All good things must come to an end.

Yeah, that’s what they say, whoever the high-holy fuck they are.

The day she graduated from St. Elizabeth’s School for Girls (of the Uber-Rich and Over-Entitled) and moved on with her young life should’ve been filled with boundless joy. Off to one of those ivy-encrusted colleges in central France, she’d tried to smile. So had I while caressing those sweat-slick, nubile curves after a final, energetic romp. We’d both failed.

Of course, the self-same mysterious they also proclaim that lightning never strikes twice in the same place.

Ah, but it did.

Her name is Carina. She of the thick, glossy sable mane that refuses to behave, owner of wide impish dark eyes, dangerous—very dangerous—lithe curves, and long—very long—legs. Yes, the olive-skinned beauty with the sultriest of Spanish accents is a rule-breaker through and through.

A girl like her. Oh, she transforms a stodgy school uniform into a shining exemplar of performance art. White blouse, one button always just there, right at the hint of straining lace... dark lace. The remaining buttons surge with every breath, pulling thin cotton tight and threatening to pop free.

Below skirts of deep green pleated plaid hemmed a little too high, white stockings adorn toned, olive-skinned thighs. Add cheeky, unauthorized slits at both hips and hmm...

Then there’s the choice of footwear. Other girls might prefer comfort, but the heels she sports—skyscrapers with slender patent leather straps tight to perfect ankles—do wonders for her legs. Eyes flashing, she’s well aware, meeting every jealous glance from her peers or sneaky ogling by faculty members.

The overall effect is quite fetching, in the most literal meaning. It certainly fetched me.

Come one Friday evening, classes have long since ended when the familiar clicks of those razor-thin heels halt outside my office door. Inside my chest, the thumping becomes the drumroll of a thousand marching bands.

Time for our carnal ritual.

Carnal. Pure, unfettered carnality. Yes, that’s been her focus from the very beginning. Carina embodies such a concept, nurtures the hungry spark into the warmest of life, adds a rapid-beating heart and the cutest sighs. Lovely whimpers. The deepest of moans that make every one of my muscles ache.

A truly perfect sin. In the most perfect of places. Just outside my door, once again.

As my chair glides backward from an oaken desk, its wheels squeak on the faded brown tile. Of course, I’ll be making her wait. It’s a ritual after all. A sigh leaves me as I clasp both hands behind my head and recline. With the chair’s creaks echoing, the heels beyond my entrance scratch once more, and a grin appears as memories flood.

The day the ever more impatient girl in the hallway arrived at St. Elizabeth’s is seared into my very being. Yes, that’s the effect such a spectacular example of youthful pulchritude wreaks upon the world. At least the insular part inhabited by the likes of me.

Under a searing heat, a sweltering gift only late August can impart, the school’s courtyard was an expanse of reddish-gray gravel, shimmering in the sunlight. The only shade hugged the three-story, charcoal brick edifice housing the main hall and a line of trees, leaves swaying in vapid gusts, along a tall stone wall pierced by massive entrance gates. A rare event, both arched, wrought-iron constructs had been pulled wide.

Voices, some curt; laughter, some shrill; and more than a few sobs filled the heavy air. Adding to the din was the ceaseless crunch under the tires of various overpriced vehicles and the feet of well-dressed humanity. Among the crowd of arriving, bright-eyed students, flitted nuns in habits of white and gray and faculty members tasked with organizing the annual madness.

Not me. Cooled by air flooding from the open doors, my suit-clad frame and comfortable shoes remained in the shadows on the broad front steps. Tenure is a wonderful thing.

With her gone, I gave some of the incoming faces a cursory scan, but nothing ignited. A few of the older girls tossed hopeful glances, but they’d not made muster before, and such lesser creatures certainly couldn’t fill those gorgeous shoes.

Compromise remains something of an abhorrence to me.

Amid the mayhem, several wives or girlfriends of family scions, whether present or absent, also flicked intriguing peeks my way. Perhaps whispered stories from their daughters, or simple magnetism. Most, I ignored. A few got a wider smile, but in truth, they held little interest for me. Far too complicated.

Sister Anne, one of the younger denizens, maybe late-twenties tops, added several glances in my direction. Brilliant blue eyes sparkled as they caught the sun slanting under the rim of her habit. Such a lovely enigma, at the time her choices remained mysterious.

To her, I sent my widest grin. Both narrow cheeks bloomed the deepest shade of crimson before spinning away. In a flutter of gray linen, hinting at the most delicious curves, she rushed to help a cluster of lost souls.

Before I could revel in that exchange, a deep rumble brought me to the gates.

Amid all the other vehicles, already some of the most top-end on the planet, the car that growled to a halt was a cut above. Shiny black opulence, sleek, low-slung, and hulking. Impenetrable tinted windows. Hubcaps of gold-trimmed chrome.

Even as the doors opened, my eyebrow rose. Two figures in dark suits with noticeable bulges at their armpits popped into view. Both tall, muscular males wore scowls and moved with purpose. The mirrored sunglasses of one scanned the entrance, while the other man met the opening trunk lid to remove a pair of large pink suitcases.

Once the latter dragged both bags to the rear door and opened it, she appeared. Like molten licorice, thick raven tresses swirled, glimmering in the sunlight. Red-framed, blue-lensed sunglasses perched atop a perfect small, upturned nose, centered in a perfect face of angular sharp cheeks and a narrow chin.

As she leaned forward, a whole lot of unblemished, deep olive skin gleamed in a tiny black dress trimmed with delicate lace. As the most glorious legs swung into view, I shouldn’t have been able to hear the swish of the dark stockings on toned thighs. Yet, call it magic, but the sound still tickled my ear ... and my spine.

When glossy black stilettos met the gravel, she surveyed her new surroundings while rising to become a lithe, exquisite tower amid an island of lesser beings. Around her, the rest of the world shrank away, and sounds became a muted rumble.

Those glasses found me, and red lipstick, glinting in the sun, curled upward. As if we shared one of those old cartoons, a hundred oversized horseshoe magnets thunked together. My heart thumped. In truth, a lot of me thumped, and she caught the swift adjustment of my slacks.

Yes, the genuine delight that was Carina had arrived.

Oh, and how my world would change.

Proof appeared on the very first day of my class. Heel clicks, the swish of stockings, and she’d claimed the seat at the center of the front row. A cloud of expensive perfume, hinting of delicate flowers, exotic spice, and boundless promise, flooded my nostrils as I stood before the blackboard.

As soon as my gaze met them, the most incredible dark brown eyes flashed like the brightest of beacons on a hilltop. They called out to me, and what could I do but answer?

What began after class as husky whispers became notes written in a delicate, swooping, girlish script. Words dripping with need yet also begging for measured sensitivity.

Our first meeting of any length led to a kiss that stretched until the universe died. Our second added tentative hands, then gentle mouths wandering any bare skin. More, many more, followed as summer’s last days drifted away like the leaves beginning to tumble from russet-colored trees.

Clothes soon vanished. She possessed both such youthful exuberance and a profound desire to please. Add in a will to learn, plus a teacher offering wisdom and guidance ... nirvana approached ever closer.

So many images remain locked in my brain. The way those beautiful eyes flashed at a perfect neck feeling the initial touch of glistening black leather. The quiet clinking of its silver ring as she trembled while my patient fingers fixed the collar into place. A glossy red fingernail tracing the beveled edge worn by only one other. The shaky huff from shiny, puckered lips at my first tug on a leash of twisted rawhide.

All combined to ensure the continuation of the most magical of fleeting encounters. We met in the sneakiest of secretive spots around the campus. She, wearing only the collar she grew to crave and a radiant, soul-melting smile. The most adorable crimson nipples, always so sharp they throbbed. Me, sliding from my clothes to let her play.

With long, curled lashes fluttering and rapid breaths searing my chest, she was ever so ready to please. As her sleek frame quivered, the whimpers from parted red lips oozed sultriness. Add well-aimed, slow swipes of slender rawhide and the raven-haired beauty, a princess with a dark past, had been set free to explore the limits of ecstasy.

Yet, consummation required more than a quick toss on my desk. Older, just beyond the delightful cusp of womanhood, Carina was not her.

No, for such a crucial event, we devised the ritual; made things far more fun. Plus, well, a few intriguing surprises had appeared.

Rap, rap-rap, rap.

The quiet taps on the office door shake me free of the memories. She has reached her limit, poor thing.

Heart again thumping, I rise to my feet and clasp the collar and leash. After dropping them into a pants pocket, I glance at the window, darkening as the sun fades. In the glass, flashes the smile of a seasoned instructor. The slow head nod of assurance steels my resolve.

“Yes. Time to play,” I whisper while heading to the exit.

As my hand reaches the doorknob, the clicks move away. When the door squeaks open, that alluring figure is already sliding into the shadows among a row of translucent plastic sheets. They hang from the heavy ceiling beams, cutting off the rest of the hallway.

While the other wing sprouting from the main hall houses full classrooms, this one remains under renovation thanks to a generous grant. After quite the snarling struggle with the headmistress, Sister Alva, a formidable, steely-eyed battleship, I retain my ground floor office. Beyond my little island, the remaining structure is the domain of workers during the day, but all are long since gone.

A quick glance in the other direction and a shadow dodges from sight. Good. The more delightful version of the ritual can proceed. Grin on my face, I follow the blurred alluring curves into the slick, cool plastic. With the lights off, the gloom beyond the paint-streaked curtains is deeper. Shadows hide the uppermost sections of the walls. Their glossy dark wooden panels are lined with rows of cloth-shrouded furnishings.