Chapter 7

Her sleep was troubled by lurid, very sexual dreams. Batiste was in some of them, but only as the recipient of Abbey’s oral attention. She saw that again, saw how avidly Abbey was sucking the man. Then it was on to a dream of her waving the wand at Bobby and his clothing flying off in shreds. It didn’t hurt him, though. He stood there, staring at her, his erection impossibly long and big.

Suddenly Phil was standing beside Bobby. “I see you met my frat brother,” he said, nodding toward Bobby. “I want you to let him fuck your hot pussy, Baby.”

She dreamed of her waving the wand at Bobby and telling him to speak only truth. He did her one better, and acted out what he did in bed at night as he thought about her. His hand flashing along his bone made her knees weak, in the dream, and before long she was masturbating with him.

There were others, other dreams, but she couldn’t remember them when she awoke, groggily, and rolled over. The alarm clock said it was 8:15. She had that eerie feeling that something had wakened her ... some sound.

Tapping. Someone was tapping at the door. Knocking.

She groaned as she remembered telling Bobby to come back in the morning. She sat up, disoriented from the poor quality of her sleep. Reaching for her robe was natural, as was tying the belt around her slim waist. Her feet found her fuzzy sippers without conscious thought. She didn’t think about her hair until her hand was already on the knob. He was tapping gently again.

She swung the door open to find Bobby standing there in a jacket, stocking cap, and gloves. The cold air assaulted her body and she felt her nipples crinkle.

“Hi,” he said, just standing there.

“It’s freezing,” she said. “Come in!”

“Are you okay?” he asked, as he moved past her.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she grumbled.

“You look...” His voice stopped and she turned to find him examining her, his eyes touching her.

She looked down at herself to see that she hadn’t tied the robe tightly enough. What looked like acres of cleavage was showing. And her nipples were imprinting through the silk. She imagined her hair must be a mess. She had no way of knowing she looked like the quintessential, well-fucked woman of every man’s dreams.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d come this early. I had a rough night.”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me what time, so I just came after I got up. Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

It was clear in his voice that he would do that - leave - and that he wouldn’t be surly about it, or feel like he wasn’t welcome. It felt like one more little nudge, like she was walking along, but someone was pushing her from behind, shoving her towards some place she didn’t want to go. That place was in Bobby’s arms, with his lips pressed against hers. And he was the one doing the shoving. Everything he did, his whole personality, were the hands that were pushing her.

“Stop being so nice to me,” she said.

“I’m being nice to you?” His eyebrows rose.

“Stop being ... you!” she barked.

“Who else am I supposed to be?” he asked, his face softening. “Is this about the wand? If it is, I already told you I’m sorry. I only told you that stuff because I had to. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Mindy’s recent dreams drifted around in her mind. They were already fading. She knew she’d had some that were already forgotten. Maybe the rest would leave her in peace, too.

“I’m a mess. I didn’t sleep all that well last night,” she said. “I need a shower, but you don’t have to leave. Just let me get decent.”

“Trust me, you’re already decent,” he said.

She looked to find his eyes raking over her again.

“Stop that!” she chided. “I’m your teacher. I’m almost a decade older than you. You’re not supposed to look at me like that!”

“Right,” he said, looking away. It was obvious he wasn’t chastised, though. “Go do your thing. I’ll wait. Have you had breakfast?” He looked at her again. She imagined she looked pretty sorry. “Of course not,” he said. “You just got up.”

“There’s cereal on the top shelf of the right-hand cupboard,” she said.

She returned to her bedroom and went into the master bath. She turned on the water to let hot water work its way through the pipes to the shower head. She dropped the robe, and then felt naked.

“I am naked,” she growled to herself. “I sleep naked. I’m getting ready to take a shower!”

Bobby was in the house though. That’s why this felt so different. She felt vulnerable.

“That’s silly,” she said, aloud. “Bobby would never hurt me.”

She stepped under the water too soon, trying to get away from her own thoughts. She shivered as the too-cool water cascaded over her.

“Maybe this is good,” she thought. “Maybe what I need is a cold shower.”

Just then the water got warm. She washed quickly and efficiently, resisting the urge to stroke her labia and squeeze one more orgasm out of her clit. Then she turned the knob to make the water cold again and just stood under it, letting the water pound against the top of her head, willing it to wash her feelings for Bobby Pendleton away.

Mindy glanced at the alarm clock. It was 9:15. She’d spent an hour in the shower, and drying her hair. She was clothed, now, in a sweat shirt and sweat pants. Her hair was dry, but hanging down straight. What was Bobby doing? She imagined him snooping through the house. Her eyes darted to her mussed sheets. She went to her night stand and opened the drawer.

Yes, she’d put it away. It wasn’t where he’d see it if he came into her bedroom.

Why would he come into her bedroom?

Her nose didn’t detect anything until she opened her bedroom door. The odor of frying bacon assailed her, then, and she breathed deeply.

She found him in the kitchen, standing at the stove. Her big cast iron skillet was over a burner. A plate was sitting on another un-lit burner, cooked bacon on one half of it, and eggs on the other. As she got to an angle where she could see, he flipped a pancake. He looked over his shoulder at her.

“Cereal is for school days,” he said. “You need a good, hearty breakfast.”

The last, dim images from one of her dreams flitted through her mind, which interpreted those visions as meaning one always needed a good, hearty breakfast before engaging in a day of debauchery and orgiastic pleasure.