Teaching Carol Ch. 03

Finally she got it. "Please don't call the police...oh god, I'm sorry! Really!" It wasn't very convincing, but it was a start.

'Mr. Black' gave her another hint: "I don't believe you, Miss Santiago. You'll have to do better than that." I sat back and looked at her as if I'd gotten an idea. "You know, if you can convince me that you're really sorry...I might let you go."

She floundered, "Well, I...."

I turned back toward the phone. "But if you'd rather go to jail..." I started to dial.

Finally she woke up a little. She grabbed my shoulder. "No!" I turned back to her and waited. She went on, trying to sound convincing, "I really am sorry, Mr. Black, honest!"

I waited for more, then shook my head as if disgusted and turned back to the phone. She actually managed to sound a little panicked when she stopped me again and said, "Please, Mr. Black! I'm sorry! What can I do to convince you?"

That was what I'd been waiting for. I put down the receiver and turned back to her. I pretended to think for a moment. Then I said, "Well, for starters you could beg my forgiveness." She started to reply, but I held up my hand to stop her and continued, "...on your knees, Miss Santiago."

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses, but I think she was glad to have some direction because she immediately fell to her knees in front of me. She looked up at me, and said, "Please forgive me."

Unfortunately, she smiled as she did so—Carol wasn't staying in character. I gave her a disdainful look. "You're not taking this seriously, Miss Santiago, but I can promise you that the police will—and it makes no difference to me whether you go to jail or not. Try again."

More seriously this time, she said, "I'm really sorry I stole the CD player, Mr. Black. Please forgive me."

I pretended to consider her performance, then shook my head and said, "You're still not convincing me. You're not really sorry." I waited a beat. "Get down on your hands and knees." Slowly, she did so, still looking up at me. "I think you need a lesson in humility, Miss Santiago. I want you to crawl all the way around the room."

She looked a little shocked. "Why?"

"Because I told you to. Go on."

And after a moment, she did. The room wasn't very large, it couldn't have taken much more than thirty seconds for her to make a full circuit, but I enjoyed watching her cute little behind moving under the pleated skirt, and the way her glasses slipped down her nose.

When she returned to her starting point I told her, "Turn around." When she had done so, I reached down and lifted her skirt, pulling it up over her hips. She reacted with indignation that was only partly feigned.

"No! What are you doing?" she said, reaching back with one hand and pulling her skirt back down.

I got up and went to crouch down in front of her. I was closer to her level but she still had to look up at me from her position. "What am I doing, Miss Santiago? I'll tell you what I'm doing." I leaned closer and said, "Whatever...I...want to." I let that sink in, then continued, getting so close that our noses almost touched, "...And if you want to stay out of jail, you'll do whatever I tell you to do. Is that understood, Miss Santiago?"

It was right about here that she really seemed to begin to believe what was happening. Her eyes behind her glasses took on that same glazed, deer-in-the-headlights look that I'd seen before, and she hardly seemed to be breathing. After a long moment, her mouth opened slightly and she whispered, "Yes, Mr. Black."

"Yes...what?"

"Yes, I...I'll...do...whatever you tell me."

I kept my face right where it was and said, "Good. Now put your skirt back the way it was." And I waited while she reached back with one hand, and then the other, to pull her skirt back up over her hips. Then I stood and returned to my chair. I sat and looked at her for a few minutes, letting the silence and the fact that she couldn't see me unnerve her a little more.

Then I said, "Do you know, Miss Santiago, I really dislike pantyhose. I don't like the way they look and I don't like the way they feel to the touch. I think you should apologize for wearing them."

After a moment, she spoke, quietly. "I'm sorry for wearing pantyhose, Mr. Black."

"Take them off."

She had been expecting that, obviously, and began rising to her knees in preparatory to standing up.

"Did I tell you to stand up, Miss Santiago?"

She turned and looked at me, flustered, and said, "No, but I..."

"Get back down." She did so. "Put your head down on the floor." She slowly lowered herself until her forehead was resting on the rug. "Now—take off your pantyhose."

It was an awkward and humiliating process. She had to rest her weight on her forehead while reaching back with both hands and up under her skirt, which had fallen down again, to pull her pantyhose off of her hips and down to her knees. Only then could she lift herself back up to her former position and reach back one arm at a time to remove her shoes and then pull her pantyhose the rest of the way off.

When they were all piled up behind her feet I said, "Pull your skirt back up." Again she reached behind her and repeated the process.. Now her cute behind in pink panties was on full display. It was very tempting—I really wanted to run my hands over it—but I was trying to keep my promise not to touch her. So I settled for telling her, "Crawl around the room again."

There was no hesitation this time. She started off in the opposite direction, giving me a nice view as she headed out. She was of course facing me this time as she completed the circuit, and it was obvious from her expression that she had almost forgotten that this was pretend. When she had returned to her original position I let her wait for a few more minutes. Then I said, "Take off your skirt."

By now she had become accustomed to doing what she was told to do. So she lowered her forehead to the rug again—losing her glasses in the process this time—and reached behind her back to unfasten and unzip her skirt before pulling it down and off in the same way as she had her pantyhose. Then she put her glasses back on. And waited.

"Now your blouse."

She reached up with one hand to begin untying the bow at her neck, but I said, "No. Leave the bow. Just your blouse."

This time she took the precaution of removing her glasses and laying them beside her before lowering her head to the rug again and reaching behind her to unfasten the three buttons at her neck. Then she eased the bow above the collar of her blouse, reached back to pull the tail of her blouse up to her shoulders, then grabbed it by the collar to pull it over her head. It snagged on the bow and she had to struggle with it for a moment, but she finally got it off. She quickly smoothed her hair, restored her glasses and returned to her position. She looked very vulnerable on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but her bra and panties and that now silly-looking bow, the rest of her clothes scattered around her on the floor.

"Put your head down on your arms, Miss Santiago." She did so, and I enjoyed looking at the swell of her buttocks as they pressed against the fabric of her panties.

"Spread your knees apart." She moved them a few inches apart. "More." She complied, giving me a full view of the bulge between her legs. I looked more closely, and saw a darker spot there. Moisture. Ah-ha, I thought—I was right. Now let's see how far we can take it.

"Now, Miss Santiago, I want you to reach back between your legs with your right hand." She raised her head slightly and did as I'd asked, letting her hand rest palm up on the floor between her ankles. "And now, Miss Santiago, I want you to reach up with your middle finger...and touch yourself."

She jerked her head from her arm to look back at me and gasped, "Jon—I mean, Mr. Black! I..."

"Head down, Miss Santiago," I told her firmly. I watched as she fought with herself briefly...then slowly lowered her head again. Her right hand still rested on the floor. "I'm waiting, Miss Santiago."

This was another transition point, I knew. How completely had she surrendered her will to mine? I waited...and watched as her hand rose from the floor, even more slowly than she had lowered her head, gradually extended her middle finger...and brought the tip of it to rest precisely on the wet spot. I heard her take a sudden deep breath as she felt the moisture there, though whether of excitement or mortification or a combination of the two I didn't know—or care.

"Move your finger up and down, Miss Santiago." Slowly her hand began to move. At first it was just a slight up and down movement, just enough to show that she was following my directions. But as I watched I saw the strokes becoming longer, and that she was using more pressure. After some time she began a subtle back-and-forth rocking motion that matched the rhythm of her finger-strokes, and I heard her starting to make little noises—"Uh!...Uh!...Uh!..."—in the same rhythm. The wet spot between her legs got wetter and spread throughout the crotch of her panties.

I watched in silence as her strokes became faster, and her grunts more intense. When I judged that she was about to climax, I stepped quietly in front of her, crouched down near to where she still had her head down on her left arm, and said loudly, "Miss Santiago!"

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide and startled at seeing me so close. She was breathing heavily through her mouth, and her face and the hair around it were sweaty. I couldn't see but I was willing to bet she had quickly moved her hand from between her legs.

I gave her a moment to focus on me, then I said, "Tell me, Miss Santiago...Does it embarrass you to be down on the floor like this...in your underwear...having to touch yourself while I watch?"

Carol knew I was talking to her—that this wasn't part of the scenario—even though I was still calling her Miss Santiago. She tore her gaze away from mine and looked down. After a moment I heard her say, in what sounded almost like a moan, "Yes."

"I think you mean, 'Yes, Mr. Black."

"Yes, Mr. Black."

"And you feel...ashamed? Humiliated?"

This time her answer was barely a whisper. "Yes...Mr. Black."

"Look at me." She raised her eyes to mine, fearfully. "Now. I'm going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth." I paused, then, holding her gaze, said, "Do...you...like it?"

At first her eyes went wide...then they filled with tears. Her lower lip quivered. "Ohhhh!....Y-y-es!...Yes, Mr. Black!" she gasped, and quickly put her head back down on her arm and cried.

I gave her a few moments, then said, "Miss Santiago!" She raised her face to mine again, her face red and tearful. I rose and grabbed a tissue from her desk, then crouched down and gently wiped her face and held it to her nose, saying, "Blow." When she had done so I tossed it aside. Then I knelt down and kissed her gently on the lips.

Then I returned to my crouching position and said, "So, you've learned something about yourself, Miss Santiago. That's good." She continued to look up at me from her near-prostrate position on the floor, her eyes still slightly tearful. "I want to ask you something else, Miss Santiago—and how you answer is completely up to you." I leaned down until my face was again close to hers and asked softly, "Do you want to be humiliated...some more?" Then I waited.

For a moment she looked desperately into my eyes as if seeking something—an answer, permission. Then, holding my gaze, she said, "Yessss..." hissing it between her teeth.

She hadn't said 'Mr. Black' but I let it go. Instead I said, "Say it, Miss Santiago."

Her breathing began to get rough again. She licked her lips. Looked down. Looked back up at me and quickly said, "Humiliate me."

I held her gaze as I replied, "Miss Santiago. Where are your manners? Say 'Please'."

Her eyes closed for a moment, as if she were in pain. Then she opened them again. "P-please....humiliate me." She stopped, then added, "Mr. Black."

I sat back and smiled at her. "Good. Take off your bra." I waited while she put her head down and went through the necessary maneuvers. When she was done I said, "Now pull your panties down half-way and continue what you were doing."

She moaned out loud...and complied. I rose and went back to my seat to watch. The area between her legs was already slick and shiny with her moisture, and there were beads of it glistening in the small black tuft of wiry hairs that was just visible in the shadows beyond.

She was moaning and sobbing in equal measure as she fell back into the rhythm she had been using before. I waited until her middle finger—and indeed, the ones on either side of it—were covered with her moisture. Then I said, "Put it inside, Miss Santiago."

By now she was so lost in a fever of desire that she didn't hesitate even slightly; and without the smallest change in her rhythm she inserted her middle finger into her vagina and began moving it in and out. I watched as she arched her back and began thrusting her hips back and forth to meet the inward stroke of her finger. By then her moans had modulated into one long spasmodic cry. Again I waited until I was sure she was seconds away from a climax, then quickly stepped in front of her again and called out, "Miss Santiago!"

This time she gave a small scream as I snapped her out of her erotic trance. Her small breasts were heaving beneath her, their nipples erect. Her eyes as they turned up to mine were pleading, feverish. "Oh, please!...." she whimpered. "Oh....Mr. Black...please..."

I cut her off. "Not yet. If you behave yourself I'll let you finish." She stared at me. "Get up on all fours again." Slowly, she did as she'd been told, her breath still ragged, her eyes still fixed on mine. "Put your glasses back on." She did so. "Follow me." I walked slowly around the room and she crawled after me, moaning quietly, her movements hampered by the fact that her panties were still halfway down her thighs. I made her crawl all the way around the room twice.

Then I walked over to the door of her room. Opened it. And stepped out into the hall.

She followed me as far as the doorway and stopped. It was now nearly midnight and the hallway was dark, lit only by the dim red glow of the exit signs. I leaned against the opposite wall in the rectangle of light from her doorway and folded my arms, looking back at her. She looked up at me, her expression full of fear. "Nooooo....." she whined, her voice barely above a whisper, "Someone'll see me!"

I said nothing, simply unfolded an arm, pointed at a spot on the floor directly in front of me, refolded my arms and waited, looking at her.

She looked back at me, paralyzed. Then she leaned her head out of the doorway. Looked to the right and then the left...and then quickly crawled to the spot I'd indicated and stopped, looking up at me, her eyes terrified. I looked calmly back at her. Made her wait for my next direction for several agonizing seconds, which must have seemed like hours to her. Finally, I languidly extended my arm again and pointed from where she was to the end of the hall and back, indicating that she was to crawl along that route. She looked up at me in sheer disbelief, shaking her head vigorously, the distant exit lights making red streaks in her glasses. I nodded. She shook her head even more vigorously, her glasses sliding down to the end of her nose before she caught them, and mouthed the word "No!", panic-stricken. I straightened up from the wall, stepped around her—and she followed me, first with her eyes, then with her head and finally with her whole body—and stood in the doorway, my arms crossed. The message was clear: if she wanted to get back in...

For a few moments she continued to plead with me in the same manner, mouthing the word 'No!' over and over and shaking her head. But finally she must have realized that the longer she waited the better chance there was of someone stepping out to use the hall bathroom. So, biting her lower lip in fear, she turned—in the direction that would lead her away from the bathroom—and began to crawl as quickly as she could toward the far exit-door.

I watched her crawl, her buttocks rose-colored in the dim light. She was making pretty good time considering that her panties were still hampering her movement. She reached the exit door, tagged it like a swimmer doing laps, and turned around to head back. I saw that her glasses had not only slipped down her nose again but were hanging askew on her face—she was too concerned with getting back out of sight to take the extra second to straighten them.

In another moment she was in front of me again. She had obviously expected me to move out of the way as soon as she arrived because she almost bumped her head on my knees. She stopped just in time and looked up at me, her mouth open, breathing heavily. Her look, through those still-cockeyed glasses, said, 'What are you waiting for? Let me in!' But I continued to stand there blocking her way. Her questioning look grew more panicked, as if to say, 'What? What else? Tell me!'

Holding her gaze, I slowly unfolded my arms again, letting them hang loosely at my sides. Then I tilted my pelvis toward her, my erection obvious. And waited.

She caught my meaning immediately and gasped so loudly that she reached up and covered her mouth—so vigorously that her glasses went flying. She quickly retrieved them and put them back on. Her eyes, behind them, were once again glazed with fear. Bad enough to be seen crawling up and down the hall nearly naked, but to be seen in the same condition kneeling in front of a man and doing what she was about to do...

...And she was going to do it, she had no doubt...no choice. Now whimpering with fear she quickly rose to her knees and unfastened and unzipped my pants and pulled them down to my knees, followed by my underwear. Without wasting a moment she placed her hands on my waist and applied her mouth to the head of my cock, quickly licking it all around before taking it all the way in.

It soon became obvious that she had little experience in what she was doing. That first time, the other night, I had come almost the moment I'd entered her mouth because there had been a lot more foreplay, but now her lack of technique was frustrating.

I placed my hands on either side of her head and began slowly to pull my cock out of her mouth and just as slowly push it back in. She quickly adapted herself to my rhythm and began bobbing her head up and down, but she still needed instruction. I stopped her with my hands and pulled my cock out of her mouth again. She looked up at me in surprise.

I reached down and grabbed her right hand and held the first two fingers together as I brought it to my mouth. I showed her how to use her tongue by using my own, inserting her fingers into my mouth and running my tongue down their length as I did so. I repeated the action several times, then released her hand. I looked down at her and raised my eyebrows as if to ask, 'Do you understand?' She nodded, anxiously, and began again.

This time it was much better, and I could tell she knew it too. As she grew more confident she began to vary her rhythm, sometimes stopping with just the tip of my cock between her lips and stimulating it with her tongue, other times exploring how slowly and deeply she could take my shaft in without discomfort. Soon it became obvious that she had forgotten that she was kneeling in a public hallway with her panties halfway down her thighs—had forgotten everything except the dance of her tongue and lips.

I allowed myself to enjoy it as long as I could, but it was inevitable that eventually I would feel the beginnings of an orgasm. I decided to give 'Miss Santiago' one more surprise. I held back until the last possible second, then just as I began to come I pulled my cock out of her mouth. I held her head in place with my hands as my semen began to spurt. The first few drops landed in her hair, and on her forehead, but the next spurt splattered directly onto the right lens of her glasses, near the bridge of her nose, and began running down and dripping onto her cheek.