Chapter 4

Ms. Pembroke always looked forward to swimming lessons. Dressed in a tracksuit, she remained on the sidelines, quietly observing the teenagers in their sleek, wet swimsuits, the fabric clinging to every curve. The fashionable high-cut designs exposed sharp hip bones, and expanses of bare skin next to the slim gussets where the fabric tapered to a narrow strip. Ms. Pembroke discreetly noted how smooth and bare they all appeared, the fashion demanding that the girls all had to shave their pubic hair.

She watched with lust as Sarah Saad pulled herself out of the water, as the water droplets continued to glide down Sarah’s body. The teacher’s eyes were drawn to the way the wet fabric clung to the young girl’s skin, revealing her hard nipples, and the tantalizing outline of her labia and the puffy mounds of her pussy. She bit her lower lip, her own desires swelling as she took in the sight of the innocent yet alluring Sarah.

As Sarah turned slightly, she exposed her bare ass cheek as the fabric had been swallowed up by her ass. Ms Pembroke’s eyes lingered on the two jiggling little globes of her buttocks barely covered by the black swimsuit.

The sound of laughter pulled her out of her thoughts, and she quickly composed herself, not wanting to be caught ogling the teenager. But the image of Sarah’s half-exposed butt remained burned into her mind, fueling the fire of her forbidden fantasies.

With a feigned nonchalance, she leaned over and whispered into Sarah’s ear, “Your suit seems to have ridden up a bit on one side.”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and she quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. “Oh my god, thank you,” she murmured, reaching back to adjust the material.

Ms. Pembroke couldn’t resist. She placed her hand gently on Sarah’s wrist, stopping her. “Let me,” she offered, her voice husky with lust.

Sarah looked at her, confusion and a hint of fear in her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Ms. Pembroke reached out and tugged the fabric back into place, her fingertips brushing against the smooth skin of the girl’s bottom.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Ms. Pembroke saw something in Sarah’s gaze, a spark of curiosity, of nascent desire. But she quickly turned away to concentrate on the other girls. Meanwhile, Sarah felt a tingling sense between her legs, but not in the way she had felt when her father had touched her on the same spot.

----------

After class, later in the afternoon, Sarah approached Ms. Pembroke, now dressed in a sleek black dress.

Ms. Pembroke turned, her lips curling into a smile. “Yes, Sarah?” Her gaze lingered—tracing the smooth expanse of Sarah’s thighs up to her plaid skirt, and the soft hint of pink flesh peeking beneath her blouse. She recalled the way Sarah had looked earlier, glistening in her swimsuit.

Sarah hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath that made her chest rise and fall. “My dad...” she began, her voice softer now, uncertain. “He’s been acting weird lately. Like ... really weird.”

Ms. Pembroke tilted her head slightly, thinking of the furious man who had kicked her out of his taxi. “Oh? Do tell.”

The girl looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “Well, he keeps looking at me differently. It’s kind of creepy, to be honest ... and he still talks about sending me to Egypt ... and well, he ... and well, he touched me ... in fact ... he hit me...”

“What?” said Ms. Pembroke, anger simmering at the bastard of a father.

Sarah nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Yeah, on my ... bottom,” she whispered. “It was really hard and it hurt so much.”

Ms. Pembroke’s heart raced as she listened, her thoughts immediately turning to darker desires. She leaned in closer, placing a comforting hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Spanked you?” she repeated. “How utterly barbaric.”

Sarah looked down, her eyes tracing the long legs of her teacher. “It was ... really painful,” she murmured, the memory of the pain making her clench her fists. “And it happened more than once.”

Ms. Pembroke’s eyes grew wider. “I see,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And how did that make you feel?””

Sarah’s breath hitched. “It ... it made me feel weird,” she admitted, her voice shaking slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Pembroke said, her tone suddenly brisk again. She resisted the urge to ask Sarah to lift her skirt and show where she had been spanked. Instead, she placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Sarah, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m here to help you.” Her voice was honeyed, dripping with reassurance. “I want you to start keeping a journal—write everything down. Every detail. But please, sweetheart, don’t mention me in it, keep me and my name out of it! This could be important evidence to help you out of your situation.”

Sarah blinked up at her, a flicker of hope lighting up her tear-filled eyes. No one had ever listened like this before. No one had ever cared like this before. Ms. Pembroke wasn’t just her teacher—she was her savior.

Overcome with emotion, she flung her arms around Ms. Pembroke, burying her face against the soft fabric of her blouse, her face rubbing itself between the older woman’s breasts. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Thank you for believing me.”

Ms. Pembroke smiled, her lips curling in satisfaction as she stroked Sarah’s hair. “Of course, my dear. I only want what’s best for you.”

She pulled back slightly, tilting Sarah’s chin up with a single finger. “There’s also an app I’d like you to download. It’s encrypted, so we can talk anytime you need to. Just you and me, alright?”

Sarah nodded eagerly, her heart swelling with gratitude.

Ms. Pembroke’s eyes gleamed as she watched the girl’s trust deepen.

“Good girl,” she murmured.

---------- That evening, Sarah felt the familiar dread of staying at her mother’s house. Veronica—a drug-addled prostitute—was a far cry from Sarah’s pious, religious Muslim father, yet she hated her just as much, though for entirely different reasons.

Her father was strict, controlling, suffocating her with rules. But her mother ... she was lax, careless, often high on drugs, bringing men into the house without a second thought. The walls reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the worn-out couch, watching another episode of Eastenders still in her school uniform. Sarah glanced at her mother’s bedroom door. Her mother was inside, entertaining another client, the rhythmic creak of the bed making Sarah’s stomach churn.

The client, a middle aged Asian man, had leered at her as he entered, his eyes lingering on her legs as she crossed them defensively. “I think I would prefer her. Can we have a threesome?” he had asked, almost salivating over the sitting schoolgirl.

Veronica, her bleached blonde hair tangled from a day spent at a previous outcall, leaned against the doorframe, smirking. The short black dress she wore clung to her buxom body, the fabric so sheer in the light that her bra and knickers were visible underneath.

She tossed her head back with a brittle laugh, exhaling smoke from the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “I wish!. She’s not in the business. Not yet anyway, Sarah we need to break you in sometime, maybe start paying your way around here!”

Sarah sat rigid, her pulse hammering. Her mother’s words were ... what? A joke? Did she actually mean it? She didn’t want to believe that her own mother could be that depraved.

Now, thinking back, Sarah shuddered as she remembered how when her mother got drunk – really drunk – she had always got way too affectionate. The cuddles that lasted too long. The way her hands would linger, stroking Sarah’s arm, her hair, her back ... She felt dirty. She needed a shower—needed to scrub away the filth, the memories, and the sounds of her mother being fucked in the room next to her.

Slipping out of her school uniform, she let the crumpled fabric fall at her feet. She reached behind her back, unfastening her bra, then peeled off her white panties, shivering as the cool air met her bare skin.

For a moment, she stood there, arms crossed over herself, staring at the reflection in the cracked mirror propped against the wall. Every time she looked at her body, it felt like something was different, the growing curve of her hips, the bulge of her breasts, the way her waist seemed smaller now. She didn’t like it. She hated the hair growing between her legs and tried to shave it away as much as possible.

She hated the looks, the glances, the comments. The other girls loved the new interest from males, but she just wanted to go back to being an invisible little girl.

She wrapped herself in a towel and made her way to the bathroom, enjoying the hot water against her skin. She finished her shower, and as she cracked open the bathroom door, steam rolling out into the dimly lit hallway, she saw him. The client.

He was coming out of her mother’s bedroom at the same time, adjusting his trousers, his thick fingers fumbling with the belt buckle, breathing heavily, his shirt damp with sweat, running a hand over his balding head.

His dark, beady eyes flicked to her, taking in her wet body, as Sarah held on to her towel. He licked his lips.

“Veronica, tell your daughter to get rid of her towel. Ten pounds, and thirty if I can touch her up.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, his gaze roaming over her damp skin as if he had already decided she was for sale.

She turned to her mother, praying—for once—that Veronica would show some sliver of decency. But instead, her mother sensed business.