Yes, Miss
I push all thoughts of Isabelle aside and start my first class, yet all throughout the lesson, thoughts of her drift into my mind. Her smile, her long thick waves, her curves.
But images of Belle, the seductive Domme at Purgatory, also creep in alongside. And it makes me feel like a traitor, which is stupid, but I can’t help how I feel. Belle was captivating, mesmerising, and stunningly beautiful. The fact she is a Domme is a definite plus. She is my ideal woman. But then so is Isabelle. The conflict churns around in my head, and I struggle to focus on my lesson.
The week goes by without any major issues, but the students going on the trip can’t settle. And neither can I. The potential for having alone time with Isabelle makes me almost as excited as the students. Their not-so-secret plans for get-togethers, drinks in each other’s rooms, and room-swapping for their trysts are audible even across the cafeteria. I’m confident none of them are about to join the Secret Service. Our country can rest easy on that score.
Isabelle has kept to herself this week. I can’t help but feel like I’ve done something to push her away. She seems distant with me. She doesn’t laugh like she normally does.
I’ve noticed she’s sat with Daniel for dinner a couple of times. I hope to God they aren’t going to become a thing. With his history, I’m surprised he’s still teaching. He’s older than I am by a further ten years. He’s too sleazy for her. She deserves better than Daniel. The way he talks
Alexandra Ravensbrook
about women is disgusting; if I ever heard him talk about her that way, I’d fucking kill him. So far, he’s kept his record clean here, but time will tell, and I’ll be watching him closely.
Friday is a big day, at least for the students. We board the coach and settle in for the journey. Isabelle seems a little more relaxed, and we talk about the week, her family, her placements, and how she’s settling in. Finally, the conversation turns to our personal relationships.
“Isabelle, I meant to ask but didn’t want to pry…” I start, already regretting my chosen line of questioning. “Why did you and Matt break up when you were in the last year of school? I had heard he didn’t have a great reputation.”
She laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. Her eyes shut, and she shrinks in her seat. “Woah, James? Going in for the kill, eh? Tell me why you’re divorced first.”
“Sometimes couples grow apart and end up having different views, different goals.” I realise now that going straight into this topic wasn’t such a great idea. It feels wrong to bring up Laura in any conversation with Isabelle.
“Like what?” she prods.
Christ. I wish I hadn’t asked now.
"Well, let’s just say, and I feel I can now as this is an adult-to-adult conversation, that we were no longer
Yes, Miss
compatible in the more intimate sense. That's all I’ll say." My thoughts drift to the woman in the club last weekend. There's no way I can talk about that to Isabelle. She’d run a mile. My shame is mine alone; it’s my burden to carry.
"Well, yeah, kind of the same thing with Matt," she offers. She grabs her phone and starts scrolling. Conversation had flowed so well until now, and I’ve messed it up by getting too personal.
After another hour of driving, we finally arrive at the theatre for the show. We don’t get many chances to talk because it’s all business from there on out, wrangling students to their places, sorting tickets, toilet breaks, and misplaced bags. The show has the students stunned, screaming, and amazed, and by the end, we’re ready to settle in the hotel bar to take up our sentry places for the evening.
The walk back is short, the late summer breeze drifting around us. The sunset starts to come in, casting a warm glow around us, the orange and pinks streaking the sky. We walk ahead of the students back to the hotel when Isabelle suddenly trips over a loose kerbstone and falls.
"Oh, shit, are you okay?" I ask, panic rising in my voice as I see her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
"Yeah, I’ll be fine, James. Thanks. It’s just my ankle. I’ll be okay." She dusts herself off and starts walking. She
Alexandra Ravensbrook
barely puts any weight on her injured ankle, hobbling a few steps, trying to brave it out.
"Isabelle, please, let me help," I offer, holding out my arm to steady her.
She smiles at me, but it’s strained. Her eyes are still wet with unspent tears, and I can tell she’s in more pain than she’s admitting.
"Iz, are you okay? Really?" I wish I could take that pain away from her. She looks so stoic, trying to stay professional even though I can see she wants to cry.
"You okay, Miss?" one of the students pipes up.
"Honestly, I’m good. Thanks, Pippa," Isabelle says. "James, don’t make a fuss. I’ll be fine. Just help me back, and I’ll ice it when I sit down."
With my right arm steadying her hand, I wrap my left arm around her waist for support. Her body feels so warm and snug against mine. It feels wrong to take pleasure from this moment, but I can’t help it. Her curves fit into me perfectly as we walk side by side. The moment is so intimate, so close, so…right. Her hair flows in soft waves, glossy and silken. All I can think about is burying my nose in her neck, breathing in the sweet apple scent of her shampoo.
