Secret Masochist - Education Ch. 08

(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)

Chapter 8

Revealing something hidden

At first, you thought you could handle this. At first, the only thing you were worried about was your feet hurting. At first, you were relieved that Mr. Peterson wasn't going to introduce you to another of his "disciplinary instruments". At first, you were looking forward to cruising through the first part of the advanced tutoring, earning your grade without doing any real work.

How long had that lasted? Thirty minutes? Maybe an hour?

You had lost all sense of time. The only clock in the room was behind you, ticking away, something you suspect Mr. Peterson had arranged on purpose. It feels like you've been standing there all day. You can't tell what kind of progress Mr. Peterson is making in his work, whatever that is. Is he grading papers? Preparing a course? Doing his taxes? What is he doing that's so engrossing he would completely ignore the girl standing in the corner in a too-small schoolgirl uniform and her panties in her mouth?

Any boy your age would be all over you. Not Mr. Peterson, though. Why do I care so much about that? You had never thought about him with anything other than annoyance and disdain before. It's not that you didn't appreciate older men -- you'd fantasized about them plenty, and you'd gotten down with a grad student once at a college party you'd snuck into -- but Mr. Peterson was just your obnoxious history teacher. Always going on about Great Men, always reprimanding you for pushing back against his patriarchal worldview. Never someone you thought about... that way.

Until he punished you.

Until he made you come.

You couldn't stop staring at him, sitting at his desk, working diligently. You'd long since run out of things to distract yourself with. Unable to identify any of the old men in the paintings, not recognizing more than a handful of the books on the shelves, what had held your attention longest was the hallway and the staircase. What secrets lay waiting beyond them? What kind of mysteries did Mr. Peterson have hidden away, just out of sight?

What was his bedroom like?

You tried to push that thought out of your head, but with nothing else to occupy your mind, your imagination kept wandering back there. Mr. Peterson had shown you a part of himself you'd never imagined existed, and now you were hungry to know more. Why? Why do I give a shit about this asshole's inner life? What could possibly go on in this old loser's bedroom that I want to know about? Your self-interrogation is answered by a flash of inner vision. You imagine Mr. Peterson punishing you again, but this time you're in his bedroom instead of his classroom. This time, you don't have any clothes on to protect your sensitive skin. This time, he isn't using a tool, just his strong hands. Touching you, coming down hard on your soft, vulnerable body, making you—

Shaking your head, you escape your fantasy before it goes too far. You pull in deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Cheeks burning, pussy throbbing, you're desperate to be somewhere else. You feel your fingers twitch, wanting to touch your pussy and relieve some of the aching need. It still doesn't make any sense to you why your teacher's punishments do this to you, but you're beyond caring about that. At this point, you don't even care about frigging yourself in front of him, as long as you can get off. But you can't. You're not allowed to.

Your clit tingles at the thought, and you find yourself staring at Mr. Peterson again. I'm only doing this because I need that grade. These crazy rules and lessons and... punishments... they don't matter. They're just a means to an end. Once this weekend is over, I can go back to my normal life. As you watch him work, you wonder, can you really though? You try to imagine sitting in his class, paying attention to a history lecture or working through a test, after all this. How would you react, back in your "normal" life, when a man who'd made you come by hitting your pussy with a crop told you to turn in your homework, to turn to page 47, to stop talking and pay attention?

You feel a low moan coming from deep in your chest. Quickly stopping yourself, you bunch your fists up and dig your fingernails into your palms. Come on, RC. You can get through this. It's not like he's... hitting you. You take a deep, shaky breath. It's not like you have to do anything complicated. All you have to do is stand here.

Just like he told you.

Your mind keeps racing around in a circle. The aching in your feet, the humiliation you feel at standing in the corner like a naughty child, in your embarrassing outfit, mouth stuffed with your own wet panties. All of it is pushing you away from what you're doing, creating a desperate need to be somewhere else. But you can't stop, you can't go anywhere. You need that grade. You need to do what you're told, or else Mr. Peterson will punish you. So you have to keep standing there, feet aching, mind buzzing with shame, pussy burning.

"Miss Murray?"

Mr. Peterson's voice nearly makes you yelp in surprise. You look at him, eyes wide. You notice that you're trembling, but you can't make yourself stop.

"Miss Murray, that noise is making it quite difficult for me to focus on my work. I specifically instructed you to not distract me."

You had been moaning into your panties again. Goddammit RC what the fuck is wrong with you? Mr. Peterson stands up and walks over to you. You pull in desperate breaths through your nose. No, wait, please, I can do better. I can stop.

I can do what I'm told.

"Open your mouth, Miss Murray."

You obey, and Mr. Peterson plucks your wet panties from between your lips. You pull in a deep breath as he places them in the pocket of his slacks. Something about that act of casual ownership makes your pussy throb and your clit buzz.

"I must admit I am a little disappointed, Miss Murray. You had been doing very well, and I had hoped you would be able to endure the entirety of the punishment. I can see, though, that there is something else I need to address."

Your heart is pounding in your chest. "Wh-what do you mean, Mr. Peterson?"

"Your sexual urges are completely out of control, Miss Murray. It is clear to me that I must teach you some restraint if we are to get anywhere this weekend."

What the fuck is he talking about? I didn't touch myself, I didn't do anything, all I did was stand here! "I... I don't understand, Mr. Peterson."

"Look down at your legs, Miss Murray."

Your eyes go wide. Slowly, you look down, and your jaw drops. The tops of your white stockings are completely soaked. The dark wet stain goes all the way around the top, and almost all the way down to your knees along the inside of your legs. The skin of your thighs glistens with your juices in the low golden light. You start to shake, and your breaths get short and shallow. You look back up at your teacher. "M-Mr. Peterson... I... I don't..."

"You don't understand, Miss Murray?"

You slowly shake your head, and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Mr. Peterson gives you a small nod. "Well, Miss Murray, yesterday we discovered that you responded to corporal punishment with arousal, didn't we?"

You nod, cheeks burning at the memory.

"But I have not administered any corporal punishment to you today, have I?"

You shake your head again, unable to find your voice.

"So what is it that you find so arousing right now, Miss Murray? What could possibly trigger such an... extreme response?"

Tears fall from your eyes. You've never felt so completely pathetic, so utterly humiliated.

"Answer me, Miss Murray!"

Your pussy gushes. "I... I don't know! I don't know, Mr. Peterson!"

His eyes bore into you. "Perhaps, Miss Murray, your body is responding to being given orders?"

Your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open. What? No, that can't be. I... I hate it when people order me around. Especially people like him.

Right?

"I can see you are beginning to understand, Miss Murray." He takes a step closer. "Now, understanding is only the first step. Understanding without action is pointless. Your actions, however, do not seem to be fully under your control."

You can't look away from him. You can't breathe. You can't think. All you can do is listen to his voice, hanging on every word.

"I believe it's time for your first real lesson, Miss Murray. It's time I teach you how to control these physical urges. It will require obedience on your part. Obedience, and openness."

He's already so close, but he moves even closer. You can feel his breath on your face, and your pussy clenches in anticipation.

"Are you ready to receive my instruction, Miss Murray?"