The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dawn to Dusk

The story that follows had its genesis in a roleplay with a friend who goes by the handle ”WickedWitch.” Tera and Cirith from the MCGarden both provided invaluable editing help. Other Gardeners, especially Jo (”flibinite”), helped me tweak it after it’s appearance there. My thanks to all of them for making me appear to be a much better writer than I am.

It was a clear, crisp autumn morning in Outer Fairtown, Connecticut, and the students at St. Norbert’s School for Girls were arriving for their day. Clearly, this was not a normal southwestern Connecticut school. Kindergarten moppets, grade school girls, and young women, high school seniors who were more self-assured than they ought be, all arriving clean and pressed in their navy pleated skirts and blazers or sweaters (all of which featured the school crest embroidered over the left breast), white Oxford shirts, and blue-and-green striped ties. A few of the more daring girls tried to see how loosely their ties could be tied and how many shirt buttons could be undone before a faculty member ordered them to straighten up.

This being St. Norbert’s, there was not a yellow school bus in sight. Some Volvos, but many more Audis and Mercedes were dropping off these women of America’s future. The high school seniors, of course, arrived behind the wheels of their own Mini Coopers, Mustangs, and assorted sports cars bought by indulgent and occasionally guilt-ridden daddies.

Then there was Jane.

Jane, although a senior, pedaled up to school, as she did each morning, on a second or third-hand bicycle, her hair slightly crimped by her helmet. She was not an unattractive young woman, but the bicycle and her home-tailored, secondhand uniforms all clearly identified her as a scholarship student. And, while she was quite nice looking, even if still a bit girlish, and one of the brightest, best-spoken students in the school—maybe because she was so brainy and articulate—she was a target for some of the pushier, bully types. It was one of the odd outcomes of the women’s liberation movement that female adolescents now were allowed to be every bit as violent and aggressive as young males.

Prudence Upton, also a senior, didn’t normally drive herself to school; there were rumors about a car careening through a sidewalk café, a team of lawyers, a breath-a-lizer test that mysteriously disappeared, and a plea bargain. What was clear was that she now arrived in a silver Bentley—though once, at the end of a long weekend, she was in a helicopter landing on the south field—driven by a young man who looked as if his previous employment may have been on a stage at Chippendales.

A gaggle of giggling sycophants spontaneously formed around Prudence’s surgically enhanced body as soon as she stepped out of her car and swatted her chauffeur’s tightly-packed posterior. Samuel Johnson, in his fifteenth year on faculty at St. Norbert’s, did his best to buttress his mind against the ensuing assault against the language whose graces he tried so desperately to teach them as he walked past. The occasional “omigod” or misuse of “totally” breached his bulwarks, and he caught a whiff of tobacco, enough to cause him to glance around and recognize that they were, quite carefully, just inside the line marking the area where students were permitted to smoke.

While he was shielding himself against most of their ridiculous verbiage, Samuel’s moderately stout, six-foot frame, stopped it’s lope across the parking lot when he heard the words “Look at dowdy little scholarship girl!” in Prudence’s unmistakably nasal whine. Looking as if he was watching the lower school students filing into the building, he carefully observed activities across the yard.

Prudence had finished holding court, and was on the lookout for ways to feel superior. And there was Jane. “Look at dowdy little scholarship girl!” the privileged one snorted in the young blonde’s direction. “Think your mommy could find you a skirt that was maybe a bit more faded in the recycle bin? Or is daddy picking things up for you at work before he empties the truck?”

Sticks and stones,” Samuel mused, “Jane can handle sticks and stones.”

Sure enough, she was ignoring them. Then the gaggle began to drift in her direction, surrounding her. She tried to slip through any available crack and head toward the library, but they gave her no opportunity. Soon, Prudence was directly in front of her.

The rich girl shoved the other roughly: “What did I tell you about speaking up so much in class, Janie? I’ve been working this place for twelve years, and am a shoe-in for the Sorbonne. Paris will be such a hot place to go to school. I’m not gonna have some little miss dumpy-come-lately showing up and screwing up the curve and making me look bad. I don’t care who daddy has to buy! You’re not getting valedictorian, you little bitch!” Prudence was clearly working her opponent toward the mud.

The salt creeping into his hair and the glasses he’d acquired two summers ago had put a dent in his boyish good looks, but Samuel could still do a sprint across the parking lot in record time. He soon had Prudence by the elbow whining, “Look, asshole, don’t interrupt . . . oh, Mr. Johnson.”

“Yes, Miss Upton, and good morning to you, too, as I am sure that’s what you said. Now, why don’t we take a little stroll to the headmistress’ office. I’m sure she will be every bit as thrilled to begin her week this way as you are.” He looked backward over his shoulder as he escorted her—a move which had the virtue of accidentally twisting the bully’s arm: “And Miss Jeffries, I want to see you in my office immediately after homeroom so that we may discuss your part in all of this.”

With their queen gone, the minions quickly scattered, and Jane proceeded unmolested to class. Not even half an hour later, she was waiting outside Mr. Johnson’s office as he bustled in from his own homeroom. She thought he was one of the nicest teachers, and certainly the best looking of the few men who taught at ol’ St. Norbie’s—not gawky like the twenty-somethings nor practically embalmed like Mr. Ouderwets, who had to be fifty-five! Mr. Johnson seemed to have a sense of grace, and he looked so cute in those bow ties he liked to wear. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Jeffries! Come right on in!” Samuel unlocked the door and dropped his valise in a corner, then motioned to a chair behind the desk: “Have a seat.” He barely even looked at her as he sat down. “Now, about your part in this morning’s fracas.”

“Mr. Johnson, sir, I didn’t mean to be involved in a fight, sir. Prudence and her friends came over and . . .”

He immediately hushed her: “Now Jane, I heard everything, and I know that Prudence and her cohorts have been giving you trouble ever since you joined us at the start of term. I wanted to make sure that you are okay.” His wise hazel eyes shone directly into her inquisitive blue ones. After she assured him that she was just fine, he continued: “Good. Now I want you to be sure to let me know if she gives you any more trouble. I cannot make her go away—after all, the library is named after her great-grandmama—but I can hold her in check.

“And I want you to have your parents give a call to Ms. Sömmerska, the Home Economics teacher. She administers a fund maintained by the faculty to make sure students from families with less cash on hand have all the uniforms and equipment they need. It is all very private.” He handed the young lady a note for mom and dad.

“Now, to which class to you need a pass?” He took out his pass pad.

“Eve’s . . . I mean, Ms. Darke’s. I have Sex Ed. during first period.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Darke. Very well.” Eve Darke was the one-year replacement teacher for someone who became pregnant quite unexpectedly. Samuel was unsure of her deportment: he thought her dress was somewhat inappropriate for spending so much time with adolescents, and that she was far too informal with the students—allowing them to call her by her first name, for example. Nevertheless, that was no reason not to send her back to class, so he gave her the appropriate slip.

Over the next couple weeks, there were a minimum of incidents, as Samuel tended to be around during free times outdoors, and he had given a heads-up to other staff to keep an eye on Prudence and her posse. One Friday afternoon, however, Jane was alone in a study carrel in the library when the minions grabbed her. “Hey!” She screamed before a gym sock was shoved into her mouth and the librarian made a loud “SHUSH!!”

Soon they were behind the library. Prudence was there, leaning against a wall and smoking. “So, you just can’t keep your mouth shut in class! And you just have to know all the answers, don’t you?”

Jane spat out the sock: “I just do the assignments, Pru.”

“Yeah, you make it sound so easy, you dumb shit! Some of us have lives outside of this place, you little charity case. And don’t think putting on a shinier little uniform makes you look any less like the poor trash that you are.

“I guess you need a more permanent reminder of your place.” The three flunkies who were holding Jane pushed her to her knees, forcing her to look up at her tormenter. Prudence stepped forward, about to stub her cigarette out on Jane’s cheek . . .

. . . but a hand snatched the butt away. The sycophants ran, and Prudence tried, but Mr. Johnson had too good a grip. “On a lovely Indian Summer day such as this, to be out smoking directly under an open window of an English class full of fifth graders is unwise. To do that under the window to my class, and then to teach them such wonderful new vocabulary that interrupts my lesson, that is a major mistake.” He helped Jane to stand: “Get yourself off to the nurse to be checked out, Miss Jeffries. As for you, Miss Upton . . .”

“Headmistress,” she sighed.

“Indeed. I think there may be a suspension in this for you and your friends, if not a nice visit from the police. And yes, I saw who they were, so they will not be getting out of this, nor will you be able to use that information for a plea bargain.”

Jane watched them go away, and went home thinking about how Mr. Johnson had rescued her. He really was a good guy.

That night, Samuel was in Manhattan—just an hour’s train ride on the MTA. He’d come in right after school, an indulgence he allowed himself every couple of months, to catch an exhibit and the Friday night cocktails and chamber music at the Museum of Modern Art (one of the best free programs in the Northeast, he thought) and still make it over to Carnegie Hall for the American Symphony Orchestra and the Westminster Choir performing Mahler’s Second Symphony.

All in all, it was a mostly uneventful evening. He had been surprised to see Eve Darke from school at the cocktail party. She was quite striking. Her lithe but shapely twenty-something form reminded him of paintings of nymphs he had seen at the Met, and her pale skin, black hair that reached almost to her ass, and flashing green eyes made her quite alluring. The crimson cocktail-length sheath she was wearing and the matching spiked sandals, bringing her height to just over five-foot-ten, would certainly draw significant attention from most people with a functioning libido. She saw him from across the room and waved.

Yes, that’s our Mr. Johnson,” Eve thought with a slight smile. There he was, wearing the same jacket and tie he’d been wearing to school, the same brown shoes in need of a quick polish; just how she would expect him to dress for a night in the city, as if it were no different from sleepy old Connecticut. “A shame,” she thought as she eyed him up and down: he was actually rather cute in an absent-minded-professorish way and, if he would loosen up just a bit and let a woman bring him to heel, he could clean up nicely and be good for some laughs and maybe even several very enjoyable evenings. She strode in his direction: “Why, Mr. Johnson!”

“Ms. Darke, fancy meeting you here. I hope you had a chance to enjoy the cubists. It is such a wonderful exhibit.”

“No, just got in, waiting to meet a . . . well, I suppose you would want me to say ‘gentleman caller’ who will be taking me to dinner in mid-town before the show. Hard to turn down a free cocktail party.”

“Going to hear the Mahler at Carnegie?”

“Um, no.” Eve smiled, as if bemused by some bit of naiveté, and sipped her whiskey sour: “I’m not a big fan of ‘Resurrection.’ We’re taking in the revival of ‘Phantom of the Opera.’ You might say I’m a ‘Music of the Night’ kind of girl.”

There was a definite libidinous effect that came with being in Eve Darke’s orbit, and Samuel Johnson was not entirely immune. Were he younger, perhaps, or were they not professional colleagues on the same faculty, and had he not another crush—that he did not entirely admit to himself—but all of that was in the realm of what might have been. As it was, he quickly popped a canapé in his mouth, and chewed it before taking her hand and nodding deferentially. “Well, have a pleasant evening. See you back at school.”

“Count on it,” she purred—or was it his imagination?

A quick subway ride and a short walk got Samuel both to a light dinner at an Irish pub and the excellent concert afterward. Orchestra, choir, and soloists were all stellar. Vagaries of the subway schedules, traffic, et cetera prompted Samuel to decide on a brisk walk to Grand Central to get his train back home—the last one of the evening. And that’s what put him in sight of the night’s true excitement: a rather brazen attempted carjacking right in front of the station.

Two thugs with guns forced their way into a minivan where a soccer-mom and two young children—a seven-year-old girl and a four-year-old boy, both in their pajamas—were waiting for a working mommy’s late arrival from her trip. By jamming the gun through a slightly open window and pointing it at the girl, they persuaded the soccer mom to unlock the doors. Then they pushed the children out of the vehicle.

It was when the boy landed in traffic that Samuel, without a thought, raced out into the path of taxis and busses. Not slowing down for screeching brakes, honking horns, or the crunch of bumper impacts lest he give himself a chance to think about his own peril, the quiet English teacher just ran and grabbed the boy. Just has he wrapped his body around the screaming, terrified child, he was sure he heard tires squealing and a gunshot . . . and then nothing!

“Are you all right, sir?” the voice was warm and feminine, and it drew Samuel’s eyes up into a purple mask surrounding absolutely vivid blue eyes. Short, blonde hair swept out behind the mask and framed the rest of the woman’s face, just as her purple cape framed her form-fitting peach unitard, which mapped out every curve of her impressive mid-twenties body and ended in thigh-high purple boots.

“Y-y-you’re N-New D-D-Dawn!” the normally well-spoken teacher spluttered. The heroine, who was new on the local scene, had in just a few short months become a secret crush of Johnson’s. While he would have to admit that the boots didn’t hurt, he was deeply impressed that her heroics tended to involve minimal violence, her concern more with protecting people’s lives and dignity than with catching or punishing criminals. “I . . . I’m a big fan!”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” she said with a slight smile as she stood up to her full five-foot-eleven-inches—thanks to the heels on her boots—and helped him up to stand at his full height. She passed her hand over the boy in his arms, and there was a pale peach aura around the child, and it seemed that his abrasions either diminished or disappeared altogether. “He’s going to be fine,” the super-human opined, “all he needs are his mommies.” She then took the child and carried him to the distraught driver and her partner, both of whom gushed thanks and praise, as New Dawn gestured in Johnson’s direction.

That was the first she had allowed herself to actually notice the nice, brave (perhaps somewhat foolish) stranger. For the briefest moment her eyes widened and her breath caught as she recognized him as the teacher from St. Norbert’s, but she pulled all of that back in as she walked in his direction.

“Well, you’re quite the hero, aren’t you?” Samuel was startled by the warm, sultry—he felt his own sigh—arousing voice, and turned to see Eve Darke in that same dress, an ebony wrap around her shoulders, a cloud of smoke from a long, slim cigarette forming a halo around her, looking up in a way that made her green eyes a well into which he just might fall and never return. “It’s too bad you missed your train.”

“Eve . . . ummm, Ms. Darke! What on earth are you doing here?” He fumbled through his pocket, pulled out his watch, and realized that she was, indeed, right.

“Oh, I’m always where the action is.” He was even geekishly amusing to her now, his pants and jacket muddied and his glasses askew. She was making herself warm imagining all the new ways she could teach this boy scout to make fire. “Here, you might need this; it was over there.” She handed him the fedora she had picked up from the curb. “And I have a suite just a couple blocks from here which I would be happy to share with a colleague in distress.” She enjoyed how he was watching her eyes, and was pretty sure just a few more minutes would seal the deal. As she stood slightly on tiptoe to restore his hat to his head, giving him a clear view of other assets, Eve allowed her right hand to graze along his left cheek.

There was a profound tingle that clearly wasn’t lost on Samuel, whose mind was fishing for various elements of “Where is the gentleman with whom you were spending the evening?” but whose mouth couldn’t form the question. “Yes” would be so much simpler. And he was just thinking about releasing that simple word when a bright, feminine, surprisingly strong voice grabbed at him from another direction.

“I couldn’t help overhearing, sir. Mr. Johnson, is it?” New Dawn knew she was interrupting, but there was something just a bit too predatory about Ms. Darke for her liking. “Where is home for you?”

It was as if Samuel’s reason were snatched out of a suffocating fog. His gaze broke away from Eve’s magnetic green eyes and was almost as quickly locked into New Dawn’s sparkling blue tractor beams. “I . . . uh . . .”—exactly where did he live? Oh, yes!—“Outer Fairtown, New Dawn.”

“Well, that’s exactly where I’m . . . I mean, that’s not too far off my patrol route this evening.” She knew she had to be careful; there were rumors that the malevolent entity Everlasting Dusk was hunting for New Dawn and might have the means to corrupt and control her. The young crusader couldn’t risk her secret identity, her friends, or her community. “If you would like, I could give you a ride home and you wouldn’t need to impose on this nice woman.”

Eve realized that she dared not let on the depth of her disappointment at this turn of events; her best chance with Samuel was to catch him by surprise, as this masked interloper with the poor clothes sense had just prevented. She resisted an exasperated sigh while replying, “No, no. That solution makes perfect sense.”

Only minutes later, Samuel Johnson was being held in a fireman’s carry by the beautiful and charming New Dawn as she flew over the western end of Long Island Sound. He was amazed that he wasn’t being blown apart by air currents at this speed, and that he wasn’t freezing cold. Then he noticed a peach aura, a field of energy, as if they were flying in a sort of bubble.

“I’ll be you never saw Brandon Routh do that,” the heroine was trying to make conversation. “This is quite a treat for me, escorting home the man who was a hero twice in the same day.”

“Twice in the same day? What do you mean?” It’s not as if his encounter with schoolyard bullies was the topic of the evening news, after all.

New Dawn was slightly flustered. “Aren’t you the Samuel Johnson who teaches at St. Norbert’s School for Girls?”

“Well, yes, but that in itself is not a heroic act.”

“No . . . I . . . ummm . . . suppose not. But I do hear about things. And I heard about an English teacher who not only caught an overindulged daddy’s girl pushing somebody around but didn’t think twice about breaking the party up.” They were now passing over the train that would have taken him almost home. “Seeing you jump into that situation tonight, without a single super power, I was almost certain that teacher must have been you.”

They were landing in front of the row house where his flat was. “Well yes, it was me. But it was no big deal. Nobody should be allowed to treat another person that way. Ever.”

She set his feet on the ground and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Well, it makes you my hero for tonight.”

Before he could get another word out of this mouth, there was a peach-and-purple streak crossing the night sky. He went inside, exhilarated by the fact that she had noticed him. Even though he knew it was adrenaline induced, he was sure that there was some magic to the way his cheek tingled all night where the super woman had kissed him.

Back at school, autumn progressed somewhat more quietly for a few weeks. There were some suspensions over the bullying incident, but only two members of the group—neither of them Prudence because, amazingly, an investigation showed that she was not the instigator—were expelled. When everyone returned from the Thanksgiving weekend, Prudence Upton was among them, her suspension completed and, thanks to home tutoring arranged for her during the suspension, her grade point average two-tenths of a point higher than Jane’s. Mr. Johnson decided that he should keep a closer eye on both young women, being alert to Prudence’s behaviors and supportive of Ms. Jeffries’ efforts wherever possible. From time to time, he also kept an eye on the activities of New Dawn, either by Internet or, on occasion, at a distance when she buzzed over Outer Fairtown.

One slushy day, just before the holiday break, saw an intersection of Samuel’s three observation projects. A combination of snow, sleet, and rain the night before had left a gray mess over the entire community. Roads were well-plowed but many spots were slippery. That included an area outside the Upton Library, where Jane Jeffries suddenly and almost inexplicably went sliding with an armload of books. This time, her favorite English teacher was not there to prevent anything, and only by happenstance did he arrive barely in time to grab her coat and prevent her hitting the sidewalk face first.

There were some familiar giggles, but nobody saw anything. As he picked up her books, Samuel turned toward Jane, asking, “Is that everything Miss Jeffries? Miss Jeffries?” She was nowhere to be seen, and a few students said she had run off crying. “Well, if anybody sees her,” Johnson sighed, “have her report to my office after homeroom.”

From a point around the corner from where the giggles had been heard there were, quite suddenly, some screams. Leaving the books on a bench, Samuel ran around the corner and saw Prudence and her compatriots doused in a large pile of slush and ice that had slid off the roof. The trouble was that there should not have been so much frozen mess from such a small area off the roof. But there was a familiar purple-and-peach blur in the sky for the briefest moment, and the teacher was suspicious. Having sent the drenched young women to the infirmary to be dried off, he retrieved Jane’s books, and headed for homeroom. She was waiting for him outside of his office afterward. “Sorry about leaving you with my books, sir.”

“It’s quite acceptable under the circumstances, Miss Jeffries. Are you all right?” Then he noticed a sly smile on her face. He placed the books in her arms and opened his door: “Or should I be asking what has amused you so?”

“I heard tell of a little mishap to Prudence and her buddies.”

“And did you hear that some folks saw a figure flying over the school just after?”

“New Dawn! But most people aren’t sure, I heard. Still, wouldn’t it be cool if she was . . . like . . . looking out for me like that?”

“First of all, Miss Jefferies, if I live to be a hundred, if I ever hear you use the word ‘like’ in that way again, it will be too soon. Second, you cannot think that was good behavior.”

“But she was looking out for me, helping an innocent! Isn’t that what you admire about her?”

“No, this time she did more than was necessary. Jane, don’t you see that, if she behaves like this, she becomes the bully? She went beyond justice to revenge.” He took a deep breath: “Jane, never fall into the trap of revenge, okay?”

Jane went from exhilarated to confused, almost as if she was going to tear up. But she took a deep breath and accepted. “I understand, Mr. Johnson. I’ll do my best,” she nodded.

“That’s a good girl,” Johnson replied.

Since first period had begun, he escorted the student to her class: Ms. Darke’s Sex Education lecture. When he dropped Jane off, Eve was using a broom handle to show the senior girls the proper application of condoms, and providing narrative about her own experiences. Samuel coughed loudly: “I’m returning your student, Ms. Darke.”

“Why that is so sweet of you, Sam . . . uhh, Mr. Johnson.” The other teacher ogled him for a moment, licking her top lip and kissing the air in his direction. Johnson turned on a heel and left, almost certain he heard giggling after him.

He was becoming more and more worried about Eve Darke. Not only was her over-familiarity and informality with the students growing rather steadily, as was evidenced by the display he had just witnessed, but there were fairly rampant rumors about her and various members of the faculty and staff. If even half of what he had heard was true—and some of the furtive glances, playful pats, and lingering touches he had seen indicated that much more than half was—she was or had been engaged in some level of sexual congress with more than two-thirds of the faculty. He had raised these concerns more than once with the headmistress, who just couldn’t seem to care.

Eve had similar concerns about Mr. Johnson. He simply wouldn’t lighten up and play along the way most of her other colleagues had. She thought, that night in the City, that she had him at least entertaining the delicious possibilities, but that ridiculous New Dawn had gotten in the way. If Samuel had spent the night as her guest, she might have gotten the stick out of his anus, or just worked it in and out vigorously, if that was his kink. But she would have gotten something stuck in her, as well. And she guessed that he was the type who had a storm raging under all that calm, and she’d have had many nights of fun with him. For now, however, her partner for the evening would have to suffice. “Oohhh, slow down, darling! There’s no rush,” she purred.

But that damn New Dawn was causing her more trouble than she had imagined. She was here—Everlasting Dusk herself, stuck playing “school” with these plodders—because New Dawn was a threat to her plans: not some ridiculous plans like the humans always suspected, like wealth or murder or world domination. No, she was what some in the universe called a “malevolent entity;” she was renewed and refreshed by the sensual, particularly fear, vengeance, and orgasm. The humans were best for this: their energy was most intoxicating, and uncertainty and chaos made them most creative. Ironically, that meant they would be best able to resist her under those conditions, but their instincts generally led them into what was, for her needs, a much better direction.

New Dawn was problematic for Dusk. Her patterns of movement suggested that she was somehow connected to this school—she even acted almost as if she knew Samuel Johnson when the two met in New York—but she was too old to be a student and she clearly wasn’t any of the staff. And she seemed to fancy herself a special human, when the ways she used energy indicated that Dusk and Dawn were much more kindred beings with very similar attributes. But the heroine kept working for benevolence and order and non-violence, absolutely antithetical to the sultry sex teacher. Still, she participated in that tiny malicious act this morning, and even that brief flash of vengeance from her, and at a distance, at that, was the most delicious feast Everlasting Dusk had ever tasted. If she could only take the young, misguided waif under her wing, merge their energies . . .

She grabbed the hair of the middle-aged lover between her legs, in order to look her in the eye. “Judith . . . Mrs. Gaffaeliad . . . yes, sorry to interrupt, because you are developing quite a skill there. But, Judith, precious, I require you to make some arrangements for our Mr. Johnson next week.”

Samuel was enjoying very quiet time at home on that 30 December. With his niece involved in that graduate program in Melbourne, he didn’t even have any family on this side of the planet with whom to spend holidays. He and Linda—the niece—spent a long time chatting on the phone on Christmas Day, but, beyond that, he had spent his time reading for fun, journaling, and taking long walks on the snowy streets. In truth, he enjoyed the solitude.

Still, said solitude and absence of plans meant that he couldn’t say “no” when Judith Gaffaeliad, the Headmistress, called and told him about a memo she had completely forgotten to circulate to the faculty. As it pertained to state exams that would be given in January, it had to be addressed and circulated via e-mail. The details were on a CD-ROM she’d left on her desk. Well, yes, he could go down to the school and upload it to the faculty e-mail list. Shortly before dinner, he was wandering the empty halls of St. Norbert’s, simultaneously tranquil and unsettling, on his way to Judith’s spacious office.

He could have sworn he smelled just a whiff of a delicate perfume and an exotic cigarette, but dismissed that ridiculous notion as he sat in Mrs. Gaffaeliad’s chair and bent down to check the lower left file drawer where the boss thought the disk would be. At the sound of a sultry, whiskey-smooth “Why, Hello, Mr. Johnson,” he almost leapt out of the chair in surprise. There was Eve Darke, standing over him, seeming even more sexually charged than usual, with a halo of smoke around her head, very much like that night at Grand Central when . . . She was wearing a dress that was cut both higher and lower than the one from that night, and which she filled out even more provocatively.

“I was on my way out to a . . . party when I heard you would be here.” She blew a gentle stream of sweet smoke into his face. Normally, cigarette smoke bothered him, but this was different. His mind felt pleasantly fogged.

“So you . . . you decided to come to help?” Samuel asked. She was so soft, so warm, and there was no doubt to what she wanted.

“Well, help myself, you could say,” She smiled and blew another wonderful cloud before she set her smoke aside. “You are such a fascinating, charming man, and you have such a rapport with everyone, yet we have never gotten”—she ran a long, crimson-lacquered nail down his chest, then began to deftly unbutton—“acquainted very well.” Her hand was rubbing his bare chest now (what had happened to his undershirt?) and it felt wonderful.

Still, he knew this was wrong for some reason: “Eve . . . nooooo . . .’

She kissed his lips lightly and then used two fingers to seal those lips shut: “You are always saying no, Sammy, always being good, always holding things back, aren’t you?” His pants were open now and she was stroking his cock. One of his hands found her breasts, and found that the dress slid below her nipples rather easily. He wasn’t even sure when he started suckling, but it was sweet, and he was almost sure that, with a but more effort, he could draw something out.

“Yessss, that’s it, Sammy, let yourself be bad with Eve. Step into the Dusk.” Her breathing was getting heavier, but nowhere near as ragged as his. He felt a desperate need for her mouth, and drew hers to his own, this time initiating a kiss where lips grabbed and tongues tussled. She was moving herself over his erection, and he quickly realized she had no panties on under that dress.

As the kiss broke, his eyes fell into hers, and she smiled. “Oh, yes, baby. You’re gonna plunge into me and be all mine. And I can feel the stamina, the juice in you, lover. You and I are gonna rock this place, make it into our own personal sexual playground.”

Somehow, that shook him out of his stupor. Samuel stood up, and pushed the siren away. “N-N-N-NO!! New Dawn would . . . I mean . . . I have . . . have a responsibility here, and so do you!! We are TEACHERS!! This is . . . is . . . wrong.” He pulled his pants shut and grabbed his coat as he stumbled out of the school building and into the cold, leaving the powerful malevolent femme flabbergasted and flat on her fanny.

He woke with a start around midnight, convinced he’d had a bad dream, but somehow unsettled. The feeling that it was a dream roosted in his mind, and, thanks to Everlasting Dusk’s influence, it had all faded from his conscious thoughts by the time everyone was back in school. Mrs. Gaffaeliad never again mentioned the disk, and he never really thought about it any more. It must have been his imagination.

January was it’s usual unremarkable self at St. Norbert’s, daily events seeming as gray as the overcast skies. Students and teachers slogged past the post-holiday letdown, and through the annual ordeal of state-mandated testing. Eve noticed that, whether consciously or not, Samuel was avoiding her—a very small amusement after what had happened at the break. Unfortunately, she also saw very little of young Jane, since Sex Ed. was not part of the standardized exams, and was largely set aside for the duration.

Jane, for her part, had been glad to have Mr. Johnson around. After seeing her struggling by the side of the road one morning when things were just impassable for her bicycle, he had spoken to her guardians and, with their permission, stopped to pick her up every day before school, saving her a ridiculously early bus trip. On top of that, he continued to keep Prudence and her cohort in line. She felt almost confident and carefree in school these days.

Valentine’s Day showed some signs of early spring thaw, so Samuel wasn’t entirely surprised when Jane wasn’t waiting at the appointed corner that Friday morning. He was a bit more surprised to find a small, gift-wrapped box outside his office door when he got to school. He picked it up, brought it into his office and, after setting down his valise, opened the box, feelings of suspicion vying with the childlike sense of “I got a gift” excitement that never truly goes away. Inside he found a mug with a bright red heart and the words “Thank You” painted on it.

“Do you like it?” Jane’s perky voice startled the English teacher as it broke the silence in the nearly empty school.

“Umm . . . Jane, this . . . this is really lovely, and quite sweet, but . . . Jane, I am very close to twice your age, and . . .”

“It’s just a token of thanks, Mr. Johnson,” she kept stepping toward him. “You have been so kind to me; you’ve been my hero, and not just that one night.”

Samuel looked confused, so his student quickly moved along: “You have watched out for me with Prudence and her friends. You helped me get nicer uniforms, and to fit in better with the girls. You taught me about why revenge is never the answer. You have shown me, given me, so much. How could I not feel that?

“And if age is such an issue, how about somebody who is apparently old enough for you.” Jane touched her hand to her heart, and there was a peach glow, pale throughout the room, quite bright immediately around the young woman. The teacher blinked, and when he opened his eyes, there stood New Dawn. It was the first that he had noticed that the heroine was a somewhat taller, somewhat shapelier, somewhat older and blonder version of the student. Her eyes, though more piercing, were even the same blue.

“J-Jane?? You’re . . . New Dawn?” Despite himself, his eyes scanned her voluptuous body in its form-fitting unitard. His long-standing, repressed crush was bubbling up. When his gaze reached her boots, he was nearly lost.

The costumed crusader stepped closer to the teacher, kissing his cheek much the way she had that night four months back and tenderly but steadily stroked his arm. “I have been waiting a long time to do that, and to let you know the truth. This is my real gift to you, and we can spend a lifetime unwrapping it, if you want.” Yet she noticed a shadow crossing Samuel’s face, and wondered why.

The teacher shook his head and put his face in his hands. “Don’t you understand? I cannot date my student! It’s wrong!!”

“But I’m not you’re student . . . I am younger than you, but not that much younger. I am New Dawn. Jane is your student.”

“But you are Jane!”

“Well, yes and no. We are connected, and yet, in many ways, separate. Does Jane look like this?” She took his hands from his face, standing so her shapely body filled his vision. “Does Jane feel like this?” She put his hands on her hips and pressed her body against him.

If anything, he was melting faster than he did in the Christmastide encounter with Eve that he was now sure hadn’t happened. He’d had a crush on New Dawn for so long, and he was so lonely, and she wasn’t really Jane Jeffries, was she? Maybe this could just work. She was kissing his neck. He didn’t initiate this; what if he just didn’t fight it? Her lips were finding his now . . . oh, yes . . . so sweet, so affectionate, so young, and yet so powerful. His hands were searching for the way to remove her costume. For a moment, it was all he could think of: having her, or, more correctly, giving himself to her for as much and as long as she wanted him. He kissed her, and she him, and he suddenly needed her more than the air he was breathing. Then her aura began to wrap around them; he could taste her amazing power, her kindness, her desire, Jane’s blossoming intelligence and abiding innocence, and . . .

. . . and he pushed away from her. It was like ripping out his own heart, but it was clear that he had to do it. “I am a teacher. I am Jane’s teacher, and . . . I can . . . can feel how she is a part of you.”

“But . . . but . . .” New Dawn was filling with tears “. . . you . . . you love me! I can sense it! This would make us both happy.”

“Yes, but, dear friend”—he wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he didn’t dare—“dear friend, you know why this cannot be, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “If you try to slip through that loophole, it would make you less than you are, and it makes me less than I am. We would, each of us, be diminished.”

“Yes, and if you were diminished, many around you would be hurt.” He’d rather cut off his own arm than do this, but he was quite sure of the danger. “I appreciate, beyond anything you can imagine, your attentions toward me, but, as long as I am Jane’s teacher, this cannot be, even though I will always cherish you and keep this secret that you’ve entrusted to me.”

“I know. I understand,” the heroine sobbed. “But I don’t have to like it.” She turned and left the room, a peach aura spiraling around her as she stepped over the threshold.

The building was virtually deserted at this hour, but not entirely. While there were no witnesses to what transpired in Mr. Johnson’s office, someone was aware. Everlasting Dusk felt, tasted New Dawn’s expenditure of energy, and, very soon after, Eve Darke saw Jane Jeffries coming down the hallway, tears still on her face and a telltale corner of purple fabric stick out from behind her shirttail. “Of course!! Now it all makes sense!” the malevolent schoolmistress thought.

Jane almost ran right into Ms. Darke, but she didn’t seem upset: “Well, be careful there, Ms. Jeffries. What has you in such a rush? And . . . why, in tears, this early in the morning?” The student looked up, and, somehow, the teacher’s eyes looked hungry. Before Jane could speak a word, she felt an arm pulling her closer to the admittedly alluring teacher. “You look like you could use a friend, Jane. Come on with me.”

Truth be told, the young woman really could use a friend at the moment. But, had she been thinking more clearly, she’d probably notice that Eve was getting more familiar than was normal even for her. Still, the older woman’s hand on her ass cheek felt a bit exciting, and even welcome under the circumstances. Any touch was welcome now; a voice inside her told her she was, clearly, quite desirable. Still, they had left the building and were crossing the yard now, nowhere in sight of Mr. Johnson’s office. “Just where are we going, Ms. Darke?”

“Call me Eve, sweetie, and we’re going to my place to play a bit of hooky.”

Jane wasn’t sure how it was that Eve had one of the rare faculty cottages among the trees on the back of the St. Norbert’s property, but soon they were in hers, and Jane was sitting on a soft divan. She heard Eve make a call, as if arranging for a sub, but the teacher was back in moments, carrying two large glasses or orange juice. “You are over eighteen, aren’t you, Jane?”

“Yeah, Eve. Why?”

“Well, ‘cuz otherwise it would be wrong for you to be over here . . . well, more wrong.” Eve giggled and moved up close, making Jane feel funny, but good. She was surprised that Eve was running a finger along the top of her breasts and gazing so intently into her eyes. Eve’s green pupils seemed to be dominating Jane’s world, and it felt so nice just to fall into them and accept what Eve’s voice was saying: “You just want to relax and enjoy. It feels so good to do what I ask you to, doesn’t it, Jane?”

“Yessss. . .”

“Then kiss me, baby.”

Jane leaned in to kiss Eve softly, but things grew quickly and steadily more intense. She melted and mewled to Eve’s lips on her throat and collarbone. She purred when Eve squeezed her nipples, having opened her shirt and bra. But when she felt Eve’s fingers on her pussy lips, her eyes opened wide and she pushed the teacher back. “N-N-No!!”

Eve sat back: “Whatever you want, sweetness. Think about what you want.” She was still stroking the inside of Jane’s thigh, idly. She looked even more blatantly sexual than usual just then. Somehow, her top was off, and her tits (tits?) were so luscious. Jane’s pussy itched for those fingers again, but something . . . something . . .

Not knowing what else to do, Jane put her hand to her heart, and a peach aura developed around her. Yet that was the exact moment Eve cupped Jane’s breasts, and a second, crimson glow began to form. Eve was looking more and more like a wet dream, and something felt very wrong about New Dawn’s transformation. She wasn’t feeling serene and in control; she felt desperate, horny, and wanton. Her costume was nowhere to be seen.

“Ev-Ev-Everlasting D-Dusk!”

“Why yes, baby. We finally meet, and you’re all ready for me. How nice.” The evil vixen pulled her in for a long kiss. Every synapse in New Dawn’s mind told her that this was wrong, but every fiber of her body ached for it, and she responded with growing enthusiasm. When she felt Dusk’s engorged nipples brushing against her own, she instinctively brought her mouth down and began suckling, soon she tasted a sweet liquid, and she felt her world changing.

“Oh, my darling New Dawn, finally discovering her true nature,” Everlasting Dusk was moaning. “This afternoon’s lessons will be built around the number sixty-nine.”

Samuel was tired. It had been a long day at school, with far too many adolescent hormones in the air, detention detail in the afternoon, and chaperone duties at the Valentine’s Dance in the evening. He’d not even bothered to come home in between, not having the luxury of one of the faculty cottages nor the time to get home and make dinner, and had instead corrected papers in his office over a microwaved cup of Ramen noodles.

He was also worried about Jane, who was not in school, and hadn’t been seen by anyone after his encounter with New Dawn. He hadn’t gotten an answer at her home, hadn’t been able to reach her guardians, and hadn’t gotten any significant help from his queries to the headmistress’ office. Nor had anyone seen Eve Darke today, but Johnson took that as a bit of good fortune.

After climbing the stairs to his apartment, he twisted the key in the lock, stepped in the door, and was about to flip on the light when he heard, “Well, took you long enough.”

He bent down and flipped on the light on his end table, and there was New Dawn, her long boots inches from his nose, her body wrapped in her purple cape, her mask missing. She was puffing on a long, slim cigarette, whose smoke smelled like something out of a dream of Samuel’s.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” was the curt reply.

“That was all your idea.” She blew a long, slim stream of smoke directly at him, and he could not quite suppress a small sigh. He wondered why it seemed that her hair had dark streaks now; he had never been much for noticing such things in women. But now every inch, every freckle, every curl on this woman was blazing itself into his consciousness. “I have had some time to think, and I think my idea is better.” She swung around in the blink of an eye, kneeling and presenting her proud breasts to her host, leaving the cigarette burning in an ash tray like a poisonous incense stick. The motion caused her cape to slip away, making it obvious that the rest of her costume was currently absent.

She pulled the teacher in and kissed him hard, noting how easily he was melting this time around. New Dawn was delighted to observe how shallow and ragged his breathing became in just seconds. She put her hands flat on either side of his head and gazed into his hazel eyes with her own now-violet pupils. She could feel her thoughts entering his mind, becoming his own: “You know what you really want, and here I am ready to give it to you. You cannot resist, so why bother trying?” A broad smile formed on her face as he feverishly pulled his clothes away from his body, then she began kissing his face and tasting the rest of him.

Within minutes, he was sighing and moaning as she enjoyed the delicious feel of his stiff member in her throat, her tongue twining, taunting , and teasing. Just as he was ready to explode, she pulled away, enjoying his whimper, and pushed him to the floor. Her super speed had her impaling himself upon him before he could blink, and she reveled in the increasingly mindless growls and mewls that poured from his mouth as she began to ride.

Then the heroine heard him quite clearly, in her memory: “If you were diminished, many around you would be hurt.

She pulled off of him with a loud “plop,” her own conscience gaining a footing in her mind after too many hours. Through frustrated tears, Samuel saw his ersatz lover standing, shaking her head, and heard “No . . . No . . . No . . .” over and again, her face in her hands.

Across the room, a loud “Finish it, foolish child!” issued from the ether. A swirl of crimson energy left Eve Darke standing there, though it was a more erotic version of Ms. Darke than Samuel had ever even imagined. “You need to take him and claim your true destiny!”

“I will not harm an innocent!” New Dawn spat back, striding across the room to confront the interloper . . . who touched the blonde’s chin with a finger and guided her in for a deep, soul-searing kiss. The heroine was now kneeling before her opponent, and Eve was presenting her pussy: “Then merge with me, little one, and we will deal with him later.”

New Dawn’s tongue was playing with abandon amid the other woman’s moist and sticky nether-lips, working to pry open her slit. Johnson was almost sure he saw the eyes of the woman he had adored roll back into her head.

But then a peach flame began to dance along the super’s tongue, and, starting with the malevolent being’s pussy, more and more of her began to glow. “NO!!” Eve screamed, “Not now!!” as she tried to summon up a crimson field. The were ebbs and flows in the two energy streams, silence from New Dawn, and a string of curses from Everlasting Dusk, until finally there was a blinding flash.

Samuel Johnson awoke looking into the sparkling blue eyes of a fully clothed New Dawn, who seemed relieved that he was well. “You will need to rest up, but there is no more reason to worry about her,” the hero said, giving him a light kiss on the cheek and a chaste hug around the shoulders before she flew off.

The following Monday, it was announced that Eve Darke had resigned unexpectedly and would not be returning to St. Norbert’s. Arrangements were made for the school nurse to cover her hygiene classes until the end of term. As winter gave way to spring, the faculty seemed to recover its decorum, and the school was ending its year on a high note. Word on the Internet was that a malevolent being named Everlasting Dusk and her energy had been dispersed into the ether during a battle with New Dawn, who resumed her normal crime-fighting duties. While it may or may not have been due to the absence of the evil Dusk, Samuel was pleased to notice that Prudence Upton and Jane Jeffries were able to patch up their differences. By graduation, the two were co-valedictorians—something which hadn’t happened at St. Norbert’s for fifty years.

Samuel had just gotten into casual clothes after commencement when he heard a knock at the door. He opened it to see Jane, still in her cap and gown. “Hello, Miss Jeffries. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“I wanted to thank you for all the things you did for me. And . . . all the things you didn’t do,” Jane blushed. “Of course, I’m not your student any more.”

Mr. Johnson shook her hand. “No. Now you are a friend. At least I hope so. And I hope you will stay in touch.”

“Count on it, sir. And thank you again.” Jane stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek before turning to leave.

As Samuel shut the door, smiling contentedly, there was a glimmer of peach behind him. He turned to see New Dawn: her hair with dark streaks; her costume down to its barest minimum; her eyes a deep violet; and a stream of impossibly sweet smoke curling from her mouth and around his head like a lasso.

“New Dawn . . . what? I mean . . . I . . . I thought you were d-done with this! That Everlasting Dusk was gone!”

She slinked up to him, watching his eyes glaze over even as he tried desperately to keep his reason: “I was . . . and she was . . . but now I’m thinking that a little bit of Dusk is useful, too.”

The swirl of crimson aura with just traces of peach emanated from her hands and briefly enveloped the teacher, who fell to his knees and quickly discovered that this version of her costume was crotchless.

Yes,” the powerful and now pleased woman thought, “a little bit of Dusk is quite useful.”