"Okay," you hear yourself say, "I'll come with you."
Ms. Cushman looks at you as if expecting more.
"And ... you can eat me," you finish.
"Good girl," Ms. Cushman says, stroking your hair. She kisses you on the lips, slips you plenty of tongue, and then leads you outside to her car. One thirty-minute drive later, she's escorting you into her kitchen. She strips you and ties you to a chair, then leaves. She returns minutes later, wearing nothing but an apron, and barely wearing even that: her J-cup breasts hang out from either side, nipples exposed, and the apron is so short that it barely extends past her belly.
"All right, Alice," Ms. Cushman says. "Let's get started."
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