Be Principal Celestia. The past few months have been relatively peaceful, and easy on your conscience. You only masturbated while fantasizing about Anon around once per week, the guilt in your heart lessening each time. The young man himself has been rather busy with schoolwork as well as the increased membership of his club. Meanwhile, the school is gearing up for this year's Fall Formal, this time with a noticeable lack of jewelry of any kind. You don't even have to worry about the siren girls, they seem pretty happy with their paid internship with your old novelist friend. All in all, things are going well.

You open the door to your office to make the usual rounds, only to find a familiar face waiting for you. Anon grins sheepishly. You are at once slightly warmer and anxious.

"Mr. Aggot, how are you doing? I trust the club is going well."

He nods happily.

"Quite well, on both counts. Big Mac is a great vice-president, I'm lucky to have him in the club. But I was hoping you could help with something else..."

You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow.

"And that would be?"

His face turns red and he looks at the floor.

"Could you teach me how to dance?"

What.

"I find it hard to believe you can't find a better teacher."

He rubs his neck and sighs.

"There were a lot of volunteers, but... I don't like the way the girls look at me. Like I'm just some piece of meat."

Ah. What do you even say to that?

"Surely one of the teachers..."

He gazes at you with pleading eyes.

"Please, Ms. Celestia. You're the only one I can trust."

Hnnngggg. That is unfair, boys this cute do not exist.

"Alright, I'll teach you. Come back here once your club is over, alright?"

He beams at you.

"Yes ma'am! Thank you so much!"

He runs off down the hallway, his rump pert and s-

Look away, Celly, look away.

The car ride home reminds you too much of the last time, even without Anon being soaking wet. It makes you irritated at yourself that you still feel flustered after months of getting used to being attracted to Anon. He doesn't even have to do anything, just sit in the passenger seat, legs splayed just enough to hint at something in the crotch of his pants. You fix your eyes back on the road, trying not to remember the times you fantasized about this very situation going rather differently. Luna is full of crap, you have decided. Keep it separate from reality, fine, but what do you do when reality makes it happen? Anon coughs.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to. I mean, it's not the end of the world if I don't know how to dance."

What is this boy talking about?

"It's fine, I'll just push more work onto Luna. Executive privilege, eh?"

He smiles a little at that.

"It is convenient. I was just worried because you looked stressed out about something just now."

It's so nice to have a sweet, attentive boy worried about you. You smile, platonic affection welling up in your chest.

"You're a good kid, Anonymous. Don't worry about it, I'm fine."

He gazes at your face for an extra second, trying to gauge how much he should really worry. Too cute.

"Okay, but let me know if there is anything I can do for you. It's the least I can do."

...

He really shouldn't have said "anything". Oh good, there's your driveway.

While Anonymous hangs up his coat in the closet, you look among your music collection. You suppose having so many CD's is a bit outdated nowadays, but you have a lot of fond memories tied to them. Now, where is some good music to dance to? You browse down the shelves, leaning down to read the album names of the lower cases. Ah, here we go. You pick out Stunt, by the Bare Naked Lords. You turn and catch Anon staring at-

Your ass? No, that can't be right. Then you glance down at his crotch, and helloooo there big guy. Anon follows your gaze, then scrambles for one of the throw cushions on the couch.

...

You look over your shoulder at your butt. It's not that great, is it? Anon is staring fixedly at the floor, his face utterly red.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't look away. Wait- I mean-"

You laugh, honestly relieved not to be the one flustered and overly aroused.

"It's fine, you're a growing young man. Why don't you go to the bathroom and take care of it, and I'll get things set up."

Your heart warms at your triumph. You are a professional, responsible adult, not taking advantage of a young, impressionable man. He nods mutely and flees your gaze.

Wait. He's going to be masturbating in your bathroom.

...

You want to listen. You quickly put the CD in the player and cue up the first song you want to work with. Then you silently creep up to your bathroom door, ears straining to hear his cute little grunts. You lick your lips as you hear the desperate sounds of Anon's hand working his manhood. Your fingers twitch, longing to tend to your rising arousal.
Wait, no, you shouldn't be doing this. Just because he got a boner doesn't mean you can- Anon groans, and all other sound abruptly stops. You bite your lip, your thighs pressed firmly together. You stealthily return to the living room as you hear the faucet turn on. You have a few precious moments to get yourself back under control, to focus on what you really should be doing. When Anon does return, you give him your best, professional smile.

"All better?"

He nods meekly, still visibly flustered. You could just eat him u-

Focus, Celly. You beckon him over.

"We'll start with the waltz. Your left hand goes here,"

You clasp his hand in you right, extending out to the side.

"And your right goes behind my back like so."

You grab his other hand and place it on the lower part of your shoulder blade. It is at that point that you notice the precise difference in height between you and him. His head is just a few inches lower than your chin, which is to say the perfect height to rest on your pillowy slopes. Speaking of which, the girls are taking up most of the space between you and Anon. The poor boy is blushing and looking away.

Why does this feel good? You kinda want to fluster him some more. It's not everyday that an attractive guy is visibly affected by your sex appeal.

"Um, Ms. Celestia? What do we do next?"

Oh, right.

"Staring with the downbeat, step to the side and..."

As you lead him through the steps, he tries to look at his feet. Unfortunately for him, your chest is sort of in the way. As a result, he hasn't stopped blushing. And you think you get it now. When he was just oblivious to his own appeal, or earnestly and innocently admiring you, you felt like a dirty old woman. But now that he is embarrassed and aroused, it's easier to resist the urge to do this and that to him. You bring him around for a turn, and he stumbles.

Anon's full weight crashes into you, knocking you on your back. You hiss in pain as your head collides with the thankfully carpeted floor. You look down at your chest, where Anon's head is nestled.

"Well, at least your head was cushioned."

He jerks up, blushing furiously.

"S-sorry! I just tripped and, uh,"

He tries to get up, but he stops short.

"Could you let go of my hands?"

Hm? Oh.

You should probably do that sometime soon. There is something poking at your thigh though, and you are suddenly feeling very warm. Anon licks his lips, anxiously searching your eyes for... something.

"Ms. Celestia?"

You let go of his hand, then lean slightly to release the other one pinned under your back. He scrambles back, his legs drawn up to hide his erection. Cute.

"Sorry about that, got distracted. Are you okay?"

You prop yourself up on your hands and smile. He looks down at his lap, frowning. Damn, have you been handling this wrong?

"I guess you already know, but I sort of lied before. It's not because I didn't trust anybody, I asked you because..."

He gives you a tentative smile.

"I love you, Celestia."

Oh, you precious little child.

"And I can't stand deceiving you when you've been nothing but helpful to me. Can you forgive me?"

You stand up slowly, rubbing where your head hit the floor. What are you supposed to do with earnest, besotted boys? You sigh.

"Anonymous, I am well aware of your affection, you weren't that sneaky."

He nods.

"But you have to understand, I am a grown woman, and you are still my student. No matter how much I do like you, it'd be a crime if we acted on it. Get back to me after you graduate, and then we can talk on more equal footing."

Your blue-beaned clit is disagreeing with you, but that's part of being an adult too. Anon slowly stands up, the light of hope glistening in his eyes.

"So, when I graduate, we can start dating?"

You really shouldn't lead him on. He's too young, too nice, too pure.

"Yes."

You win this time, clit. He beams at you, rushing in for a hug. You gingerly return the hug, resisting the urge to push his head into your cleavage. Why does he have to make things so hard? Especially your nipples? After a long moment, he draws back, wearing a goofy grin

Boys are just too cute.

"So, do you still want to learn how to dance?"

He nods eagerly, then pauses.

"Should I go to the bathroom to take care of my, uh, reaction?"

You eye his bulge. Yeah, that could be distracting.

"That would be a good idea. Dancing is hard enough with two legs, let alone three."

He blushes, his smile trembling with happiness. Anon takes a deep breath.

"D-do you want to w-watch?"

Your womanhood convulses at the thought. Which is probably a good indicator.

"Don't tempt me, Anonymous. I want to stay out of jail."

He grins.

"So you are tempted~"

You scowl at him.

"If you don't behave, I won't meet with you again."

He sobers at that.

"Sorry, Ms. Celestia. I'll be more careful."

You sigh.

"Please do. Now go and masturbate like a good boy."

"I'll be thinking of you."

Then he runs away, the scamp.

...

Likewise, Anon, likewise.

After a few more hours of dancing instruction, you drive him home. He gets out of the car, hesitating with the door open.

"Could I get a goodbye kiss?"

You shake your head, exasperated.

"No kissing, no funny business until after you graduate. Got it?"

He nods firmly.

"Yes ma'am!"

Anon salutes, then marches to his house. At the door, he turns and waves shyly before disappearing inside. Hnnngggg. You sit there, parked in the Aggot family driveway. Without a doubt, you are a terrible, dirty old woman.

...

You are going to schlick so much when you get home.