[LESBIAN Story] [By silkstockingslover] © [A parent-teacher interview changes a teacher's life.]
Do you know who you are? I mean really know who you are. I thought I did. But one moment in time, one interaction with a person, can change everything. One person sees the real you and brings out a side of you that you never knew existed. That is what happened to me.
I thought I was happy. I thought I was content. But I never knew real happiness, pure absolute ecstasy until that one moment in time, until that one person. One moment, one person changed everything...
As a fourth grade teacher, I pride myself that many parents request their children be put in my class. As a result, many of my students are siblings of former students. I love seeing the transformation of former students into young adults. For example, I get a great feeling of satisfaction when someone who once was a high energy bratty grade four boy, is now a well behaved young man in his high school years; I take even more satisfaction when he comes up to thank me for what he learned from me 7 or 8 years earlier. It's equally pleasurable to see some of the girls who were catty trouble-makers, become stunningly beautiful high school juniors or seniors.
I don't teach for the money, obviously, if you know what we get paid; so when I see students turn into mature young adults, it really is a great feeling of achievement.
I have one family, the Petersons, whose youngest child Devon is currently in my class. Devon's older sisters, Elizabeth (Liz) now in the 8th grade, and Karli, a senior (she was in my very first class after I began teaching right out of college), were both well-behaved girls, always doing the most exceptional work and were courteous to their classmates. They were both a real joy to have. I never, ever, had a negative moment with either one.
Devon, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. At least once a week I have to put a note in his folder detailing his misdeeds and asking his parents to sign and return it to me. Truthfully, he's a bright student, but his desperate need for constant attention hinders his learning. He's done little things like breaking classmate's pencils and switching lunchbox contents. He's also done major things like stealing from backpacks and destroying text books.
I believe it's all a cry for the attention that he probably doesn't get at home. Being the youngest child, the only boy, following his perfect sisters is probably extremely difficult. It also doesn't help that his father is generally out of town, and his mother is heavily involved in her daughters' schools' PTA, sports, and cheerleading. I almost feel sorry for Devon, except that for each note I send home, I then need to interact with his mother.
Mrs. Peterson. Constance Peterson. Not Connie, but Constance. Ugh. Just hearing her name caused me stress and anxiety. When I had her two girls as students, any of my interactions with her were always mildly pleasant. Good reports on the girls and no problems with Mrs. Peterson, although she always acted as if I wasn't worthy of her precious time. But this year, it's as if she's a different person and has a personal vendetta against me. All of Devon's issues are my fault, according to her. I dread when my phone rings and I'm notified by the receptionist that Mrs. Peterson is here to see me. She's yelled at me, cussed at me, and even broken a picture frame on my desk, as she called me a rotten teacher and accused me of making up stories about her do-no-wrong Devon. I don't know what happened to her, or what I did to deserve all this abuse from her, but as a teacher, we're trained to agree with the parent and work out a resolution.
Constance is probably 40 years old now. Of course if you'd ask her, she'd say she's 30 (which would mean she had her first child when she was 12!). Nonetheless, she really could pass for 30. I'm almost 30 and I look older than she does. The male teachers on staff call her a MILF, or at least that is their fantasy of her. They leer after her as she saunters by on her quest to make my life miserable.
Constance is 5' 9", a few inches taller than I am, and she likes to wear 3-inch stiletto heels, which give her an intimidating height. Her long, fiery red hair, which matches her domineering personality, is always (and I mean always) perfectly styled. She likes to drape it over her shoulders, letting it lie on her chest as if to direct your eyes to her cleavage; cleavage she loves to showcase. Even in the middle of winter, when everyone is wearing bulky, crewneck sweaters trying to keep warm, Constance will wear something scoop neck, V-neck, low cut. She's not large breasted, maybe a 36 C, but they still seem very firm and impressive. She also has long, slender, athletic, legs that are the envy of all women her age. Add in the three-inch pumps she always wears and she has a very powerful, sexual and dominating persona.
As we approached Parent Conference Day, notices were sent home asking for preferred times to schedule a conference. We provide time for all the parents to choose from, with the last conference supposed to end by 6 p.m. (we allow late times for the working parents) and I had a full day planned with one exception; Constance. She sent me an email saying she wouldn't be able to meet until 7:30 p.m., and that she had already verified that with my principal, who suggested that I would be glad to stay late for her conference. I cursed my luck and dreaded the upcoming interview with her.
Before I continue with my story, I should tell you a little about myself. My name is Hannah Hawkins. I am recently divorced and have a six year old daughter, Elaine, who is my pride and joy. I am 5'6", a brunette, with brown eyes and weigh a typical 137 pounds. My breasts are also rather normal, at 34b, and while they are not really large, they are very firm. I also have strong legs, although I usually hide them in dress pants. My greatest asset is my smile, one I have been told melts hearts.
Because of the lateness of my last interview, and the potential for it to be both long and stressful, I had my ex-husband, now forever known as Asshole, to keep Elaine for the night. I figured I might need a glass of wine when I got home...maybe even a bottle.
The day was long, as Parent Conference Days always are, but having to wait two hours after my last interview, was excruciating. The clock ticked by slowly, giving me ample time to consider what Constance may say or do. Every scenario I considered ended badly. The draft in my classroom did not help either, as I was cold in my conservative black skirt, black pantyhose and white blouse. When I went to the staffroom at 7:00 to get water, the school was empty. I was the only teacher left, other than my Principal. I went back to my classroom and waited and waited and waited.
At 7:40, I was pissed. She made me wait two hours and decided to not even show up; the fucking bitch. I got up to leave, packed my bag, and slid out of my heels. I had one foot on a student's desk chair and I was just about to put on my runners when Constance walked in.
Constance gave a cough to make aware her presence; I immediately stood up straight, stumbling a bit, realizing my skirt had lifted carelessly, revealing way too much of my pantyhose-covered leg.
"You were leaving?" she asked in a condescending tone. She was dressed as she usually was, immaculately pristine, yet there was something different. She had on a business suit with a white silk shirt, two buttons open, to, as usual, showcase her breasts; a black skirt, just above the knee, with matching stockings that had seams up the back of her long legs; her patent three-inch pumps were gone and replaced with three inch ankle boots. She also had on a choker, something she had never worn before, and her red hair was in a bun. She looked ready for business.
I looked over at her, hiding my anxiety, I ignored her question and asked her to come in. I slipped back into my heels and sat down at the table. To my surprise, she moved her chair to be beside me, instead of across from me like the set up is meant to be. In an instant I had lost my power position. My apprehension increased, as I prepared to start the interview from Hell. As she sat down, she crossed her legs, her skirt riding up rather highly, revealing the top of a stocking held by a garter belt. It should not have been a distraction, but it became an obsession.
I handed her the report card that had a plethora of Cs and Ds. Constance looked at the report card thoroughly, the seconds turning into minutes. I fiddled with my ring as I patiently took quick glimpses at her long stocking-clad legs and nervously awaited the assault. Her ankle bumped my leg and lingered there longer than socially acceptable.
Putting the file down, she leaned towards me, her two open buttons giving me a clear glimpse of her fleshy cleavage. Her voice was stern, "Why do you hate my son?"
My eyes broke away from her hypnotically inviting breasts as I defended my dignity, "I don't hate your son. I treat him the same as I treat all my students."
She gave a smug smirk as she said sarcastically, "You hate all your students?"
I immediately stood up, enraged; my cheeks flush with anger, furious that my professional integrity was being questioned.
Before I could speak and defend myself, Mrs. Peterson stood up herself and demanded, in a deliberate don't-mess-with-me tone, "Sit down, Miss Hawkins."
Her commanding voice, her uncompromising eyes, her towering figure all caused me to immediately plop back into my chair, all my rage disappearing in a flash, replaced by fear of what this woman might do next. She walked around my chair, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her harsh tone vanished, as she whispered, "You are tense, my pet." Tense was putting it mildly. She then began to massage my shoulders gently.
I tried to process this bizarre situation, her sudden anger replaced by a soft voice and this gentle massage of my shoulders, not to mention her calling me "my pet." My anger was slowly simmering as I became relaxed from the gentle massage; but I was also confused at the sudden change in Constance's demeanor. My mixed feelings had me reeling. I couldn't speak or move. I was both petrified and yet oddly relaxed. It made no sense, but I was at the whim of this harsh woman. So distracted, I barely caught the soft, tender voice she now used as she inquired, "So, what are we going to do about Devon's grades, my pet?"
'My pet' she said a second time. I was so rattled by this strange approach of this usually despicable woman that I was caught completely off guard. She quit massaging me and sat back down and I was surprised at the overwhelming disappointment that filled me. I attempted to recompose myself as I looked back to Mrs. Peterson. I explained that her son's grades are greatly impacted by his lack of effort and his constant discipline issues. If he applied himself, and behaved himself, he had the potential to be an excellent student, like both her older daughters.
Mrs. Peterson smiled as her hand fell ever so haphazardly onto my knee. I tried to listen to her words, but I was distracted by her soft touch on my leg and the ample cleavage that was staring me in the face. She seemed to be waiting for a response to whatever she had just said and I, slightly flushed, requested she repeat her question.
Her smile never faded as she asked, "Are you distracted, my pet?"
I should have pulled back, but I didn't. A fire seemed to burn inside me. My cheeks flushed and my loins began to stir.
Now I should mention I am not a lesbian. I had made out with girlfriends at the bar to tease our boyfriends back in college and such, but never had been seriously aroused by the opposite sex. Okay, now that I think about it, there was a brief kissing incident with my colleague Colleen, which happened just last week. We were at a bar for happy hour, which turned into happy 'hours'. With drunken exuberance, she had suddenly given me a passionate kiss. We both just passed it off as a drunken moment of weakness, though later and even now, I find it still embedded in my mind. In fact, ever since, every time I see her at work, I get at least a little excited. She is married and has two children. I am divorced and have not had sex in over a year, at least sex with another man. I admit I use of my seven-inch dildo or my back massager many times. That one has a pointed attachment, which makes it convenient to use when I want penetration as well as clit stimulation. In fact, I think last time I used it I had flashes of Colleen.... "My pet?"
Constance's voice and the smell of her perfume brought me out of my self-analysis. I noticed her hypnotic smell, a blend of sweetness, spice, fruit and floral. I was further intoxicated when I looked at her lips, with her bright red lipstick, a scarlet slash as if to tease. I briefly thought to overcome my fear and kiss her out of curiosity. At that moment, a sudden gust of wind shook the window, startling me back to my situation again.
'What had gotten into me?' I wondered. I forced myself to again look at Constance as the woman I most hated in the whole world. Thus, I tried to get the conference back on track.
"So," I began, trying for business-like, "What are we going to do to improve Devon's behavior?"
Her hand, still resting on my leg, moved up just slightly, as she turned my question back onto me. "The better question, my pet, is what are you going to do to get on my good side?"
I froze. What was she implying? She saw the confusion in my expression and took it as an opening as her warm breath hit my cheek. Her lips moved past mine, lingering for a moment in time, and moved to my ultimate weak spot, my ear. Using my first name for the first time ever, she whispered, "Hannah, I know what you want." Her hot breath and seductive tone had me turning into jello. Then her hand moved under my skirt. I knew I should back away, protest, slap her hand away, but I just sat there, paralyzed by fear and hormones. She hesitated, giving me time to react. When I didn't, she continued, "You want to please me, don't you, Hannah?"
Her hand was only a couple of inches from my vagina, as she again waited for a verbal response from me. I attempted to speak coherently, yet all I got out was a mumbled and not very convincing "I don't know." I no longer had any clue what I wanted. I hated this woman, she was the bane of my existence, and yet, right at this moment, I wanted nothing more than to taste her lipstick, to feel her lips on mine.
She looked in my eyes, her intoxicating eyes pulling me in, her sensual lips inviting me in. My mind was a fog and when she leaned in and our lips touched, I did not resist. My lips parted and Constance took the opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. Still reeling from the erotic spell Mrs. Peterson had me under, my tongue responded. Soon our tongues were doing the taboo dance. The kiss lasted an eternity, one of sweetness, one of me forgetting who I was kissing or where I was. Instead, I was focusing on the thrill of being wanted.
When her hand reached my underwear, I was jolted back to reality. What was I doing? This is a conservative, small town. I could lose my job? My career could be ruined. Frantic to get the situation under control, I hastily stood up, breaking the kiss. As I stood up, I wobbled awkwardly, my legs still weak from the passionate embrace. I looked at Mrs. Peterson whose face gave away nothing.
"We can't do this," I said firmly.
Mrs. Peterson stood up, exuding her usual confidence, walked to me, and put her finger gently on my arm. Her touch brought a shiver throughout my body. My emotional state was put right back into complete turmoil. Her bright red lips curved into a smug smile. She did not ask, she told me, "You are coming with me for coffee."
I shivered, as I tried to regain control of the situation, I struggled to say no, "I-I-I don't think that is a g-g-good idea."
Her smug smile disappeared, her usual condescending tone returned, as she intoned, "I wasn't asking if you wanted to go for coffee, Hannah. I said you are coming for coffee."
The statement was not a question, but a demand. The forceful tone had me too nervous to say no, and too petrified to say yes. But then I thought about it. It was only coffee after all. She was way too well known a public figure to do anything crazy in public. Going for coffee would be a good way to get out of this awkward position in my classroom. Finally feeling back in control again, I agreed to go for coffee with her. My confident swagger was back.
Just as quickly as her tone had shifted from sweet to aggressive, she returned to sweet. "That is a good girl, my pet."
But when I began to take off my heels, she suddenly commanded, "Keep the heels on, my pet. They really do showcase your sexy legs."
I blushed at that, somehow embarrassed yet proud that she had noticed my legs. I quickly obeyed her, sliding my feet back into my heels. I grabbed my purse, then my marking bag. Just as quickly, I set the marking bag back down, knowing I was past doing any kind of marking tonight. After coffee, I figured I would go home, crack open the bottle of wine I bought for tonight and soak in a long bubble bath. The thought of having a nice soak and a good drunk sounded so good.
I followed Constance to the parking lot, neither of us saying a word. As I pulled out my keys to my SUV, Constance finally spoke, again her tone implying this was not a suggestion, but a command. "We are taking my car."
I looked at her, startled. This was not part of my plan; I would then be at the mercy of Mrs. Peterson. I protested, "Oh no, I can take my vehicle."
The tone was back, and each word dripped with authority, "No, Hannah, we will go in mine." Her voice and look told me this was non-negotiable and I followed her to a blue sports car. As I followed, I wondered how I was going to get out of this mess; yet, a small part of me, deep down inside, was intrigued to see what was going to happen next.
Constance opened the door for me and waited until I sat down. I was shocked again when she leaned over and buckled my safety belt for me. Her breasts swayed unfettered under her blouse, and her sweet exotic scent lingered. The small curious part inside me was growing; I could feel the shift inside me. My will to resist her was weakening. I tried to suppress my excitement, my eagerness, but my pussy, now damp, was making it incredibly hard to focus on what the right thing to do was.
As Mrs. Peterson drove, I shyly looked over at her. She was a beautiful woman and it had been so long since any person, even a woman as despicable as her, had given me any sort of physical attention. I looked down and noticed her skirt had crept up. I gave out a slight gasp as I noticed the top of her nylons and the trace of a garter. The only time I had ever worn a garter was on my wedding day. The thought that this bitch of a woman dressed so sexy was a revelation. It also had me getting hornier. As if she heard my naughty thoughts, she moved her right hand onto my leg. As she drove, her long supple fingers slowly slid up my inner thigh, slightly pushing up my skirt. I could no longer think straight. My protest was so weak it was inaudible. I tried to close my legs to block her hand, but a quick push back from her hand ended my pathetically weak resistance.
When I looked up, I realized we were pulling into a driveway of a large house, a mansion really. I asked nervously, but I already knew the answer, "Where are we?"
She shrugged, her hand leaving my leg, and responded nonchalantly, "My house."
I panicked, my conscience coming back to me in a wave. I became stubborn, "I can't go into your house, Mrs. Peterson. It isn't right. What would your husband and daughters think, not to mention Devon? I'm sure he would not be pleased seeing his teacher in his own house."
"Oh, don't you worry about that, my poor little Hannah. They are all conveniently gone for the evening. We have the place to ourselves, you see, just you and me and our cups of coffee." She gestured quotation marks around 'cup of coffee' that had me wondering briefly when she added, "And by the way, please call me Constance."
Seeing that I was still sitting there stubbornly, Constance got out of the car and walked around to my side. She opened my door and leaned in to unbuckle by safety belt. I held my breath, paralyzed at first, but then stopped her from unbuckling my seat belt. She looked at me sweetly, eye to eye, and then kissed me on the cheek. Then she leaned into me, her breasts plastered against mine. "Don't you worry your cute little head about the details, my pet." Her hot breath on my ear again weakened my resistance. She bit my ear with a not gentle, not hard, nibble and stood back up. In the meantime, she had the seatbelt unbuckled. She grabbed my hand, pulled me out and explained, "You are mine tonight, my pet Hannah. I own you. It's really quite simple for you. All you have to do is submit to me. Obey my every command."
Such words should have freaked me out, yet they did the opposite. In an instant, a wave of guilt and shame washed away. As a teacher, I am always in charge, always putting out fires, always on the go. It is exhausting both physically and mentally. So when Mrs. Peterson told me not to worry and to submit to her, it was a natural calling. To just let go and let fate or someone else make my decisions was such an overwhelmingly great feeling that suddenly nothing else mattered... but obeying.
I allowed her to take my hand and lead me into her house. "Maeko," she called out as she led me to the living room couch. "Have a seat, Hannah."
My heart skipped a beat as I realized someone else was here. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the Peterson's maid. I recognized Mrs. Chung. Mrs. Chung's daughter was in my class and was an absolute genius and sweetheart of a girl.
"Yes, Mistress, what can I do for you?" asked the Chinese mother and maid, standing in a submissive waiting position. I was slightly taken aback by hearing the Chinese mother call Constance Mistress.
"Could you please get my guest here a glass of wine and me my usual?"
"Yes, Mistress," Mrs. Chung responded, and subserviently and immediately exited.
Seeing the look of shock on my face, Mrs. Peterson asked, "Oh, you know Maeko don't you?"
"Her daughter is in my class," I explained.
"I know," she responded, "She is a very, very, good maid. A full service maid." She added that last part as if to imply 'full service' had a double meaning. "I am going to change into something a little more..." she paused, considering what she wanted to say, "me. Just relax, Hannah. I won't be long."
Of course I could not relax; even as I sat upon the most comfortable leather couch I had ever sat on. My anxiety was overwhelming. My inner turmoil and anticipation of what might transpire had me both curious and wanting to run from the room, the house. Just as I considered doing the latter, Mrs. Chung re-entered the room, carrying a tray with two glasses of red wine along with the rest of the bottle. She had also thought to add a plate of appetizers. After setting the tray upon the oak coffee table, she just left. Never once had she looked at me to acknowledge that we knew one another.
As I reached for a glass of wine, I definitely thought to grab the bottle. Instead, I took a lengthy sip from the glass. The refreshing wine calmed my nerves. I took a second and third sip. As I was taking another sip of my now half empty glass, Constance walked back in. Her 'more me' look was stunning. She had on a leather skirt, black thigh-high boots, black stockings, and a red blouse. Her red hair was out of her usual bun and flowed down her shoulders elegantly. If she was pretty when dressed in her usual stuffy attire, she was drop-dead gorgeous when she let her hair down.
She sauntered to the table and quickly grabbed her glass of wine. "Oh, I so need this," she announced and then noticed my glass. "Oh my, Hannah, I see you must have needed it too. Let me give you some more. Maeko."
As Constance refilled my glass, Maeko re-entered the room, "Yes, Mistress?"
Constance announced, "You may go home now; I won't need you for the rest of the evening,"
"As you wish, Mistress," the Chinese maid replied softly as she walked out of the room.
Constance immediately turned to me, took a sip of her wine, and looked me up and down. She had this odd look on her face, as if to analyze me. It had me feeling like a piece of meat, like I often did in college when I was at frat parties. Back then, the boys were only after one thing...sex. Constance, seemingly knowing her power over me, repeated a question from earlier today, "So, Hannah, my pet, how do you plan to get on my good side?"
I did not know what to say, and she did not need an answer. She simply walked over to me, put down her glass, took mine and put it down as well. Seating herself next to me, she quickly had me in an embrace and was kissing me. This time her kiss was more passionate and more domineering. I broke the kiss and weakly said, "Please, don't." Deep down I did not want her to stop, and she knew it.
"My pet, I am doing exactly what you want me to do. You want me to kiss you. To make you my little plaything, don't you?" Her hands on my thighs were a great distraction as I tried to respond coherently. Her lips moved to my vulnerable ear, nibbling on it as she whispered, "Well...am...I...correct? Are...you...ready...to...submit...to...your...Mistress?" The sentence took over a minute to finish as she bit my ear and finished by extending her tongue into my eardrum.
I moaned in pleasure, my will to resist non-existent. I was nearly writhing.
Not waiting for an answer, not that I was able to, she began to fumble with the buttons on my blouse. She continued her warm assault on my ear, "So, am I going to have any more problems with you, my pet?"
Another moan escaped my lips, my panties now moist, as I tried to comprehend her actual question. Again, I had no answer.
"You will be a good teacher, won't you, my pet?" she purred, as she pulled my blouse out of my skirt. No words left my lips as I continued to writhe.
Finally she demanded a response. "Answer me, Hannah!"
I was startled by her change in tone and obediently answered, scared to make her angry with me. "Yes."
"Yes what?" she asked, her tone implying her annoyance and impatience.
I paused, unsure what she wanted, until I thought of Maeko and realized exactly what she wanted. I whispered, like a child attempting to avoid discipline, "Yes, Mistress."
"Good girl," she purred, her gentleness back in a heartbeat. She took off my blouse and began exploring my body with soft pecks from her sweet lips, sending goose bumps all over my body. Her pecks became sensual kisses on my shoulder and tummy as she unhooked my bra and slid the straps from my shoulders. As my breasts were released from their restraints, I suddenly felt all my insecurities wash over me. I felt embarrassed and vulnerable to be seen with all my flaws in front of this beautiful woman with her perfect body. I began to cover myself, but was quickly scolded, "Don't you dare cover yourself, Hannah. You must let your Mistress see you." She gave me the once over as I trembled nervously, waiting for her to criticize me, like she always did. Instead she pinched my now stiff, swollen nipples. I gasped at the pain. I also gasped at the pleasure it gave me. Without a word, she dipped her head to my breasts. Her tongue darted and flicked over each nipple. The wetness of her tongue and the hotness of her breath had me on the edge of ecstasy. Noticing my increased moaning, Constance ordered, like a mother would discipline a child, "Don't you dare come, my slut. Not until I give you permission."
Being called a slut was like a slap in the face and a rush of adrenaline to my extremely wet pussy. The two extremes had me baffled. I was not a slut; I hadn't even had sex in over a year. Yet, here I was, topless in a parent's living room. What did that make me? As I considered this, Constance pulled me up to my feet. I stood helplessly as this stuck-up bitch unzipped my skirt, pulled it over my hips, and then allowed it to fall to the floor on its own. She seemed to relish removing each high heel in turn slowly as she eyed my well-built legs.
She moved back up to my mid-section and asked, her tone a blend of authority and compassion, "And what is with you wearing pantyhose? A good slave, especially one with such fine legs, should only wear thigh-highs, or garters and stockings. From now on, Hannah that is what you must wear. Understood?"
First slut, now slave. I stood there embarrassed at the current situation. Realizing she was awaiting my response, I answered with what I was sure she wanted to hear, "Yes, Mistress."
She repeated her desire as if to require my complete understanding. "I expect you in such hosiery every day from now on, my little lez."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied. For some reason, the thought came to me that I would have to go shopping. I shook my head as I realized that I was being foolish, that this would be a one-time thing. It had to be.
Constance? Mrs. Peterson? Mistress? Lover? Unsure of how to think of her, she now slowly pulled down my pantyhose. Now I was standing and shivering in only my underwear. I had never felt so vulnerable and helpless in my life.
Her hand slowly caressed my arm as she whispered, 'You are a submissive little slut, aren't you, Hannah?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely confused. A light chill in the air had me shaking slightly.
"You like to obey," she explained. Her mouth went to my ear as she whispered, "You need to obey."
I whimpered. Oddly, at this pivotal moment, what popped into my head was the National Junior Honour Society Pledge. One line of the Pledge in particular stood out. "I pledge to give of myself freely in service to others". It was a pledge I made years ago, but in retrospect it is a pledge I have always kept. I am the one my family rely on, and I'm the one they take advantage of when they need help. And at school I sacrifice my time and my life for the students; and now that I reflect on it, I was submissive in the bedroom to my ex-husband as well.
I was brought out of my trance-like state by Constance who repeated, "So slut, are you submissive?" She paused, her hand now on the outside of my very damp pussy, and emphasized, 'My submissive.'
I involuntarily let out a moan and the word "yes" escaped my lips.
"Good girl," she said, again, like I was a child. "My, my, my, you are drenched, my pet. Why are you so wet?" She waited for a response, but I could not verbalize my answer. It was way too humiliating. "Answer me, whore!" she bellowed.
I stuttered out of fear, "I-I-I can't, it is too humiliating."
Her anger quickly dissipated and her deceivingly seductive smile returned. Her finger went inside my panties. "My pet, have I not made it crystal clear? I own you. I am your Mistress. You are my slave, whore, submissive, dyke, cunt, bitch, whatever I decide to call you at the moment. You will only come when I give you permission. Your main purpose is my pleasure. You get wet just thinking about pleasing your Mistress." She shoved her finger deep inside my pussy. My resistance waned. I wanted to come. At that moment, I wanted her to be my Mistress. My breathing became more of a pant. Her finger was driving me crazy. "Submit to me, whore," she commanded.
Without any thought or reflection, the words flew out of me, "I am your slave, Mistress, I will obey you."
My Mistress pumped her finger hard with three quick thrusts, whereupon she withdrew it and quickly put it in her mouth. After savouring my juice, she put her hands on my shoulders and guided me to my knees. She lifted her foot and commanded me to take off her boot. I did so ever so slowly and gently. Her pedicured foot, toenails painted ruby red, matching her lipstick, was in my hands. She instructed me to lick the bottom of her foot. I lifted her foot up and extended my tongue to her nylon-covered sole. I took my time, determined to be a perfect slave, to not incur her wrath, as I licked every inch of her foot. The taste was a mixture of leather and sweet sweat. Although hardly an appetizing taste, my focus on pleasing her made the experience shockingly enjoyable. I was ordered to repeat the task on her other foot and again focused on pleasing my Mistress.
"You are a good slave," Mrs. Peterson, said approvingly. Her approval warmed my insides, and I waited further instruction, kneeling before her.
I watched intently as she backed up a few feet and unbuttoned her red blouse. Her eyes never left mine as she slowly, painfully slowly, undid one button at a time. I watched, desperate to see her hidden flesh. Seeing my eyes riveted on her bra-covered boobs, she slyly smiled and went for her skirt instead. She unzipped it slowly, letting it carelessly fall to the floor. I admired her standing there before me in a garter belt, black thigh-high stockings, a black lace bra, and a matching thong. Her pale flesh was an intoxicating contrast to the dark lingerie. My pussy tingled with anticipation. I desperately wanted to unwrap my Mistress' treasures. Finally, as if reading my mind, she unhooked her bra, slipped it off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Her breasts swayed a bit, although still incredibly firm for her age. She posed for me and asked, "Do you like what you see, whore?"
"Yes," I responded honestly, mesmerized by the older woman's amazing body. I could only dream of having a body like that in 10 years. I watched as she hooked her fingers over the elastic of her thong and slid them down her luscious legs. My eyes focused on her flawlessly trimmed pussy. The garter and stockings framed perfectly her pussy and thin strip of auburn hair.
She balled up her thong and tossed it at me. Although surprised, I caught her piece of string-like underwear and instinctively put it to my nose. As I sniffed her aroma, she commented, "Wow, you really are a little lezbo, aren't you?" Realizing what I was doing, I dropped her slightly damp thong to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. "Take your panties off," she instructed. I got off my weary knees and awkwardly, my legs slightly numb from being on the floor for so long, got out of my last piece of restrictive clothing.
My Mistress moved to me and kissed me, pulling me to her. Our breasts flattened against each other. I moaned into her mouth as her knee pushed between my legs and against my naked mound. The kissing was intense as her tongue darted into my mouth and she actually seemed to suck my tongue into her mouth.
After a couple of minutes of this reckless passion, she suddenly grasped my shoulders, and for a second time, this time roughly, she pushed me onto my knees. She scolded, "Slut, you got my knee all wet with your pussy juice. Clean it up." I looked at her knee, which indeed had a special gleam to it and attempted to retrieve my juice from her stocking. I heard her purr, "Good cunt," as I sucked up my juice.
When she was content with my thoroughness, she lifted the same leg onto the couch and presented me with a very close-up look of her pussy. Her fingers entwined my hair. She wordlessly pulled me in, guiding my face to her forbidden zone. My anxiety overwhelmed me, no longer because I was humiliated by the situation. I suppose I still was, but now I no longer cared. Now I was more worried about pleasing her; concerned I would not make my Mistress, who now owned me, happy. I was so close to her pussy I was getting drunk in her exotic scent when she thrust her hips forward and said in a dominant and reassuring voice, "You know what you want to do, Hannah. You know what you crave to do. You know what you were born to do. Now do it, slut. Lick your Mistress's cunt." Her words were the final crack in my already brittle resistance. She was right, I don't know how she knew I was submissive I myself didn't, but I was forever grateful. It is exactly what I wanted, what I craved, what I was born to do. I extended my tongue and began my servitude to my Mistress.
As I began pleasuring my Mistress, I tried to do to her pussy what I liked having done to me. Mistress shivered from my tender stroke as I shifted from gentle to harder pressure. A shiver of joy went up my spine when I heard her say, "That's it slut...do what a slut is born to do....what a slut is trained to do...lick your Mistress's pussy." As her moaning increased, I felt her nylon leg move onto my shoulder, pulling my face deeper between her legs. My face was now buried in her wetness, and I began to focus on her clit. Her secretions trickled down my chin and down her thighs as my attempt to make her come seemed to be working.
She demanded, "Don't stop slut, don't you fucking stop." I sucked her clit into my mouth. Her leg quivered on my shoulder. Suddenly she made an earth-shattering scream and came, her juices spraying all over me. My face soaked, I continued to lick her clit as her body went through spasm after spasm, her orgasm seeming to last forever. I stayed between her legs, savouring her delicious nectar as I brought here to a second softer orgasm. I felt her cum dripping from my chin as her orgasms subsided and she finally removed her leg from my shoulder. My Mistress was silent for what seemed an eternity as she took a few sips of her wine. I knelt before her obediently, awaiting further instructions.
Finishing her glass of wine, my Mistress finally spoke, as she commanded, "Follow me, cunt." Somewhat forlornly, I noticed she had not showed me a sign of approval for my obedient and dedicated pleasuring of her. I began to stand up, but was scolded, "No whore, crawl like a dog." I obeyed, completely humiliated, now being treated like a family pet. Yet, I got on all fours and followed my Mistress.
I crawled up the stairs and we ended up in a mammoth bedroom, the king-sized bed looking like a shrine in the middle. I crawled to my Mistress's feet, and she bent down and petted my hair. "Good girl," she cooed as if I had just done a trick. My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. I felt degraded, humiliated. I was a strong, powerful woman, someone who inspired others; yet here I was being treated like a family pet. I should have been angry, and yet I was eager to please even more. I desperately wanted her approval. I wanted nothing more than to please her. It made no sense, but I no longer seemed able to follow logic. I was her slave and wouldn't even consider disobeying any order, no matter how extremely mortifying.
I watched her as she disappeared into a huge walk-in closet. When she returned a couple of minutes later, she was wearing a strap-on cock and was carrying a large silver tray. She walked past me and put the tray, with an array of toys and lubes on it, on the table next to the bed. She commanded, "Slave, get on the bed now."
I did as instructed. My Mistress joined me on the bed, and I did not struggle or protest as she grabbed my arms, quickly handcuffing me to the headboard. A feeling of complete helplessness hit me as I lay there bound. Up until now, I at least in theory could stop this descent into servitude and obedience. But now I was completely at the mercy of a woman who had humiliated me in public, chastised me as a teacher and forced me to be her whore. She reached back to the tray and returned with what I would soon learn was a butt plug. It was a thin black toy and I watched her lubricate it generously. Once she had lubricated it, she asked me, "Have you ever had anything in your ass?"
"No," I answered, my fear clearly expressed by my facial expression.
"Well, today is a day of firsts then, my pet," she said rather casually. "First, you become my new submissive slave, second you eat pussy, and now I get to take your anal virginity."
I began to protest, when she roared, "Don't you ever fucking question your Mistress. If I want to share you with my friends I will. If I want you to service the football team you will. If I want you to go to a glory hole and suck cock after cock you will. Don't you fucking get it, you stupid fucking bitch? I own you. I own your tongue and mouth. I own your pussy. I own your ass. I own your entire body. Don't you ever make me repeat a command again or you will be punished in ways you can't even begin to imagine."
Her mood swings alarmed me. My eyes went wide in fear at her fiery rage. She slapped my legs apart and not-so-gently pushed the lubricated toy in my ass. I yelped loudly, tears in my eyes, but said nothing out of fear of triggering more of my Mistress's anger. The pain in my ass burned and unlike stories I have read online, the pain was not simmering away. It burned like Hell. Mistress watched my facial expressions in amusement, before simply getting off the bed and leaving the room.
As I lay in my Mistress's bed, I pondered my predicament. How had I gone, in only a couple of hours' time, from being a confident teacher ready to deal with a difficult parent, to being handcuffed and naked in the same parent's bed? Replaying the evening in my head, I couldn't pinpoint any one moment that was the turning point. It seemed like a domino effect, where once the first domino fell; there was no stopping the chain of events that were destined to follow.
The pain in my ass still burned, yet my pussy was also on fire, but a very different kind of fire. I desperately wanted to come, hoping such pleasure would dissipate the extreme burning in my ass. Unfortunately, I was helpless in every sense of the word; helpless to please myself and helpless to reject my Mistress. I had to accept that my life had changed dramatically in only a couple of hours. And there was no going back. As I considered this, I wondered if I would even want to turn back the hands of time if I could. On the one hand, the answer was obvious. Of course, I would. A couple of hours ago my life made sense. I was happy, oblivious to the submissive side of me. On the other hand, I had never been hornier as I had been these last two hours. The feeling of pure joy when I made my Mistress come was inexplicable. A sensation so intense filled me when I satisfied her.
When Mistress returned she carried in her hand a cucumber, a very lengthy cucumber. She tossed it on the bed and went back to the walk-in closet. When she returned a second time, my spirits crashed when I saw what she had now. It was a video camcorder attached to a tripod. I worried about what her intentions could possibly be as she set it up. If such a video was made public, my career would be over. I nervously watched, praying for a miracle that would help me not end up humiliated on video. Alas, it was not to be.
She returned to the bed, the strap-on cock still waving from her midsection. She explained to me, "Hannah, you need to be punished for questioning your Mistress. You need to understand there is a consequence for any sort of disobedience." She took the handcuffs off and announced, "You are going to make a brief video for me; one that will be handy if you ever disobey me again."
Terrified, I didn't dare question my powerful Mistress. She went to the camera and directed, "I want you to tell me a fantasy as you fuck yourself with the cucumber. Of course, you will keep the plug in your ass." My fear became reality as I understood what was expected of me. As I considered what to say, Mistress added, "And make it believable, slut."
I sat up, whimpering as the plug lodged in my ass pushed deeper up me. The hot burn returned in full force as I reached for the lengthy cucumber. I rubbed it on my clit as I wondered what she wanted to hear. I considered making up a different fantasy, but was worried she would somehow know.
So I began telling my most prominent masturbating fantasy as I placed the cucumber at my very needy pussy. "I am somewhat ashamed to admit this. But seeing my ex-students as 18 year old young adults is very exhilarating. Usually, I don't think of them as sexual objects, but lately I have been. Maybe it is because I have not had sex in a year, but my pussy has had that special tingle on a few occasions of late. Watching the high school drama play had my pussy damp. Watching the boy's basketball team at state championships had me masturbating that night, thinking of them all celebrating by gangbanging me. And just last week when we had Homecoming and many former students returned, all dressed to kill, I was so horny that I ended up going to my classroom and bringing myself to an orgasm." I had the cucumber half way inside me now, and was slowly moving the vegetable in and out. My shame was fading as my horniness took over. Looking directly at the camera, attempting to be sexy, I continued, "So all this week my fantasy has been about being seduced by an ex-student or students. I fantasize about being forced to suck his cock, to swallow his cum, to be made to ride his young, stiff cock all night long."
My moans began to get louder as envisioning this fantasy got me extremely horny, as does the vegetable that is now two-thirds in me. I began pumping by pussy faster and faster with my veggie fuck-toy, desperate to have my long eluded and forbidden orgasm. As I began to feel the orgasm build inside me, I heard my Mistress's harsh words, "Don't you dare come, slut!" I looked at her with pleading eyes. When I got no sympathy from her, I stopped fucking myself and closed my eyes as I concentrated on not coming.
The prevention of such joy was incredibly difficult and it took all my will power not to come. My mind was a mess as my desire to come overtook any sort of logic. I felt hands on my leg and opened my eyes to see my Goddess of a Mistress looking at me. Her sweet smile was back. She whispered, "All good things come to those who wait." She took the vegetable out of my gaping hole and placed it in my mouth. I understood what was expected of me. I opened my mouth to suck my juices from the cucumber. I was wrong, I quickly learned, as my Mistress instructed, "No my whore, eat the cucumber." Although surprised, I obeyed and began eating the juice-coated cucumber. It took a couple of minutes, but I ate half the vegetable, the half that had been inside me. My Mistress took the rest of the veggie and tossed it carelessly on the tray. "Do you want to come, my slut?"
"Desperately," I answered, urgently.
"Who owns you?" she asked, testing me.
"You do, Mistress," I answered, knowing it was true.
"You will do anything I ask?" she questioned, sceptically.
"Yes, Mistress," I responded and added, hoping to please her, "Ì am yours to use as you see fit."
Seemingly happy with my obedience, she decided to test my servitude. "So do you want me to fuck your ass with this cock?"
The true answer was no. What I really wanted was her to fuck my pussy, but I knew that was not the answer I was expected to give. So I lied and answered, like a good whore should. "Yes, Mistress, please take my anal virginity with your big hard cock."
Mistress ordered me to get on all fours, again, and pulled out the plastic plug from my ass. The liberation of the toy was a great relief, which was apparently going to be short lived as I felt my Mistress's hands on my ass. The toy, to my great surprise, was thrust into my cunt instead. I moaned in pleasure as she fucked my tight pussy. I began bouncing back on the cock, taking all seven inches of the toy in me. Just as the fucking was really getting me revved up and hot, my Mistress pulled out and placed the head of the toy at my ass. Disappointment and frustration filled me, as I needed to come more than I ever had before. She spread my ass cheeks apart and whispered, as she leaned forward, "Ready to have your ass fucked now, Hannah?"
"Yes," I whimpered, nervously, willing to obey any command if it got me closer to my long-awaited orgasm.
Mistress, pushed forward, slowly opening my tight ass. The plug had prepared me for a cock, but only slightly. The strap-on was longer and wider than the butt plug. The fiery burn returned as my ass attempted to open up for the big hard plastic cock. My moans of agony were muffled by the pillow that I was biting to help control the pain. I lay there, trying not to tense up. My Mistress slowly pushed the cock deeper into my butt. I don't know how she did it, but as she began to slowly pump the toy in my ass, I felt a vibration on my clit and then in my cunt. I didn't know what it was at the time, but a fast-paced pulsing was now inside my pussy bringing with it thrilling sensations of pleasure. The pain still burned in my ass, but the contrast of the toy in my pussy helped me focus on the pleasure building in my cunt instead of the fiery pain in my rectum. Mistress began to fuck my ass, not fast, but with a constant rhythm. Each thrust went just a bit deeper, creating each time another sharp round of intense pain. Yet my body began to fill with an ecstasy I can't explain. I began moaning and again my orgasm began to build inside, apparently ignoring the assault on my ass.
The steady ass-fucking and slow build-up of my orgasm continued for minutes until I knew it was incredibly close. I begged, like the fucking slut Mistress had turned me into, "Mistress, can I please come?"
I couldn't see her face as she thrust even harder, but I heard her question. "You want to come from getting fucked in the ass?" She then scolded, "Only fucking sluts come from getting their ass fucked."
Way past the point of return or caring, I blurted, "I am a slut. I am your fucking whore. Please fuck me to an orgasm. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" she asked, curiously. The cock lodged deeper in my ass than I could possibly imagine.
"Yes, anything Mistress," I moaned in desperation.
"Good, I have the perfect plan for you," she said as she pushed me onto my belly and began fucking my ass harder and faster. The pressure of her body on me, along with the vibrations of the toy in my pussy, was too much. The moment Mistress said those special words, the words I was dying to hear. "Come my slut, come for mommy," an intense orgasm immediately exploded throughout my entire body.
I felt tingles from my head to my toes as the long awaited orgasm weakened every fibre of my existence. Mistress kept pounding my ass as I continued through an everlasting quake. I said so many inappropriate things as I finally felt what real bliss was: "Yes, fuck my ass harder, Mistress," and "Oh My God, fuck, fuck, fuck," and "Your slut teacher is coming, Mistress." Eventually, and to my great disappointment, the orgasm did eventually come to its conclusion and I lay on the bed, dripping in my own sweat and lying in my own cum. Mistress pulled out of my ass and pulled out what I would learn was a vibrating egg.
I was exhausted, but Mistress was relentless. She crawled back onto the bed, placed her pussy in my face, and demanded I service her again. I repositioned myself and lowered my head into my Mistress' divine temple. I began licking as Mistress informed her new slave of her many plans for me. "So, my slut Hannah. Did you know that Karli turns 18 in two days?" I looked up from my submissive position as she continued, the question apparently rhetorical. "Yes and I have decided to give her the best present in the world." She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes targeted on mine. Then she announced, "Her own slave."
Even after everything that had occurred tonight, this declaration stunned me. I stammered, praying and hoping I was not the slave in question, "Not m-m-me."
"Of course you, my pet. She asked for you and I always give my children what they want," she explained.
This revelation had me even more bewildered. "She asked for me?"
"Yes. We were discussing Devon's behaviour problems, which by the way, there will be no more of, when she declared that she thought that you were hot. Well, one thing led to another, and I finally concluded that you would be the perfect present for her 18th birthday; her very own submissive, obedient, pet teacher."
"S-s-she knows about this?" I asked, mystified.
"Oh no," my Mistress said, "She was just talking to me about you generally. She will be ecstatic when she unwraps you. It will be a surprise for her when she and her friends hit the mountains this weekend."
"Unwraps me?" I mindlessly questioned, my head spinning from this new predicament.
"Now, don't you worry, Hannah. I know you have a daughter and a career. But if you obey like a perfect slut slave should, I will protect you like you are one of my children. On the other hand, if you don't obey, I will crush you in a way you can't and don't want to imagine," my Mistress explained. Her voice was not angry or threatening, yet her message was clear: don't fuck with her. "Can you get your ex to watch your daughter this weekend?"
"It is already his weekend," I answered.
"Excellent. That is amazingly convenient," she said, yawning. She continued, explaining other plans for me, "In three weeks, I am having a special party for some of my very special friends, and you will be one of our maids for the evening. You will wear an outfit like Mrs. Chung did and serve all the guests as they need it."
"Oh," I said, unsure what to say to such a declaration, knowing any such resistance would be futile. My mind was busy pondering the meaning of the word 'special' that she had emphasized twice.
"Now get back to your snack, slut," my Mistress declared.
I returned to licking Mistress's pussy as I considered what lay in store for me. The road ahead was terrifying and humiliating and yet, as I considered being a submissive plaything to a group of 18 year olds, my pussy began to rev up again. When I considered being a maid, I wondered what it would all entail. Would it be just a regular party? Or a lesbian sex party? Or perhaps a swinger's party? The excitement of such wild adventures had me wet again and I licked my Mistress's pussy with determination as well as enthusiasm.
Her moans increased and she got verbal, "So do you want to be my daughter's slave? To be ravished and controlled by horny 18 year olds? To be gangbanged by sex toys?" I moaned loudly in answer, and was extremely thankful when Mistress had me lie on my back, whereupon she put her face between my legs as well. Now we could please each other in unison. I had to lift my head, to reach her delicacy, and began licking hers as she began licking mine. One touch of her tongue on my clit and I was in heaven. My moaning increased as she concentrated on my swollen clit. The sweet sixty-nine lasted forever as we both enjoyed each other's sweet nectar.
Finally, feeling my orgasm simmering near the surface, I moaned, "Mistress, can I please come again?"
A chill went up my back as she gave me permission, "Come for me slut. Come for your Mistress." She spanked my clit with her hand. The semi-hard slaps sent inexplicable sensations throughout my body as my second orgasm, the first time I had ever had multiple orgasms during the same sexual encounter, ripped through me like a tornado.
I screamed into her pussy, "Yes Mistress, spank your whore, I'm coming!" She continued to spank my clit, each contact sending pulsing quivers of elation throughout my entire body.
Close to comingherself, my Mistress lowered her pussy onto my face and rubbed her wet cunt all over me. Determined to please her, I used my tongue, lips and nose to make her come and soon heard the remnants of a scream and was sprayed by a tidal wave of my Mistress's cum. She crashed forward and both of us lay on the bed, an orgasmic mess.
The room went eerily silent. The only sound was two women and their erratic breathing as they attempted to recover from complete sexual bliss. Minutes ticked by, until finally my Mistress announced, "One last thing, my pet." She got up from the bed and went to the dresser.
I couldn't imagine what else could possibly be left, both of us exhausted from the evening of sexual debauchery. She pulled something from a drawer, returning a moment later. She showed me a black choker, with gold trim and a diamond in the center. She instructed me, "Hannah, you are to wear this around your neck always. It is a symbol of your servitude to me. If you ever take it off, our relationship is over. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," I responded, knowing I would never take it off.
She gently put it on my neck and said, "Have you ever seen one of these before?"
I looked at it and answered, "It looks familiar, but I can't recall where I have seen one."
She smiled deviously, "Look around while at work tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be able to find several."
I gasped. "You have other slaves?"
"God yes," she chuckled, like it was the silliest question she had ever heard, "I have quite a few actually." She paused and added, giving me a non sexual compliment for the first time, "But none are as damn adorable as you." She yawned.
I blushed like an innocent school girl as I whispered, "Thank you, Mistress."
"For what?" she teased.
"For everything," I said, overwhelmed with what I wanted to say.
Mistress responded, "You're welcome, my pet." She looked at the clock and added after another yawn, "You have work tomorrow. We should get some sleep."
I looked at the clock as well and was astonished to see it was ten minutes to midnight. I then wondered how I was going to get home when Mistress handed me a nightie, "You can sleep at the foot of my bed, my pet."
I put on the nightie and went to the washroom to clean up. When I returned, Mistress was already in bed. I crawled onto the bed and tried to get comfortable. I tossed and turned until Mistress spoke in an annoyed voice, "Stop moving, slut." I instantly froze and lay at the end of the bed, like a loyal puppy. I knew, at that instant, that I would forever be her loyal pet, her pet teacher.
Continued: Training Teacher - Chapter 2
This story is dedicated to my beautiful pet Julia. Your smile makes me tingle.
A special thanks goes to Cecile who suggested the parent-teacher story and Julia for being the muse of the story.
Another special thanks goes to Steve B and Julia for editing and plot suggestions.
One last extra special thanks goes to Estragon for his copy editing services.
AUTHOR'S END NOTE:
Like all authors, I enjoy feedback. So please drop me a line and tell me what you thought of this story or other stories I have written. I am currently in the process of writing sequels to a few of my stories and would love to hear from you as I ponder ideas and which stories I may write.
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