Her once dancing and airy perfume begins to feel heavy in the air, flooding my nose, rushing over every inch of me and muddying my thoughts and feelings. Suddenly there was no work, no long day, no time at all, only that moment and her. My eyes trace down her skin. The curve of each firm, luscious breast catches the light, hypnotising as her chest rises and falls. She is laying there, in nothing but dark red satin underwear with black lace trim and a matching bra that only barely contained those breasts.My eyes keep going, passing her chest, down over her stomach, the arch of each hip bone emphasised by the shadows they cast, over the satin and the lace and the soft curve they covered. She slowly raises one leg up, bending it at the knee, and my eyes trace down every inch of the soft skin of her legs, before reversing and going all the way back up her body.“Fuck….”I can’t help myself as the words leave my mouth. I walk over to the bed, and I become aware of the difficulty involved in. Iwas still more than a little leery about seeing a professional about myissues, the memories of torture by Doctor Taylor were simply still fartoo fresh, but I was self-aware enough to know that I would need to seesomeone about this sooner rather than later. By all accounts, Whateleyseemed to have everything I could possibly want or need.Then I saw some of their requirements. It wasn't the education aspect oreven the power training portion of the curriculum that bothered me. Infact, those aspects of it were actually quite inviting considering itwould not only teach me how to better use my power, but it offeredcourses that lined up perfectly with my ultimate goal of going intomedicine. The problem was with one of the other standard studentrequirements.Combat training. I didn't know about them at first until I talked aboutWhateley with Mom and that's when she mentioned the combat classes, thetraining teams, and the combat finals. Apparently, one staple ofWhateley is that everyone has to.
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