Catalysts

"Don't you want to come in and spy on your students?" Marco suggested, winking at her.

Kristin nervously licked her lips. "Well, I suppose it's better than them spying on me."

"I'm not so sure about that," David said and grinned at her.

I glanced skeptically at my friends. Were they seriously flirting with her now?

"But what if someone asks who I am?" Kristin protested.

"They won't," I reassured her. "They're different groups of friends, many don't know each other."

"And if someone asks, we'll just tell them you're a palace slave," Marco said. "Maybe a gift from Cleopatra herself."

Kristin looked stunned. But instead of protesting, she appeared to be blushing.

"I..." she began. "I don't think there is any evidence of belly dancers from Egypt at that time."

Was that her main objection to Marco's bold suggestion to pretend she was our slave—it might not be historically correct?

"I'm pretty sure there's no evidence of sexy mummies either," David said. "And there's one in a push-up bra in there."

Kristin drew a slight smile, but it was obvious she was still nervous.

"Go on, slave," Marco said in a pompous tone. "Give me your coat and cover your face!"

Kristin froze, and I could see the conflicting emotions blinking in her eyes. Could she really allow a student to talk to her that way, even if the remark was just a jovial attempt to stick to character? But her hesitation only lasted a few seconds. She followed Marco's instructions, handing him her coat before pulling up the veil. A few golden coins dangled from the delicate fabric, and their weight made sure the veil wouldn't inadvertently flap up and reveal her to the other students. Apparently, we were going through with this.

My heartbeat increased as I opened the door. I felt like we were smuggling Kristin behind enemy lines. She was probably right that not all the students wanted her there. At the same time, I didn't want her to get a bad impression of us or our friends. She'd become one of my favorite teachers, and Marco's change in attitude towards her made me wary. I lead the way in front of her, feeling I should safeguard her against drunk students. My heart skipped a beat when a girl from our class, dressed in an increasingly failing witch costume, approached Kristin in a stumbling shimmy. But the girl staggered away without striking up conversation. It seemed I was right; no one recognized Kristin or even pay much attention to our new guest.

I led us into the kitchen. That's where we kept the alcohol, and we had promised Kristin a drink. David was the one with the greatest bartender skills among us, and we left it to him to sort something out for her. While she watched him mix her cocktail, I took Marco aside to have a serious talk to him. I looked around, cautiously making sure we weren't overheard.

"Hey, let's make sure we don't make her uncomfortable," I said. "She must be feeling really embarrassed about what we saw."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, for sure."

He took a sip from his beer, his eyes wandering to Kristin. He watched her in silence, but obviously had something more to say.

"And yet, here she is," he said eventually.

I gave him a puzzled look, pressing him to continue.

"Do you remember that lecture," he said. "The one she gave about the importance of mistakes in technical breakthroughs?"

"Uhm, yeah, I think so," I said, not understanding why he suddenly changed the subject. "You mean how that guy stumbled on the pacemaker when he put the wrong component in a device meant to record heart rhythms?"

"Exactly," Marco said. "And the microwave was discovered by accident when someone tried to fix some radar equipment."

I nodded. "Yeah, pretty interesting. But what's your point?"

Marco shrugged. "Not sure. Perhaps that sometimes mistakes lead to interesting discoveries. We weren't meant to see what she was doing in the privacy of her own home. But we did. And now—for the first time since we moved here—she suddenly decides to come over. And..."

He trailed off as Kristin looked over to us. It was odd to have her in our home, dressed like a sensual belly dancer—our palace slave, according to the characters Marco made up on the spot. Bright blonde, she didn't look much like a gift from Cleopatra.

I wondered what she looked like to the guests who didn't know who she was. Her bare midriff didn't look like the others around, and her curvier hips suggested she wasn't a woman in her early twenties. But in no way was she any less appealing to look at. If anything, she stood out as exceptionally erotic to my eyes. She was a grown woman who—for whatever reason—decided to spend her evening with us in a costume clearly meant to attract attention. I tried to tell myself that a belly dancing outfit didn't necessarily mean to convey sexuality, but it still seemed daring given her otherwise professional demeanor.

"What do you think she was watching on her computer?" Marco asked, startling me out of my train of thought.

"Porn," I said, too distracted not to be blunt.

Marco chuckled. "Yeah. And it sounded like a woman being dominated. Spanked, right?"

I nodded, and the image reappeared in my head—Kristin with the paddle raised over her ass.

David gave her a cocktail with a straw, allowing her to sip it without removing the veil. They approached, David leading the way.

"What is this?" he asked, taking on an imperious voice. "Our general doesn't have a drink!"

Marco took on a stern expression. "Slave, get the general a beer!"

Kristin nodded. "Oh, where are they?"

"In the cooler on the porch," David said.

Our eyes followed her as she walked away, her coin belt rattling with her steps.

"Well, this is interesting," David said, giving us a knowing smile

"What?" I asked, feeling annoyed. It would be a stretch to describe David as dim. Sure, he was goofy, but though he often had to struggle, he always passed his classes in the end. Still, if Marco had the sharpest mind in our group, David was typically the naivest. And yet, it appeared he now had grasped something I hadn't. That bothered me.

David grinned. "Is it just me, or does she kind of like to take orders?"

Marco shook his head. "No, it is not just you. The question is—what do we do about it?"

Kristin came back inside, beer in hand. Even in the dim light, I could see that she had a few wrinkles around her eyes, again revealing that she didn't belong at a student party. Yet, I felt that she was tied to me in my friends. Maybe it was hard to read her with the veil covering most of her face, but her eyes seemed to be pleading for something, though I couldn't understand what.

My mind wandered back to when we caught her earlier that day. What had gone through her mind those slow-moving seconds from when we unexpectedly appeared in her backyard until her anger took over and she began yelling at us? Was her delayed reaction just shock, or was it a sign that she wasn't sure how to react? Had a part of her considered a different reaction? I tried to shake off the idea, but my friends' words echoed in my head. They were right—she didn't seem to mind taking orders from her impromptu masters.

The drunk witch stumbled past us again and made her way to a makeshift dance floor that had formed in our living room. A small group was slowly swaying to the music. On a whim, I came up with a test to see just how much Kristin was prepared to follow the character Marco assigned her.

"Dance for us," I said.

"I..." she began, and it was clear that her first reaction was to protest. But nothing came out.

And as if she couldn't possibly object, Marco quickly changed the music to something more suitable for a belly dance performance. David escorted her to the dance floor, and the small crowd cheered and formed a circle around her.

She was obviously hesitant to dance for her students. But after looking to us for support, her hips started cautiously rolling with the music. It was enough to warrant another cheer from the audience, and it seemed to spur her. Her hips intensified, rising and falling with the beat. The rattling of her coin belt emphasized the rhythm and drew attention to her ass. Her twirls caused a centrifugal lift of her skirt, and for a brief second, it was high enough that I could see she wore underwear in a matching blue color.

Even if it had been a while since she last danced, she still had skills. It was impressive that she managed to keep her head still while the rest of her body gyrated and swayed, adding a distinct elegance to her increasingly sensual moves. It also made sure her face was safely covered beneath her veil.

My eyes were repeatedly drawn to the sparkling jewel in her belly button. Lots of my female friends had such piercing, and I wouldn't normally pay much attention to it. But on Kristin it emphasized that there was a lot more to her than the professional surface presented in class. Underneath hid a sensuous woman with passions and desires. And if I had sexual fantasies about my teachers, was it unthinkable that she had some taboo desires about her students?

The crowd enthusiastically clapped along with the music. But from the way she kept looking at my friends and me, it was obvious who she was dancing for. She playfully shimmied, and her heavy breasts swayed with her movement. The coins that dangled from her bra drew further attention to her chest. I glanced at David and Marco, and they seemed as enthralled as me.

And as her movement grew bolder, it became increasingly obvious that her bra was a size or two too small for her. As she swayed, more and more of her breasts escaped their confines. Before long, her areolas became visible above her cups. I was certain I wasn't the only one who noticed, and it was likely part of why she rained down such enthusiastic applause when the song ended.

I noticed a fair few of Kristin's other students in the audience and cautiously decided it best to escort her away from the crowd before someone approached her. She would have been embarrassed to be recognized even before her tits were halfway out of her bra. With David and Marco behind us, I led her back to the kitchen.

"Very nice," I complimented her, not sure myself if it was for the dance or the sight of her breasts escaping her bra.

"Oh my god!" she yelped, realizing what our eyes lingered at.

She instinctively reached to adjust her bra, but I held up my hand to stop her.

"Wait. Shouldn't you ask first?"

It was surreal to hear the words coming out of my mouth. I held a deep respect for this woman, and here I was, suggesting she needed permission to put her tits back in her bra. But I was growing increasingly convinced she wasn't craving our respect. She lusted for something entirely different.

And this was the Litmus test. I needed to see just how devoted she was to abide by our instructions. Her eyes were wide with shock as she stared back at me, and for a moment I was sure she was going to start shouting at me again. Yet, she slowly lowered her hands. I could hear her breath tremble as her chest rose and fell.

"May I cover up?" she finally asked.

The words hung in the air. How embarrassing must it not have been for her to ask this from her students? What little I could see of her face was blushing deep red, and I was certain it wasn't just from her vivid dance performance. Yet, the tone of her voice was resolute.

"You may," I said eventually. "But you must continue to entertain my soldiers."

She nodded. "How...?"

I wasn't sure myself what I expected her to do, but her dance had been a treat to watch. I wanted more. And from the way she'd been looking at us while dancing, I was certain at least a part of her wanted nothing more than to continue her performance for us. But our kitchen wasn't the right place, I thought. Arousal was thickening in our bubble, and it was too risky to let it escalate further so close to prying eyes. Our party needed to move elsewhere.

"Take us to your place," I commanded.

Demonstrating her compliance, she gave a slight nod and headed for the front door. My friends and I followed. No one spoke as we made the short walk over to her house, and the expectant silence continued all the way inside.

We had to step over a few toys in the hallway, but these weren't the only signs Kristin was in a very different place in her life compared to us. Unlike the collection of cheap chairs and tables we'd scrambled together for our place, her furniture actually matched. On the walls hung paintings in styles I couldn't name, but all of them were very different from the band posters that decorated our walls. As we silently made our way through her house, I peeked into her office and noticed a pile of student reports she was grading. Clearly, Kristin was a classy woman, a mother, a professor... and yet, she'd let three of her students escort her back to her place for something I hoped was going to be unfitting for a woman of her stature.

We stopped once we reached her living room—the same space where we'd caught her earlier that day. This time, however, she made sure there wouldn't be any interruptions; she systematically lowered the blinds to block out the outside world. Only our strange alliance mattered—a mature woman and her three young owners.

In the meantime, my friends and I shed our plastic helmets, chest plates, and swords, placing them in a pile on the floor. I still felt the need to hide behind our characters, but there was no need for armor to enjoy a private show from our favorite slave. Dressed in our red tunics, we lined up on her couch, with me in the middle and my centurions next to me.

Once the blinds were down, Kristin remained standing. And why wouldn't she? We hadn't yet told her what we wanted her to do.

"Dance for us again," I said.

Without hesitation, she put on suitable music and started to move with its rhythm. Her body undulated in mesmerizing waves that accentuated her hourglass curves. She turned slowly with the music, emphasizing the rhythm by punching with her hips.

Her moves were less playful than when she danced at the party, as if the thick anticipation in the room impeded her movement. Her breasts rocked heavily as she swayed before us. Yet, she wasn't shimmying with the same energy as she had back at our place, and there was no hope her tits would escape her bra. At least not by accident.

"Take off the top," I commanded.

I was growing familiar with the thrill of commanding her. It was undeniably erotic. But this was a tall order, and I gave it while she was dancing with her back towards us, as though the lack of eye contact made my words less outrageous. At first, nothing in her movement indicated she'd even registered my order. Still facing away from her audience, she just continued to sway with the music, and I eventually started to wonder if she deliberately defied her instructions or if she hadn't heard me. I was building up the courage to reiterate my scandalous command.

But there was no need. She reached for the clasp behind her. We watched as her nervous fingers struggled, but she was resolute and eventually managed to unhook her bra. She stayed like that for a long time, her undone bra hanging from a shoulder. I couldn't tell if her silence was begging for mercy or another push to go through with it. But she got neither. She held her breath and yanked the bra from her shoulders in a rapid motion. She threw it aside, as if holding on to it might give her the opportunity to put it back on.

There she was, topless in her living room with a very excited audience. With her back towards us, we could only see the side-curves of her large breasts. It was an arousing sight, but I craved more.

"Turn around," I said.

Ever so slowly, she obeyed. She glanced over her shoulder, and it seemed the sight of her audience made her grasp the reality of what she was doing. The second she was about to expose herself, her hands leaped up, cupping a breast in each palm. Her hands were far too small to completely protect her modesty, but at least she managed to keep her nipples covered.

She barely moved with the music anymore. There was no mistaking the struggle inside her. On the one hand, she obviously wanted this—to let us admire her—to let us command her. But it was crazy. We were her students—the last people in the world she should let see this side of her.

But as we locked eyes, my gaze was apparently enough to sway her. Without further instructions, she lowered her hands.

And there they were—Professor Fredriksen's tits in all their glory. Certainly, her breasts hung lower on her chest than the women I'd previously had the fortune to see topless. But in no way was she any less sexy. In fact, the way she bravely exposed any imperfection made her the most desirous woman I'd ever laid my eyes on. The fact that she obviously was a mature woman emphasized that she by most standards should know better than to expose her submissive side to her students. And yet, here she was, ready to obey our commands.

She resumed her seductive dance. Freed from their confines, her breasts swayed mesmerizingly. Had there been any doubt that performing for us excited her, her nipples certainly gave it away. They stared back at us at full attention.

"And the rest," I said.

Kristin didn't seem the slightest surprised. Presumably, she'd known the moment she decided to compliantly take off her top that we'd push her further. Not breaking her enticing dance, she untied her coin belt. It made a rattling noise as she dropped it to the ground.

She turned away from us and eased her skirt down. To make sure it wouldn't inadvertently shift while dancing, the elastic hem was tight, and she leaned forward as she wiggled it over her hips. It gave us an enticing view of her round cheeks. Her blue panties weren't a thong, but they were cut high, leaving most of her voluptuous ass exposed.

After stepping out of her skirt, she turned back around. A narrow strip of sheer fabric covered her most intimate parts, matching the color of the veil that still covered her face. And she seemed to understand that "the rest" included her panties. She ran her fingers over their hem, repeatedly hooking her thumb inside.

But each time she started to pull her panties down, she soon stopped. Slowly rotating before us, she repeated this over and over, growing bolder each time. Soon, she lowered her panties low enough that we got to see her cheeks dividing above them—but only for a second. Similarly, turning to face us, she pulled down in the front just enough to give us a glimpse of her pubes before letting the hem snap back. In part, her slow progress was likely because she was building up the courage to go through with it—to strip completely before us. But she also seemed to have accepted that her purpose was to excite us, and her teasing certainly did the trick. Yet, I decided it was time my friends and I gave her a helping hand.

"Come here," I said.

She seemed surprised to receive another order before completing the previous one, but she didn't object. She stepped over in front of the couch, and my friends and I took time to admire her up close. Then, without warning I reached out and grabbed the front hem of her panties. Kristin gasped, but did nothing to stop me. It was intoxicating to literally have what was left of modesty in my hand.

Yet, I didn't pull down. Since I got on board with Kristin's desire to be at our disposal, I had taken a leading role. Sure, I was the one with the general costume, and as long as we were hiding behind our characters, it made sense that I would hand out the orders. But with our armor removed, our tunics didn't convey much hierarchy. And to push this further, I needed my friends' active participation. Their eyes were transfixed on my hand, waiting for me to reveal what we all wanted to see.