If you don't like sex stories, don't read it.
If you are below the arbitrary age set for your area, 
don't read it.
If for any reason it is illegal for you to read this 
story, don't read it.

Find my stories here- 
https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/normdeploom/

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

Attempting 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.  


  
ExtraCredit