Teacher Finds a Master Ch. 08

'I'm a sex-slave, sir,' she boldly stated.

As an afterthought she showed him the slave number tattoo. By the look on his face, that was a mistake. She'd shown him her sex, after telling him she was a sex slave. Rather than shaking him, she'd interested him in what she was. How stupid was she to think a man could think past his penis. Taking a look between his legs, she could see he had risen to the challenge.

'A sex slave? I can see how a man would want you for a sex slave. You're gorgeous. I like your big tits,' he leered.

An automatic glance down at them was just the brief moment it took for him to step up to her. Now within arms reach, he took advantage. He cupped her breasts, hesitating, waiting for her to complain. Mrs Watson opened her mouth, but couldn't bring herself to shout at a man. He wasn't her master, yet still she found herself submitting to him.

'Very nice tits,' he said, now massaging them, and pinching the nipples.

He was surprisingly gentle. As a typical high school dropout, he looked rough. It didn't have to be so, and most weren't. With greasy hair, dirty clothes, and a sweaty odour, he was only just more acceptable than a tramp.

He pulled her across the kitchen by her breasts, sat down, and pulled her onto his knees. Her breasts unpleasantly ached. There were times when her master had her aching with arousal, but not now, not with him. She didn't even know his name.

'So, what do you do, sex-slave?' he asked.

Swallowing and clearing her throat was needed before she could answer. Fear stabbed her. Heart beats skipped. Her mind was numb. Her palms sweated.

'Anything, sir, anything my master wants, sir,' she said.

'What if I captured you, and enslaved you, what then?' he asked.

'I guess, err, I would be your sex-slave, sir,' she whispered.

Mrs Watson nearly collapsed. Her head went black for a second, indicating unconsciousness. She fell into his arms, and he held her tight from slithering off his knees.

'You don't like the idea, do you teacher,' he asserted. 'Not good enough for you. I'm poor and so were my folks. This rich man can enslave you and its acceptable. Not me. I never get the breaks. Shit! Having a teacher as a sex-slave. How bad is that!' he said, then whistled.

'Yes, I recognise you, teacher slave. Did you're master put these in your nipples?' he asked, while pulling on the piercing rings.

'Yes, sir,' she said, starting to pant.

Oh god! Not now! There was little she could do to stop him. While aroused, she was completely helpless. So used to being obedient, it was near impossible to defy this obnoxious guy. He was older than her master, yet inadequate, and unsuitable as a master.

'These too,' he surmised, while pulling on the piercing rings through her sex lips.

He guided her onto the floor, then pulled her up. This time spread over his knees, face down. There was something terrible about being spanked. It was from the feeling of having let her master down. Who else but a master could spank her? A mistress of course, but no one in the world would spank a thirty-eight-year-old woman.

'At last I get my own back on a teacher. I remember you, slave teacher. You don't remember me, but that makes no difference,' he laughed at her.

'Owww! No! You can't spank me!' she cried out.

Her master spanked her with less ferocity. The man was hurting her, and intended to.

'Owww! Please stop, you're hurting me! Please!' she complained.

'Owww! Please, sir, I'll be good, honest, sir,' she pleaded.

'Owww! Please, sir, I'll do as I'm told, honest,' she cried.

'Owww! I promise to be a good girl, and obey you, please stop, sir,' she cried.

A terrible thought struck her. He was spanking her, as though she were his slave. Consequently she was starting to think of him as her master. Did he realise what he was doing to her? It wasn't just a momentary retribution, this was far more serious.

'Owww! I promise to obey you, master! Please, master,' she cried.

'Do you promise to be a good girl, and an obedient slave?' he heavily breathed in an ear.

'Yes, master. Sorry, master. This sex slave promises to be a good girl, and to obey her master,' Mrs Watson cried, and sniffed.

Joe looked at her upturned bottom. It was bright red, and his hand stung like hell. That red flesh looked sore, and if it hurt as much as his hand, it explained her promise. The woman was wriggling her whole body, probably from the pain.

A flash of something glinted between her cheeks. At first he thought it was the piercings, then realised it was liquid. He needed to think what to do next, only this was too distracting. He separated her cheeks with both hands.

'Keep still, sex-slave,' he demanded.

Oh! God! No! She silently wailed. A stranger was delving between her cheeks. He found her swollen lips, and discovered how sexed up she was. His cock was a hard lump poking her belly. If this guy took her, what would her master do? If he threw her out, she would have nowhere to go.

'You dirty slut!' he happily laughed.

He rubbed her sore bottom, wondering if he dare do something about this. Whoever owned this house was rich. They had installed a slave in the servants quarters, which was ten times better than his apartment. He would be in trouble if he took advantage of the stupid bitch, as she was sure to complain about him to her master.

Her master! What a stupid idea that was. Her excuse of being trapped here showed how stupid she was. How did she expect other people to survive in the real world? He worked hard, just to feed himself, and keep a roof over his head. She felt sorry for her condition, living in the lap of luxury without lifting a finger to keep herself.

'You're a fucking bitch, aren't you!' he demanded, and slapped her stinging ass.

'Yes, master, sorry master. This slave is a fucking bitch,' she sobbed.

'Stop that crying, and get me a drink,' he ordered.

'Yes, master, straight away, master,' she humbly spoke.

Mrs Watson ran back with a bottle of beer, and thankfully it was the correct assumption.

'You have some uses then. Maybe I'll enslave you for myself. You can look after me. The apartment needs cleaning,' he smirked.

Without thinking, the words issued forth, 'Yes, master, thank you, master.'

The thought of being taken away by this monster was horrendous. It occurred to her that she would be a, 'pussy take away'. Laughter pounced on her, shaking her breasts, until it shook her whole body. The laugh threatened to overwhelm her. Bringing herself under control took some effort.

'So you like the idea,' he pointedly said, with a look of anger.

What could she say, except to rely on the usual phrase.

'Yes, master, thank you master.'

No! This was not what she wanted, it was her worst nightmare! How would her master find her? She would be stuck with this ignoramus forever. Serving him beer, and pussy, would be disgusting. At the very least she would have to practice her slave role, by bathing him every day.

A car pulled up in the driveway, with a crunch of gravel. The engine noisily revved, and the horn blew loudly. Her master was summoning her.

'In the kitchen you, and forget what happened!' Joe fiercely ordered.

He must think she was hypnotised, so she could forget this dreadful intrusion from an order. He was desperate, knowing how much trouble he would be in for taking advantage of a rich man's woman. Playing at being a slave was one thing, but being treating like one by a stranger was totally out of order. Or so he assumed.

Joe shot out of the door with clipboard in hand.

Danny thought he recognised the guy, and wondered why he held the clipboard over his face. The delivery van shot off with a shower of stones hitting the garage door.

'Hey!' Danny shouted.

It was no good, the guy was away and not stopping for anything. He looked toward the house, only then remembering he was responsible for a sexy woman. In that instant he wondered what had happened to his slave. With a sigh of relief he saw her standing in the doorway, unharmed.

Mrs Watson ran out to greet her master, and was pleased to see him open his arms. He swung her around in a circle, laughing form her eagerness and pleasure.

'I'm here, don't fret! I'm home now. Don't tell me anything until we are safely inside. It's too cold for you to be outside naked. Let's have a drink and settle in front of a fire. I'll set the fire while you fetch the drinks, beautiful slave girl,' he laughed.

He slapped her ass, to get her going, then took a closer look when she yelped.

'Did he do this to you?' Danny asked.

'The bastard! This is my fault. From now on you can wear clothes when someone calls. We'll go through the wardrobe and find something suitable to slip into to open the door,' he announced.

'Thank you, master,' she grinned.

***

Next day he got around to opening the delivery. There was too much tape around the box, and a mountain of foam inside, protecting whatever it was. Out came slabs of wood, metal bars, springs, and a book of instructions.

'You'd best go away while I try to follow these stupid instructions. They're in Chinese American,' proclaimed.

Looking over her shoulder at the mess he made, she refrained from commenting. As much as a spanking from her master was welcome, her bottom was still too sore.

***

'I've bought you a present,' her master announced.

A plank of highly polished wood lay on the carpet, with two holes in it. Two metal bars held up another plank, again with two holes in it. The teacher was clever, but she couldn't work out how it worked. Obviously she was meant to slip her limbs into it, but how?

Master laughed at her expression of puzzlement.

'Here, let me show you,' he smiled.

Not sure if this would be enjoyable or not, she demurred. Objecting would be a wrong move for a slave girl, deserving of a punishment. He pulled her around, so the devil machine was behind her.

'On your knees, slave girl,' he abruptly spoke.

This was a perfectly well practiced manoeuvre, which she carried out to his satisfaction. Her ankles were obviously behind her bottom, and she clasped her hands behind her back as instructed.

He pulled the contraption up behind her, and lifted her ankles into it. She couldn't see but felt the halves of wood trap her ankles, like having her wrists in a set of stocks. Only she wasn't bent forward. He adjusted the other piece of wood, and that clamped down upon her wrists.

Her feet and hands were tightly held behind her, leaving her helpless. It wasn't necessary to go to all this trouble, for all he had to do was give an order, and she would obey anything he wished. He stood before her looking big and tall. He smiled down upon her, looking pleased with himself. The position promoted a feeling of being small and helpless, which had something to do with the position she was in, and the way he looked at her.

Her arms were pulled back, so she had to hold her head up, with breasts pushed out. Her mouth was level with his cock, in a perfect position for her to be his suck toy. She was that anyway, so why bother with this device?

'When my friends arrive for dinner, you will be a perfect entertainment,' he said.

In his hand was a mask. Being careful not to expose her identity, left her feeling grateful to him. It was disappointing to realise he'd become so bored with her, he didn't mind sharing her body with others. It was inevitable, unless this was a test, which she hoped it was.

'Yes, master, as you wish, master,' she levelly spoke.

There was no hint of rebellion in her voice, or stance. Though how could she move from being upright, on her knees.

Her master had been teasing her. As soon as she winced in pain from cramp, he quickly removed her from the snare, and massaged both legs.

'Further up master, thank you master,' she said, verbally guiding his hands to her thighs. 'A bit further up please master,' she encouraged, until he was massaging her pussy.

'Naughty slave-girl,' he laughed.

***

They had settled into a routine, of master and slave. Life would surely throw a storm into their pleasant little world. A warning shot across their bows had been fired when she was sent to his so called friend. Mrs Watson wasn't so optimistic as her master, and occasionally wondered what disaster would strike next.

A warning light flashed on the telephone in his office. Picking up the telephone was always avoided, fearing discovery, or an awkward explanation of who she was. Playing the message foretold of her doom. His parents would be arriving home from Europe, in one week. What would she do then?