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Copyright © 2002 Norm DePloom.  ALL Rights Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.  The author may be contacted at 'MyStores at normdeploom dot com'

 

All the characters and events in this story are fictional; any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

 

Extra Credit

By

Norm DePloom

 

ttempting to lift the paper without letting any of the other students see what Mr. Wilson had written on it, Margaret looked once more at the big red F with a circle around it and read once more the note.  "See me after class." It said.  "Shit," she said softly under her breath.  Christ almighty, she thought putting the paper back, face down, on the desk, I can't afford this.  Margaret began calculating what it would do to her grade point average if that grade stood.  Margaret approached Mr. Wilson's desk as the rest of the students left the classroom.

 

"It says you want to see me," Margaret said, affecting what she hoped would be just the right mixture of injured innocence and contrite remorse.  Mr. Wilson looked at her for a long and, for her, very uncomfortable minute before he spoke.

 

"You are aware," Mr. Wilson said leaning back in his chair, "aren't you, that plagiarism is a serious offense."  Mr. Wilson's expectant silence made it obvious that he did not consider it to be a rhetorical question.

 

"I...I..." Margaret stammered after opening and closing her mouth silently several times, "I..."

 

"Don't embarrass either one of use by trying to deny it," Mr. Wilson cut off her response as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk, "I can use a search engine as well as the next person."  Mr. Wilson leaned against the front edge of his desk facing the opposite direction and almost touching Margaret.  "School policy calls for students guilty of plagiarism to be expelled."  Margaret looked at Mr. Wilson with disbelief.  He couldn't, she thought, oh god he just couldn't.  "Do you know how hard it would be to get admitted to another good school if you were thrown out of this one for this?"  Mr. Wilson shook his head sadly.  "I'd hate to see that happen."  The student and the teacher stood in silence for a few moments.  Tears began to well up in the student's eyes.  A chocked "Please," was all she could manage.  Mr. Wilson held up his hand to stop her from saying anything more.

 

"You've been an excellent student," he continued, "and I'd hate to see this ruin your academic career."  Margaret looked at her teacher with hopeful eyes as she wiped a tear from her cheek.  "I can't, however, let this go with no punishment at all."  Margaret nodded her head in agreement.  "It just wouldn't be fare to the other students."  Mr. Wilson continued.  The two stood in silence again for a moment before the teacher continued.  "You are such a good student," Mr. Wilson spoke almost like he was talking to himself, "that I know you wouldn't have done this if your work load had not been so heavy."  Margaret nodded her head in agreement.  "So asking you to do it over again would just add to your already unbearable load."  Again Margaret nodded her head, liking the direction his speech was taking.  "And leaving the failing grade on a paper of this importance would be almost as hard on you as kicking you out of school."  Margaret continued to nod her head and look contrite.  Mr. Wilson was silent, apparently in deep thought for an uncomfortably long time.  Margaret was busy trying to come up with a punishment she could suggest, one that would be harsh enough to satisfy Mr. Wilson's need for justice, but lenient enough to allow her to keep her GPA in the stratosphere. 

 

"This was a very childish thing to do, Margaret."  Margaret nodded her head, emphatically agreeing with her teacher's conclusion. "And," Mr. Wilson continued, "perhaps we should use a child's punishment."  Margaret stopped nodding in agreement and just looked confused.  "My father always believed that there was nothing better than a good spanking to take care of childish misbehavior."  Margaret looked at her teacher with her mouth hanging open in disbelief, but her mind was already calculating the pros and cons of this seemingly bizarre suggestion.  Sure, it would hurt, she thought, but the physical pain would be temporary compared to the devastating effect this indiscretion could have on her life.  Later Margaret would admit that her thought processes were somewhat clouded by the totally unexpected thrill that ran through her body when she thought about being spanked by Mr. Wilson. 

 

"Yes," Mr. Wilson said looking into his student's face, "I think a spanking would be just the thing." 

 

"OK," Margaret answered, hanging her head.  She could feel her face turning red.  She watched as he leaned over and retrieved a heavy wood ruler from his desk drawer then stepped over and, picking up a straight-backed wood chair, moved it into position in front of the desk.

 

"Go lock the door." He ordered as he sat in the chair.   Margaret walked the length of the room and locked the door with a bit of trepidation.  What, she silently asked herself, have I gotten myself into?  The only thing keeping her from dashing out the door instead of locking it was her desire to do whatever was needed to keep from having to pay the consequences for a terribly bad decision she had made late one night.  Copying large sections of a rather obscure paper she had found on the subject had seemed to be the best way to get her work finished on that late night, or rather early morning when she had been so tired that not even repeated ingestion of quad-lattes seemed to make a dent in her exhaustion.  If the pain and private humiliation of being spanked like a child was all her lapse in good judgment cost her, then Margaret was willing to count herself lucky. When Margaret turned to walk back across the room after rotating the knob that secured the door against casual intruders, the sight of Mr. Wilson setting in the straight backed wood chair, waiting with ruler in hand for her to approach him sent a chill of fear and an unexpected rush of excitement simultaneously down her spine.  The hairs on back of her neck stood at attention as she approached the waiting disciplinarian.  Whether they were standing up in unheeded warning, or in unanticipated thrill, Margaret could not say.  Perhaps, as she would later admit, the two were the same. 

 

"Lay across my legs."  Mr. Wilson spoke in a practiced, no nonsense allowed, authoritarian voice after Margaret came to a hesitant stop in front of him.  Swallowing hard, and feeling her face turning crimson, Margaret obeyed her teacher and carefully laid herself across his lap with her toes on the floor on his right side, her knees bent, and her arms touching the floor on his left side.  Holding his student firmly by the waist, Mr. Wilson pulled her skirt up then, before she could register a protest, he worked Margaret's panties off her butt and halfway down her thighs.  Her protest dying in a barely audible whimper, Margaret hung her head between her arms in total humiliation.  She knew Mr. Wilson was staring at her naked fanny.  She could feel the evidence of his reaction pushing against her stomach.  

 

Margaret's body jerked when she felt his warm hand on her bare skin.  She would have protested if it hadn't been removed just as quickly and replaced by the first swat of her upturned butt, which landed on her right cheek.  The intensity of the pain caught Margaret by surprise, as did the volume of her outcry.  Being as anxious as her punisher to avoid discovery in this humiliating position, Margaret turned her head to the side and clamped her teeth down on the collar of her white blouse.  The blows continued, alternating from cheek to cheek, and Margaret realized that she had not negotiated how many times Mr. Wilson could spank her before she had made herself totally vulnerable to his desires.  Her fanny cheeks now burned even hotter than the ones on her face, and just when Margaret was positive she could stand it no longer.  Just as she was releasing the cloth from her mouth to beg Mr. Wilson for mercy, Margaret noticed that the hot, burning sensation in her buttocks seemed to be flowing, expanding to include her genitals.  Margaret could feel herself becoming moist.  Not just moist, she admitted, wet.  Dripping wet she thought.  Margaret had never had a problem getting wet and excited when she touched herself, but had never met a male who could ignite this kind of excitement in her. 

 

Now each blow of the ruler seemed to send a shock wave of excitement between her legs, and the image of Mr. Wilson watching as her butt cheeks clenched and unclenched in response to this excitement only seemed to add to her thrill.  So intensely was Margaret concentrating on the strange feelings of heat and pleasure, feelings that made the pain seem like something far away, something that was really happening to another person, that the orgasm caught Margaret by surprise.

 

"Oh God," was the only intelligible thing she said as her body spasmed again and again.  Margaret's awareness shrank until the only things in her universe were the rhythmic slap of the ruler against her fanny, each one driving the intensity of her orgasm to a new peek; the burning, aching to be touched feeling in her vagina, which seemed to be exacerbated rather than satiated by the intense orgasmic sensations she was experiencing; and the hard lump pushing into her stomach, the mute evidence of Mr. Wilson's excitement. 

 

Margaret almost wept when the ruler stopped raining pain filled blows on her abused fanny.  Relief and disappointment mixed almost equally.  Margaret hung limply over her teacher's lap, too exhausted to pick her self up.  She felt Mr. Wilson's hand once again on her naked buttocks, this time it felt cool against her red burning skin.  Margaret smiled at the gentle touch, a touch that, she realized, seemed to be igniting a fire of a not totally different nature than the conflagration caused by the blows from the heavy wood ruler.  Margaret moaned softly and moved her hips gently against the hand.  Yes, she thought, as his fingers moved between her butt cheeks, lightly brushing first her anal entry, then the bottom third of her wet swollen vaginal lips. 

 

"Up you go."  Mr. Wilson said, removing his hand from his student's backside.  After helping Margaret to her feet Mr. Wilson walked to the door and, without looking back, unlocked it and left, leaving Margaret feeling confused, embarrassed and humiliated.  Standing in front of the desk rubbing her tender fanny with both hands, her panties visible just below her skirt, were still around her knees.  Tears flowing from her eyes, Margaret pulled her panties back up her thighs and carefully over her butt.  The feel of the cloth between her legs ignited new feelings of excitement as Margaret left the room to walk the four blocks to her home.  In spite of the humiliation she had felt at the beginning and end of her ordeal, easily the worst humiliation of her life, Margaret's thoughts were occupied with the duration and intensity of the orgasm she had just experienced.  An orgasm that was, like the humiliation, the most intense she had ever experienced.  Mostly her thoughts returned again and again to the feeling, the sudden, shocking rush of excitement that had been caused by Mr. Wilson's fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of her anal sphincter and vagina.  Margaret knew, without question, that if Mr. Wilson had pushed her legs apart she would have gladly allowed him to take any liberty he pleased with her overly excited body.

 

"Why didn't he?"  She asked out loud then, blushing, looked around to make sure no one had heard her.  Once home, and securely locked away from interruption in her room, Margaret removed her clothes then, standing with her back to the mirror, looked over her shoulder at her bright red fanny.  That, she thought as she rubbed her cheeks gently, is going to be tender for a few days.  Walking across the room Margaret laid down on her left side on her bed.  Keeping her legs together she bent her knees, bringing her legs up toward her chest until her body and her legs formed a right angle.  Using her right hand Margaret gently caressed her hot, burning backside, pushing her finger tips between her fanny cheeks, trying to recapture the exciting thrill of Mr. Wilson's fingers touching her.  Although she was unsuccessful at recreating the feelings generated by the touch of her teacher's fingers, Margaret did begin to excite herself.  Bringing her knees closer to her chest, Margaret lifted her right knee, rotating her leg on the twin pivots of her hip and her foot, until her thighs were opened enough to allow her hands access to her genitals.  Using her left hand held flat with her fingers together, Margaret rubbed gentle little circles over her sensitive, engorged clitoris.  Reaching further back, between her legs from behind, Margaret gently moved the tip of her finger up and down her wet swollen folds of flesh.  Picking up lubricating moisture on her fingertip Margaret gently rubbed it onto her anal opening, causing little twitches of excitement, then moved her finger back to pick up more of her abundant fluid.  Margaret repeated this several times, then slowly worked the tip of her finger, only to the first joint, into her easily excited rear opening. 

 

With one fingertip teasing her anal sphincter and four fingers applying just the right pressure on and around her clitoris, Margaret worked her way through two relatively gentle 'postscript' orgasms then drifted off to sleep with her fingers still teasing her body.  While asleep Margaret dreamed of un-admitted desires.  Desires to be taken and used in ways she could barely imagine.  Secret longings for forced entries and savage thrustings.  And now, dreams of ever more violent spankings taking her to unimagined heights of pain and pleasure.  Two hours later Margaret awoke and gave herself two more orgasms before getting dressed and venturing out for some dinner. 

 

Margaret would not see Mr. Wilson again for two days and, before the end of the first day, Margaret was aware that she was well on her way to setting a new personal best for the number of self-induced orgasms in a twenty-four hour period.  Her fanny was very tender and Margaret could not move without being reminded of the spanking and the life altering orgasm it had induced.  Every time she was reminded of that event she felt the irresistible urge to induce another orgasm and would end up anyplace where she could get even a modicum of privacy, be it in a stall in the closest women's rest room, or locked securely in her bedroom.  It got so bad that, for the first time in her life, Margaret quit wearing panties, both to ease the pressure on her sore fanny and to ease access to the parts of her body that she was rapidly becoming obsessive compulsive about touching. 

 

Being in a state of constant sexual excitement Margaret seemed to attract members of the male sex like she never had before.  She turned down three offers of dinner and a movie during her eternal two-day wait until her next class with Mr. Wilson.  Up until that time she had never met a male who really turned her on and it, somehow, seemed to her that she would be unfaithful if she allowed another male to benefit from the sexual awakening that had been triggered by Mr. Wilson. 

 

On the morning of the day of her next class with "HIM" as she had come to think of Mr. Wilson, Margaret woke from a fitful night of disturbing dreams, dreams of unusually explicit and almost brutal nature.  She awoke tired, excited and more than a little scared.  While not admitting that receiving another spanking from HIM was even a consideration, Margaret refused to relieve the almost unbearable tension by touching herself.  She put on panties for the first time since that fateful afternoon knowing, without knowing how, that the act of pulling down her panties was an integral part of what she continued to deny she wanted.  As the day wore on and as THE class approached Margaret's sexual tension became more and more unbearable.  Several times she went into the restroom and locked herself in a stall fully intending to relieve her self.  On each occasion she could not bring herself to lessen the anticipation with witch she was approaching HIS class and left the stall still keyed up and on the brink.  Whether she was on the brink of a massive orgasm, or a total nervous breakdown Margaret couldn't say and by the time the class started she was no longer sure there was a difference.  Margaret could not believe how calm and cool Mr. Wilson looked and acted, almost as if the events of two days previous had never occurred.  There were no meaningful looks; he paid no more attention to her than to other students.  If anything she felt like he was looking right through her, that she had suddenly become invisible.  By the end of class the last two days seemed to Margaret to have been nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, a silly schoolgirl crush on a teacher to whom she apparently meant less than nothing.  Margaret almost collapsed on her desk, overwhelmed by feelings of humiliation far worse than what she had felt after the spanking.  Worse also because she had brought it on herself.  God, she thought as the class was being dismissed, I should have known when he left without taking advantage of me that he really had no desire for me.  Margaret held her burning face in her hands and fought back tears until everyone else had left the room, then she collected her books and headed for the door. 

 

What a difference two days could make.  Unlike THAT afternoon, Margaret walked home from class on this day feeling almost suicidal, trying not to think about all of the fantasies about HIM she had indulged in while she had played with herself like a little girl.  When she arrived home Margaret pulled the mail from its box by the door and looked through it with obvious disinterest.  Finding a plain white envelope with her name typed on it Margaret carried it up to her room and locked the door before her Herculean effort to control her emotions failed and she collapsed onto her bed sobbing uncontrollably.  It took about twenty minutes for the wave of weeping to complete its course.  Sniffing and wiping her eyes Margaret ripped open the envelope.  Inside she found a single sheet of paper with a type written message.

 

"You have been punished for you error in judgment," Margaret read, not really understanding what the note was saying; "now you must make up the grade with some extra credit work."  Below the message was an address then the words "Eight o'clock tonight."  Margaret looked at both sides of the paper and read the unsigned message three more times before the full impact of the words hit her.  Being whipped from elation to despair and back again can take a lot out of a girl.  Margaret lay down on her bed intending to rest for a few minutes, she had no intention of going to sleep.  She woke with a start from a very graphic dream concerning ropes, knots, pieces of equipment the use of which she could not even begin to guess, and her being on public display naked and spread for all to see.  

 

"Oh shit."  She yelled, springing from the bed and grabbing her purse, after she saw the time.  "I'm late."  Margaret screamed to nobody, everybody and anybody as she dashed through the house and out the front door.  Ten minutes later and three minutes late, still in the same clothes she had been wearing all day, now rumpled from her unexpected nap, she was ringing the doorbell beside the front door of the address in the typewritten note.

 

"Oh god," she said softly as she tried to make last minute repairs to her sleep-mussed hair, "don't ignore me because I'm late."  It had never occurred to Margaret to doubt that the type written message had come from HIM, until she heard the knob turning on the door.  The wave of intense panic that accompanied her realization that she really had no idea who was opening the door kept her frozen in her place as the door opened and it was replaced with equally intense relief. 

 

"You're late."  Mr. Wilson announced, standing in the doorway.  To Margaret's ears he managed to make it sound like the moral equivalent of being a serial baby raper and murderer.  "Why should I let you in if you don't have even the common decency to be on time?"  Margaret hung her head in shame.  In truth she could think of no reason that he should let her in, other than the growing panic she felt thinking that he would shut the door leaving her out in the cold dark night. 

 

"Please?"  Was all she could manage to say as she stared at the ground afraid to look at him.  Mr. Wilson stepped back from the door, indicating that his student should enter.

 

"Set on the couch," Mr. Wilson ordered.  He poured two glasses of wine and handed one of them to Margaret.  Her hands were trembling so badly that she almost spilled the beverage before she could get it to her lips.  Her first sip of the dark liquid sent a wave of calming warmth through Margaret's over wrought body.  This calming effect did nothing however to lessen the firestorm of lust ranging inside her.  After two days of compulsive masturbation Margaret was rapidly approaching the twenty-four hour mark without touching herself.  Margaret sipped her wine and blushed as Mr. Wilson sipped his and watched her with a gaze that she was sure could penetrate to her very soul and read her every thought.

 

"I'm going to make you a proposition," Mr. Wilson said, finally speaking after finishing the last of his wine and setting the glass down on the table beside his chair.  Margaret was keyed up to such an extent that hearing the word 'proposition' sent a thrill through her body much like that felt by an adolescent male hearing a 'dirty' word for the first time.  The image of a well known cartoon character saying, "Heehee, he said proposition," relieved more of her remaining nervousness, allowing her to relax a bit more and, almost, brought a smile to her face. 

 

"After I present my offer," Mr. Wilson leaned forward as he spoke, "you can either accept it, or reject it, but there will be no negotiation."  Mr. Wilson paused briefly to let Margaret consider what he had just said, then continued.  "If you reject my offer you may finish your drink then return to your room and we will both pretend that this never happened."  How, Margaret wondered, how could I ever pretend that none of this ever happened? 

 

"From now, until you graduate, all of your non-class time will be spent as my slave."  The word 'slave' made Margaret's body jerk, an effect that was not lost on Mr. Wilson.  "I will give you only these assurances," Mr. Wilson continued speaking in a slow, serious tone of voice, "you will be allowed plenty of time to study.  In fact I will insist that you maintain the highest GPA, anything less would reflect badly on me.  I will not do anything to you, or force you to do anything that would endanger your health.  I will not take pictures of you or allow anyone else to take pictures of you, or do anything that would endanger your future.  I will not force you to do anything that would disfigure you in any way.  Beyond that I only promise that you will be used in ways, and experience things, that you have yet to even imagine."  His speech finished, Mr. Wilson sat back to patiently wait for his student's reply.  Margaret sat with a blank, but slightly bemused look on her face.  Memories of the strange dreams she'd been having the last two days flooded over her, dreams of being possessed, dreams of some irresistible will controlling every part of her body and her life.  It seemed to Margaret that the spanking of two days before had ignited some pent up reserve of lust within her body that had, apparently, been smoldering just below her consciousness for years just waiting for the right trigger to set it burning.  Her manic, obsessive masturbation over the last two days proved that it had, indeed, been ignited.  The memories of those dreams, the thoughts of what it would mean to be this man's slave, the urgent demands of her newly invigorated libido, all combined and expressed themselves as an overwhelming desire to push her hand between her thighs and rub her clitoris, not stopping until she fell asleep exhausted and with a wrist that was too sore to move.  Margaret's libidoness fire was further fueled by the outright terror she felt at the prospect of giving that much power to another person.  What finally settled the issue for Margaret was her total inability to imagine herself not becoming her teacher's slave.

 

"Yes."  Margaret spoke her acceptance softly, sounding like she was afraid that to speak to loudly might wake her out of a dream from witch she did not want to be awakened.  

 

"Stand in front of me." Mr. Wilson ordered as he sat forward again and placed his elbows on his knees.  Margaret wasn't sure what to expect, maybe some form of official 'Do you agree to be my slave?' question or statement. 

 

"Pull your panties down to your knees and hold your skirt up around your waist."  Margaret was shocked, and secretly titillated by her teacher's first order.  Her face, as it often would over the next few days, glowed red with the warmth of embarrassment while her lower stomach, extending down between her legs, burned with the heat of sexual stimulation.  With trembling hands, and feeling like a naughty schoolgirl putting her self on display for the boys on the playground, Margaret did as her teacher instructed.  Both the heat in her face and in her groin increased as she stood there allowing Mr. Wilson to look at a part of her body she had never allowed a man to look at before.  For a long moment her only reward was the site of a tent forming in Mr. Wilson's trousers. 

 

"What did you do after you were spanked?"  Still holding her skirt up with both hands, and with her panties still around her knees, Margaret began the recitation of her activities over the last couple of days.  Interrupted only by questions and requests for more details, she told Mr. Wilson about each masturbatory session for which she had a clear memory, including details of where she was, which stall in which restroom, what fingers she used to stimulate herself, how wet she became, how many other people came and went from the restroom while she was masturbating and how good the orgasm was.  Margaret's voice grew husky with lust as she continued the detailed account of her obsessive sexual behavior, ending with a description of her wearing panties for the first time in two days, the devastating effect of his treatment of her in class, the ecstasy of receiving his type written note and the wild sexual dreams she had every time she went to sleep.  At Mr. Wilson's request Margaret continued, giving him the complete disappointing history of both times she had engaged in sex with a male.  By the time Margaret was done with her story, her body ached to be touched; she was in almost physical pain with her need.

 

"Bend your knees, just a bit," Margaret's teacher instructed her when her tale was finished, "and spread your legs just a bit."  To Margaret Mr. Wilson's left hand, when he placed it on her naked hip, felt hot enough to burn her bare skin.  She watched in what seemed to be torturous slow motion as he reached out and placed his right hand on the inside of her left thigh, just above her panties.  The hand seemed to take forever to move up her leg until the edge of his hand came into contact with her wet, engorged labia and his thumb came to rest on her over-sensitive clitoris.  Margaret's whole body jerked several times while his hand was in contact with her hot vaginal flesh, and a low desperate moan escaped from deep in her throat when Mr. Wilson immediately began moving his hand back down caressing her right inner thigh with the backs of his fingers.  Having just briefly touched Margaret's obviously needy body, Mr. Wilson sat back in his chair, making no effort to hide the bulge in the front of his trousers. 

 

"Turn around and let me see your rear," Mr. Wilson instructed.  Margaret did as she was told, and jumped slightly when she felt both of his hands gently caressing her fanny cheeks.  "Looks like these are going to be tender for a few days," he observed, "turn back around."  Mr. Wilson watched her thoughtfully for a few moments after she was facing him again, still with her panties pulled down and her skirt held up.  Once again Margaret felt as if he was looking deeply into her soul.  "You needed it so badly you were willing to get spanked again with your butt still that sore?" 

 

"Yes," she answered in a choked voice as she dropped her eyes, unable to match his gaze.

 

"Last time you were spanked as punishment, from now on you will receive spankings as rewards when you have done an outstanding job of pleasing me," Mr., Wilson paused then suddenly grinned at her in a way that Margaret thought made him look like a mischievous little boy, "or when I feel like doing it for my own enjoyment.  Now, take off your clothes."  Mr. Wilson's voice was, also, taking on a husky timbre do to the lust building in his body. 

 

Margaret trembled uncontrollably as she released her death grip on the bottom of her skirt and unfastened the buttons on her blouse then let it drop to the floor, to be followed by her panties, skirt, bra and shoes.  Whatever embarrassment Margaret might have felt, standing naked in front of a fully dressed man, was over whelmed by the pure, raw lust burning ever more intensely inside her.  Once uncovered, her already erect nipples crinkled even more in the cool air. 

 

"Follow me," Mr. Wilson ordered as he stood up and walked from the room.  Margaret followed her teacher down a hallway and into what was, obviously, the master bedroom, then he turned and faced her.

 

"Remove my shirt from my body," he ordered then waited patiently while Margaret unbuttoned his shirt with unsure fingers then, pulling his shirt tail from the waist band of his trouser and leaned closer to him as she pulled the shirt down his arms.  Margaret felt overwhelmed by the heat and smell of his body, as her face became buried in his chest hair, she felt the hard protrusion under the cloth of his trousers bump against her naked belly just above her pubic hair. 

 

"Now place it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom," Mr. Wilson instructed, indicating the direction of the bathroom with a nod oh his head.  Margaret walked to the indicated door, opened it, entered the bathroom, deposited the shirt in the wicker hamper then, re-closing the door, walked, naked, back across the room to where Mr. Wilson had seated himself in a chair.

 

"Kneel and untie my shoes then remove them."  Margaret listened intently to her teacher's instructions, correctly assuming that dressing and undressing Mr. Wilson would be part of her daily routine for the foreseeable future.  Getting down on both knees Margaret carefully untied then loosened the lace on each of his shoes before lifting his feet one at a time and removing the shoes.

 

.

"Tuck the laces inside the shoes," Mr. Wilson ordered, enjoying the sight of his new slave kneeling naked in front of him, "and put the shoes side by side with the other shoes in the closet."  Margaret stood up and, on her way to the closet pondered if she should bend from the waist, with her legs slightly spread, giving her teacher a better show, or to kneel as she placed the shoes in the closet.  She decided that kneeling would show more respect for Mr. Wilson and that if he wanted something different her would let her know.  Margaret slid open the closet door then, getting down on her knees, she carefully placed the pair of shoes in the gap in the line of shoes on the closet floor.  She made sure they were lined up with the rest of the shoes, then stood up and slid the closet door shut before turning and walking back across the room to stand in front of Mr. Wilson.  As she crossed the room Margaret realized that much of the enjoyment her teacher derived from this ritual was the opportunity to watch her naked body as she walked away and back toward him, as well as when she got down and knelt respectfully in front of him. 

 

"Kneel," Mr. Wilson ordered again, "and remove my socks."  Margaret knelt and gently lifted first his right foot, then his left foot.  As she removed each sock she made sure the sock was right side out and not bunched up in a ball. 

 

"Place the socks in the laundry hamper."  Margaret rose to her feet in one fluid motion; she believed that there could not possibly be anything more erotic than to serve the man for whom she had just become a slave.  As she had done with Mr. Wilson's shirt, Margaret carried the socks into the bathroom and, after placing them in the hamper and replacing the lid, returned to the bedroom closing the bathroom door behind her.

 

"Kneel," Mr. Wilson ordered one more time, "kiss the top of each of my feet and thank me for the privilege of being my slave."  Margaret did as she was told, the aching need which had been building inside her all day made her feel like she was on the verge of exploding as she got down on her knees and, leaning forward kissed the top of Mr. Wilson's right foot then, looking up at him said, "Thank you for the privilege of being your slave.  After repeating the process with his left foot Margaret sat back on her heels and waited for his next instructions.  When Mr. Roberts stood up the bulge tenting the front of his pants pointed directly at Margaret's face.

 

"Unbuckle my belt.  Unzip the fly," Mr. Wilson continued after his student was finished unbuckling the belt, "unhook the trousers and remove them."  As Margaret reached for the zipper and the hook holding Mr. Wilson's trousers closed, and holding the cause of the bulge captive, she briefly wondered if he was a boxer man or a jockey man.  As Mr. Wilson's trouser slid down his legs Margaret discovered that he was neither, he was a no underwear at all man.  For some reason, totally beyond her ability to explain, this struck Margaret as being incredibly sexual.  The image of Mr. Wilson standing in front of the class, lecturing, with nothing between him and the students except the single thin layer of trouser material, sent a thrill of a most perverse nature through her already overly excited body.

 

"Line up leg seams," Mr. Wilson instructed after stepping out of the trousers, "then hang them in the closet with the empty pants hanger."  Margaret found herself almost bumping Mr. Wilson's engorged penis with her face while she assisted in removing his trousers.  She avoided touching him because she felt she should wait until she was instructed to do so, and because she was a bit afraid.  Margaret had never felt the overwhelming desire and obsession for a man that she had been feeling for Mr. Wilson for the last two days, and she feared what affect the realization of that desire and obsession might have on her. 

 

"That pair of pants," Mr. Wilson continued his instructions as Margaret lined up the leg seems while walking to the closet, "have only been worn once.  I wear each pair twice, and twice only, before the go back to the cleaners.  You will be expected to know when you remove my trousers each evening whether they are to be hung back up to be worn again or folded and added to the ones being sent to the cleaners.  Margaret hung up the pants as instructed, closed the closet door, then walked back across the bedroom to stand, naked, in front of the now naked Mr. Wilson.  Mr. Wilson, reaching forward with booth hands, cupped Margaret's breasts and began to gently massage each of her nipples between a thumb and finger like twin tuning knobs on a radio.  He continued this until he was rewarded with a deep moan of pleasure from his new slave. 

 

"Kneel."  He ordered releasing Margaret's hard nipples.  Kneeling was beginning to seem, to Margaret, to be the most natural position for her.  Sinking to her knees, Margaret found herself staring at the slit at the end of the helmet shaped head of Mr. Wilson's erect penis, not more than an inch in front of her face. 

 

"You've never had a man in your mouth have you?"  Mr. Wilson asked, knowing the answer to the question.

 

"No."  Margaret answered not taking her eyes off Mr. Wilson's hard member. 

 

"Hold the base of it with your hand," Mr. Wilson instructed his pupil, "then take it into your mouth using your tongue and lips."  Margaret grasped the warm firm/soft shaft as she had been instructed and, leaning forward slightly, opened her mouth to receive its head between her lips.  "That's good," her teacher encouraged her as he stroked Margaret's hair with both hands, feeling her whole body trembling with her overwhelming need to be touched and taken.  "Swirl your tongue over the head," his instructions continued as Mr. Wilson held himself just inside her warm wet lips.  Margaret was rewarded with a deep guttural moan from Mr. Wilson when she followed his directions. 

 

"I'm going to cum soon," Mr. Wilson warned his student, "I've been waiting for this for two days also."  Margaret heard her teacher moan again as he pushed himself deeper into her mouth.  "When I do, continue to hold me in your mouth and swallow until I quite jerking and begin to soften again."  Margaret moved her hand further down on the Mr. Wilson's shaft so she could take more of him into her mouth.  "Don't worry," Mr. Wilson assured his kneeling, naked slave, perhaps sensing the concern engendered by her bodies overpowering need, "I'll still be able to satisfy you."  Mr. Wilson watched as he sank once more into Margaret's reddening face and began to jerk as he deposited his cum into her mouth for the first time.  As Mr. Wilson softened, and slipped from Margaret's glistening cum and saliva covered lips, she looked up at her teacher and waited for his approval with a shy embarrassed smile.  Mr. Wilson sat back down in his chair and, for the moment enjoyed the sight of his new slave after her first experience giving oral sex to a man.  Margaret, setting back on her heels with her hands resting palm down on her thighs dropped her gaze to the floor as Mr. Wilson watched her. 

 

"Masturbate for me."  Margaret's body jerked when she heard the command.  "Pleasure yourself just like you did after I spanked you."  Mr. Wilson heard the combination whimper and moan that escaped from Margaret as she lay down on the floor, her head facing away from Mr. Wilson so he could get the best view, and arranged her body as she had on that afternoon.  Then, wanting desperately to be touched by HIS hands not her own, Margaret began to massage her clitoral area and tease her anus with just the tip of her finger, as she had only done before when locked away in her room and totally assured of privacy.  The denied passion building up over the last several hours, the experience of serving this man as his naked slave and the heat of his gaze on her private parts drove Margaret into a rapidly escalating orgasm that quickly rivaled that which she had experienced when Mr. Wilson had taken her over his knees, pulled down her panties and spanked her naked fanny.  From the time of her very first masturbation session Margaret had been perfecting the silent orgasm.  With her teacher watching Margaret reached the point where she clamped her thighs down on her hand, lunged back and forth with her hips in violent sexual motions and obviously concluded a terrific orgasm without making more than a barely audible sound. 

 

"That was very nice, I'm sure," Mr. Wilson's dismissive tone crushed Margaret's after-orgasm glow, "but we'll have to work on the difference between masturbating for your own enjoyment and masturbating for my enjoyment."

 

"Yes, ah…" Margaret said, unclear how to finish the statement, as she got back up on her knees trying to fight back tears. 

 

"I don't need to have my ego massaged by being called 'Master'," Mr. Wilson took Margaret's hands and pulled her to her feet and toward him as he spoke, "so you can address me as Mr. Wilson when appropriate, and as 'Sir' when appropriate."

 

"Yes sir."

 

"Now," Mr. Wilson continued seemingly ignoring her response, "stand with one leg on each side of my lap."  Margaret stood as instructed.  Leaning forward Mr. Wilson sucked Margaret's right nipple into his mouth, then slipped his and between her open thighs.  Placing her hands on Mr. Wilson's shoulders, Margaret leaned her head back and moaned loudly as her nipple responded to Mr. Wilson's hot wet mouth and her vagina to his probing fingers.  Mr. Wilson released Margaret's right nipple and began to suck on her left nipple as he pushed his finger deeper into her and let his thumb play back and forth over her clitoris. 

 

"Oh God," Margaret cried loudly as she bent her knees giving her instructor greater access to her genitals.  "Oh no," she whimpered almost immediately after, when he pulled his hand out from between her legs.

 

"Lower yourself."  Margaret lowered her body then hesitated when she felt the head of Mr. Wilson's hard shaft pushing against her opening.  Mr. Wilson placed his hands on her hips and slowly pushed her further down into his lap, filling her as she stretched to accommodate him. 

 

"Set still," Mr. Wilson instructed, once she was setting snuggly on top of him with his penis buried securely in her vagina. 

 

"Yes, Sir." Margaret answered the difficulty of the order reflected in her voice.  With his left arm holding her firmly on top of him, Mr. Wilson reached around behind his student and slowly pushed his well-lubricated fingertip into her anus. 

 

"Oh my god."  Margaret moaned, the finger sinking into her rear causing her vaginal muscles to spasm against Mr. Wilson's hard shaft.  Grabbing a handful of Margaret's hair, Mr. Wilson brought his slave's lips to his and tasted remnants of his cum as he pushed his tongue deeply into her mouth.  Overcome with her need, and the multiple penetrations of her body Mr. Wilson's slave began to move her body riding up and down on both his finger and his erect penis.  Mr. Wilson kept all three of her orifices filled until, after she experienced another powerful orgasm, he jerked inside her then, releasing his grip on her hair, he let their mouths part and his finger slip slowly from her body. 

 

"Now," Mr. Wilson spoke softly into Margaret's ear, "you need to get up," He gently encouraged his new Slave to stand, "get a warm washcloth and a towel from the bathroom and then wash me."  As she walked across the bedroom on wobbly, trembling legs, the naked slave felt beyond a doubt that she had made the right choice.