Secret Masochist - Education Ch. 10

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

Chapter 10

Your body needs to learn to behave

You take a deep breath. Looking up at Mr. Peterson from your place on the sofa, you feel yourself tremble. The idea of... giving yourself to his authority frightens you. You still can't imagine letting go of your independence like that. Your body, though... isn't that why you're here in the first place? Wasn't it your insatiable physical urges that led you to this moment? You feel like your body has been calling all the shots up to this point. A part of you feels resentful of it, resentful of how easily you'd given yourself to Mr. Peterson, submitted to his lesson, spread yourself for him...

Your pussy tingles, and you feel a matching buzz along your skin where he had punished you yesterday. Your breath gets shallow as you imagine what kind of tools Mr. Peterson has waiting for you down that dark hallway. Thinking about what he already kept in his classroom, your body gets hot at the idea of even more elaborate and punishing — how did he put it? — disciplinary instruments. You need to know what you're capable of enduring, you need to find out how your impulses can be controlled, and you need it to be him that teaches you.

Looking up into his dark eyes, you open your mouth to answer him, but he speaks before you can make a sound. "You want to learn what it's like to have your body controlled, don't you, Miss Murray?"

How the fuck does he keep doing that? It's like he knows what you want even before you do. Still trembling, you nod in response.

"I need you to say the words, Miss Murray."

Then quit interrupting me, asshole. "I... I want you to... teach my body, Mr. Peterson." You take a deep breath. In spite of your annoyance, you feel something shift inside you after admitting what it is you want. You do want it, don't you, RC? You want this condescending prick to teach you how to control your urges. You want him to push you to your limits. You want him to punish you when you fail.

You want him to make you come again.

"Very good, Miss Murray. I suspected this is the course you would take. Now, stand up and follow me." Without waiting for you to respond, he turns and starts walking towards the hallway.

Anxiety has made your stomach into a tight knot, but you feel yourself standing and following. Just like he told you. What the fuck does he mean he "suspected" I would take this course? He's just trying to mess with me, make me think he's in my head already. He doesn't know shit about what I want. You follow him into the hall, and you feel a tremble as the darkness swallows both of you. Like your body knows what it's in for.

Just keep telling yourself that, RC. Keep telling yourself he's not already in control, and maybe you'll start to believe it.

In the gloom of the hallway, all you can see is the shape of him in front of you. Following him into the unknown, you feel your breaths get heavy. You don't know where he's taking you or what he's going to do to you when you get there, but your skin tingles in anticipation all the same.

Finally, he stops, and you nearly run into him. He opens a door into an even deeper darkness, and then turns to face you. You can't make out the details of his face, but you can still feel his dark eyes burning. "This is a room in which very few people have been, Miss Murray. I want you to understand that it is a privilege to be here. You are only here because I believe you will be receptive to what this room will do to you. Because I believe you are capable of more."

Your heart is pounding in your chest. He believes in me. A sudden flood of light interrupts your thoughts, spilling out of the doorway and filling the hall. You wince and shield your eyes against the unexpected brightness. When you lower your arms to see what's inside the room a small gasp escapes you.

There's too much for you to take in all at once. Walls of dark wood are lined with coils of rope and racks of tools — crops, whips, paddles, clamps, other intimidating things you don't recognize. Around the room are pieces of... furniture? A table, something that sort of looks like a balance beam, a chair that... doesn't have a seat? Your eyes catch on a large wooden X with metal rings at each end. There's more than you can comprehend, and you only notice you'd stopped breathing when Mr. Peterson's touch on your shoulder makes you yelp.

"Step inside, Miss Murray."

He gives you the gentlest of pushes, and your feet take you into the room. You feel like you're falling, like the room is sucking you in. The tools of discipline surround you, making your whole body buzz with anticipation. Without warning, your mind starts to imagine how it would feel to be struck with that whip, bound with that harness, tied down to that table. The fantasies start to build on each other, sending your heart racing, but they're interrupted by the sound of the door closing heavily behind you.

"First things first, Miss Murray. In order to properly teach you, I will need access to your body. You will begin by removing your vest and rolling your sleeves up to your elbows."

That's all? Taking a deep breath, you do as you're told. You're relieved to be rid of the stuffy vest, but now your breasts straining against your shirt feel... vulnerable. As you roll the sleeves up your arms, you see the faint marks from yesterday, reminding you of how this all began. Your pussy throbs as you think about how far you've come since then... and how far you still have to go.

"Very good, miss Murray. Now, place your hands together behind your back." You comply, and let out a small gasp as you feel him start to bind your arms together with rope. When did he get that? "I must say, Miss Murray, you have made a great deal of progress since the start of this tutoring. Your behavior, your attitude, your obedience..." he cinches the rope tightly. "It gives me great pride as your teacher to see you respond to my instruction so well."

Conflicting emotions swirl inside you. Part of you is still ashamed at how much you've already given him, how much more you want to give him. But another part, the part that is responding to the feeling of the rope digging into the skin of your arms, is thrilled at his words. I can be a good student, Mr. Peterson. Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your arms being lifted.

You look back over your shoulder, and you see that Mr. Peterson has run the rope from your arms up to a ring attached to the ceiling. He keeps pulling, drawing your arms up and out and forcing you to bend forward to keep your balance. By the time he stops you're almost parallel to the floor, your arms pointed up. You feel like if you move too much you'll lose your balance completely. Bending over like this has pulled your skirt up the back of your legs, and you can feel how close your dripping pussy is to being totally exposed.

Mr. Peterson walks in front of you and over to the array of tools on the wall. Your breathing is shallow as you watch him, trying to guess which one he'll choose. Trying to imagine how he'll use it on you, when you're like this. After a moment of contemplation, he selects a long paddle with holes drilled in it. You tremble as he walks back towards you. He stops, close enough that you have to awkwardly look up at him to meet his eyes.

"Seeing you like this gives me great pleasure, Miss Murray. You've come a long way, but now it is time to take another step. You must accept that, from now on, your body is not under your control. What happens to it is now up to me. And, if you are able to open yourself to the lesson, you will soon find that how your body responds will be up to me as well. Do you understand, Miss Murray?"

I've come this far, haven't I? "Yes, Mr. Peterson."

He smiles at you. "Very good, Miss Murray. Now, I am going to give you a safe word. I will be pushing your body to and beyond its limits, and you must trust that I know what I am doing. If you lose that trust, if you wish to take control back, you will say the word 'Waterloo'. I will immediately stop what I am doing, and this tutoring will be over. As always, the choice is yours. Do you understand, Miss Murray?"

Waterloo? What a dork. "Yes, Mr. Peterson." In spite of your inner eye-roll, you can feel your heart beat faster in your chest. What could he possibly do to you that would make you want to give up like that?

He nods, and steps around behind you out of your sight. Your breath quickens as you hear him speak. "In the first part of this lesson, Miss Murray, I will teach you the limits of your endurance."

You tense up, waiting for the paddle to strike you, and gasp when instead you feel his hand touch your soaked pussy under your skirt. "Mr... Mr. Peterson?"

He starts to slowly move against you. "Pain is not the only sensation that can be pushed to extremes, Miss Murray." His fingertips rub against your slick clit and his thumb starts to sink inside your entrance. "You will find there can be such a thing as too much pleasure."

You moan softly, which becomes a shocked yell as he begins to move faster, harder, pumping his thumb in and out of your hole as his fingers rub hard on your clit. You suck in great, gasping breaths and give loud, wailing moans as his motions somehow become more intense. This feeling isn't like how he touched you before, or how you've ever touched yourself. You feel yourself being pushed against your will towards an orgasm strong enough to frighten you.

He stops as suddenly as he began, pulling his hand away from your wetness. You don't even have a moment to catch your breath before you feel the paddle smack! against the back of your thighs.

"HAH!" The sudden impact is almost more shocking than the stinging pain. Before you can take a breath the paddle comes down again, and again, and again.

Smack! "AH!"

Smack! "GAH!"

SMACK! "HAANH!"

He keeps going, steadily increasing the pace and intensity until you're wailing nonstop, tears streaming down your face. He finally stops, and you sob in pain. The backs of your legs are on fire, but you also feel a burning in your pussy. In spite of your tears, your body is loving this.

"That's all for the warm-up, Miss Murray. It's time to get to the meat of the lesson."

That was just a warm-up? Your knees buckle and you struggle to keep your balance. The word "Waterloo" floats to the top of your mind. Shame at the idea of giving up pushes against the fear of what's in store for you. I... I can't possibly take more of this.

Can I?