No chance.

That night Gretchen stood in front of her bathroom mirror, studying her bruised and battered body. Deep black and blue marks and red streaks and scratches stretched across her flesh. Her nipples were sore from being poked and the skin pierced.

Gretchen thought it was a thing of beauty. Immediately her fingers crawled down her flesh and found her wet twat. She began to rub.

Thoughts of Professor Klein and her slaves ran through her head. Gretchen thought of the sting of pain. She thought of the stench of cum. And the idea that she'd never have it again invaded her mind.

Sure, perhaps she could find someone who'd promise to fuck her like the professor and her slaves had, but it could never be the same. And Gretchen started to cry.

That night she rubbed herself to sleep, tears in her eyes, cum covering her bed sheets. When she'd left Professor Klein's place earlier that day, her teacher had said "No. No more. I'm sorry. You have to go." The shock of Professor Klein's statement, that her time was done, was still unbearable.

What else could it be but pure rejection?

The next morning Gretchen awoke feeling slightly better at first, but her sadness returned quickly. Was this the next morning of the rest of her life? she wondered. Was she just to go back to being the stern, sexless prude she'd been before?

She texted Professor Klein. Nothing.

She emailed Professor Klein. Nothing.

She called Professor Klein. Nothing.

She had to see her again, beg her again. Insist until her voice went dry.

It was dusk when Gretchen finally overcame her desire not to be **** and headed out to Professor Klein's house. It was cool so Gretchen draped herself in a blue pea coat, a scarf, a pair of thick black leggings and boots up to her knees. 'She has to see me if I show up on her doorstep' Gretchen thought. 'She can't ignore me.'

And Gretchen wasn't sure if she was being ignored or abandoned as she stood outside Professor Klein's completely inactive home. No lights were on. No sounds came from inside. No cars were in the driveway. Nothing.

But Gretchen waited, nearly an hour, hoping for a car to return or the sound of a shuffling **** from the basement. Yet nothing came. And finally, her body trembling with horny sadness, the girl who, not so long ago found sex to be demeaning, began tearing at her clothes.

First she tore off her coat and tossed it on the hard frost-covered ground, then her shirt came up and over her head and she yanked off her bra, snapping it in the process. The air was freezing cold against her exposed breasts and Gretchen's nipples hardened immediately. But she didn't care any more. Next she kicked off her boots and quickly pulled down her leggings and panties, peeling them off the ends of her feet.

She was nude. Nude and cold, her body covered in goosebumps, standing in Professor Klein's front yard. Over her life, so few people had seen her nude body, and now it was exposed for anyone and everyone. It felt liberating, and it felt a little scary.

And Gretchen wondered if that scary was part of why Professor Klein had cut her loose. That fear she felt was merely a sign that she wasn't ready to be with the professor and her slaves forever. She needed to overcome it.

So she plopped herself onto the hard ground, spread her legs and shoved her thumb into her warm twat. She'd been masturbating so much lately, but almost couldn't stop. She wanted to feel that feeling, like being on fire, forever.

As she thumbed her hole, her other hand found her clit and she began to rub, gently at first, then harder and faster. Juice soon bean squirting all over, hitting the ground, hitting her hands and arms, hitting her stomach. But Gretchen didn't care. She couldn't care. She had to let the anxiety melt away. Perhaps Professor Klein would return and see her writing in pleasure in her yard and change her mind.

But it was not the professor who first saw Gretchen, just as the girl was flipping herself over, dancing her hand around her ass and shoving two fingers into her sweating asshole.

Gretchen heard a voice.