Learned Aggression Ch. 01

**part one - late, again**

Ever so discrete, Heather cautiously crept into her 1st-period class through the back door, careful to avert her baby-blue eyes so as not to make eye-contact with her English teacher, Ms. Ratcliff. The tedious drone of Ratcliff's lecture filled the class as she quietly slipped into her seat - praying she'd gone unnoticed. If caught, this would be her third tardy this week and she genuinely dreaded the infamous-penalty it warranted: spending a Saturday, at school, with old "Rotten-Ratcliff."

"Ms. Blair," beckoned Ms. Ratcliff in a shrill voice that's been strained from years of yelling for students' attention. "Thank you for being so unobtrusive during your late entrance, but I'll need to see you after class nonetheless."

Knowing her fate was set, Heather mumbled obscenities under her breath - her Saturday plans having just gone up-in-smoke.

**part two - the flawless reflection of youth**

It was way too early - seven-thirty to be exact - and Heather stood wearily in front of the full-length mirror that hung from her bedroom door, groggily mulling-over how she'd come to be in this predicament: up at the crack-of-dawn on a Saturday, preparing to spend the day at school with her grouchy, old, hag-of-a-teacher. The truth was she never really cared about school nor took it seriously. She was more concerned with her appearance - managing to procure an image as a sweet, kind and caring young lady to her elders, while concurrently-known to her peers, and those who knew her well, as a gorgeous, seductive and unequivocally-haughty tease.

She gazed smugly at her near-perfect reflection in the mirror. Having just turned 18 a month earlier, she still emitted that ever-enticing, "jail-bait" aura. Standing 5'5" and weighing roughly 115 pounds, her physique was one of impeccable proportions: long, slender legs and a taut-torso ensconced within a creamy, butter-milk complexion that's both enticing and visually soothing. Her 32C breasts, while round and fleshy, are nonetheless firm; capped with highly-sensitive, rosebud nipples that jut-out - aching for attention. Her face: a slender oval framed by thick and lustrous auburn hair that brushes her shoulders; her lips - soft, lushes rose petals, her eyes - two vibrant diamonds gleaming from within deep, shadowy caverns. She smiles to herself, aware of, and delighted with, the typical affect she has on others. But alas, today her beauty and charms are to be envied and despised because wrinkly-old Ms. Ratcliff is jealous and beginning to sag...in all the wrong places.

Certain that Ms. Ratcliff will make her day miserable, Heather decides to drive the Old-Bag crazy by wearing an alluring, shockingly-seductive outfit that's sure to drive her teacher crazy and make her exceptionally jealous of this young, ripe student. Standing in her bra and panties, Heather wiggles into a snug, knee-length plaid skirt that hugs her shapely-ass rather tightly; topping it with a well-fitted button-down blouse - of course, leaving the top few buttons open. To finish the outfit, she adds the final touches: a pair of knee-high socks, her hair in pigtails and a dab of lip gloss spread evenly over her precious lips. Her outfit complete, Heather cocks her head to one side and pouts-playfully in front of the mirror - satisfied with the virtuous, schoolgirl image staring back at her.

**part three - old & weary**

Virginia Ratcliff sat weary - her 5'3" frame slouched over her cluttered desk. Her eyes, like many things on her body, drooped beneath the weight of ever-thickening glasses. She's found herself to be extremely tired lately - physically exhausted, mentally fatigued, emotionally spent - the weekends no longer capable of rejuvenating her. After 35-years of classroom frustration and a lifetime of personal loneliness, unrestricted eating - her only satisfying transgression from daily despair - has left her hovering around 190 pounds. Every part of her seems to be waning with the onslaught of gravity: her olive-glazed skin hanging-off her bones, 34D breasts sagging low, like two-primed wrecking balls; even her plump ass looks like it's merging with her robust thighs. At 57-years old, the once charcoal-colored hair she routinely kept wound in a tight bun now appears to be fading before the onset of hoary-silver.

For 35 years now she's been battling teenagers: arguing over grades, begging them to just pay attention - pleading with them to learn. For 35 years her work has been her life - no room for friends, family...love. And now, sitting drearily by herself, she wonders what it's gotten her: no respect, no appreciation - not a single thank you.

Sitting in her office in the early morning hours of her Saturday, she stares blankly at the stack of un-graded papers that yet-another class of ungrateful brats has thrust upon her - expecting her to consume her weekend grading. She is sick and tired of this - no rest, no joy...no FUN in her life; she finds herself getting more and more angry - more and more fed up.

"Well," she reasons to herself, "enough is enough, and I'm not going to take it anymore! It's time I got to act-out and have my own bit of fun!"

**part four - an enticing encounter**

Her self-consumed thoughts were suddenly broken by a loud and distinct knock on her office door. Remembering that little-miss-perfect was due to serve time in Saturday school, Ms. Ratcliff slowly got out of her seat, glanced at the clock and walked briskly to the door. Drawing the door open, Ms. Ratcliff suddenly found herself peering at the most breathtaking sight she could ever recall seeing: a young, radiant student dressed in a Catholic-schoolgirl uniform - pigtails popping out the sides of her head and nipples vividly-outlined through the shear fabric of her blouse - had suddenly and unexpectedly generated feelings deep within her that she couldn't understand: raw, uninhibited desires that were stimulating a wetness between her legs unknown for quite some time.

The sight of Heather all dolled-up instilled Ms. Radcliff with a deep-rooted hunger and thirst for physical gratification - carnal indulgence. Driven by her brute lust for this young woman, years of depravity and loneliness were rapidly transforming this lethargic woman into a creature of vitality: motivated by desire and compelled to attain erotic release.

"Well Ms. Blair, I see that once again you find it perfectly acceptable to show up ten minutes late," Ms. Ratcliff quipped - desperately trying to contain her emotions while ushering Heather in and locking the door behind her. "I guess it's about time that you're taught how to respect others."

"What do you mean I need to be taught to respect others?"

"Oh please! The way you strut-your-stuff and flaunt your body - you clearly don't respect women - and the way you tease every boy in class clearly demonstrates you don't respect any of the guys either. Most of all, however, coming to class late, sassing me whenever I talk to you and then wearing this little fuck-tease uniform to Saturday school obviously proves you have NO respect for me!"

"Excuse me?" Heather, visibly taken aback by this abrupt change in Ms. Ratcliff's tone and demeanor, desperately tried to stand her ground. "You can't talk to me like that!"

"Shut-up, bitch! I'm nearly 60-years-old and been teaching for over half my life; I've never gotten an ounce of respect or recognition for all my hard work having to put-up with little shits like you. I spend every day sad, lonely and terribly deprived. Well, fuck-it! I no-longer give a shit about any rules, laws, norms or customs. It's time I got some god-damn release...and YOU'RE gonna give it to me."

"What the fuck are you talking about," Heather cried-out in fear and confused-dread. "You've fucking lost it -you're CRAZY! Let me out of here, you BITCH!"

In a panic, Heather made a desperate lunge for the door; to her horror she found it locked and the key: nowhere to be found. As she stood, petrified, she was viciously slapped - hard - across the face. Dazed, Heather's dizziness quickly gave way to unconsciousness - her head immersed in an encroaching darkness.

**part five - cold comfort in a desolate dilemma**

Embraced by darkness, Heather felt an odd sensation of inflexibility - a distinct feeling of immobility. Instantaneously, the left side of her face burned and ached as she emerged from unconsciousness with the awareness of someone lightly slapping both cheeks in an attempt to rouse her cognition. As she slowly drew-open her eyes, straining to regain focus, her overwhelming fear and trepidation promptly returned as she recalled her dreary circumstance. Still fuzzy in the head, she quickly observed that she was lying on the floor, securely bound with her arms stretched-out above her head and her legs spread-eagled below; her mouth was agape but gagged with some sort of material laden with an acrid flavor. Horrified by any thought of what might be in store, she was at least a bit relieved to know she was still fully-clothed.

Suddenly, there was Ms. Ratcliff standing directly above her - thankfully, she too was still fully clothed. "I see you've finally pulled yourself from unconsciousness," the stern-looking teacher cooed. "As you might have noticed, you're bound and gagged - at my beckon call; you're now my property to do with as I please, and best of all, you're gagged so I don't have to listen to your whiny little voice any more. Do you like the taste in your mouth," queried Ms. Ratcliff softly. "When I first saw you at the door, so beautiful and enticing, I immediately got wet with lust - I simply had to have you. The gag in your mouth is my glistening, wet panties. How do I taste, my lovely little toy?"

Heather tried in vain to yell-out at her teacher, disgusted by knowing the tangy flavor permeating her mouth were the ripe love-juices of this old hag; instead, all that was audible was a muffled groan as the putrid liquid slowly drained down the back of her throat.

"There's no use trying to yell or scream, I've relocated us to the school's boiler room closet, the door's locked and, since I'm in charge of Saturday school, I'm the only one with a key to get out. How wondrously things worked out that you're the only one here for Saturday school this weekend. I guess I have you all to myself; don't forget, you're in need of a lesson in respect and humility."

Devastation and deep-despair were beginning to set-in for Heather. Oblivious to what could be in store yet terrified of what this horrible woman might be planning to do to her, she bemoans herself, regretting her mischievous thoughts and the subsequently callous actions that led her to unwittingly spur on the lustful transformation of this woman - her teacher. The young student begins to tremble, moaning and sobbing uncontrollably.

**part six - resigned to despair**

Ms. Ratcliff sits down, straddling the quivering body of her student, and coldly slaps her across the face. "Stop your whimpering, you little bitch! You brought this whole ordeal on yourself - acting so seductive and slutty - what'd you think, nobody'd ever decide to just take what you were shaking in front of their face?!"

Heather's sobbing eased, though her tears continued to flow fluidly down her temples. Momentarily forgetting about the gag, she tried again to beg Ms. Ratcliff to please just let her go, but like before, all she managed was a muffled murmur.

"You just don't learn to easily, do you? Maybe the cloth's become a bit dry, eh?" Ms. Ratcliff then pulled her panties out of Heather's mouth. Gasping for deep breaths, Heather quickly began begging to be released.

"Please, Ms. Ratcliff, I know I've acted poorly and I promise I'll change. I won't tell a soul about this, just please...let me go. I'm not a lesbian, I really don't like girls all that much to begin with, please, let me go," Heather begged desperately! She was responded to with another fierce slap across the face, causing her to wince and recoil her head. "I thought I told you that you were to be quiet," bellowed the irritated teacher! "I already told you, it's my turn to be fulfilled and since I've decided that you're my personal property, it doesn't matter how you feel or whether you're into girls or not."

Recognizing that this woeful woman wasn't going to let her go until she was done with her, if at all, had finally begun to set in; a look of misery and pure dejection abruptly fell across the young student's face. "How could her teacher do this to her, regardless of her rotten attitude," she thought to herself?

Witnessing her young captives resignation of defeat, Ms. Ratcliff sense a jolt of personal power and superiority she'd never felt before wash over her. She sneered at the young woman beneath her as she took the panty-gag, pulled up her floor-length dress - revealing the actual nudity of her lower posterior - and rubbed the panties up and down her moist, shimmering snatch; being sure to soak up both the juices and sweat beaded within the forest of graying pubic hair that sheltered her ripe pussy. She then leaned down, licked the tears from Heather's disheartened face and whispered: "You're mine - accept it; from now on if I let you speak...you are to call me my mistress teacher." The old teacher then kissed her student prisoner, forcing her tongue into the youth's mouth, before sitting back up and stuffing the newly-saturated panty-gag back into Heather's mouth.

"Until you've learned not to beg for your release, and to address me as your mistress," explained the teacher, "I simply must keep you gagged - tasting, savoring and swallowing my sour, aged nectar. And now that you've seemingly realized the inevitability of your predicament, it's time to teach you a hard lesson in respect and humility."

**part seven - bound & beaten**

Standing up, the mistress teacher casually strolled over to a desk where she grabbed: a pair of wooden clothes pins, a ruler, a yardstick, a red "Sharpie" pen, a pair of scissors and a black leather belt. She then carried these items back to where young Heather was laid-out on the floor, tightly bound. Kneeling down beside the tied-up student, smacked her on the forehead with the ruler, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look directly at her captor.

"Pay attention," the mistress hissed. "In order to learn humility, you must first be humiliated."

With that, the mistress teacher grabbed Heather's flimsy blouse on each side and ripped it open - sending buttons flying every which way. Upon this sudden invasion coupled with obvious intentions, Heather once again began whimpering and crying, her eyes clenched tightly shut. A sharp slap of the ruler to the top, exposed potion of her breasts, however, brought a fierce but muffled scream and caused the teens eyes to shoot open.

"You're to keep your eyes open at all times, and looking directly at my face. That's part of the humiliation process," the mistress teacher explicated.

Continuing the process the mistress teacher took the scissors and, beginning at the bottom of the skirt, began slowly and precisely cutting her way up the skirt until there was about half-an-inch left. Putting down the scissors, she looked directly at the helpless student, grabbed each side of the sliced skirt and roughly ripped it open completely. Looking down at her vulnerable captive - lying bound by ropes and covered only by her soft, white-cotton bra and panties - the mistress teacher slowly licks her lips and leans down close to the student's ear.

"Can you feel how open you are to me and my ministrations?" You are almost naked in front of me, nearly bare to my prying eyes and intrusive thoughts," the mistress whispered softly to her prisoner. "Can you sense your every flaw being exposed, your every detail being observed? Listen to what I say...you are nothing but a tool; your body and all of its glory - mine to play with, to use, to discard. Your thoughts and feelings are mine to control, your movements mine to instruct - you're a thing, an item, a piece of property...you're my property." Sitting back up, the mistress teacher once again grabbed the scissors, cut up the middle of the bra, down the front of the panties and finished removing the clothing from Heather's immaculate body. Picking up the remnants of her student's bra and panties, the mistress quickly tossed them aside and feasted her eyes upon the naked form lying before her. She watched Heather's breasts rise and fall with each quick, rapid breath - her stare venturing down the teen's body and resting upon the tight slit barely covered by a well-tended runway of auburn-colored pubes. She could tell just by looking at this young woman's pussy that she had saved herself - she was obviously still a virgin just waiting to be ravished and ravaged.

"Now that you've learned humility in the nakedness you offer to me, it's time you learn respect for others," the mistress teacher exclaimed to her enslaved student. "Only through verbal reprimand accompanied by physical pain will you learn this."

"First, you must be marked." Uncapping the red "Sharpie," the mistress wrote in big-letters: MY BITCH across one breast and MY SLAVE across the other. She then wrote MY PROPERTY across Heather's forehead.

"Listen closely my bitch; it is NOT okay to put-down those girls that aren't fortunate enough to have your beauty, "shouted the mistress teacher while she placed a few clothes pins on Heather's nipples! "Nor is it alright to use your body to TEASE the guys around you!" With this the mistress also added some pins to the sensitive, outer lips of Heather's pussy, rousing a painful cry from behind the gag.

"Finally, you need to learn to respect your teachers and the hard work they put-in to help you succeed in life. From this point on, you will NOT talk back to any teacher, you will NOT show up late to class and you will NOT cause me any more grief of any kind!"

To make this point, the mistress teacher rose up, picked up the yardstick, stood over her confined student and began spanking her over various parts of her body. She smacked the bottom soles of her feet, she smacked the inside of her thighs, she smacked her abdomen and even her pussy. To emphasize her final point, the mistress teacher loosened the restraints on Heather's feet enough to turn her onto her side; at which point she picked up the leather belt and lashed the young student's ass until she sobbed uncontrollably and a fiery-red glow emanated from her backside.

With most of the young lady's body sore to touch, the mistress repositioned her on her back and re-secured her leg bindings. "Oh, poor little one, did you learn to respect others?" Still whimpering through her gag and trying to catch her breath, Heather quickly nodded yes. Open, naked and glowing from her punishment, the mistress teacher knelt softly at her feet and kissed each spot she smacked, except for the young student's aching pussy. Slowly crawling up her body, the mistress teacher came to a stop with her head hovering over Heather's pinned breasts. She carefully detached all the clothes pins and removed the pin holding her graying-hair in a bun, allowing her long, shimmering silver hair to fall loosely around her head and shoulders. Looking up into her students watery eyes, she slowly began to knead the teen's sore, naked breasts.

"Do you want me to enjoy your body," the mistress teacher asked coyly?

Unsure of the meaning behind the question, Heather answered honestly and shook her head no. In response, the mistress put her thirsty mouth over the left nipple and sucked hard; continuing by taking the sensitive nipple between her teeth and biting it while roughly twisting it one way and then the other. From behind her gag Heather let out a bloodcurdling scream as the mistress teacher let go and repeated herself.