Upon Reflection Pt. 03

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Upon Reflection, Part 3: Endless Tunnel



This is part 3 of 3. Parts 1 and 2 can be found in my profile.


Hannah, despite being just eighteen, wasn’t stupid. She knew that she could never breathe a word about what had just happened to anyone. Sister Margot needn’t have told her that.

That small thing was the only aspect of the encounter about which Hannah felt any resentment. Otherwise – though she was naturally confused and a little shocked – she felt mostly excitement, joy and relief.

Naturally she had on occasion wondered whether her infatuation with Sister Margot would have developed were she not stuck in such an oppressive environment. Or, at least, whether it might not have become so all-consuming.

But that didn’t change how she felt. The crush that she’d had on Sister Margot since the first moment she’d seen her had, over the past eight months, developed into an obsession.

Hannah attended a Catholic, all-girls’ boarding school in Norfolk. Even though it was one of the more traditional schools of its kind left in England, fewer than half of her teachers were nuns.

Hannah would always remember walking into that classroom for the first history lesson of her final school year and locking eyes for the first time with her new teacher. Margot’s eyes were dark, lively and intelligent. Her face was round and ruddy-cheeked. Her full lips wore a playful smirk. From under the headdress of her religious habit, a single lock of dark hair spilled out onto her forehead. She looked to be in her late twenties.

Hannah, late to class as usual, was the last student to enter. As she came through the doorway she stopped dead. Her breath caught in her throat and she just stood there, staring. Margot returned her gaze steadily.

Then the sister spoke: “We’ll have to add a new chapter to the syllabus by the time you’ve sat down!” The joke was rather predictable for a history teacher but Margot carried it off with easy, confident charm. Half the class giggled, or at least snorted. There was one seat left at the front and centre of the room. Hannah, slightly red, hurried to it silently.

Margot was new to the school. In fact, she had just arrived from Montreal. She said that her first language was French. She spoke English with native fluency but with an odd twang that sounded not quite French and not quite North American. It was the first time that Hannah had ever heard the accent. She found it beautiful.

Margot was surprisingly laid-back for a nun. She also seemed genuinely passionate about history. To Hannah, both of these traits made her even more magnetic. She spent the whole lesson staring up at Margot in awe. When Margot turned to write on the board, Hannah found herself wondering what the nun’s obviously full-figured form looked like under her habit.

After the lesson, Hannah stayed behind. She apologised to Margot for being late, something that she had never voluntarily done with any other teacher. When Margot said it was fine and smiled at her, Hannah felt her knees tremble. She asked if there was anything she could help with. Margot said she was about to bring some books down from the storeroom. Hannah gladly obliged. While they carried books and chatted, Hannah felt like the air around them had a warm glow. She had never, ever felt like this before.

From then on, Hannah was early to every single history lesson. She always sat in the same seat as that first day, front and centre. She stayed behind after every lesson and she always offered to help Margot with anything she could. She was always overjoyed when there was something for her to do, always disappointed when there wasn’t.

Margot, like Hannah, lived at the school. She was one of the teachers who supervised the boarders. Hannah took every opportunity she could to hang out with Margot during the evenings. Margot, for her part, seemed to humour the girl. Hannah could never tell if the woman in any way reciprocated her feelings. She could never even tell if Margot realised that Hannah was madly in love with her.

Fast forward to that evening. It was now early May. Hannah was lying on her bed in the boarding house. She was completely naked, her eyes tight shut, her legs arched and spread wide. She was masturbating, as she often did, to the thought of herself and Margot locked in a passionate embrace.

There were no locks on the girls’ bedroom doors but usually anyone wishing to enter would knock first. Her duvet lay crumpled next to her, ready to be pulled across at a moment’s notice.

When Margot tapped lightly at the door however, Hannah didn’t hear it. She was too wrapped up in her fantasy.

Suddenly she had the sense of someone standing over her. She opened her eyes and there was Margot, staring down at her open-mouthed. Hannah was mortified. Her arm whipped out to grab the duvet. Then she froze. She realised: the sister was just standing there. She could have left as soon as she’d seen what karabük escort was happening. But she hadn’t.

Hannah gazed up into the woman’s dark eyes with animal yearning. Please, she thought. Please, please… please…

For a moment, Margot didn’t move. Then, slowly, she let the door swing shut behind her and stepped towards the bed.

Hannah whimpered in anticipation. Margot, her own misty-eyed stare locked with Hannah’s, bent down over the girl and gently and deliberately placed the palm of her left hand over Hannah’s mouth. With her right hand she reached down between Hannah’s legs. Hannah clutched the sister’s left forearm with both hands. She didn’t want anyone to hear the noises she knew she would make either.

While Margot rubbed and teased Hannah’s pussy with her fingers, student and teacher both remained transfixed by one another’s gaze. When Hannah began to thrash wildly in climax, her loud squeals were heavily muffled by Margot’s firm hand.

Then they kissed hard on the lips. Margot leaned in and whispered, “Never tell a soul – understand?” Then she fled from the room leaving Hannah excited, confused and alone.

So began the happiest and most exhilarating six weeks of Hannah’s young life. The two spent every moment they could together in Margot’s tiny flat, fucking their brains out. They would fuck, and talk, and fuck, and talk, and fuck. Hannah became familiar with every inch of Margot’s voluptuous body, which was even sexier than she’d imagined. The sister even had a flourishing grapevine tattooed on her ample backside, trailing down across the outer curve of her left buttock. Hannah would never have expected a nun to have a tattoo. Even one as cool as Margot.

Then, one evening, after they had made love, Margot broke down in tears. She said that they couldn’t keep doing this, that she felt unspeakably guilty for misleading a young girl, for neglecting her duty of care, for straying so far from the righteous path – for forsaking her oath. She said that she was sorry – so very sorry – but she just couldn’t take it anymore.

Hannah was distraught. She bolted from the flat and ran back to her own bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed and wept for hours.

The next morning, she didn’t see Margot at breakfast. When she walked into her history lesson that afternoon, her heart sank. A different teacher stood at the front of the room.

The substitute told the class that Sister Margot had left suddenly that morning. She had said she was answering a call from God to devote herself at once to mission work in Africa. She most likely would not be coming back.

Hannah didn’t hear another word the woman said. She sat there staring at her desk, shaking. She was barely able to breathe.

That had been in mid-June, less than two and half months ago.

“I… I guess I’m still kind of… in shock,” Hannah said a little breathlessly, as she finished recounting her story. She shuffled nervously on the sofa.

Holly Kagami, sitting opposite the girl in her desk chair, leaning forward a little as she listened, nodded sympathetically.

“Of course,” the fat woman breathed, “you poor girl. The pain must be unbearable.”

Hannah gulped and nodded, tearing up a little.

“I wish you’d told me about this sooner,” said the Professor lightly. “This is exactly the sort of thing that I can help with. If you let me, I can help you to overcome your suffering. To move past it… to see things in a different light. To do that, Hannah, I will need to put you into a very deep trance. Will you let me do that, Hannah? Will you let me help you?”

Hannah breathed heavily. She spoke softly: “The others, I… they’re acting so weird. What did… I mean, did you… well…”

The fat woman smiled gently. “Everyone has problems, Hannah. Everyone has fears. Everyone has things that they find hard to deal with. The help I provide makes all of that a whole lot simpler. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, Hannah. But of course, it’s your choice. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Nor would I try.

“I promise you this, though: if you let me help you, together we can put an end to your grief. I can ensure that your pain is fully dealt with. I can help you to finally move on. You and I both know you want that more than anything in the world. So, I’ll ask again: will you let me help you?”

Slowly, her head heavy with exhaustion, Hannah nodded. “Yes, Professor,” she heard herself say.


Hannah felt like she was underwater. She felt like she was water. Everything was placid and muted and fluid. She was nothing but a warm, gentle current in the depths of an endless sea.

From somewhere far off, she heard Professor Kagami’s voice rippling down to her. The voice was asking her a question. Could she still see Margot’s face? No… no I can’t, she realised.

As she thought the answer, she heard a noise. She sort of knew the noise was her own voice. But it didn’t matter.

Whose escort karabük face do you see?

The face directly in front of her swam into focus. She understood. Yours, Professor.

But I thought you were picturing the face of the woman you love? If you can only see my face then… that must be it – right?

Right. The Professor was right. Of course she was right.

This is the face of the woman you love.

This is the face of the woman you love.

This is the face of the woman you love.

This is the face of the woman I love.

This is the face of the woman I love.

This is the face of the woman I love.

And the woman you love… do you remember her name?

…her name? …no.

Of course you do. You know her face. You can put a name to the face of the woman you love, can’t you? Come on…

Of course I can. The woman I love is… Professor Kagami!

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

That’s right. Good girl. The answer’s been right in front of you all along. You see, you have no reason to feel hurt and upset and abandoned. The woman you love has been right here all along. All you have to do is be a good girl and adore her – and obey her – and you can stay with her forever. Isn’t that perfect?

It really is, thought Hannah blissfully. Perfect… perfect… perfect…

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

The woman I love is Professor Kagami.

The woman I love…

Hannah looked down at her hand and saw that she was writing lines on a whiteboard. As she watched, her hand, of its own accord, finished writing the words: “is Professor Kagami.”

From her right, she heard someone speak: “Good girl.”

The voice seemed to reverberate inside her head, thrilling every nerve of her body like heavenly music.

She turned. Her gaze landed on the fat woman seated behind a desk in an office chair, swivelled round to face her. The woman’s shirt was halfway unbuttoned, revealing her deep cleavage. It also rode up so that her wide, fat belly spilled out from under it. Her skirt was crumpled up around the tops of her enormous, round thighs. Her legs were spread quite far apart and she was leaning back a little. Her face wore a haughty, self-assured expression with just a hint of amusement.

This woman was by far and away the most beautiful sight that Hannah had ever laid eyes on. She was so unutterably beautiful that Hannah could have happily stared at her forever. The girl was overwhelmed. She felt faint and the room spun. Her legs gave way and she slowly sank to her knees.

Hannah realised vaguely that she was stark naked. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except… love. She loved this woman deeply, uncontrollably, irrevocably. She knew now that this woman was the only person, the only thing, that she had ever truly loved. And she would love her forever. She would do absolutely anything for her. She was utterly devoted to her.

“Good girl,” repeated the Professor. The praise flooded Hannah with a wave of exultant bliss.

“Come closer,” the fat woman said. Hannah eagerly crawled towards her.

“Now tell me, girl,” the fat woman drawled slowly, “whom do you love?”

“You, Professor!” cried Hannah without hesitation. “I love you! I love you so much, Professor, I love you so, so much you have no idea! I love you, Professor! I love yoouuu!”

The fat woman smiled and Hannah’s heart did a somersault.

“Good girl. So then I suppose you’d do anything for me – wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Professor! Yes, I’ll do anything for you! Anything!”

“Good girl. Then… show me.” As she said this, the fat woman leaned back further and opened her legs wider. She pulled her skirt up fully, lifting her fat belly along with it. She lazily displayed her wet, hairy cunt to the kneeling girl.

Hannah knew what was expected of her. She crawled forward, knelt up and happily began servicing the fat woman with her tongue.

Holly grasped the back of girl’s head with both hands, pulling her in. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the ceiling. She let out a small sigh of relief. She had been slightly worried about this one. Now she could relax. She could relax and look forward to everything that would come next.


Silence lay heavy across the moor. Not a cricket chirped, nor a bird twittered. The early afternoon sunlight had to beat its way down through the thick air. A storm seemed long overdue.

Alone in its walled compound the old farmhouse stood impassive, as though nothing at all were happening within. If it were, it didn’t matter. There was no one around for miles to care.

In a large room on the ground floor of the house, a group session was underway. From a worn, old armchair that was almost too narrow for her ample rear, a teacher was addressing her four young students.

“As you are all certainly karabük escort bayan aware by now,” said Holly, as she basked in the girls’ adoring stares, “this is no ordinary academic course. For one thing, the objective here was primarily one of self-reflection and self-exploration. The idea has been that you should each critically examine your own psyche and discover things about yourself that you didn’t know or were reluctant to admit. And,” she pronounced, her smug gaze sliding over the girls’ obsequious faces, “in that regard it has been a resounding success.

“Then, of course,” she continued in a more measured, oblique tone, “it has also evolved into what we might call a free-form experiment. An investigation into the development of a cult-like dynamic within a small group of intelligent, well-informed individuals. It seems to me that the experimental outcomes so far have been… enlightening. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

“Yes, Professor,” chanted all four girls in unison.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. With your permission, I’d like to continue with this line of inquiry. I believe that there’s a great deal more we can learn from each other. Will you all help me to explore this phenomenon even further?”

The chorus came again: “Yes, Professor.”

“Very good. Now I must say, girls, I am really very excited about this next phase. I believe that we have an almost unprecedented opportunity to explore something truly remarkable. Together, we are going to demonstrate that identity is an entirely fluid, self-supporting construct. That the self, to its very core, is in every way malleable… even disposable.

“Of course, this is a natural extension of the work that we have done so far. It will employ many of the same techniques. We will simply aim to carry our experiment through to its logical conclusion – by fully deconstructing your identities. Sound reasonable?”

“Yes, Professor.”

The fat woman smiled and drew in a deep breath. “About that… to facilitate this process of guided self-deconstruction, it will help to adjust our communication protocols to the experimental paradigm. Therefore you will, from now on, address me as ‘Mistress K’.” Holly paused. Her pale, blue eyes glittered. “Understood?”

This time there was the briefest pause before the reply came. When it did, however, it came in perfect unison: “Yes, Mistress K.”

“Good girls. Now then… I want you all to take a deep breath, and just relax…”

The girls sat meekly and let the fat woman’s honeyed contralto dominate the room. As her voice filled the space, the humid air seemed to grow even thicker.

The Professor’s four students stared at her adoringly while they listened. They listened, and listened, and listened. They didn’t question, or doubt, or argue. They just listened.

As they listened they didn’t move an inch. Gradually the tension seemed to ebb from their bodies. Their arms dangled at their sides and their jaws hung loose. Their eyes, still fixed on Professor Kagami, grew ever more glassy and vacant.

The fat woman’s soft voice suffused the air around the girls, engulfing them, and their immobile forms became barely distinct from the chairs on which they slumped. Holly kept on speaking, on and on in the same sweet, sedate, indubitable tone, until her voice swallowed the room and everything in it – leaving only her.

“…and you know, girls, that everything I say is the absolute, unquestionable truth. I know everything, and I am always right. I am never wrong. My voice is impossible to doubt. That’s why you trust me to make all your decisions for you. Isn’t that right?”

“yess-smiss-stress-kay.” The droning response chimed out like the response of a bell to being struck.

“That’s right. You need Mistress K to decide everything for you. You need Mistress K to think for you. You need Mistress K to tell you what to do. Obeying Mistress K is right and natural. Nothing else makes sense. Resisting Mistress K is impossible. Resisting Mistress K is unimaginable. Mistress K’s will is all that matters. Mistress K’s will is all there is…”

The fat woman’s words flowed on and on like a river, carrying the four girls along like twigs in its current.

Eventually the four girls stood up and began unhurriedly to disrobe. This simply happened – not through any kind of decision but rather because it was the only thing that conceivably could happen. It was natural and inevitable – like gravity.

Then Professor Kagami walked slowly to the door and exited the room, her naked acolytes filing after her.

Soon they were upstairs in the Professor’s study. The fat woman sat sprawled on the comfortable sofa, her big bra and panties discarded on the floor nearby. Her shirt was fully unbuttoned, revealing her round, heavy breasts and her fat belly. Her skirt was carelessly bunched up around her thick thighs.

Before her, on one of the worn rugs adorning the floorboards, knelt the four girls.

On the left knelt Bexi. Her golden hair was tousled, like windblown thatch, which perfectly offset the flawless lines of her slim, toned body.

Beside her knelt Phoebe. Lined up alongside the others like this, her diminuitive stature was all the more noticeable. Like the others’, her eyes, usually so lively and inquisitive, were utterly blank.

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