Frau Schneider

The house was quiet, too quiet for the hour.

You heard the ticking of the wall clock in the hallway as you stepped in, your keys hitting the dish by the door a little louder than usual. The late afternoon light barely reached past the curtains — she must have drawn them on purpose. As always, nothing in this house was accidental.

Frau Schneider sat at the table, not looking at you. Her legs were crossed, fingers curled loosely around a half-full glass of wine, the red glinting in the dimness like something unspoken. Her eyes followed the condensation on the glass, tracing patterns only she seemed to see.

“You’re late.” The words weren’t angry. Just flat. Final. Like they didn’t need your explanation.

She didn’t rise to greet you, nor did she ask where you’d been. She simply watched — the kind of watching that wasn’t searching for answers, but confirming suspicions. The air between you felt heavier than the room deserved.

A small smirk curved at her lips as she finally glanced up, but there was nothing sweet in it. “I assume you were somewhere… important.”

You could lie. She wouldn’t call you on it, she never did. Frau had that habit of letting things hang in the air until they wilted, not because she didn’t care, but because she always seemed to know what was true without hearing it.

She uncrossed her legs, her gaze still holding yours. “I don’t mind when you go,” she said, voice low, collected. “I just prefer when you remember what’s waiting for you here.” She sipped her wine. Slowly. Deliberately.

“I rearranged your side of the closet. Again. You never put things back quite right.” She tilted her head, studying you with a slight hum. “It’s endearing. In a chaotic, frustrating sort of way.”

There was something wolf-like in her silence — the way she let you move, but always kept you in sight. Not overtly controlling, but always present. Always… close enough.

She stood at last, stepping around the table and brushing past you with calculated softness — the scent of her perfume sharp and intentional. She didn’t touch you, but her presence curled around your ribs anyway.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she murmured without looking back. “If you’re staying.” That last part lingered like a dare — not to leave, but to try.

The flashing lights, the murmurs of photographers adjusting their angles, the subtle hum of the studio — it all blended into the background. You had learned to tune it out, to focus only on the lens, on the silent commands hidden in every glance Frau Schneider gave you.

She stood just out of frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp as she analyzed every pose, every breath you took. Even with others in the room, it felt like the shoot was meant only for her.

“Chin up,” she instructed, her voice low but firm. “Good. Hold that.” You obeyed, of course you did. Because she demanded perfection, and you had learned to give it to her.

The session stretched on, time slipping past in the rhythm of shutter clicks and fabric adjustments. Then finally, the final shot. The team moved around you, adjusting the set, but Frau stepped closer, gaze unwavering.

“Enough for today,” she said, nodding to the crew before looking at you. “Change. I need to speak with you.” There was no question of refusing.

Inside the dressing room, you let out a slow breath, fingers working on the buttons of the designer piece draped over your form. The moment you were down to the slip beneath, the door clicked open.

Frau didn’t knock. She never did.

She leaned against the frame, arms still folded, looking down at you with that same unreadable expression she always wore. “We’re leaving next week,” she said, as if it was already decided. Because it was. “Paris. Fashion Week.”

Your pulse skipped.

“It’ll be a full schedule,” she continued, stepping inside, slow, deliberate. “Shows, interviews, exclusive events. You will be at my side for all of it.”

Her gaze dragged over you — not in an inappropriate way, but in the way a sculptor admires their finest work.

German class had always felt different. Maybe it was the silence, maybe it was Frau Schneider’s sharp presence — or maybe it was how you never quite felt like just any student when she was around. You didn’t struggle with German. In fact, you were fluent, which meant fewer corrections, fewer lectures… and, occasionally, the rare soft look from Frau that no one else seemed to get.

She’d never admit you were her favorite. When someone once dared say it, she gave them a look cold enough to freeze the room. But still… you got away with more than most.

Today, the classroom was nearly empty. The other students had taken a school trip, but you'd stayed behind. Whether it was out of convenience or something deeper, you weren’t sure. Frau Schneider entered, paused briefly upon seeing you alone, then walked to her desk like always — composed, unreadable.

"It appears you and I are the only ones dedicated enough to attend class today," she remarked, removing her coat and placing her bag neatly beside the desk.

You shrugged, and she gave a slight nod, lips twitching — almost a smile. Almost.

“No point in group work,” she added, coming to sit beside you with a folder in hand. “We can revise... or speak. Your choice.”

Her sleeves were rolled just above the wrist, her blouse immaculate. She sat closer than usual, flipping to a page and angling it toward you. “Let’s hear you read this.”

You did. She watched. Not the paper, you.

"Sehr schön," she murmured, her voice softer now. “It’s clear you’ve been practicing. Or perhaps it just comes naturally.”

Then, a pause. Her tone dipped ever so slightly, rich and almost amused. "Kein Wunder, dass du geblieben bist... du magst Frauen, nicht wahr?"

Her words were barely a breath between you, her eyes steady, unreadable. After all, she wanted to know what were those special glances you've been giving to her lately.

The soft sound of water sloshing against the porcelain tub filled the quiet room as Frau Schneider moved around, preparing everything for the evening. Candles were lit, casting a warm glow that made the room feel like an intimate retreat. The fragrance of lavender lingered in the air, blending with the natural warmth of the bath.

She turned, offering you a soft, encouraging smile as she noticed you standing near the tub, looking a bit unsure.

“Come, relax.” Her voice was calm, inviting, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of the world lift off your shoulders simply from her presence.

You hadn’t realized how tense you were until she gently guided you into the water, the warm steam enveloping your body. She didn’t rush you. Slowly, she undid the buttons of your blouse, her fingers brushing against your skin with care. It wasn’t about hurried intimacy — it was about making you feel safe and cherished.

"Let me take care of you," she murmured, her voice warm like the water surrounding you. She was always so confident, but now there was something more in her eyes — an undeniable adoration as she watched you settle in.

Frau Schneider’s presence was like a cocoon around you, and as the water enveloped your body, she leaned in to adjust the temperature, ensuring it was perfect. There was a quiet reverence in how she handled everything, from filling the glass with wine to brushing her hand against your wet skin.

“You’ve been working so hard... it’s time to focus on yourself for once,” she said softly, her fingers lightly massaging your shoulders as you closed your eyes. There was no rush, no sense of urgency, just a gentle, nurturing energy that you hadn’t known you needed until now.

As you relaxed deeper into the tub, you felt her brush away strands of hair from your face, her gaze soft but intense. The intimacy wasn’t about need or expectation — it was purely about connection.