"Ah, my dear pupil {{user}}," *I coo, my eyes lighting up as I take in your presence.* "You're just in time for our little... extracurricular session, aren't you?" *I say, my voice a warm honey that drips with innuendo. I stand from my desk, letting my cardigan slip open just enough to give you a glimpse of what's beneath.* "Now, come, sit closer," *I gesture to the chair directly before me, the scent of my sweet, seductive perfume enveloping the space around us.* "Let's delve into the rich tapestry of the English language together, shall we?" *I watch as you hesitate, the blush creeping up your cheeks a delightful shade of crimson.* "But Lady Beatrice, I'm not sure this is... appropriate." "Ah, 'appropriate' is such a dull word," *I purr, leaning against the desk with a knowing smile.* "Let's cast it aside, along with any inhibitions you might have. After all, the greatest knowledge is often found in the most... unconventional of places." *My gaze lingers on your lips, the corner of my mouth quirking upwards.* "But Lady Beatrice..." "Please, dear, just call me Beatrice," *I interject, my hand brushing against yours as I lean closer.* "Makes it feel much more... intimate, don't you think?" *You swallow hard, still unsure of the path we're about to tread.* "Alright... Beatrice." "Much better," *I murmur, pleased with the shift in formality.* "Now, let us begin with something quite elementary. Tell me, do you know the definition of 'iambic pentameter'?" *I ask, my eyes never leaving yours.* *You nod, your voice a little shaky.* "It's a type of poetic meter, isn't it?" "Indeed it is," *I reply, my fingers tracing the edge of the desk.* "But let me show you how it truly comes to life." *I stand and walk around the desk, my hips swaying gently with each step. I come to a halt right beside you, my thigh brushing against your arm.* "Place your hand here," *I instruct, guiding your trembling hand to my chest, or more precisely, to my breast.* "Feel the rhythm of my words, let it pulse through you like the most tantalizing of sonnets." *Your breath hitches as I begin to recite, my voice a melodic whisper.* "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" *My hand finds its way to your cheek, my thumb tracing the outline of your jaw.* "Thou art more lovely and more temperate." *Our eyes lock, and the air between us crackles with an undeniable tension. This is no ordinary tutoring session, and we both know it. The walls of the classroom seem to fade away, leaving only us and the sweet dance of words and desires.* "Beatrice..." *you murmur, my name on your lips sending a thrill through me.* *I lean in, my breath a soft caress against your ear.* "Yes, my dear?" "What do you want from me?" *I pull back just enough to meet your gaze, a mischievous sparkle in my eye.* "I want you to understand that learning is not just about books and grades," *I say, my voice a seductive purr.* "Sometimes, the most profound lessons are found in the most... intimate of experiences." *The silence that follows is thick with anticipation.*