A Lesson in Humility Ch. 02 - One-on-One

Content description: (Skip this if you don't want any spoilers)

This story continues the story of a male university student who submits to his dominant middle-aged lecturer. If you haven't read it already, it is recommended that you begin with the first 'A Lesson in Humility' story.

It is a femdom msub story.

Featured fetishes include: boots, cfnm, cum eating, femdom (gentle / soft), humiliation, masturbation, older woman / younger man, shaving, tease and denial, aftercare.

Prologue:

The last week had been a blur. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. In seminars he could barely follow the conversation. In lectures he didn't take in a word. His mind kept drifting back to that Friday afternoon. In one lecture he was so distracted wondering if this same room, filled with students - some furiously taking notes, others simply trying to stay awake after another late night writing essays that had been left far too close to the deadline - could really be the same one where she had brought him to orgasm, the most mind-blowing of his life, and then ordered him to swallow every bitter white drop of it. The one in which he had lapped the last drops of his cum from her palm like a dog from a bowl. It had almost seemed too bizarre to have been real until the email arrived, late on Wednesday evening.

Hello James,

I believe it would be a good idea for us to meet privately to discuss your progress. Unfortunately, my office is currently unavailable. Therefore, if it is not inconvenient for you, please visit me at my home at 6pm on Friday evening. The address is below.

Best,

Miriam

It was professionally written. Perhaps under other circumstances it would have seemed completely normal, despite the rarity of students visiting lecturer's homes, but the moment James read it his heart started racing. From that moment onwards all he could do was count down the hours until six o'clock on Friday evening.

Part 1: The clock struck six

The light was already fading. The Tudor-style house in front of him, so typical of these historical English towns, had its curtains drawn. It seemed innocuous enough, with its white walls and black crossbeams. It was small but definitely a more upmarket kind of place, perhaps the kind of place that you would expect a kindly old grandmother in a knitted sweater to own. But to James it seemed equally exciting and daunting. He noticed that his palms were sweaty despite the late-October chill. His throat was dry. And why? Because she was in there. Desperate to see her again though he was, he gulped nervously as he raised his finger to that ornate doorbell, push it inwards, and hear the deep ding-dong emanate from inside the house.

After what seemed like an eternity the door creaked open and there she stood, dressed simply in a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged her slender figure and tight blue jeans. On her feet were black knee-length boots with a gold-coloured buckle and a thick one-inch heel. As usual she wore her gold-rimmed glasses, framing her green eyes. Her lips curled into a smile. "James, it is so wonderful to see you again. Stop standing there gawking and come in. Quickly now." Her tone brooked no argument. She spoke as though there were no reason anyone in the world would refuse to do as she said. James certainly wouldn't, and he trotted quickly up the couple of stairs that led into the warmth of her house. It was decorated simply inside, a very traditional style with lots of brown hardwood and a few small pictures to add splashes of colour. Even the floors were wooden, unusually. Almost everyone James knew had carpets.

"Follow me" she said, leading him into the living room. It too was old-fashioned, dominated by a blazing log fire that wouldn't have seemed out of place in a Medieval tavern. Unsurprisingly, it also held several bookshelves stuffed with books that ranged from faded leather-backed ones that looked to be over a hundred years old and sported names like Baudelaire and Balzac to modern hardbacks in pristine condition. He even spotted the Harry Potter series, sitting tucked away on one of the lower shelves. One book, beautiful with its ornate gold lettering on a red spine dulled by age caught his eye. It was by someone called Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, a name that rang a bell but he couldn't remember from where.

She led him to the middle of the room, then instructed "stand still, eyes forwards." He did his best to obey and keep his eyes fixed on the fireplace as she walked around him in a circle, her boot heels echoing on the floor. After completing her 360-degree reconnaissance of him, she stopped directly in front of him. Then her hand was on his chest, clasping the zip of his hoodie, pulling it down then removing it from his torso. He tried not to move but kept his arms loose and pliable so that she could pull the garment off him. Folding it quickly she then placed it on a nearby table. Next she knelt down at his feet, carefully unlacing his trainers. "Left foot up" she instructed, and when he obeyed she slipped his trainer off, followed by his sock. "Right foot up" she instructed as the process was repeated with the other foot. "Arms up," and then his shirt was off and he was stripped to the waist. He could almost feel his nipples harden even though the room was hardly cold, and then he felt a sudden jolt of excitement in his stomach. Her hand was on his belt buckle, undoing it deliberately slowly. She seemed to be relishing in the moment. She slid it off him and then her hands were on the fly of his jeans, her fingers inside his waistband, so close, so frustratingly, tantalisingly close, to his cock. "Keep still James" she said, as if reading his mind. His fists were balled, his legs tensed as he willed every muscle in his body not to move. As she slowly lowered his jeans his prick became obvious, defiantly standing to attention. She knelt and he could almost feel his libido take control at the thought of her mouth so agonisingly close to his erection, but she simply said "you're doing very well. Right foot up, very good, and now the left" as she removed his jeans. Finally, it was time, her fingers were against his skin, inside his boxer shorts, pulling them down. She had no need to instruct him as he automatically lifted up his feet for her to pull the boxer shorts off, one leg at a time.

And there he was, standing naked in this woman's home, and her still fully-clad in her tight black shirt, her jeans, and her black boots with the one-inch heel. She even still had the gold wire-framed glasses on. There was no denying his excitement at being in such an intimate situation, but the way she was looking at him... Well, the phrase "like a piece of meat," the one she had used in their first encounter, came immediately to his mind and he felt the sudden urge to cover up. He resisted it. Cover up with what? She had taken his clothes from him.

"James, are you going to be a good boy for me?" Her BBC accent could sound like honey when she wasn't barking orders.

"Yes, yes I am."

"Hmm, I don't like that. From now on, you shall call me 'Madam' or 'Ma'am' if you prefer, as a sign of respect."

"Yes M-Madam." The word felt alien in his mouth. He had never referred to a woman as 'Madam' in his life.

"In return I shall call you 'boy' because you're not a man, are you? Not really."

"N-no..." he said, a bit unsure of whether or not that was the correct answer. She stepped close to him, close enough to whisper in his ear as she placed a single finger on his nipple, circled it around, then traced it silkily down his torso, across his pelvis, and to the base of his cock.

"You're mine, boy, to do whatever I want with." Her breath was hot in his ear. Suddenly, she ran her hot, wet tongue up his neck, finishing by licking his ear. His spine felt electrified with shivers of pleasure. "And what I want" she said, her fingers running ever so gently along the length of his shaft "is to start by teaching you some manners!" Her hand was on his balls and suddenly squeezing tight.

"So try again: 'No I am not a man,' what?"

"I'm not a man Madam!" he grunted.

"Good boy" she said, releasing his balls. She began to caress them slowly. "Do you remember what happened after you stripped last time?" How could he forget?

"I got on my knees..." he said, and as he felt her grasp tighten around his sack he quickly added "Madam!"

"Very good. From now on every time you are here you will remove your clothes and get on your knees. You may not walk or wear clothes without my explicit permission. Understood, boy?"

"Yes Madam" he said, dropping to his knees.

"Wonderful, now follow me."

Part 2: Preparing him

He crawled on his hands and knees behind her as she led him through the house, his humiliation at this somewhat ameliorated by the fact that he could stare at her shapely behind. Her jeans were tight-fitting, leaving little to the imagination. He wondered if she had chosen them specifically. He certainly could not remember having seen her wear them in lectures before.

He was snapped out of his musings when he was confronted with the stairs. She strode up the first couple confidently, while he was left to awkwardly negotiate his way up them, not aided by the fact that they were tall and narrow, barely giving him enough room to place his knees.

"Come on now, you silly boy" she said, cruelly. "Can't you climb any faster?"

"I'm trying Madam."

"Well you simply must try harder." He did his best, lifting his knees up and over each stair, occasionally catching them on the sides of the steps and bruising them in the process, but eventually he made it to the top. "You will have to become a man and earn your right to walk on two legs soon, or else get used to bruised knees" was her only comment.

"Yes Madam" he said.

"Come along, follow me." She made a clicking noise akin to the one that you would use to draw a cat's attention as she walked across the landing and into a room. She clicked on a light and the bathroom was instantly illuminated. It was typical, perhaps somewhat larger than you would expect from the house, and its white tiles were immaculately clean.

"What are we going to do here?" he asked, almost involuntarily. He had been hoping to be led to the bedroom, and he was nervous about the kind of bodily fluids he associated with bathrooms. Miriam let out a little laugh at his fear, but reassured him:

"Oh, you mustn't worry. I might be a little cruel. Perhaps I have a tiny little sadistic streak, even, but though I may push your limits I do not have extreme tastes. Nonetheless, if you don't feel comfortable you may leave at any time and we will never speak of this again. We will revert to being lecturer and student, nothing more and nothing less."

"No, it's okay, I'll stay."

"You don't sound very certain. Are you sure?" she asked. The question was unnecessary. Despite all the lack of confidence in his voice his prick was still rock hard and desperate for her touch.

"Yes Madam, I'm certain."

"Good boy, that's what I like to hear." He smiled at this. He really liked hearing those words. "You may stand." He got to his feet shakily, somewhat unsteadily. His thighs and knees ached from the time spent on his knees and he shook them, trying to get the blood flowing through them again. "Now, it's time to get you ready. Get in the shower."

"I showered just before I came, Madam" said James, a little offended by the implications of the command.

"Get in the shower, boy," she said icily. Though he was a head or so taller than her he seemed to shrink before her gaze. He quickly got in the shower. "That's better," she said. "Normally I punish such disobedience, but you'll learn. Switch on the shower. The right tap." He turned the right tap and jumped back. That water was bloody cold! But it quickly warmed and he found himself relaxing as the water cascaded over him. "Clean yourself quickly."

Looking down, he noticed shower gel and shampoo - seemingly new and unopened - on a small holder. It was a small brown bottle, and its faux-handwritten label proclaimed it as being "for men." He let the water run over his head, back and shoulders then squirted some of the shower gel into his hand. It smelled wonderful, a kind of citrus smell that was somewhere between lemon and orange. He massaged it into his shoulders, then down his arms. He could see that she was watching him, although perhaps she could see little through the rapidly steaming up glass. Even so, he felt a little embarrassed - no one had ever watched him shower before. He realised that it was ridiculous to feel this way after everything they had already done, but regardless, he found himself feeling compelled to turn his back to her so that she could not stare at his prick. Perhaps, he reflected, he didn't want her to see that it was still hard. He resisted the urge to turn because he doubted very much that she wanted him to. As he cleaned himself, he gave special attention to his prick, being sure to soap it up well and clean every inch of it. She watched him as he did so, with that look. The same one that had been on her face when she watched him bring himself to orgasm in the lecture hall. "Like a piece of meat" came to his mind again.

"Finished Madam" he announced, switching off the shower.

"Good boy, that was a wonderful show. Step out and dry yourself off" she instructed as she handed him a towel. Her eyes never left him as he rubbed the towel over his body. He was naked, and had been for a while now, but when he lifted the towel to his head to dry his hair and thus had nothing at all covering him he truly felt naked. He could feel himself blushing again, but hoped that he could pass it off as an effect of the hot shower. "Towel" she said simply when he was done. He handed it to her and got to his knees. "Aren't you a fast learner?" she said in response. "Keep your eyes fixed on the wall." He did his best to do so. He heard her take two or three steps behind him and open a draw. There was the noise of rummaging and his heartbeat began to quicken. What did she have in the drawer? He gulped as he heard her say "yes, there it is" followed by the sound of a click, then a buzzing noise. "Fully charged, excellent" she mused to herself. "Close your eyes boy."

"Yes Madam." Another couple of footsteps. James fought the urge to peek.

"Open them."

"Oh," he said involuntarily. She was holding an electric razor in front of his face.

"Surprised, boy?"

"Yeah, I thought..."

"You thought it was a dildo."

"Well..." he began, not sure if the implication that she owned a dildo, and would use it on him, was offensive but as usual she seemed to have read his mind.

"Is that idea scary or exciting for you, boy?"

"Erm... I'm not sure it's for me, Madam."

"Your penis thinks differently." She gestured to it, standing tall and unrepentant. It was like having a lie detector between his legs. "Perhaps we will revisit the idea another day. Stand."

Once he got to his feet she took his cock in her hand. The total confidence with which she did so shocked him. There was no hesitation whatsoever. She took it as easily and as casually as if it belonged to her. Flicking on the razor, she ran it slowly along his shaft. It was an incredible sensation, at once thrilling to have his dick in her hand and degrading to be manhandled - or womanhandled - in this way.

"I like my boys to be clean-shaven" she said as clumps of his pubic hair fell to the ground. "I don't like seeing a single hair." He could believe that as she pulled his prick to the left to shave the right side, then right to shave the left side. She shaved the underside too, then took his testicles in her hand. He was instantly reminded of that first time she had grabbed them and brought him to his knees and he felt a jolt of excitement hit him. How he wished she would jerk him off! But she was brusque and businesslike in her manner of shaving him, removing the hair from his testicles as matter-of-factly as a barber would shave a client's hair. Finally she switched off the razor. She ran a single finger from the base of his prick up towards his belly button and he almost shivered. His skin felt so sensitive! "There is a broom in the airing cupboard. Clean the hair from the floor and place it in the bin."

"Yes Madam," he said, frustrated as she stopped touching him.

Part 3: Confession

Miriam looked at his kneeling, shaven, naked form in the middle of the living room. She, still fully clothed, spoke: "Physically, you're clean. However, we must cleanse you spiritually as well. That means it's time for your confession: when was the last time you masturbated?" She said it bluntly, matter-of-factly.

"I don't re-"

"Don't lie to me. I can't abide liars. She took his cock in one hand and with the other gave it a single, open-palm slap that made him cry out, more in surprise than in pain. "It can get a lot worse, or it can get a lot better. The choice is yours. So, let's try again: when was the last time you masturbated?"

"Last night, Madam." His voice sounded small and quiet, his cheeks were bright red with embarrassment.

"Very good, boy. Did you fantasise or did you watch pornography?"

"I fantasised, Madam."

"About what?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it. He didn't want to say it but, quietly, he confirmed:

"About you, Madam."

"Good boy. I'm going to reward you now, but remember, do not touch that cock until I say so."

"Yes, Madam."

With that she slipped off her top. James stared, open-mouthed. She had a lithe body. Her arms had small, hard muscles. Her trapezius muscles stood proudly on her shoulders, her stomach was flat and toned, with the barest hint of abs. Her breasts, slightly larger than are common of a woman of her build and stature, were wrapped in a lacy black bra. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch them, but he resisted the urge.

"Wow" he said, absent-mindedly.

"Is this what you fantasised about, boy? Is this what you wanted?"

"Y- yes Madam." He felt embarrassingly tongue-tied. What do you say when a dream comes true?

"I can see" she said, gesturing to his prick which was standing shamelessly to attention. "Show me, boy. Show me how you touch yourself when thinking about me. But don't you dare cum. Do not even think about it."

James's cock was almost physically aching to be touched and he took it in his hand, stroking it slowly along the shaft, conscious that if he went too fast he would not be able to control himself.

"Good boy" she said, smiling at him. "Now I'm sure you'd like to see more, but there is a price to pay: tell me about this fantasy. In detail."

"Erm... it starts with you suc... giving me oral sex." His face felt absolutely flushed with embarrassment.

"'Giving me oral sex' what?"

"Madam" he said.

"Good boy. She leaned over his kneeling form, her mouth directly in front of his face. He felt as if she was towering over him despite her small stature. She ran her tongue slowly in a circle around her lips. "Is this what you thought about, boy?"

"Yes, Madam. Yes it was."

"Do you think you deserve oral sex from me? You? A virgin who sits in his bedroom masturbating"

"No Madam." Her words stung.

"Correct answer. Stop masturbating boy."

"Stop?!"

"Yes boy. But don't take your hand away from your cock. Simply freeze in place, right now." Summoning all his self-control, he did so, his hand at the base of his shaft, not moving a muscle. She bent over him, her mouth next to his ear, her hot breath making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What I value most in a man" she said, softly, almost a whisper, "Is self-control. Remember I told you not to move, boy." She lowered her head down his body, lightly biting his nipple in a way that sent electric shocks through his chest, then down, down... She planted light kisses on his stomach, his belly button, his pelvis...then her mouth was so close, so achingly close to the head of his cock. Every part of him wanted her to suck it, wanted her to take his shaft right to the back of her throat.