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When I slipped a hand under Karen’s panties, she modestly clamped her legs together, and murmured a weak, ‘No…Please,’ in protest. I knew her reluctance was fragile, however. It was a feeble, verbal signal that although the last remnant of her ethical walls still stood, they were teetering and about to come crashing down. I easily slipped my hand between her legs. Her vulva was already moist and slick. Touching her button, ever so gently, I felt a tremor course through her body. She still clamped her legs weakly against my hand, but with each gentle stroke on her clitoris, Karen spread her legs a little wider. I had Karen in a state of near climax similar to when we were in the kitchen, and asked her again, ‘What did you say to me in the kitchen?’ She was still reluctant to vocalize in public what she had admitted in private, and answered only with a soft moan and a tightened grip of her hand on my free arm. I stopped massaging her clit. She emitted a whimper of protest, and then,. You have plenty of work to do here." Thanks."She starts to give me a hug, but stops since her hands are full of papers and instead pats me on the shoulder and then heads off down the hallway to her next appointment. Her job is never done that is for sure.I clock in, put my lunch away and then head over to my classroom. The room looks the same as I left it. Nothing has changed, which is good. The notes I left on the board are still there, aka the phone numbers, IP address and base-2 conversion chart are all still there.The day and evening pass quickly. All of my students show up, they all express their condolences at my loss and I thank them politely. I also let them know that I am moving on and don't feel the need to dwell on the past. The past is the past and I don't plan on living there anymore. My students all agree that my plan would be best.Two things happen on this fine day, one is that the police department call to let me know that they are going to arrest and charge the man.
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