TRAINING TEACHER CH. 01

Summary:

A parent-teacher interview forever changes a teacher's life.

Note 1:

This story is dedicated to my beautiful pet Julie. Your smile makes me tingle.

Note 2:

A special thanks goes to Cecile who suggested the parent-teacher story and Julie for being the muse of the story.

Note 3:

Another special thanks goes to Steve B and Julie for editing and plot suggestions.

Note 4:

One last extra special thanks goes to Estragon for his copy editing services.

Note 5:

Thanks to Tex Beethoven for the new 2019 edit... I hope you like the updated version.

PROLOGUE
Do you know who you are? I mean do you really know who you are? I thought I did. But a single moment in time, a single interaction with one person, can change everything. One person who's able to see the real you and who brings out a side of you that you never knew existed. That's 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 moment in time, until that person. One moment, one person changed everything...MY STORY
As a fourth-grade teacher, I take pride in myself that many parents request their children to be placed 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, has now become a well-behaved young man in his high school years; I take even greater satisfaction when he seeks me out to thank me for what he learned from me seven or eight years earlier. It's equally pleasurable to see that some of the girls who had been catty trouble-makers, have become stunningly beautiful high school juniors or seniors.I don't teach for the money, which is obvious if you know what we get paid; so when I see diamond-in-the-rough students turning into mature young adults, it's really a great feeling of achievement. I have one family, the Petersons, whose youngest child Devon is currently in my class. Devon has two older sisters, Elizabeth (Liz) who is now in the eighth grade, and Karli who is a senior (she was in my very first class when I began teaching right out of college). Unlike many of their classmates, they had both been well-behaved girls, always doing the most exceptional work, and were reliably courteous to their classmates. They were both a real joy to have in my class. 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. In truth he's a bright student, but his desperate need for constant attention hinders his learning. He's played minor pranks such as breaking classmates' pencils and switching their lunchbox contents. He's also committed major offenses like stealing from backpacks and destroying textbooks. 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, but what makes it worse is that for each note I send home, I then need to interact with his mother. Mrs. Peterson. Constance Peterson. Never 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, and although her manner always came across as if I wasn't worthy of her precious time, she never said or did anything to me that was overtly unpleasant. But this year, it's as if she's a different person and has a personal vendetta against me. According to her, all of Devon's issues are my fault. I dread when my phone rings and I'm notified by Alice, the school secretary 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, calling me a rotten teacher and accusing me of making up stories about her can-do-no-wrong Devon. I don't know what happened to her, or what I did to deserve all this abuse, but as a teacher, we're trained to agree with the parent and to do everything possible to work out a resolution. Constance is probably forty years old. Of course, if you'd ask her she'd say she's thirty. (Which would mean she'd had her first child when she was twelve!) Nonetheless, she could easily pass for thirty. I'm almost thirty, and I look older than she does. The male teachers on staff call her a MILF, or at least that's 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 three-inch stiletto heels, which lend 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 cascade down 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 or V-neck, always low cut. She's not large breasted, maybe a 36 C, but her orbs 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 the entire package results in a very powerful, sexual and dominating persona.

As we approached Parent Conference Day, notices were sent home requesting preferred times to schedule a conference. We provide time for all the parents to choose from, with the final 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 loose end: Constance. She sent me an email saying she wouldn't be able to meet me until 7:30 p.m., and that she had already verified that time with my principal, who'd assured her I would be glad to remain late for her conference. I cursed my luck and Ms. Pierce the principal and dreaded the upcoming interview. 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 34 B, and while they aren't particularly large, they're very firm. I also have strong legs, although I usually hide them in dress pants. My greatest asset is my smile, one I've been told melts hearts. Because of the late hour of my final interview, and the potential for it to be both long and stressful, I had arranged for 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 penultimate interview was excruciating. The clock ticked by slowly, giving me ample time to consider all the worst-case scenarios of what Constance might say or do. Each one I considered ended badly. The draft in my classroom didn't 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 some water, the school was almost empty. I was the only person left in the building other than Ms. Pierce. I went back to my classroom and waited and waited and waited. When 7:40 arrived, I was pissed. She'd made me wait for two hours and decided not even to show up, the fucking bitch. I got up to leave, packed my bag, and slid out of my heels. I was resting one foot on a student's desk chair, just about to put on my runners when Constance breezed in. She gave a cough to make me aware of 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 already leaving?" she asked in a condescending tone. She was dressed as she usually did, immaculately pristine, yet this time there was something different about her. 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 later on I saw had seams up the backs of her long legs; her patent three-inch pumps were gone and replaced with three-inch ankle boots. She also was wearing a black choker, something I'd never seen her wearing before, and her red hair was in a bun. She looked ready for business.I looked over to her, trying to conceal 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 sit beside me, instead of across the table like the setup 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 high, revealing the top of a stocking held by a garter belt. It shouldn't have been a distraction, but for me it became an obsession.I handed her Devon's report card that contained a plethora of Cs and Ds. Constance examined the report card thoroughly, the seconds turning into minutes. I fiddled with my wedding ring (don't ask me why I was still wearing it) as I snatched quick glimpses at her long stocking-clad legs and nervously awaited the impending assault. At one point her ankle bumped against 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 asked sarcastically, "So you hate all your students?" I stormed to my feet, enraged; my cheeks flushed with anger, furious that my professional integrity was being questioned so unfairly. She knew damn well that I had doted on her daughters when they'd been my students! But before I could begin to speak in my own defense, Mrs. Peterson also stood up and demanded, in a deliberate don't-mess-with-me tone, "Sit down, Ms. 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 imposing woman might do next. Amazingly, what she did was step around behind my chair, placing her hands caringly on my shoulders. Her harsh tone vanished as she murmured, almost whispered, "You're tense, my pet." Tense was putting it mildly. She then began gently massaging my shoulders. I tried to process this bizarre situation, her sudden anger replaced by a soft voice and this gentle massage, not to mention her calling me her 'pet.' My anger still slowly simmered even as I became relaxed from the gentle massage; but I was also confused at the sudden change in this woman's demeanour. 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 realized every emotion I had was at the whim of this unpredictable woman. I was so distracted that 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'd called me that a second time. I was so rattled by such an unexpected and strange approach by this usually frosty woman that I was caught completely off guard. She stopped massaging me and sat back down. I was surprised at the overwhelming disappointment that filled me when she withdrew her touch. I attempted to compose myself as I looked back to Mrs. Peterson. I explained that her son's grades were greatly impacted by his lack of effort and his constant disciplinary issues. If he applied himself, and behaved himself, he had the potential to be an excellent student, just like both of her older daughters had been for me, and no doubt still were. Mrs. Peterson smiled as her hand fell ever so carelessly onto my knee. I tried to pay attention to her words, but I was now distracted by her soft touch on my leg and the ample cleavage that was once again staring me in the face. She appeared to be waiting for a response to whatever she had just said and I, slightly flushed, requested that she repeat her question. Her smile never faded as she asked, "Are you distracted, my pet?" should have pulled back, but I didn't. I couldn't. A fire seemed to be burning inside me. My cheeks flushed, and my loins began to stir. Now I should mention at this point I'm not a lesbian. Back in college I'd made out with girlfriends at the bar to tease our boyfriends and such, but I'd never been seriously aroused by the opposite sex. Okay, now that I think about it, there was a brief kissing incident with my colleague and best friend Amy, which happened just last week. We were at a bar for happy hour, which turned into happy 'hours'. With drunken exuberance she'd suddenly given me a passionate kiss, which I'd found myself returning enthusiastically. Immediately following which we'd both gotten extremely timid and nervous around each other. We agreed to just pass it off as a drunken moment of playfulness, though later and even now, I still find it embedded in my mind. In fact ever since, every time I see her at work I get at least a little excited. She's married and has two children, and as I mentioned, is my best friend in the world. I'm divorced and haven't had sex in over a year, at least not sex with a man, or to be crystal clear, not even with another person. I admit to frequently seeking out lesbian porn on the internet in recent months, and to using 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 Amy..."My pet?"Constance's voice and the smell of her perfume brought me out of my self-analysis. Instead, I became transfixed by her hypnotic scent, a blend of sweetness, spice, fruit and floral. I became further intoxicated when I looked at her lips, with her bright red lipstick, a scarlet slash as if to tease. I briefly thought I might overcome my fear and kiss her out of curiosity. At that moment a sudden gust of wind shook the window, startling me back into the real world again.What's gotten into me? I wondered. I forced myself to again perceive Constance as the woman I hated most in the whole world. Thus grounded, 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 behaviour?"Her hand, still resting on my leg, moved up just slightly, as she turned my question back onto me. "A 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 I felt her warm breath on 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 leap back to my feet, protest, slap her hand away, anything; but I just sat there, paralysed by my fear and hormones. She paused, giving me time to react. When I didn't, she continued, "You do 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 could get 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 pressed against mine.She looked into my eyes, her sensual lips inviting me in and her intoxicating eyes summoning me in. My mind was a fog and when she leaned in and our lips touched, I didn't... couldn't... resist. My lips parted for her without thought, and Constance took the opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. Still reeling from the erotic spell Mrs. Peterson had me under, my own tongue responded. Soon our tongues were doing the taboo dance. The kiss lasted an eternity, one of sweetness, one of my 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 away awkwardly, my legs weak from the passionate embrace. I looked back at Mrs. Peterson, whose placid face gave away nothing."We can't do this," I said firmly.The sphinxlike woman stood up, exuding her usual confidence, walked over to me, and placed a single finger gently on my arm. Her slight touch provoked a shiver throughout my body. My emotional state was sent right back into complete turmoil. Her bright red lips curved into a smug smile. She didn't ask but she told me, "You're coming with me for coffee."I shivered, and as I tried to regain control of the situation, I struggled to refuse her, "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 wished to go for coffee, Hannah. I said you are coming for coffee."The statement wasn't a question, but a demand. The forceful tone had me too nervous to tell her no, but too petrified to say yes. But then I thought about it. It was only coffee, after all. She was far too well known a figure to do anything crazy in public. Going for coffee would be a good way to get out of this awkward position in my unchaperoned classroom. Finally feeling back in control again, I agreed to go for coffee with her. My confident swagger was back. Well, more on the outside than on the inside. Just as quickly as her tone had shifted from sweet to aggressive, it now returned to sweet. "That's a good girl, my pet."But when I began to remove my heels, she suddenly commanded, "No, don't allow yourself to be seen in those nasty runners. Keep the heels on, my pet. They really do showcase your sexy legs."I blushed at that, embarrassed, yet also proud she'd noticed my legs. I immediately 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'd 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 the keys to my SUV, Constance finally spoke, her tone again warning me this was not a suggestion, but a command. "We're 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's decisions about where I went. I protested, "Oh no, I can take my van."

The tone was back, and each word dripped with authority, "No, Hannah, we will go in my car." Her voice and look told me this was non-negotiable, so I gave in and 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 would happen next.

Constance opened the door for me and waited until I sat down. I was shocked once again when she leaned over and buckled my safety belt for me as if I were her little girl. Her breasts swayed unfettered under her blouse, and her sweet exotic scent lingered in my nostrils. 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 might even be.

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 arrogant as she, had given me any sort of enticing attention. I looked down and noticed her skirt had crept up. I gave out a slight gasp as once again I saw the top of her nylons and the trace of a garter. The only time I'd ever worn a garter was on my wedding day. The thought that this bitch of a woman dressed so sexily was a revelation. It also was getting me hornier. As if she could hear my naughty thoughts, she moved her right hand onto my leg. As she drove, her long supple fingers slowly slid up my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt as they went. 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 and forceful gesture from her hand ended my pathetically weak resistance.

When I looked up, I realized we were pulling into the 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 home."

I panicked, my sense of propriety 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 wouldn't be pleased at seeing his teacher in his own house."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, my dear little Hannah. They're 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 'cups 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 my safety belt. I held my breath, paralyzed at first, but then grasped the catch to stop her from unbuckling it. She looked at me sweetly, eye to eye, and then kissed me on the cheek. Then she leaned into me, her breasts plastered against my shoulder. "Don't you worry your cute little head about the details, my pet." Her hot breath on my ear weakened my resistance. She bit my ear with a not gentle, not hard, but al dente nibble and stood back up. In the meantime, she had the seatbelt unbuckled. She grasped 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 need to do is submit to me. To obey my every command."

Such words should have freaked me out, yet they did the opposite. In an instant, waves of guilt and shame washed away. As a teacher I'm always in charge, always putting out fires, always coming up with the solutions to issues. It's exhausting both physically and mentally. So when Mrs. Peterson... Constance... told me not to worry and just to submit to her, it felt like I was five years old and Mommy was calling me home. The invitation just to let go and let fate or someone else make my decisions for me 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 learned someone else was here. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the Petersons' maid. She was dressed in what appeared to be a caricature of a maid's uniform. It was black, with a white lace cap, but the part meant to cover her body was shoulderless, with a deep, plunging neckline, and the ruffled skirt barely covered her crotch. She looked Asian, and like the stereotype her figure was slight and her breasts small; but even so, they were revealed almost to their nipples. Once I'd taken in the revealing outfit, I belatedly recognized I'd been ogling Mrs. Chung. Mrs. Chung's daughter Bao was in my class, and unlike her classmate Devon, she was an absolute genius and a sweetheart of a girl.

"Yes, Mistress, what can I do for you?" asked the Asian mother and maid, standing in a submissive waiting position. I was slightly taken aback at hearing the mother of one of my students addressing Constance as 'Mistress'.

"Could you please bring my guest here a glass of wine and me my usual?"

"Yes, Mistress," Mrs. Chung responded, and subserviently and immediately exited. The bottom swells of her ass cheeks were clearly visible as she walked away, with no sign of any underwear.

Seeing the look of shock on my face, Mrs. Peterson asked, "Oh, you know Maeko don't you?"

"Bao is in my class," I explained.

"I know," she responded, "Maeko is a very, very, good maid. A full-service maid, no less." She added that last part as if to imply 'full service' had a hidden meaning. "I'm going to change into something a little more..." she paused, considering the best wording for what she wanted to say, "...a little more me. Just relax, Hannah. I shan't be long."

Of course, I couldn't relax; even as I attempted to ease my tension into the most comfortable leather couch I'd ever sat on. My anxiety was overwhelming. My inner turmoil and anticipation of what might transpire while I was here had me both curious and wanting to flee the room, the house. As I was about to do just that, Mrs. Chung re-entered the room, and at odds with her revealing costume, was walking with impeccable dignity, expertly balancing 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. Not traditional fare like cheese and crackers, etc., but a selection of delicate California rolls. After setting the tray upon the oak coffee table, she simply left. Never once had she looked at me to acknowledge that we knew one another.

As I reached for a glass of wine, I 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 short, black leather skirt, black thigh-high boots, black stockings, and a red blouse. Her red hair had been combed out of its earlier bun and flowed down her shoulders elegantly. If she was pretty while dressed in her usual stuffy attire, I could see she was drop-dead gorgeous when she let her hair down.

She sauntered to the table and lifted 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." She then raised her voice, calling, "Maeko."

As Constance refilled my glass, Maeko re-entered the room, "Yes, Mistress?"

Constance informed her, "You may go home now; I shan't need you for the rest of the evening,"

"As you wish, Mistress," the Chinese maid replied softly as she gave a slight bow and departed 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 had in college when I'd attended rare frat parties. Back then, the boys were only after one thing... sex. Constance, seeming to know 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 had no idea what to say, but she didn't require an answer. She simply walked over to me, set down her glass, took mine from my hand and set it down as well. Seating herself next to me, she immediately had me locked into an embrace and was kissing me. This time her kiss was more passionate and more domineering. I broke the kiss and pleaded weakly, "Please, don't." But deep down I didn't want her to stop, and she knew it.

"My pet, I'm doing exactly what you wish me to do. You wish for me to kiss you. To make you my little plaything, do you not?" 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, taking a short breath between each word, "Well... am... I... correct? Are... you... ready... to... submit... to... your... Mistress?" The questions took over a minute to finish as she bit my ear and finished by probing her tongue towards 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 supply one, she began to fumble with the buttons on my blouse. She continued her warm assault on my ear, "So, shall I have any more problems with you, my pet?"

Another moan escaped my lips, my panties now moist, as I struggled even to comprehend her question. Again, I had no answer to give her.

"You shall be a good teacher henceforward, will you not, my pet?" she purred, as she pulled my blouse out of my skirt. My fevered brain could supply my lips with no words to utter as I was now writhing helplessly.

Finally, she demanded a response. "Answer me, Hannah!"

I was startled by her change in tone and I answered obediently but without thought, frightened to make her angry with me. "Yes."

"Yes what?" she asked, her tone conveying her annoyance and impatience at what had somehow been my incomplete response.

I paused, unsure of what she wanted, until I recalled Maeko's submissive words and realized exactly what was required of me. I whimpered, like a child attempting to avoid corporal discipline, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good girl," she purred, her gentleness returning in a heartbeat. She removed my blouse and began exploring my body with soft pecks from her sweet lips, transmitting 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 felt all my insecurities returning to me. I felt embarrassed and vulnerable to be seen with all my flaws before this beautiful woman with her perfect body. I attempted to cover myself, but was quickly scolded, "Don't you dare cover yourself, Hannah. You must allow your Mistress to see you." She gave me a once over as I trembled nervously, awaiting her inevitable criticism, like she'd always given me at least by implication even back when her daughters, whom we'd both agreed were stellar, had been my students. 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 out and flicked over each nipple. The wetness of her tongue and the heat of her breath had me on the edge of ecstasy. Noticing the increase in my 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 both like a slap in the face and also like 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. So what did that make me? As I considered this conundrum, Constance stood and pulled me to my feet. I stood helplessly as this pretentious, arrogant bitch unzipped my skirt, yanked it down 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 midsection and asked, her tone a blend of authority and compassion, "And what's with your 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 at all times. Even at times you don't expect to encounter me. Understood?"

First I was a pet, then a slut, and now a 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 to be wearing 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 I was being foolish, that this evening would be a one-time thing. It had to be.

Constance? Mrs. Peterson? Mistress? Lover? Unsure of how to think of her, I watched as she now slowly pulled down my pantyhose. Now I was standing and shivering in only my underwear. I'd never felt so vulnerable and helpless in my life.

Her hand slowly caressed my arm as she whispered, 'You are a submissive little slut, are you not, Hannah?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely confused. The concept had never occurred to me. A light chill in the air had me slightly trembling.

"You wish to obey," she explained. Her mouth went to my ear as she whispered, "You need to obey. You are fulfilled only when you obey."

I whimpered. Oddly, at this pivotal moment, what popped into my head was the National Junior Honors Society Pledge. One line of the Pledge in particular stood out for me: "I pledge to give of myself freely in service to others." It was a pledge I'd made years ago, but in retrospect I realized it was a pledge I have always kept. I am the one my family relies 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 whether they're technically my students or not; and now that I reflected on it, I'd always acted submissively in the bedroom with 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 at the entrance to 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, as if I were still a child. "My, my, my, you're drenched, my pet. Why are you so wet?" She waited for a response, but I couldn't verbalize my answer. It was way too humiliating. I heard her take a deep breath, then: "Answer me, whore!" she bellowed.

I stuttered out of total fear, "I-I-I can't, Mistress, it's too humiliating!"

Her anger immediately dissipated and her deceivingly seductive smile returned. Her finger probed inside my panties. "My pet, have I not made it crystal clear? I own you. I am your Mistress. You are my slave, my whore, my submissive, dyke, cunt, bitch, whatever I decide to call you at any moment. You will only come when I give you permission. Your main purpose in life and especially when you're in my presence, 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 a series of pants. Her finger was driving me crazy. "Submit to me, whore!" she thundered.

Without any thought or reflection, the words flew out of me with equal volume, although with none of her authority but rather with total desperation, "I am your slave, Mistress, I will obey you!"

My Mistress pumped her finger hard with three quick thrusts, whereupon she withdrew it and placed it in her mouth. After savouring my juice, she placed her hands on my shoulders and guided me to my knees. She lifted her foot and commanded me to remove her boot. I did, 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 do anything not to 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 thrillingly enjoyable. I was ordered to repeat the task on her other foot, and again I focused solely on pleasing my Mistress.

"You are a good slave," Mrs. Peterson said approvingly. Her approval warmed my insides, and I awaited further instruction, kneeling before her.

I watched intently as she backed up a couple of feet and unbuttoned her red blouse. Her eyes never left mine as she slowly, painfully slowly according to my perceptions, undid one button at a time. I watched, desperate to view her hidden flesh. Seeing my eyes riveted expectantly on her bra-covered melons, 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 this one ten years from now. 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 perfectly framed her pussy and its thin strip of auburn hair.

She balled up her thong and tossed it at me. Although I was surprised, I caught her piece of string-like underwear and instinctively brought 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 blushed and dropped her slightly damp thong to the floor with the rest of our discarded clothes. "Take your panties off," she instructed. I got off my weary knees and awkwardly, my legs numb from being on the floor for so long, removed my final piece of restrictive clothing.

Now that we were both standing, my Mistress stepped up to me and kissed me, pulling me into her. Our breasts flattened against each other. I moaned into her mouth as her knee pressed between my legs and against my naked mound. Our kissing was intense as her tongue darted into my mouth and she seemed actually to suck my tongue into her mouth.

After a couple minutes of this reckless passion, she grasped my shoulders, and for a second time, this time roughly, she pushed me onto my knees. She scolded, "Slut, you've gotten 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 I attempted to suck my juice from her stocking. I heard her purr, "Good cunt," as I extracted my juice.When she was satisfied with my thoroughness, she lifted the same leg onto the couch and presented me with a very close-up view of her pussy. Her fingers entwined in my hair. She wordlessly pulled me in, guiding my face to her forbidden zone. My anxiety overwhelmed me, but no longer because I was humiliated by the situation. I suppose I still was, but now I no longer cared, my humiliation had become synonymous with rapture. Now I was more worried about pleasing her; concerned I would fail to make my Mistress... who now owned me... happy. I was so close to her pussy I was getting drunk on her exotic scent when even though I thought I'd already surrendered, everything changed.

She thrust her hips forward and said in a dominant and reassuring voice, "You know what you wish 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' 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 when I myself didn't, but I was forever grateful. It was exactly what I wished, what I craved, and what I was born to do. I extended my tongue and began my complete, unreserved servitude to my Mistress.

As I began pleasuring my Mistress in earnest, I tried to do to her pussy what I liked having done to mine. Mistress shivered from my tender strokes as I shifted from gentle to stronger 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' 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 attempts to make her come appeared 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 shrieked an earth-shattering scream and came, her juices spraying all over me. My face soaked, I continued to lick her clit as her body endured spasm after spasm, her orgasm seeming to last forever. I remained between her legs, savouring her delicious nectar as I brought her to a second... softer... orgasm. I felt her cum dripping from my chin as her spasms 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, placidly, head lowered, awaiting further instructions.

Finishing her glass of wine, my Mistress finally spoke, as she commanded, "Follow me, cunt." Somewhat forlornly, I noticed she hadn't deigned to show 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 bitch 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 in the middle of the far wall looking like a shrine. I crawled to my Mistress' feet, and she bent down and petted my hair. "Good girl," she cooed as if I had just done a clever... for a dog... 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 even more eager to please my Mistress. I desperately wanted her approval. I wanted nothing more than to please her. It made no sense, but I no longer seemed able to give any credence to logic. I was her slave, and wouldn't even consider disobeying any order, no matter how extreme or mortifying.

I watched her as she disappeared into a huge walk-in closet. When she returned a couple 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."

I did as instructed. My Mistress joined me on the bed, and I didn't struggle or protest as she grabbed my arms, handcuffing me to the headboard. A feeling of complete helplessness struck me as I lay there, bound. Up until now, at least in theory I could have halted 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 called a butt plug. It was a thin black toy, and I watched her lubricate it generously. Once she'd done that, she asked me, "Have you ever had anything in your ass?"

"No," I answered, my fear clearly expressed on my face.

"Well, today is still a day of firsts then, my pet," she said rather casually. "First, you become my new submissive slave, second you eat pussy, and now you willingly give me your anal virginity."

Willingly? I think not! I began to protest, when she roared, "Don't you ever fucking question your Mistress! If I wish to share you with my friends, I will. If I wish you to service the football team, you will. If I wish 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 your 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 find yourself punished in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

Her mood swings alarmed me. My eyes went wide, fearful of 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 even more of my Mistress' anger. The pain in my ass burned and unlike stories I'd read online, the pain was in no way simmering away. It burned like hell. Mistress watched my expressions in amusement before simply getting off the bed and leaving the room with me still bound, impaled and helpless.

As I lay on my Mistress' bed, I pondered my predicament. How had I gone, in only a couple of hours' time, from being a more or less confident teacher prepared to deal with a difficult parent, to finding myself handcuffed, naked and my ass on fire in that same parent's bed? Replaying the evening in my head, I couldn't pinpoint any single moment that had been the turning point. It seemed like a domino effect, where once the first domino had fallen, my permitting her to sit beside me instead of across the table like all the other parents had done, 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; I was 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 had made sense. I was happy, oblivious to my submissive side. On the other hand, I'd never been hornier than during these last two hours. The feeling of pure joy I'd felt when I made my Mistress come was inexplicable. A sensation that was unbelievably intense filled me when I satisfied her.

When Mistress returned, she carried in her hand a cucumber, and it was a very lengthy one. She tossed it onto the bed and went back into the walk-in closet. When she returned for a second time, my spirits crashed when I saw what she was now carrying. It was a video camcorder attached to a tripod. I was terrified about what her intentions could possibly be as she set it up. If such a video were to be made public, my career would be over, not only locally but nationwide. I watched her nervously, praying for a miracle that would enable me not to 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 learn there is a severe consequence for any sort of disobedience." She removed my handcuffs and announced, "You are going to make a brief video for me; one that will come in 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. And of course, you'll 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 pushed itself deeper inside me. The hot burn returned in full force as I reached for the lengthy cucumber. Obediently I rubbed it on my clit as I wondered what she wanted to hear. I considered making up a fantasy that wasn't mine, but I was worried she would somehow know.

So I began telling her and an imagined audience... of I don't know, millions?... my most current masturbating fantasy as I pressed the cucumber against my very needy pussy. "I'm somewhat ashamed to admit this. But seeing my ex-students as eighteen-year-old young adults is very exhilarating. Usually I don't think of them as sexual objects, but lately I have been. Maybe it's because I haven't had sex in a year, but my pussy has had that special tingle on a few occasions lately. Watching the play put on by the high school drama club had my pussy damp. Watching the boys' 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 got so horny that I ended up sneaking into my classroom and bringing myself to an orgasm."

I had the cucumber halfway inside me now, and was slowly moving it in and out. My shame was fading as my horniness took over. Looking directly at the camera, attempting to appear as sexy as I was beginning to feel, I continued, "So all this week my fantasy has been about being seduced by an ex-student. 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 getting louder as envisioning this fantasy got me extremely horny, as did the vegetable that was now two-thirds inside 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 building inside me, I heard my Mistress' 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 release was incredibly difficult, and it took all my will power to corral the urge. 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 down at me. Her sweet smile was back. She whispered, "All good things come to those who wait. When I eventually do allow it, you're not going to believe how powerful your orgasm will be."

She took the vegetable out of my gaping hole and placed it in my mouth. I thought I understood what was expected of me. I opened my mouth to suck my juices from the cucumber. I quickly learned I'd guessed wrong as my Mistress corrected me, "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 from the end 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 skeptically.

"Yes, Mistress," I responded and added, hoping to please her, "Ì am yours to use as you see fit."

Seeming to be happy with my obedience, she decided to test my servitude. "So... do you want me to fuck your ass with this cock?"

The truthful answer was no. What I really wanted was her to fuck my pussy, but I knew that wasn't 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 the plastic plug from my ass. My liberation from the toy was a great relief, which was apparently going to be short-lived as I felt my Mistress' hands on my ass. But her strap-on, 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 it inside 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 at all if it got me closer to my long-delayed 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 enough to accommodate the big, hard plastic cock. My moans of agony were muffled by the pillow 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 slowly to 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 its contrast with the toy Mistress had managed to sneak into my pussy helped me focus on the pleasure building in my cunt instead of the fiery pain in my rectum. Mistress next began fucking my ass, not fast, but with a constant rhythm. Each thrust went just a bit deeper, each time creating 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 about ten 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 asses fucked."

Way past the point of return or caring what the fuck I was, I blurted, "I am a slut. I... am... your... fucking... whore! Please fuck me to an orgasm, Mistress. I'll do anything you say."

"Anything?" she asked curiously. The cock was now lodged deeper in my ass than I could possibly imagine.

"Yes, anything Mistress," I moaned in desperation.

"Good, I have the perfect task for you," she said as she pushed me down 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 exploded, draining every fibre of my existence. Mistress kept pounding my ass as I continued through an everlasting quake. I said so many crazy 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 from my pussy what I now saw was a vibrating egg.

I was exhausted, but Mistress was relentless. She crawled back onto the bed, placed her pussy under my face, and demanded I service her again. I 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 eighteen 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 wasn't the slave in question, "Certainly not m-m-me."

"Of course you, my pet. She asked for you specifically and I always give my children what they want," she explained.

This revelation had me even more bewildered. "She asked for me?"

"Yes, although she didn't realize she was doing so. We were discussing Devon's behaviour problems, which by the way, there will be no more of, he's been misbehaving because I told him to, when she declared that she thought you were hot. Well, one thing led to another, and I finally concluded that you would be the perfect present for her eighteenth 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 visit 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 must, I will protect you like one of my own children. On the other hand, if you don't obey, I will crush you in a way you wouldn't want to imagine," my Mistress explained. Her voice wasn't 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's already scheduled to be his weekend," I answered.

"Excellent. That is amazingly convenient," she said, yawning. She continued, explaining other plans for me, "In three weeks, I'm 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 you saw Mrs. Chung wearing and serve all the guests however they require."

"Oh," I said, unsure what to say to such a declaration, knowing that any resistance would be futile. My mind was busy pondering the meaning of the word 'special' that she had used twice in a single sentence.

"Now get back to your snack, slut," my Mistress ordered.

I returned to licking Mistress' pussy as I considered what lay in store for me. The road ahead was terrifying and humiliating and yet, as I considered myself serving as a submissive plaything to a group of eighteen-year-olds, my pussy began to rev up again. When I considered being a maid, I wondered what all it would entail. Would it be just a regular party? Or a lesbian sex party? Or perhaps a swingers' party? At the very least I'd be dressed far more daringly than I'd ever considered being. The excitement of such wild adventures had me wet again, and I licked my Mistress' 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 ordered about by horny eighteen-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 I 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, may I please come again?"

A chill shivered up my back as she gave me her 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'd 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 coming herself, my Mistress lowered her pussy onto my face and rubbed her wet cunt all over me. Determined to please her, I used my tongue, my lips and even my nose to make her come, and soon I heard a scream and was sprayed by a tidal wave of my Mistress' cum. She crashed forward, and both of us lay entangled on the bed, an orgasmic mess.

The room went eerily silent. The only sounds were from two women and their erratic breathing as they attempted to recover from complete sexual bliss. Minutes ticked by, until finally my Mistress announced, "One final thing, my pet." She got up from the bed and stood next to me.

I couldn't imagine what else could possibly be left, since both of us were exhausted from the evening of sexual debauchery. She reached around her neck and removed the black choker she'd been wearing all evening and showed it to me. It had 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 at an end, together with dire consequences. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I responded, knowing I would never want to take it off.

She gently fastened it around my neck and asked, "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

I looked at it and answered, "It looks familiar, but I can't recall where I've seen one."

She smiled deviously, "Look around while you're 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'd ever heard, "I have quite a few, actually." She paused and added, giving me a nonsexual compliment for the first time, "But none of them are as damn adorable as you." She yawned.

I blushed like an innocent schoolgirl as I whispered, "Thank you, Mistress."

"For what?" she teased.

"For everything," I said, overwhelmed by how much I wanted to say but didn't have words for.

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 before midnight. I then wondered how I was going to get home when Mistress handed me a nightie and a small blanket, "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.

THE END... for now..