Chapter 1

Edith Pembroke’s fingers glistened, damp and sticky, as she brought them to her lips. Strands of fluid stretched between her fingertips, catching the sunlight in a slick, translucent web. With a slow spreading grin, she slowly licked them clean of her pussy juices.

Licking her lips, she slid her other hand between her legs, her fingers scooping scooping out her own warm goo from her vagina, and sucking on her fingers.

It had been a deliciously vivid dream, one that stirred her awake just before her alarm was due. Naked beneath her sheets, Edith turned to the empty pillow beside her. She smiled – who was missing from her life?

She rose from the bed and sauntered toward the mirror, admiring the reflection that greeted her. Nearly fifty years old and standing six feet tall, she was statuesque. Her dyed white hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that still turned heads. Dark eyes stared back at her, the same eyes that had once captivated boardrooms and bedrooms alike. Age had done little to diminish her beauty.

Years of sport and exercise had sculpted her body, her broad shoulders tapered into a toned, narrow waist, her hips full and powerful. Her breasts, large and impossibly firm, still sat high on her chest, heavier now when she cupped them than in her youth, but no less striking.

Only the grey of her pubic hair betrayed her age more than the pristine white of her dyed locks—but she had solved that with laser treatments. If she had chosen a different hair color, she could have passed for thirty-five, but she preferred the allure of an older woman’s authority. As a teacher of young girls, she relished the quiet dominance it gave her over them.

She had grown up knowing she was beautiful, and she had wielded it well. First, it had secured her a lucrative career in finance; then, it had landed her a hotshot husband—one she had rinsed clean in a divorce.

It had taken her a long time to accept that she was a lesbian. But she had never dreamed of men—only of the girls she had known growing up, the women she worked with, her girlfriends. Over time, she realized she despised sex with men.

When the divorce settlement finally came through, she had said good riddance to men—along with her ex-husband’s money—and never looked back.

She threw on her clothes—a thong that made her feel young, slicing between firm buttocks sculpted by years of squats. A bra that lifted and shaped her breasts. A sleek pencil skirt hugging her hips, paired with a blouse left just undone enough at the top. Glasses. A bun. She was every schoolboy’s fantasy. But she had never cared for that. She had always just wanted to teach at a girls’ school.

In class, she towered over her pupils in her heels—both literally and figuratively. They looked up to her as a mentor, a friend, an authority figure. To some, she was an aspiring heroine.

“Hi, Ms. Pembroke!” said Charlotte, a cute young blonde, in the corridor. She absolutely adored her teacher. Her school uniform—a crisp white blouse, a neatly knotted blue-and-white tie, a pleated blue skirt, and black tights—was perfectly in place. Standing at just five feet tall, Charlotte looked even smaller next to Ms. Pembroke, who towered over her in heels, her statuesque frame commanding attention.

“Are you taking our hockey class after school?” Her adoration for Ms. Pembroke was evident in her wide-eyed gaze and the way she eagerly approached her, braces glinting as she smiled.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Ms. Pembroke replied, her smile warm and bright. She looked down at the angelic-faced girl, barely five feet tall, while she herself stood well over six feet in heels. “I wouldn’t miss it. You’ve been doing so well in practice—I can’t wait to see how you perform today.”

Charlotte beamed, her cheeks flushing with pride at the compliment. As Ms. Pembroke straightened up, her towering presence softened by her gentle demeanor, she placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Make sure you’re ready for those drills,” she said with a playful wink. “I’ll be watching.”

Charlotte nodded eagerly, her excitement palpable. “I will, Ms. Pembroke! Thank you!” She scurried off, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her, already dreaming of impressing her idol during hockey practice.

Ms. Pembroke watched her go, smiling. She would enjoy the hockey practice, alright, particularly watching the young girls change before and afterwards. She was already wondering what color panties Charlotte was wearing under those tights. She only wished she could do more than just sneak a glance. She straightened her posture, adjusted her blouse, and strode down the hallway, her heels clicking decisively against the floor.