Training Teacher

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 seatbelt. 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.