do, and it’s not like I could push her away. That’s what got me into trouble the first time. Except, no. That was the kiss. “Wait-”
“Say it. What’s your name?”
“Mere-” I got halfway through, only to be cut off by a sharp yank of my hair as I tried to form the second syllable. Gasping, and then blushing at the unintended squeak that escaped my lips following the intake of air, I once again let my emotions get the better of me. “Ow! Annabelle!! Don’t-”
“Your name is Mere. Okay?”
“But-” A lighter tug at my hair was enough of a threat, and I submitted much more easily this time around. “Okay.” But that wasn’t enough, apparently, as a painfully long silence followed my acceptance of her nickname for me. Squirming a little bit under her gaze, and really wanting to get back to the friendly relationship we had just minutes ago, I said, “My name is Mere.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle?”
“Is that a question?”
“No. I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle . . .”
I had only stepped inside the house minutes ago, and was already in a situation way more daunting than my first day. Instead of tutoring a half naked Annabelle, I was letting a kiss with her snowball out of control. In the back of my mind, I knew that I could just pull away and flee to my car, but I couldn’t find it in myself to take the first step. I felt powerless against the young redhead looming over me. I was older, but she was taller, and more endowed, and more confident, and better dressed, and had an aura about her that somehow demanded obedience.
All my plans to lay down the law had vanished, and I found myself waiting for Annabelle to make the next move instead of taking the initiative myself.
“Mere, why don’t you go help Trixie with the chores?” she finally said, “It’s laundry day. You can tutor me afterwards, okay? The proper response is ‘Yes, Miss Annabelle.’
Swallowing again, and averting my gaze, I quietly replied the way she wanted me to.
“Yes, Miss Annabelle . . .”
