tagBDSMMick Britton Makes the Grade

Mick Britton Makes the Grade


I wrote this as a gift for a special person. All characters in this story are fictional.

Enjoy, xantu.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

It was late. As usual she was the last teacher left in the building. Miss Smith looked at the last paper she had left to grade. She had deliberately saved it for last. Micky Britton's work was always marginal. English was not his strong suit, but this was atrocious.

She pursed her lips around the top of her red pen, sucking on the cap, always needing something to suck or nibble on when she was deep in thought. She hated to put an "F" on this, but she had little choice. Micky was a returning senior. He had dropped out last year, only a few credits short of graduating. The fact he had the courage and determination to come back was commendable, not many 19 year olds would have done it. It seemed a shame that after all this work; he would not be able to get the diploma he so obviously wanted.

But this was unacceptable. Incomplete sentences, misspelled words, poor paragraph structure; and only a half page when she had asked for two pages double spaced. It was a simple assignment. Write a letter to a friend or someone you cared about. Ninety percent of the class had turned in sappy love letters to real or imagined girl or boyfriends.

A soft knock at her class room door startled Miss Smith. She lifted her head with the pen still trapped between her lips. Micky stood leaning against the door jamb, looking at her with his stormy grey eyes and his habitual angry frown. "Got a minute?"

She pulled the pen out of her mouth and nodded, "Of course, Micky, what do you want to talk to me about?"

He pointed with his chin at the papers on her desk. "That."

Miss Smith looked down at the assignment. "Micky, this is clearly not your best effort. You are capable of much better work than this."

Micky sauntered up to the desk, his eyes on her. He was clearly angry. Miss Smith had always had a sense of the rage simmering just under the surface of this quiet young man. Now it seemed ready to explode. "Stupid fucking letters, nobody writes letters anymore! Why are you stuck in the olden days? You ain't that old."

Miss Smith flinched at his words. "I am old enough to be your mother and there is no reason to use that kind of language."

His statement about her age stirred up a cloud of feelings. It seemed like just a few days ago she had been young, energetic, care free. And now, when she looked in the mirror a matron was looking back at her, graying hair, soft skin just starting to sag. She couldn't figure out how this had happened to her.

Micky stepped around to her side of the desk. Miss Smith felt a pang of alarm. Students did not invade a teacher's space like that. He loomed over her. She realized how much bigger and older he seemed than the other students, older than his nineteen years. She pushed back her chair and tried to stand but he took her wrist in his hand and pushed her back down.

"Sit." His words held an authority she was unused to hearing.

She looked at his hand holding her wrist so firmly. His nails were black, and dark grease was ground into the skin of his knuckles. She had the fleeting thought. He had a job as a mechanic. "Micky let go of my wrist please." Her voice shook.

He abruptly dropped her wrist, but stayed standing over her. His expression enigmatic, he spoke again, "How old are you?"

She rubbed place he had held on her arm and tried to look up at him. He was standing too close and she found herself looking straight at his crotch. The bulge of his cock was obvious. Suddenly intensely aware of herself, the aching pangs of need that she had so carefully denied herself surged through her. Tearing her gaze away from him she tried to turn to the papers on the desk. "I am thirty eight."

"Not too old."

"What do you mean, not too old."

"Not too old for this."

He spun her chair to face him and lifted her to stand. As he pressed his lips to hers, she had a fleeting thought. "This can't be happening." For a moment, maybe two, her lips lay frozen and still under his, but he refused to be denied. He put a firm hand behind her neck and almost brutally forced her mouth open, his tongue slid across her lips and into her mouth.

With the softest of whimpers she surrendered, her hand creeping up his chest, her body sagging against his, her tongue timidly greeting his.

When he finally released her mouth she raised a shaky hand to her lips. "We can't do this. This is wrong. You are a student. I am a teacher."

"Not now. Not tonight."


He put his hand over her mouth. "No, you listen. Tonight I am in charge. Not you. I am the teacher and you are the student. And you have a lot to learn Miss Smith. The first thing you are going to learn is to shut up and listen, and the second is to obey."

His words frightened the hell out of her; and yet, at the same time she felt a rush of sexual excitement that she had not known was possible. She tried to talk against the hand covering her mouth, to protest, to beg. She wasn't even sure what it was she would have begged for.

His hand tightened across her mouth. "Shut up and listen." His eyes were inches from hers. Mutely she nodded. "Good. I am going to take my hand off your mouth but before I do, I want your promise to be quiet." Again she nodded.

He let go of her mouth and kissed her again. His lips seemed to rob her of last her shreds of sensible thought. When he released her mouth, she lay limp in his arms, her eyes closed.

"You will obey me, won't you?"

Her voice was breathless as she whispered. "Yes Micky."

"Don't call me Micky. That is a boy's name. Call me Mick. No, better yet, call me Mick Sir."

Her lids fluttered open. Her eyes were dazed. How had he known? She had never spoken to anyone of these thoughts that she had as she lay alone in the dark of the night. She would lie alone and dream about a man who would come to her and force her to submit, force her to do all the things she craved and yet feared.

"Yes, Mick Sir."

"Good and I will call you missy."


"Yes, your name will be missy. You are going to be mine."

"Why choose me? I am so much older than you."

"It is not your place to question me missy, and you do not have permission to speak."

She blinked but kept her lips sealed.

"Now take off your panty hose. You are wearing panty hose aren't you?"

Her eyes bugged out. Her face turned scarlet. Mutely she shook her head and tried to back away from him, but he had her trapped behind her desk, cornered between filing cabinets. "Are you disobeying me?"

Miss Smith's face turned a deeper shade of scarlet and she shook her head violently no. Her fingers creeping down to the hem of her skirt, she slowly lifted it just high enough to show the lace tops of her stockings.

Mick laughed a soft deep chuckle. "It looks like Miss Smith has a secret fantasy life. Lift your skirt higher. Show me your panties."

She closed her eyes and lifted the edge of her skirt a few inches higher, revealing the black lace of her underwear. She stood there exposing her legs and underwear, her hands and knees shaking violently. A tiny sob broke from her lips.

He stood there, looking at her, enjoying her discomfort. "Well?"

Her eyes blinked open, looking at him in confusion. Slowly she realized what he was waiting for. Slowly, reluctantly she slipped her feet out of her flat slip on shoes and began to unfasten the suspender snaps and roll down the stockings. When she slipped one off her foot, he held out his hand. She wordlessly handed it to him. When she finished, she stood, letting her skirt fall back to her knees.

"Missy, hold out your hands."

Her eyes were huge and filled with tears, but she seemed to have no resistance in her. Her hands lifted almost of their own volition. She watched, mesmerized, as he tied a stocking around her wrists. Storms of anxiety and excitement swirled through her, making thought impossible. Her heart was racing, and the heat and throbbing between her legs was almost unbearable. For the first time she betrayed herself. She pressed her legs together and shuddered.

"What, what are you going to do?"

"Hush, don't make me gag you. I want to hear you."

A tiny whimper shook her.

"Yes, good missy. I want to hear each one of your moans and cries."

He turned her away from him and bent her over her desk and tied her wrists to a handle on her desk. She did not fight him, moving like a manikin in his hands. Sliding his foot between hers, he kicked her feet apart, forcing her legs to spread wide.

As he pushed her skirt up, exposing her bottom and panties, he spoke to her. "Missy I am going to spank you. You are going to cry, but not too loudly. It would be very embarrassing to you, if the custodian came in to check on you. Do not ask me to stop. It will just make it worse. Do you understand?"

Her voice shook with fear, but she sensed that there was a deep yearning behind it. "Yes Mick Sir."

His hand slid across the silky fabric of her panties. "I am so pleased to find you wearing such nice underclothing." He pushed the garter belt up around her waist and returned to stroking her ass. "Is your bra pretty too?"

She could not turn any redder. Her nod was jerky and her eyes ashamed.

"You will have to show me sometime, but we have a lesson to learn." He lifted his hand and brought it down sharply, the sound of his hand on her flesh was a crack in the silent classroom. Her soft cry of surprise and pain seemed loud in the echoing room. "Remember not too loud."

She gulped and buried her face in her arm. He ran his hand over her quivering cheeks, feeling the tension in her legs and her ass clench in anticipation of his next strike. "Relax missy. Relax and learn from the pain. It will teach you so much." As the tension drained out of her, he struck again. This time her cry was muffled. "Good missy. You are such a good student. I sure we will find out what your capabilities are."

As he stroked his hand across her ass he paused and reached lower, trailing his fingers across the large wet patch between her legs. For the first time Miss Smith moaned, her hips jerking. "Yes, I can see you have a natural aptitude. We should encourage this talent of yours." He struck again, harder, making her yelp and squirm in a futile attempt to escape. "Be still missy." He struck again and then again in quick succession. "We will continue this lesson until you have mastered it."

His words battered against her mind as violently as his hand on her ass. Each comment and command tore at her inner resistance. Between each blow she found herself whimpering, begging into the crook of her own arm. "Please, oh god, please."

Mick leaned over her, his voice soft and compelling, "Please what, missy?"

"Please, more. Teach me more."

Mick pulled his belt free from his pants and doubled it. "You are such a good student, missy. You have earned extra credit."

Missy convulsed and squealed as he brought the belt down across her ass. Her legs buckled under her as she mindlessly struggled against the nylon stockings that bound her. She no longer tried to stifle her sobs against her arms. The only word she could get out was, "Yes," each time he brought the belt down across her tormented flesh.

Reaching down between her legs, he cupped her sex, savoring the heat and dampness he found there. He held her and gently vibrated his hand, shaking her whole pelvic mound. Missy was instantly silent, her head raised, her whole body trembling and then a soft whining keen came from deep in her chest as she began to lunge against his hand, her hips surging rhythmically as wave after wave of her climax shook her.

As he untied her hands, he stroked her hair away from her face. "Missy I want you to take some dictation for me." His hands pushed her into her chair and moved her in front of her computer.

Her face glowed with a soft satisfaction in the reflected light of the computer screen as he dictated a letter to her.

Dear Missy, I very much enjoyed our afternoon together. I am sure you did too. I am glad you enjoyed the lesson I had to teach you. You are an excellent student. Your grade for today is a B.

In your next lesson you will be expected to review your lesson of today. I would be very proud of you, if you can surpass your accomplishment and show progress toward reaching new levels of skill. I expect you will get at least an A- . I will not tolerate lack of progress in my students. Especially in one as obviously capable as your seem to be.

After we review today's lesson, we will introduce some other more rewarding aspects of this course of study. I am sure you will show the same enthusiasm and aptitude for these new tasks. You are a natural. It has only taken a true teacher to open your eyes to your talents.

I am sure you will invest in purchasing an appropriate uniform for the tasks that lay ahead. What you wore to your first lesson was a good start, but I am sure you will find ways to improve.

You next lesson will be tomorrow. I will arrive at the same time. I know you will be here waiting for me. A good student always comes to class on time and ready to learn. I expect a good attitude and continued enthusiasm. A good student should strive to please her teacher in all ways. I am looking forward to many rewarding lessons.


The following afternoon Miss Smith sat impatiently waiting at her desk, sucking at the cap of the red ink pen nervously. She held the letter in her hands with the A+ marked in red at the top.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you

To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance.


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