Chapter 4

And then, at 6:41, the serenity is shattered by the obnoxious honks of Canadian geese outside. I bolt upright in bed, the sound piercing the silence like an unwelcome alarm. The digital clock glows red in the darkness, its harsh light slicing through the shadows. My heart races as I throw off the covers, the cold air a shock to my bare skin. The geese’s calls are a reminder that time marches on, even in this pristine world, and that I have school for the first time in a long time.

Excitement floods my veins as I leap out of bed and stumble to the closet. I rummage through the clothes, trying to pick out something that won’t make me look like a complete outsider. A t-shirt and some jeans will do, I decide, pulling them on with haste. The fabric feels alien, softer than the clothes from my original time, almost like a caress from the universe itself. I can’t help but smile as I button up my shirt, the thought of the day’s potential conquests thrumming through me like an electrical current.

As I make my way to the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. My reflection stares back, a cocky smirk playing on my lips. I look like a normal 14-year-old boy, but I know the power I hold in this world. The idea of walking into school today, a veritable Adonis in a sea of innocents, sends a shiver down my spine. I’m not just the unpopular kid anymore; I’m the one who holds the secrets to the universe.

Breakfast is a quiet affair with my mother, her eyes filled with a mix of love and concern. She doesn’t know the turmoil I’m feeling, the tornado of emotions swirling inside me. She just sees her little boy, grown up and acting strangely. I play it cool, shovelling eggs into my mouth as she prattles on about the weather and the latest neighbourhood gossip. It’s a stark contrast to the scenes that played out in my head last night.

But as I sit at the kitchen table, my eyes drift to her neck, the gentle curve that leads down to her collarbone. The urge to kiss her there, to feel her skin against my lips, is almost overwhelming. But it’s not just a sexual urge; it’s a craving for power for the ultimate form of dominance. To have the woman who bore me in this innocent world at my mercy, to show her what it truly means to be alive, is a temptation that would drive any man mad.

But I’m not that man. I’m not a monster. I can’t do that to my mother. With a mental slap that’s almost physical, I jolt myself back to reality. The eggs on my plate suddenly taste like ashes in my mouth. I can’t believe the thoughts that just passed through my mind. In this world, she’s not just a symbol of purity; she’s a living, breathing person, someone who deserves respect and love, not to be used as a pawn in my sick games of power and control.

I force a smile and swallow the last bite of food, pushing away the dark thoughts that threaten to consume me. “I’ve gotta go,” I tell her, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. “Big day at school.”

“Alright, sweetie,” she says, her eyes full of warmth. “Remember to stay safe.”

The words stick in my throat like a knot. Stay safe. In a world where danger is as alien as the concept of lust, it’s almost a laughable notion. But the fear in her voice is genuine, and it’s a stark reminder of the love that has always been between us. I nod, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before heading out the door. The cool breeze kisses my skin, sending goosebumps racing down my spine. The world outside is a canvas of vivid colors, untouched by the dark hues of desire that now paint my soul.

The walk to school is a blur, my mind racing with thoughts of the day ahead. This is section of the sidewalk is lined with blooming magnolia trees, their sweet scent a stark contrast to the musky aroma of sex that now clings to me like a second skin. The sight of other students walking in groups, laughing and chatting, fills me with a strange sense of nostalgia. This is the life I could have had, the innocence I was denied.

As I approach the school gates, the weight of my secret presses down on me. Here, I am no longer just a 14-year-old boy with a twisted past; I am a god of sexual enlightenment. My cock, a weapon of mass seduction, stays hidden beneath my jeans, a silent threat to the virgin minds of the students and faculty.

Mrs. Baker, the pretty teacher with the blonde perm and emerald eyes, stands at the entrance, her figure a symphony of curves that my mature mind can’t help but appreciate. Her laughter tinkles through the air like wind chimes, and the way the sun kisses her skin makes my heart stumble. She’s the kind of woman who could make even the most stoic of men drop to their knees.

As I approach, she looks up from her clipboard, her eyes widening in surprise. “Hi Steve, you’re early,” she says, her smile warm and inviting. “I didn’t expect to see you for another hour.”

“I know, Mrs. Baker,” I reply, my voice calm and collected, “but I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her smile falters, a hint of curiosity flitting across her face. “Oh?” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice smooth as silk. “It’s just that I’ve been having some ... trouble sleeping. And I thought, as the school counselor, you might be able to help me.”

Mrs. Baker’s smile turns concerned, her eyes flickering with a hint of something I can’t quite place. “Of course,” she says, her voice a gentle purr. “Follow me to my office.”

Her office is a small room with a desk cluttered with papers and textbooks, a single window looking out onto the schoolyard. She closes the door behind me, the sound echoing in the quiet room. She motions for me to sit down in the chair across from her desk, her hips swaying in a way that makes me bite back a groan. She’s oblivious to the effect she has on me, the way my cock stirs in my pants at the sight of her.

Mrs. Baker sits down, her skirt riding up slightly, revealing the top of her stockings. The urge to reach out and trace the line of her thigh is almost unbearable. But I resist, reminding myself that this is a game of patience and cunning. “What seems to be the problem?” she asks, her voice a gentle lilt.

“Well,” I begin, leaning back in the chair, “I’ve been having these ... dreams.” I pause, watching her expression carefully. “They’re like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.” Her eyes widen, and she leans in, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. “In these dreams, I’m a spiritual healer of some kind, and I can ... help people in ways they never imagined.”

Her expression morphs into one of intrigue, her pupils dilating slightly. “How do you mean?” she asks, her voice a whisper.

“I mean,” I reply, my tone low and seductive, “that I have the power to release tension, to heal emotional wounds, and to show people the true meaning of connection.”

Mrs. Baker’s amusement is palpable, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tries to hold back a laugh. “Spiritual healing, huh?” she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “What does that involve, exactly?”

“It’s a bit ... unconventional,” I admit, my heart racing. “But it’s incredibly effective.” I lean forward, my eyes locked on hers. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

Mrs. Baker’s laughter dies in her throat, her eyes searching mine for any sign of a joke. Finding none, she swallows hard. “What do you mean?” she asks, her voice a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

I stand, my chair scraping against the floor as I approach her desk. “It’s a technique that involves ... touch,” I say, extending my hand towards her. “Would you like to try it?”

Her eyes dart to my hand, then back to my face. For a moment, I see the doubt warring with curiosity. Then, with a deep breath, she nods, placing her hand in mine. The electricity that arcs between us is palpable, and I can feel her pulse quicken. “Alright,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “What do I do?”

“Just relax,” I murmur, closing the distance between us. “Let me show you how to unlock the power within.” I place my other hand on her shoulder, my thumb tracing circles on her collarbone. She gasps, her breath hitching, and I know she’s feeling it, the beginnings of sexual awakening. It’s a heady sensation but it never gets old.

Her hand in mine, I guide it to my chest, my heart pounding a steady rhythm beneath her fingertips. “Feel my energy,” I whisper, “and let it flow into you.” I watch as she stares at my chest, her eyes glazed with wonder, her mind racing to understand the sensations flooding through her.

Slowly, I lean in closer, my breath warm against her ear. “Now, imagine that energy,” I murmur, “and let it flow to the places that need healing the most.” My hand slides down her arm, my fingertips brushing against the soft fabric of her blouse, tracing the curve of her breast. She gasps again, her body responding instinctively to the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensations.

Mrs. Baker’s eyes are wide, a mix of fear and fascination. “What ... what are you doing?” she stammers, but she doesn’t pull away. Her hand remains on my chest, trembling slightly as she tries to process the newfound emotions coursing through her.

“Shh,” I soothe, my breath warm on her cheek. “This is just the beginning. Let the energy flow through you.”

My hand moves to the back of her neck, my thumb caressing the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her eyes flutter closed, and she leans into my touch, the scent of her arousal faint but unmistakable. In this world of innocence, even the slightest hint of sexuality is a siren’s call, a beacon in the darkness.

“Just let go,” I whisper, my voice a hypnotic purr. “Let me heal you.”

Her eyes open slightly, looking at me with a mix of confusion and longing. Her breath is ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I can see the pulse in her neck quickening, a silent confession of the desire that now simmers just beneath her skin. I lean closer, my mouth a whisper away from hers, and she gasps again, her hand tightening around my shirt.

“What is this?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

I smile, knowing that she’s feeling the power of the taboo I’ve brought into her life. “It’s the energy,” I reply, my voice a gentle rumble. “Let it flow, let it heal.”

With that, I lean in, my lips brushing against the soft, unblemished skin of her neck. She gasps, her eyes fluttering closed as my teeth graze her sensitive flesh. Her hand moves from my chest to the back of my head, pulling me closer as if she’s been waiting for this moment her entire life. My cock throbs in anticipation, begging to be released from the confines of my pants. But I hold back, savoring the moment, enjoying the sound of her pulse racing beneath my lips.

My hands glide down her body, reaching for the hem of her skirt. I lift it gently, exposing the creamy skin of her thighs. Mrs. Baker’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t protest, her body responding to my every touch with a desperate eagerness that’s intoxicating. Her ass is firm and full, the fabric of her panties peeking out from under the skirt’s elastic waistband. I cup her, feeling her body tense in surprise and pleasure. She’s never felt a man’s touch like this before, and I revel in the power it gives me.

My fingers trace the curve of her ass, teasing the fabric closer to her pussy. I can feel the heat emanating from her, a silent invitation that I can’t resist. She leans into me, her breath coming in short gasps as my thumb grazes the dampness that’s already soaking through. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her head thrown back in an unspoken plea for more. I give it to her, my thumb pressing harder, circling her clit through the fabric. Her legs tremble, and she gasps my name.

“Steve ... Aaahh...”

My mouth moves closer to hers, my breath a warm promise of what’s to come. Our lips are almost touching, and I can feel the anticipation building in the air around us. “Open for me,” I murmur, and she does, her eyes still closed, her trust in me absolute. I slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her innocence. She moans, her hips bucking against my hand, seeking more of the pleasure I’m so eager to give.

My thumb continues its relentless dance on her clit, and she responds with a whimper, her hand tightening in my hair. I kiss her deeply, my other hand sliding up her thigh to slip beneath the elastic of her panties. Her skin is hot to the touch, slick with the evidence of her desire. I stroke her folds lightly, feeling her wetness, the softness of her pussy that has never known the touch of a man. She’s so tight, so untouched, and the thought makes me ache with need.

Pulling away, I look into her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. “Mrs. Baker,” I whisper, my voice thick with desire, “I need to know if this is okay. Can I ... continue?”

Her eyes are glazed with passion, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. She nods, the barest of movements, and whispers a tremulous, “Yes.”

With a gentle smile, I slip my hand under her skirt, my fingertips brushing the soft, bare flesh of her upper thigh. She shivers at the sensation, her legs parting slightly. I ease her panties down, the fabric clinging to her wetness before it gives way, revealing her most intimate secret to me. Her pussy is a perfect pink bud, untouched by the harshness of the world, unblemished by the knowledge of the carnality that I am about to introduce her to.

I sink to my knees, the fabric of my pants rough against the floor, the anticipation of what is to come making me dizzy. My heart is pounding in my chest as I lean in closer, breathing in her sweet scent. I kiss the inside of her thigh, feeling the tremor that runs through her body. Her eyes are still closed, her trust in me absolute. Slowly, I trace the line of her thigh with my tongue, moving closer and closer to her sex. Her breathing is shallow and quick, and I can feel the tension coiled in her body, ready to snap.

Mrs. Baker’s hand is still in my hair, guiding my head closer to her pussy. She’s so wet, so ready for me, and it’s all I can do not to plunge my tongue inside her right then and there. But I know better, I know the art of seduction, the dance of desire that must be played out to its fullest. I kiss her inner thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips. She whimpers, her hand tightening in my hair, urging me on.