My Pet TeacherbyMr Creator©
This novel covers a wide range of explicit sexual practices, so if you are offended in any way by stories with strong sexual content that you may consider abhorrent were it practiced in real life, please cease reading now and delete the file. If you are under 18, you have no right to read any further and MUST delete NOW!
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All names and characters are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. All comments and constructive suggestions may be directed to Mr Creator via the link below.
My Pet Teacher (M/FF, sm, bd, non-cons, anal, humil, spank)
by: Mr Creator
Hi, my name is Timothy Drake and I WAS a nobody. I'd done just 'ok' in school. I had failed 12th grade, which made me a year older than everyone else in that grade. I sucked at sports. I'm scrawny by definition at 5'10" and only 155 lbs. I have dirty brown hair with bland brown eyes. I looked like your typical non-existent teenager. Put me in a crowd, and I'd practically be invisible.
But not anymore.
This was the year where I finally put myself on the map and made high school history. To tell you my story though, we need to go back to the beginning of this school year where it all began.
Man, I fucking hated science. And I especially hated that bitch of a teacher Ms. O'Hare. She failed me last year in science and math which meant I had to come back again this year to do 12th grade over again. When she had given me the news at the end of the school year, I was fucking devastated. I think that bitch actually smirked when she saw how upset I was.
You see Ms. O'Hare is the hottest teacher in school, if not the whole state. She is only 26 years old and has a body to die for. She stands 5'6" tall and weighs roughly 120lbs. She has gorgeous long brown hair, with vivid green eyes. Her tits are a good size, probably a 36C, and she has a slender waist which tops off the most perfect ass you've ever seen. It's the kind of ass most men only fantasize about.
A week had passed since my 12th grade year had started (for the second time), and I was finally ready to put my plan into action. I thought it best if everyone, including Ms. O'Hare, got settled in and started to feel comfortable about the year to come.
Once the end of class bell sounded, I approached Ms. O'Hare, who was sitting at her desk correcting papers. I'd been planning this moment for a long time and had worked out how it was going to progress, down to the tiniest of details. Without waiting for her to acknowledge my presence and give me permission to speak, I matter-of-factly stated, "Ms O'Hare, I will need to speak with you privately after school today. I'll be here at 3:30pm." And with that, I promptly turned about and marched out of the classroom before she even had a chance to formulate a response.
I felt it was important to start taking control right away. At first, the control was going to be subtle, but I planned on ramping it up very quickly. I had two more periods to go before the end of the school day, so had a little bit of time left to rehearse in my head how I wanted the meeting to go.
Though I'd been planning this day for a long time, a lot of it was still left to chance as I could not accurately predict how Ms. O'Hare would react to every situation. If she didn't react in the manner I expected, then everything I had planned would come crashing down around me in a real hurry. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I was 18 years old, in my last year of high school and if all else failed, I could just take off and start fresh somewhere else. This was too golden of an opportunity to pass up - even if it potentially could put me in some very hot water.
The last hour of school was absolute torture. I had no idea what the teacher was talking about as all I could think of was what was about to take place with Ms. O'Hare. The scenario just kept playing over and over in my head, as I tried to look at all the possibilities that might occur. I was hoping she was going to be there when I showed up, and that she would be alone as I had directed.
Finally the bell rang, signalling the end of that school day. With 15 minutes to burn before my meeting with Ms. O'Hare, I headed over to the gym to watch cheerleading practice. Well actually, it was to watch one cheerleader in particular - Lisa Beaumont.
We've lived on the same street and attended the same schools for 8 years. Though she is a year younger than me, I have had a crush on her since the first day we met. The feeling was definitely not mutual though. She is, and had always been, a knockout. She's 5'3" tall; weighs about 100lbs; has long, straight, blond hair; narrow, almost perfect facial features; and an athletic build. Her waist could best be described as 'petite' and is accentuated by her small, yet pert breasts and a very tight round ass. Due to her looks and her athletic prowess, she had always been a part of the 'in group', and would never have been caught dead talking to a loser like me.
Well, if all went according to plan, things would soon be changing for the better - at least for me, that is. I checked my watch, and upon seeing that it was almost 3:30pm, I knew it was now time for me to take my leave of Lisa and to go hopefully to meet my destiny with Ms. O'Hare.
The closer I got to Ms. O'Hare's classroom, the more nervous I got. So much time and effort had been expended in planning this moment, and so much was riding on its success. If I failed here, then everything would be for naught. Before opening the door, I took a moment to shake off the nervousness, grab a few deep steadying breaths, and steel myself for what was about to come. A quick check (for the hundredth time) of my pockets, revealed that everything was still in place. Timing would be everything.
With a silent prayer that Ms. O'Hare was alone as directed, I opened the door and marched right up to her desk as if I was a man on a mission (remembering to close the door behind me). With a quick glance about the room I saw that we were indeed alone.
Again, without waiting for her to give me permission to speak, I began to tell my much rehearsed story.
"Ms. O'Hare, I realize that we have not had a good start to our relationship, what with you failing me last year and all, but I believe that we are going to start to see a change for the better now."
"Now look Tim..." Ms. O'Hare began to interject.
"Ms. O'Hare," I quickly cut her off, not wanting her to gain control of the conversation, "I think its best you hear me out before you interrupt me again." I could see she was taken aback by my tone of voice, and a bit unsettled perhaps by the strange turn of events. "You see, shortly after receiving my failing report card, my mother sent me to LA to live with, and work for, my Dad for the summer. She felt I needed to 'get my act together and to take control of my life.'"
"Well, at first I was a bit upset about being sent away, but then one fateful day, everything changed for me." I could see that my calm, almost serene story telling was further unsettling Ms. O'Hare, as she shifted nervously in her seat. "You see my Dad owns a nightclub, and had me working there during the day, cleaning up and handling the inventory. It was on one of these days that I got to talking with one of his bartenders. A fellow by the name of Jim Henderson. You might know him?"
The look of shock on Ms. O'Hare's face was priceless. Her face blanched white with fear, her mouth hung open and the lower lip began to quiver.
Not wanting to lose the effect, I pressed on. "The conversation naturally came around to where I was living, what school I was attending and how I had done in the previous school year. Of course, when I lamented to him about how Ms. O'Hare had failed me in two subjects last year, he immediately recognized the name."
If it was possible, Ms. O'Hare began to visibly shrink within her chair. The look of shock was quickly replaced with a sickly green pallor. I was worried she might actually throw up right there and then.
""He asked me if my Ms. O'Hare was actually the same Rebecca O'Hare who went to UCLA for her teaching degree several years back. After Jim described you to me, I knew we were talking about the same Rebecca O'Hare. Imagine that. Such a small world isn't it, Ms. O'Hare?" I asked rhetorically.
Again, nothing but stunned silence.
"Well, imagine my surprise when he tells me that you guys used to date in college. It seems Ms. O'Hare, that you weren't very nice to him when you broke up with him, and I think he still harbours some resentment over that. He had quite the interesting story to tell about you."
Now it was time to drop the bombshell.
"He said you were always pressuring him to be more sexually dominant with you. Even after telling you he had no interest in that, you kept nagging him. Well I guess one night he finally gave in and you guys experimented a little. And if you'll remember, he took pictures of the event at your insistence. Well, imagine my surprise when he tells me that he still has a copy of those photos."
Ms O'Hare's shoulders completely slumped down as she sank into the back of her chair, silently mouthing the words, "Oh my God..." over and over again.
"It seems that when you deleted them off of the computer, you forgot to empty the Recycle Bin as well. Jim was able to recover the files and print copies of them for posterity's sake. I guess he was just waiting for the right time to bring them out of hiding. Now imagine my shock when he not only offers to show me the photos, but to give me a copy of them as well."
Wanting to be sure I had her attention, with a slow, almost exaggerated motion, I reached up and from my front chest pocket, pulled out one of the photos. It was of Ms. O'Hare, and in it she was down on her hands and knees like a dog with nothing but a collar around her neck and a leash hanging from it. She was looking up at the camera with a very pouty, sexual look on her face.
"The woman in this picture is HOT, so looking at you now, I find it kind of hard to believe that it could actually be you." Despite the fact that I was talking about her, I could tell my harsh words stung her as she likely believed that she was still an attractive woman. There was no doubt in my mind the picture was of her and though I did really believe that she was hot as hell, I didn't want her to know that.
"Look Tim., please give me those photos. I think...." Ms. O'Hare began to quietly plead.
"Actually Becky," cutting her off, "You don't mind if I call you Becky do you?" I asked mockingly.
"No Tim., I don't think it would be appropriate for..." she began.
Again cutting her off before she could complete her sentence, I asked "Becky, what do you think would happen if certain people were to receive copies of these photos? Say like the principal of the school, and perhaps select members of the school board. Maybe even the local church you attend. How about your parents?"
"Please no Tim, if its money you want, I can pay you for those photos," she pleaded with me.
"Well first off Becky, I think it would be appropriate for you to call me Mr. Drake from now on. Don't you?"
"I...guess so," she stammered after a seconds thought.
I could tell her mind was reeling as she thought of all the possibilities. "Now Becky, I want you to listen carefully to what I am about to say. I think you are beginning to realize what will happen to you should these photos come to light. You would certainly be fired, and most likely blacklisted from ever teaching again. You would be an outcast in the community, and I can't even begin to imagine the level of disappointment and shame your parents would likely feel about you."
"Please Tim..." she began.
"Excuse me Becky?" I quickly interjected.
"I'm sorry, I mean Mr. Drake," she stammered.
"Look Becky, I don't want money or anything like that. These photos can stay just between you and me." She appeared to visibly relax upon hearing this. "I just want to confirm that the person in this picture is indeed you." Her expression changed to one of puzzlement at this statement.
"But Ti....Mr. Drake, its obvious that those pictures are of me, aren't they?" She asked meekly.
"That's what I want to confirm Becky." Stepping back from the desk and in a tone of voice meant to convey authority, I began to issue orders. "Stand up Becky and walk around to the front of your desk."
When she hesitated to comply, I threatened "Look, if you don't want to work with me on this, then I'll just walk out now and these pictures will be delivered to everyone by tomorrow morning, and we'll see where things go from there."
"No, please Mr. Drake, I'll do as you ask. Just promise me you'll not show anyone those pictures," she begged me.
"As long as you do as I say Becky, then no one will know and it'll all be over real soon," I promised.
Becky rose unsteadily to her feet and slowly walked around her desk to stand in front of it. I took several steps backwards, and struck a pose, pretending to study her to see if she matched the picture. After a few seconds, I shook my head and told her, "You know, I still can't be sure about the resemblance. I think, Becky, what would help is, if you took off your shirt for me." I made it a statement rather than a question.
"What? No, you can't. Please Ti...I mean Mr. Drake. Not that. Can't you see its me?" She pleaded.
Shaking my head again, I told her "I need to be sure Becky. If you don't want to cooperate, that's fine. I'll leave now and we'll see how things turn out tomorrow. You know, I'm not asking a lot here, and the sooner you comply, the quicker this whole thing will be over, and the sooner you can get back to living your life again," I reasoned.
Her world had been turned upside down and I could see her head was spinning from the effects. I'm sure she was having a hard time thinking straight, and I definitely wanted to capitalize on that. After a few seconds of hesitation, she appeared to accept my reasoning, and with obviously shaking hands, began undoing the buttons on her blouse.
I realized as I stood there watching her, that I was holding my breath. A small part of me, I think, always doubted that she would actually do as I directed. Reminding myself to breath, and to keep the expression on my face as passive as possible, I stood there gazing upon my beautiful teacher as she slowly removed her blouse in front of me.
Becky shrugged the blouse from her shoulders and placed it on the desk beside her, quickly bringing her hands back in front of her to cover her breasts. She was wearing a rather plain white bra, which adequately covered her ample bosoms. As I struck my pose again and pretended to study her appearance, she shifted nervously from foot to foot and was very red in the face.
Shaking my head again, I said, "Becky, I'm sorry, but you'll also need to remove the skirt for me to be sure. Take it off and place it on the desk with your blouse," I ordered.
She began to shake her head no, but I quickly interjected. "Becky, the longer you dawdle here, the more you risk being discovered. I don't have all fucking day, so either get on with it, or I'm out of here," I threatened. I wanted to turn up the pressure on her to keep her on her toes.
My abrupt tone of voice startled her into action, and without further protest, she lowered her hands from her breasts, and reaching behind herself, unzipped the skirt. With only the slightest hesitation, she slowly slid the skirt down her legs until she was able to step out of it and place it on the desk with her blouse. Her left arm quickly shot back up and covered her bra covering her breasts while her right hand moved to cover her newly exposed panties. Her panties, like her bra, were a rather plain white which again adequately covered her hidden charms.
Again shaking my head, more quickly this time, as I did not want to lose the momentum, I told her, "It's still not enough Becky. In this picture you are naked; and the rather ugly, plain underwear you're wearing now, makes it difficult to tell if it's really you."
Again, what looked like a hurt expression briefly flashed across her face. For reasons I couldn't understand, my harsh words were upsetting her.
"Becky, take off the bra and add it to pile of clothing on the desk." I made it a statement, rather than a request so as to leave no room for debate.
"Please....." Becky pleaded. It came out almost as a whine.
When I didn't say anything but continued to look at her with a hard look on my face, her resistance just seemed to crumble away. Her shoulders slumped and with almost wooden motions she reached behind her with both hands and unclasped her bra. With just the slightest of hesitations, she slowly let the bra straps fall down her arms before pulling the cups off of her breasts and placing the bra on the table. Her hands quickly shot up to cover her now exposed breasts. If it was possible, her face was an even darker red than before.
"Now Becky, how am I supposed to be able to compare your breasts to the ones in the photo if you're covering them up?" I asked. "I want you to put your arms straight down at your sides and keep them there until I tell you otherwise. Do it now Becky, or this is just going to get worse for you," I threatened.
With her head hung low, refusing to meet my eyes, she lowered her hands slowly to her sides and held them there.
It felt like someone had punched me right in the stomach. I could hardly breathe as I gazed upon those perfect breasts for the first time. They were definitely a 'C' cup, and despite their size, were extremely firm and seemed to jut proudly out from her body. Her nipples were rock hard and were at least a half inch in length, and were encircled by perfectly round areolas. Thank God I didn't have my dress shirt tucked into my pants today as I'm sure my hard on would have been clearly visible to anyone who cared to look. It took all of my self-control to not reach out and touch those breasts. Before today I had only dreamed about seeing those breasts in person, and would often masturbate late at night fantasizing about them. And now here I stood, several feet away from them. It was almost too much to handle.
Putting on my best acting skills yet, I shook my head and said, "Geez, those tits are kinda saggy and worn. I don't know if they're the same ones. Let's take the panties off too so we can be sure." I was almost affecting a disgusted look so it would seem as if I was being turned off seeing her naked.
With what looked like another pained look, Becky reached for the sides of her panties and slowly began rolling them down her hips. Soon she was bent over in front of me as she stepped out of her panties. Straightening up, she placed the panties in the pile with the rest of her clothes, and amazingly, put her hands to her side as I had instructed earlier. Her head was hung down and she gazed intently at the floor. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.
I couldn't believe it. After all the planning and dreaming of this moment, it was finally here. My high school science teacher, Rebecca O'Hare, stood naked in front of me. You could see Becky took care of her body. Everything was nicely toned and the hair on her pussy was tastefully trimmed. She was absolutely, drop dead, fucking gorgeous!!