Teacher's Pet

Note: chapter I of my story "the Amphiboid" gives a bit of background on this, I'd recommend reading that even if chapter II onwards is not for you.

I.

I had planned to seduce my former teacher for a long time. My efforts at exposing myself to Miss Davis were quite forward and my new source of information led me to conclude that my scheme had sparked something into motion. I was planning my next move when I encountered her entirely by chance, three days later.

It was at the local corner shop. I never really had much call to go in there, but I was low on bread. I grabbed the loaf and looked up as the door clanged with a new customer.

It was her! I couldn't believe it. My heart raced as I stepped up the aisle a few more steps and turned to look at a few random things on the shelves. I didn't need anything, I just wanted to get a bit closer to make sure she noticed me, I chanced a quick glance.

She was staring straight at me, her features stern. She was old when I was a student and now must have been in her mid-sixties: her hair a dark grey, face wrinkled and severe, her eyes a piercing blue. I returned to my shelf browsing briefly but glanced back a few moments later.

She hadn't moved, she had this condescending look on her face. It was the look that she gave at school, the look that had me fantasising about her back then. I snapped from those thoughts with a shudder, one she must have noticed.

I went back to the end of the aisle again. I heard her scribbling on some shopping list as she placed a few items in her shopping basket. Her harsh tone and condescending attitude mixed well with her mature, matronly demeanour.

I could see from her appearance that age had caused her to plump out a lot and her breasts to sag a bit, I imagined an unshaved body underneath, cellulose flesh. This turned me on immensely and remains today one of the key paradoxes of my sexuality: traditional physical unattractiveness, physical undesirability makes the prospect of sexual submission to such women immensely desirable to me. I think it was the thought that my attraction to them, my sexual desires, were irrelevant. It feels like some supreme act of submission.

Then the scribbling stopped and I heard her footsteps coming down the aisle. Another quick glance and I saw she was walking straight towards me, her eyes intent on me. I turned back to the shelf and closed my eyes, I felt like I might have needed to rest my hand on the shelf for support, my breathing trembled, my hands trembled, I could feel my wetness below. She stopped right next to me and stood there, waiting. She must have noticed my arousal, her whole composure made me feel like I was already being dominated by this woman, like I was already her little slut. I turned to look at her.

"I think you owe me an explanation," she spoke in the same low, domineering tone that I remembered from school. It managed to elicit a small muffled moan from me. I was sure I saw a bemused look in her eyes.

"Explanation?" I could barely mutter, trying to play dumb. I knew precisely that she referred to my deliberate exhibitionist act outside her isolated cottage.

"You still mumble to a teacher after all these years?" She gave an indignant snort, "and don't play dumb, you know what I mean."

The shopkeeper was dealing with another customer and she pretty much had me cornered. I was so turned on that had she angrily raising her voice and shouted down at me the way she used to, I think I would have come right there. Hopefully, her shouting would hide my climax from the others in the store, but she remained cool and calculating in her tone.

"I can see I'm not going to get the right answer from you," she held out the slip of paper. "I think if do owe me one though and I think you should come over and give me a full one."

I took the paper, "w... what's this?"

"My cottage has a strict dress code, you will dress smartly for your explanation."

With that, she left to pay. After she was gone, I pocketed the note, took a moment to regain my composure, paid and left. I rushed home as quickly as possible. I dropped the bread as soon as I got in and raced to my room, throwing myself on the bed. I was alone in the house, which suited me just fine.

I gazed up at the ceiling for a few moments before I pulled the note out and read. It listed one white blouse; one formal skirt, hemline no lower than the knee; appropriate tights; black high-heel shoes. Underneath all that, double circled in ink was "8 pm".

I could do all that, but I had other concerns for the moment. I cast the note aside and lifted my knees up. My right-hand reached to my soaked panties and pulled them down to halfway between my pussy and my knees, my left holding up the skirt just enough to allow me access. As I began touching myself, I spoke aloud between moans and gasps.

"Ooh, she knew..." I moaned aloud to myself, "she knew what was happening to you. Uh ah... She was toying with you, she had you cornered. She knew she could have made you come there, showed everyone what a slut you are, they'd... oh... they'd all see it."

My movements sped up and my hips writhe against my fingers. "She's leading you into the trap she has set... Uh... And you're willingly entering it, you want... Oooh.. You want her to catch you. You were right earlier and she knew it too. You... already... are her... little slut! Aaaah."

I climaxed so hard that my come gushed forth over my hand and my legs, which instinctively clamped onto my hand. My left hand gripped the hemline of my skirt tightly. I spasmodically rolled myself onto my stomach and began to grind with my hips against my quivering fingers as best I could.

Once sated, I rolled onto my back again, my naked ass pressed down onto the wet patch on my bed, my panties just above my knees I panted heavily. I run my index and middle fingers up my pussy and to my waiting mouth. It was ten-thirty in the morning, I would be counting every hour until eight.

II.

Seven thirty and I had showered, dressed and was already outside her cottage. I had butterflies in my stomach I had been staying here with my parents for a few weeks and told them I was going out to see an old friend. I was tempted to take something before leaving for the butterflies I felt in my stomach, but all my parents had was the Becherovka my mother seemingly stockpiles every time she visits my grandparents. She swears by it, I remain sceptical.

I was half an hour early but I could not wait. I walked up to the door, I could here nothing inside. The light in the living room was on. I shifted, took a deep breath and lifted my hand to the knocker.

She must have heard me as the door suddenly opened leaving my hand just grasping for where the knocker was.

"Uh... um..."

"You're early, by nearly half an hour." Her tone was as acerbic as it was in the shop.

"Well, I... I didn't have anything planned this evening."

She sighed, "well, I suppose you may as well come in now. You can begin explaining yourself."

I entered, began taking off my shoes, but she raised her tone, "I don't think you need to be doing that. What makes you conclude you'll be here for long?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I blushed and secured my shoe back onto my foot.

"Follow me," she led me into her living room.

It was a bit odd in style but clearly looked after. There were light pastel paint on the walls and a maroon-coloured carpet. Two couches sat on opposite sides of a wooden coffee table and there was some sort of small study area next to where the now defunct fireplace was. She had a glass of wine poured for herself already.

She reclined in her couch and picked up the wine glass, "why did you expose yourself to me? And don't give me the accident rubbish, you were so transparent when you dropped your bag. Besides, I saw you beam at me."

Excellent, I thought, she noticed both of those things, but her already authoritarian tone made it hard to answer. I felt a bit like I was back to being in that same state as when I first wanted her, all nervous and aroused because of her. This time, however, there was going to be no torment afterwards, no wondering what was wrong with me for feeling like this.

"I guess... Uh, I mean..."

"Can't answer, huh? I think I have a way of find out. You know the rumours about me, don't you? Maybe you thought it was a joke, we'll see. Lift your skirt up fully to your waist," her tone was well-suited to imperatives.

I exhaled a trembling breath and my hands reached down and slowly lifted up my skirt. I wore a soft, white blouse; a black skirt, hemline just above the knees and I choose white, nylon fishnet tights. I wore no underwear, just like a few days ago. I wanted her to be able to see the colour of my aroused sex under the pale white.

I exposed myself to her again. I kept my eyes lowered, never meeting her gaze.

She calmly took a sip of her wine, "well, there's the explanation I sought. Misbehaving little brat, you sought to end up in this very situation. Look at You! You've exposed to me again. Look at how wet you've got gotten your nylons already! I suspected you were poking fun of me being a lesbian. Deep down, I knew what you were really after."

She stood up. Putting her wine glass down, she laughed. It wasn't light or carefree, it was born from a sense of her new power. She was a domineering teacher and she enjoyed exercising power over the students, I got the impression several at the school did. Now, her trap had caught its prey and she could exercise that power sexually. Something I think she had always desired.

"Hands down, behind your back."

I dropped my skirt down again and complied.

"Did you fantasise about me back in school?" She asked.

"Yes."

"You will address me as Miss or Miss Davis. Now, answer properly."

"Yes Miss."

She stepped forward, facing me. She put her hand on my leg and slowly trailed her fingers up until she was lightly teasing my sex through the fabric of my tights. She leaned in to whisper in my ear. It was all so tantalising.

"You like women then?"

"Yes Miss."

"What about men?"

"No Miss."

"And I suppose you like mature women, ones who are domineering and powerful?"

"Yes Miss. I fantasise about them all the time."

"And I am a domineering and powerful women aren't I?"

"Yes Miss, very much so."

"What about girls your age?"

"Yes Miss."

"So the cute redhead at the back dreamt of me. Tell me what your fantasy about me was."

"I dreamed of only the girls being in the classroom. I imagined you spanking me, explaining to them that this is what they'll all get if they misbehave. Oooooh."

Her fingers were getting a lot more interesting in their movements. She respond to my moan with an abrupt laugh, again amused at her new power over me.

"Tell me if you get close. Now continue."

"I dreamt you'd noticed how wet I was getting. You ordered me to stand up when done and expose myself to everyone. You explained to everyone how dirty I was given how much I enjoyed it. I dreamt that afterwards, you'd run your hand over my pussy and while you were forcing me to come, you'd tell the others what a filthy slut I was."

She moved her hand from my pussy and cupped my chin. She turned my head slightly to face her and began ravenously kissing me. Her tongue reached into my mouth and I let my own tongue meet hers in the passion of the moment.

She stopped suddenly then backed away and she gave me a stern look, "no foul language in this house, understood?"

"Yes Miss. I'm sorry Miss."

"Good," she walked over to the desk and took a notepad and pen from the drawer and placed them on the desk.

"Since you were thinking about this while I was still your teacher, you owe me the detention from them which I will carry out. That makes me your teacher again, doesn't it?"

"Yes Miss."

"First part of your detention is to strip for me. Not everything though, leave your tights and high heels on. Just your blouse and skirt then as I noticed when you first stepped inside that you were not wearing a bra."

I slowly undid my blouse and cast it aside then undid the hook and zip on my skirt. Letting it drop to the ground, I kick it aside.

"Don't be so untidy, pick them up and fold them neatly. Place them on the chair of the sofa. After that, turn to face me kneel before me, hands behind your head, knees apart."

I complied with everything she had asked. Afterwards she looked me over hungrily.

"Nice breasts, pert, perhaps a tad small but they fit you well. I see you shave your pubic hair, whatever are you girls getting up to these days?"

"I would tell you to show your bottom to me but I already know how nice that is thanks to your bad behaviour. I will relish giving you the good spanking you deserve, but you do realise it's for your own good?"

"Yes Miss," referring to it as my bottom was language I'd normally find a turn off. Here, it fitted her matriarchal style quite well so I could forgive it.

"Unless I say otherwise, you cannot get up. You must stay on your hands and knees. Understand?"

"Yes Miss."

"Good, now follow me into the kitchen," she opened the door into the kitchen and switched the light on. It was quite spacious, the tiles cold to my touch as I crawled in behind her.

"Now sit as you were," she said while pulling a bottle of red from her wine rack, "lean backwards, hands on the floor. I think the situations call for another drink. You drink wine?"

"Yes Miss."

"I might be nice and let you have some too then," she removed the cork and sat opposite me to the floor.

She lifted the bottle and poured some of the wine over my breast, sucking and licking it off, she did this again with my other breast.

"Lie on your back, legs spread."

It was a strange feeling. The cold sensation of the tiles against my ass so close to the warm throbbing of my pussy. I was cut off from this distraction by the wine splashing on my mound and the feeling of her tongue pressed against clit, lapping up the wine in slipshod motions.

"Ooooh Miss. That feels good," I said as I arched to push my pussy forward. Moments later, she stopped and got to her knees.

"Quiet, girl. You will speak only when spoken you, now sit up."

I sat up again and resumed my position, she walked around and stood behind me.

"I told you I'd let you have some. On all fours, lick the spillage up and stick your bottom out as you do."

As I begin to lick the wine I felt her left foot on my ass. She dug the stiletto in slightly and I gave a slight yelp of pain. She really was getting off to this degree of power. I heard the sound of her skirt being pulled up and she removed her foot. I could hear her heavy breathing as she masturbated to the sight of my humiliation.

Long before I had finished with the wine, I heard her begin to moan loudly and the sound of her hand's motion speed up as she achieved orgasm. She stopped but continued to gasp heavily.

"Sit up and turn around to face me," she gasped out the order. I was happy to comply. She was leaning against the wall.

"You see what you've caused? Wine is all over my floor, you've gotten it all over yourself and look at the carnal lusts you've awoken in me. If you hadn't shown off to me a few days ago then none of this wouldn't have happened. You're a bad girl, aren't you?"

"Yes Miss."

"You deserve chastisement, don't you?

"Yes Miss."

"Ask me for it then," she snapped at me.

"Miss, I'm sorry. I've been a bad girl. Please chastise me."

"Oh I will, Natalie, I will. I bet you're still pretty pleased with all you've done here, aren't you?"

"Yes Miss."

"Wicked child, come along."

I crawled behind her, she led me back into her living room and sat down on her couch.

"Still I did enjoy that. I believe I will have another in a while, I need to prepare myself again though and you will facilitate that by entertaining me."

"Get up onto my knees," she said while patting her knees with both hands.

I crawled over and complied fully, aligning myself so her hand would have the best access for the spanking. I closed my eyes, bowed my head down and smiled, eagerly awaiting the punishment. My pain tolerance has always been high, but when I'm as turned on as I was then I feel invincible.

Her hand came down with a hard smack, "of course, you'll need several days of detention for something this bad."

"Yes Miss."

"I didn't ask you a question," her hand came down with a harder.

Her hand sped up and got a little harder each time. It wasn't long before my ass began to tingle but she suddenly stopped.

At first I thought something was wrong. Did she not realise that she could go a lot harder and longer than that? I couldn't say anything as that would be out of place, but then I heard her pick something up from the table, something I hadn't noticed there before. She held it in front of my face, it was a wooden-handled hairbrush.

"Kiss it," she ordered. She clearly knew her stuff, either she'd done this before or she'd done research in the previous days. I was grateful either way and proceeded to kiss the handle.

She took it away after a few kisses and lined it up, she came down gently at first, letting it build up again. The thing about a wooden hairbrush is it can be very pain intensive. They often left tears in my eyes, not that I cried, just because a sub has tears in her eyes it doesn't mean she's upset or crying. Some just liked the control aspect of it and saw the punishments as a part of that but I loved the pain itself as much as the giving up of control. I've even had sex where spanking had been separated from its submissive context and found it fun.

The brush made a nice swish as it came down again and again, the intensity built up and I felt my eyes swell up. The pain was utter ecstasy. I breathed heavily and began yelping loudly, I heard her laugh at the sounds I made.

When she had finished, I was left with the stinging sensation throbbing on my ass. She must have left bruises, I thought, given how hard it was.

"I think that's punishment enough for now," she began rubbing my ass, "do you think I deserve a thank you?"

"Thank you Miss."

"I think you can do better than that. Get up, on your knees only and face me."

When I had done that she lifted my chin up to look at her directly. This was the first time we'd made eye contact since I'd arrived here.

"I think you can do better than a thank you, use your imagination."

I reached forward with my hands and drew her closer. Our lips met and we shared a long, sensuous kiss. Her hand reached down and began fondling my breast.

She pushed me gently, "get up onto the coffee, assume your seated position. I will be back shortly."

She got up and headed into the kitchen again while I clambered up onto the table. I assumed my position, the pain as I did a wonderful echo of the spanking I had received.

She returned with a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of me then headed upstairs. I heard her rummaging about in one of the rooms above me. I lifted myself up slightly to run my hands over my stinging flesh. I run my hands underneath the fabric of my tights and, applying pressure, run my nails across the beaten and bruised skin. It felt so good.

She returned and in her hands was a camcorder. She placed on the chair and begun to tweak the setting. I watch in silence as she does so, curious as to her next step.

"I'm going to press record on this device and then you're going to look right at it. I want you to start masturbating and that's over your tights, not under. Understand so far?"

"Yes Miss."

"I've got a little bit of writing to do. You must keep it up without climaxing until I'm done. If you are close then you must stop, I will time you to thirty seconds and then resume. Each time you need to do this, you must declare that you are a bad girl and that you need to be punished. Understand?"