"Michael what are you doing?" I asked, feigning surprise."Just giving you a foot massage, Ms. Lodge," he answered as he began massaging my foot.I stammered, "I don't think that is very appropriate."Ignoring my protest, Michael said, "You know you look a lot like my Mother, Ms. Lodge." Michael, please stop," I protested.Instead he said, "Shhhh, Ms. Lodge, I know exactly what teacher needs." Michael, enough," I objected, standing up, adding, "I am your teacher."Michael stood up himself and quickly spun me around and unzipped my skirt as he said, "Yes, you are Ms. Lodge and you are one hot fucking MILF."I again feigned defense. "Please stop, Michael," as my skirt fell to the floor."My, my, my, teacher, you are not even wearing panties. Only sluts don't wear panties, Ms. Lodge," he purred, bending me over the desk.I let out a surprised yelp as I once again protested, trying to sound firm, "Michael, stop this instant!" Shut up, Ms. Lodge," he said firmly. "Dressing like a slut all this. Her body felt like a dead thing. She was lying, she realized, beneath one of the portraits of Lady Rowland. She was sure she was imagining that its expression had changed to one of sadistic triumph. She willed herself to stand. It was slow going. Step by clumsy step, leaning on the walls to keep from falling over and praying all the while that she'd make it before her strength came out, she crept down the hall, through the entryway, down the front steps and into the gardens. The flowers, it seemed, were all alight, and the way they bent and bobbed in the breeze suggested an obscene dance, though Megan wondered if perhaps the poison had made her delirious, and none of this was even real. By the time she came to the foot of the hill she had to crawl. She was certain now that phantom lights really were dancing among the trees. The night forest was a foggy mass of unreal colors, blues and pale greens and decayed yellows. She heard music and the sound of feet shuffling in strange dances..
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