Educating Hannah Ch. 02

Author's note: This is the second part to Educating Hannah. People liked the first so I thought I'd add a second, and if it's well received, I'll add a third. A bit of a departure for me as it's mostly a lesbian domination scene. Feedback is always encouraged, thank you for your votes.

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Hannah Klein found herself sitting in her desk chair in her apartment staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her well manicured hands gripped the hem of her skirt, and she tried to control her breathing and keep herself calm.

Just one day earlier, her professor had spanked her in the empty classroom, instructed her not to cum for the entire day, and then appeared at her door and used her mouth while getting her off to the best orgasm she had ever experienced in her 20 years.

She had still been recollecting her wits when her Professor dressed and headed for the door. Before leaving he said simply, "That was a good first day, Hannah, but there is so much more for you to learn. I will text you with next steps when I get home."

Sitting in her studio apartment now, she glanced again at the text that eventually arrived. "Be in front of your building at 1:00 pm tomorrow. Don't be late or there will be consequences." It was now 12:55.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she again closed her phone and slid it into her handbag. For the millionth time, Hannah chastised herself, "This is crazy. What am I doing? I don't even know where I'll be going." But in her head she imagined her erstwhile Professor to take her back to his place and make use of her in every way imaginable.

She shuddered at the thought, but then chased it away. However much she hoped Professor Devers might use her like that, she knew from his very controlled behavior the day before that it was unlikely to be that straightforward. No, Mark likely had something else planned, but what it was, she couldn't guess.

She looked at herself once more in the mirror. Conservative white blouse made of a thin poly cotton material, a short red flared skirt that came to her knee. She opted for black tights underneath for two reasons. First they looked very cute and even sexy with the skirt, accentuating her coltish legs and making her look more adult. Second was that it was a cold December day and she didn't know what Mark had planned.

Her three inch red pumps completed the look. It wasn't quite the look she imagined when she dressed, leaving her somewhere between member of a performing choir and cocktail waitress at an upscale hotel bar, but she didn't really have anything that said "newly committed submissive."

She knew that some Sirs gave instructions or had standing orders on how subs should dress but her professor hadn't said anything by way of a dress code.

Hannah wasn't even sure if she was his sub in any meaningful way. He had spanked her and then controlled her orgasm and used her mouth, but they hadn't signed any contract or gone over any limits or rules like in the movie she had seen. Maybe he was meeting with her just to call it off after a day. Maybe, her mind suddenly warned, he was disappointed in her performance the previous night and decided she wasn't good enough for him. A cold fear landed in the pit of her stomach at the torturous thought. Why did her brain do that to her?

She threw on her long grey overcoat and headed for the front of her building, touching up her lipstick and straightening her blonde pony tail one last time before she did. It was 12:58.

Meanwhile, Mark Devers, professor of English literature at a small liberal arts college, sat in his car outside his student's apartment building, the clock on the car stereo marking the time for him. He already knew from his interactions with Hannah that she would be on time unless something interrupted her. From day one, long before their accidental connection on the dating app, Mark had identified Hannah as an eager-to-please overachiever. Of course that doesn't always, or usually, equate with overt submissive tendencies, but when it does the result is a person who is heart broken to disappoint her Sir.

Sure enough, Hannah appeared in front of her building glancing left and right down the street expectantly. He smiled to see that despite the cold she had chosen an outfit with a short enough skirt that he couldn't see even a hint of it under her buttoned up coat that came to mid thigh.

Starting his car, Mark pulled up in front of the pavement where she stood waiting and reached across to pop the door open.

"Get in," he said simply, and Hannah, true to her obedient nature, didn't hesitate to slide into the warm car, her coat and short skirt riding up to reveal more of her thigh which attracted Mark's subtle attention.

Pulling away from the curb and heading down the street, they rode in silence for a few blocks, Hannah staring into her lap where her gloved hands were folded. She had so many questions, but she tried her best to keep quiet, believing that a sub shouldn't be the first one to speak even though Mark had said no such thing.

"I see you're wearing the red ribbon in your hair again," he said finally, glancing at the piece of cloth that was tied in a loose bow at the base of her pony tail. She nodded mutely in response.

"I prefer you speak when I address you," he said sternly, but not unkindly, "especially when I'm driving as I cannot always be looking at you."

"Okay," she answered.

"Yes, Sir," he corrected.

"um," she hesitated, taken aback by the sudden instruction, "Yes, Sir. Does that..." she stopped herself again, thinking she needed permission to speak her mind or ask questions.

"Does that what?" her professor asked her as they drove through the small college town and out to the highway.

"Does that mean that I'm," she paused, feeling dumb in what she was about to say, "that I'm your submissive?"

His smile was soft and kind, and he glanced at her briefly and saw her eyes wide and eager and full of fear and hope.

"Hannah," he addressed her with the patience that comes from an experienced teacher, "when you're with me, as long as you're with me, you'll treat me with the respect that a submissive gives her Sir. But," as he added this last word Hannah braced herself, feeling like he was going to let her down easy, "but you always belong to yourself, Hannah. That's how this works. If I have control over you, it's only because you want what I have to offer. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," she answered, though deep down she wasn't quite sure she did. In the end she couldn't be sure why she hadn't run from the room when he told her to bend over his desk, or why she had obeyed when he told her she wasn't allowed to cum. Of course she was turned on and had been turned on since meeting him in the coffee shop last week. Even now she could feel the slick arousal as she shifted herself in the car.

"A smart girl like you," her professor continued, "is asking herself, 'just what does he offer that I want?'" He angled the car to the off ramp and let the question hang in the air. Her anticipation built as did her arousal as she waited for him to answer his own question. He turned to her as they reached a stop light and said simply, "Experience."

They had reached the next town over, a closer, slightly more upscale suburb of the nearby city. As he parallel parked she glanced out the window and took in her surroundings. Lining the street were a series of upscale boutiques and little cafes. They were parked in front of two apparently linked stores, The Deferential Lady and the The Discerning Gentleman. Hannah wasn't sure what to make of the names, but both appeared to be high end clothing stores based upon the mannequins in the shop windows.

"Come with me," Mark said firmly as he exited the car, and Hannah followed after him and into the shop geared toward women.

An elegant looking woman of about 35 approached and smiled as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. She wore a flowing blue dress to mid calf, allowing Hannah to note that the woman was either wearing hose or stockings, a question raised by the presence of several mannequins modelling the more elegant lingerie.

"Ah Professor Devers, it is so good to see you again," the woman greeted him with a slight French accent. "And I see you have brought a friend."

"Yes, Michelle, so good to see you again," Mark nodded as he returned the kiss on her cheek, "this is Hannah, and she needs a little help."

Hannah blushed at the accusation. She had always thought of herself as a fine dresser, sexy, perhaps even elegant, but apparently Mark was unimpressed.

Michelle took a step toward Hannah and said in an appraising way, "Well let's see what we have to work with, yes?" and reached out with her petite hands and began unbuttoning Hannah's coat without permission. Hannah shot a glance toward Mark, but he just gave her a subtle nod which told her that she should accept the older woman's familiarity.

Leaving Hannah stripped of her coat and standing sheepishly with head down and hands folded in front of her, Michelle moved around the college student appraisingly, one hand on her chin while the French woman pursed her lips and nodded.

"Yes, I see, she is very lovely, but she dresses like a little girl playing dress up." Michelle reached down and snapped the fabric of the cotton tights Hannah wore and gave off a chuckle. "I haven't worn such tights since primary school."

The blush rose in Hannah's cheeks as the French woman critiqued her manner of dress. It was mortifying. Not only was she being told she dressed like a child, the woman's imposing height (she must have been at least 5'8" and wearing five inch heels) made Hannah feel small and insignificant by comparison.

"And these red pumps with black tights?" Michelle laughed looking at Mark while tugging at the hem of Hannah's skirt, "Do American girls have no one to instruct them how to dress? She looks like she is ready to look for customers in a casino."

Despite the embarrassment, despite the belittling comments on her tights and her flared skirt and red pumps which rolled from saying she dressed like a child to accusing her of dressing like a whore, as Hannah's cheeks grew red, her sex began to moisten.

Whether it was simply being evaluated or, even more horrifyingly, being belittled, Hannah was aware she was turned on by the attention.

Reaching out a long finger and raising Hannah's face to her, Michelle gave a bit of a nod as she moved her head around the younger woman.

"Yes, I can help you, Professor," the older woman said confidently, "She is pretty enough that she could make a lovely woman if she had any idea what that meant." Michelle looked at Mark over her shoulder, "But I can only dress her. The rest I will leave in your capable hands."

"Thank you, Michelle," Mark smiled, "Please text me when she is ready, I will be down the street."

Hannah's eyes shot wide in panic. Mark was leaving her here, under the command of this condescending French woman. Even if she wanted to leave, she wasn't sure where they were. Hannah had been so tense and aroused in the car ride that she never bothered to pay attention.

Mark gave her the faintest of smiles before turning to leave the establishment. When Hannah made a move as if to follow him, the French woman's voice rang out sharp and commanding, "Come. Let's dress you like a woman."

Unsure of herself, the command helped center Hannah, and in a moment she was following the older woman into the back room of the store. There didn't seem to be any other employees or customers, but the room was a dressing room in an open floor plan. Surrounded by mirrors and with a dressing table to one side, it was clear that anyone who happened into the store would be able to see Hannah.

This realization hit Hannah hard when she heard the French woman command, "Strip."

Hannah didn't move. She barely breathed. Like a deer caught in oncoming headlights she somehow hoped standing still made her immune to predators. Like that deer, she was wrong.

"I told you to strip," Michelle sighed, "Are you trying to waste my time?"

"N-no," Hannah responded with a quivering voice.

"No, Madame." Michelle corrected curtly, and Hannah repeated it realizing that her own submissive nature was plain and bare to this dominant French woman.

"The professor left you here with me to dress properly, and I plan to succeed in that mission. Don't make me tell you again," Michelle's voice was cold and threatening, "Now strip."

Obediently, Hannah began by unbuttoning her thin white blouse and sliding it down her arms and off. She took the time to fold it, mostly to delay the inevitable, but Michelle had disappeared into the front room so there was no one to correct Hannah's stalling.

Once the top was folded and set to the side, Hannah unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it and did the same as she had done with the blouse. Stepping out of her shoes left Hannah standing in front of wrap around mirrors in just her bra and tights with her panties underneath.

She debated staying that way, but as Michelle had so disliked her tights, she forced herself to slide them down her legs and off before standing and seeing herself in her plain white bra and panties, what she believed were the sexiest pair of panties she owned, red, high cut, with a lace trim. She had a black pair just like them and had debated which ones to wear today for Mark. Now, standing there, seeing herself in the mirror from all angles, she felt embarrassed that she didn't have sexier clothes.

When Michelle strode back into the dressing area, she carried with her more than a few clothes draped over her arm. She looked over the younger girl standing there in bra and panties with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought I told you to get undressed?"

Hannah felt her heart racing, "I-I I did."

The older woman let out a mocking giggle, "You don't really expect the Professor wants to see you in sexy clothing only to undress you and find you in... this?" Michelle gave a dismissive waive of her hand at Hannah's underwear.

Hanging her head with the suddenly all too familiar feeling of shame forming a knot in her gut, Hannah reached behind herself and undid her bra, sliding it off and revealing her small, perky breasts, before reaching down and sliding the panties she once thought were sexy down her legs.

After placing both with the rest of her clothing, Hannah stood, her pale skin completely exposed and blushing red on her cheeks and chest, her arms crossed in front of her, hands trying to hide her mons from the older woman's eyes.

Naked in front of all those mirrors, Hannah was not only aware of the older woman's evaluative gaze, but also the fact that her nipples were hard and erect like little eraser tips. It was a bit chilled in the store, but if Hannah were honest with herself, she knew that wasn't the reason. Something about being on display and evaluated, prepped ahead of a proper fucking, caused a warmth to rise between Hannah's legs and spread throughout her body.

The older woman stepped toward her and pushed Hannah's hands to her sides before sliding her finger tips up Hannah's thigh and over her bare mound. A shudder ran through the younger girl as she felt the older woman's touch.

"At least you are properly groomed and smooth," she said in her slight French accent. "Step into this," Michelle instructed as she lowered herself before the naked girl and Hannah did as instructed, eventually moving her hands as the garter belt came to rest on her waist, straps dangling and tickling her bare pale thighs.

"Now slide these on," Michelle handed a pair of delicate seamed stockings to Hannah. They felt so light in her hands it was as if nothing was even there.

Fumbling with the stockings, Hannah wasn't sure what to do. She tried to balance on one leg and pull the stocking up the the other when Michelle stopped her, horrified.

"These aren't tights, you stupid girl," Michelle rolled her eyes. "Sit on the bench, one leg at a time, adjusting the seam as you go. When fitted correctly, attach the straps of the garter to the stocking tops. Have you really never worn proper stockings before?"

Hannah shook her head, continually embarrassed by her lack of experience.

"Your mother never taught you how to dress like a woman?" Michelle let out an exasperated sigh. "It is no wonder American girls dress so poorly. It is handed down to them."

Hannah gave no reply as she sat down on the bench and raised first one foot, rolling the stocking up and doing her best to keep the seam straight. The smooth silk sliding against her equally smooth skin was a sensation new to Hannah. It almost tickled. She had expected the stocking to fit snug around her leg, like a sock, but while fitted, Hannah was surprised to realize that there was no hope for the stocking staying up on its own.

After encasing each of her legs in the sheer material, Hannah again stood and moved to the center of the room. Her initial unease at being nude had faded, and now she stood with a sense of pride before the inspecting eyes of the French woman, confident she had done a good job and admiring her own much sexier appearance in the mirror.

Walking around the girl again and nodding approvingly, Michelle came to to a stop in front of Hannah and looked her in the eyes.

"You see in the mirror, the seam running up the back of your leg? You need that to be as straight as you can get it." the older woman instructed.

"Yes, Madame," Hannah accepted the instruction.

"But you have done well for a first time. In France, girls would have been practicing getting it right from their early teens, so a woman your age should be better than this... but this will do for now."

The back-handed praise washed over Hannah with as much power as the admonitions. Having even minimal approval from this woman was suddenly remarkably important, and not only her mind craved it, but her body as well.

A fact which became obvious when Michelle reached out and slid her hand suddenly over Hannah's smooth mound and between her legs.

Hannah let out a gasp as Michelle smiled, "You see, with stockings like this, your Professor will have access to you at all times." And as she slipped a finger into the very wet folds of Hannah's flesh, Michelle leaned in and whispered, "And it seems you enjoy that thought."

Rolling her hips, Hannah ground against Michelle's expert finger, closing her eyes and revelling in a bit of relief for what had been a need growing all morning.

"I see why he chose you," Michelle continued as she ground circles against Hannah's clit with her finger. "How pliable you are, how eager. A pretty little lump of clay to be moulded into whatever. He.Wants."

These last three words she dragged out and timed with hard little twists of Hannah's swollen clit, bringing the professor's plaything to the very edge of release before withdrawing her hand.

"Mmmm," the French woman smiled as she tasted her finger and the results it had produced, "Would you like more? The Professor told me that if you were a good girl, you could be rewarded." Michelle planted a kiss on the corner of Hannah's mouth. "Would you like to be rewarded?"

"Please," Hannah all but gasped feeling Michelle's finger once again work itself into her.

"Then," Michelle smiled as she stepped away from the young woman and sat down in the overstuffed leather chair and spread her impossibly long legs. Draping one over the arm of the chair as she pulled up her dress and revealed not only her stocking tops, but also that she wore no panties. "Come here and kneel, and show me what a good girl you can be."

Hannah hesitated. The entire morning had been electric, a roller coaster of shame and exhilaration leading to this. Yet so far, Michelle had only touched her, not the other way around, and Hannah had never imagined being with a woman before. She wasn't homophobic by any means, but she didn't think of herself as bisexual in the least.