Secret Masochist - Education Ch. 13

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

Chapter 13

Pain

What had you been thinking when you asked Mr. Peterson to break you with pain? Did you think it would be like what came before? The sting of the switch, the impact of the crop, the burning blows of the paddle. The sweet, electric feeling of the whip striking your breasts. Learning about how much you enjoyed those sensations had gone to your head. You had been eager to explore this newly discovered part of yourself. Looking up into Mr. Peterson's dark eyes, body still trembling from the orgasm he allowed you to have, you had felt nothing but trust and excitement. You were in a brave new world, and you could do anything Mr. Peterson asked you.

At least, that was the idea.

"HNNng... Mr. P-Peterson... it hurts so bad... p-please..."

"Come now, Miss Murray. Pain is exactly what you asked for, is it not? Resume the position."

You try to take a deep breath, but the best you can manage is a small gulp of air before a burst of sobs rocks through you. All that's left on your body now are the white stockings, and a sheen of sweat, and the marks he's given you. Mr. Peterson had stripped down to his dark grey slacks, his black chest hair beading with sweat of his own. He's standing over you as you crouch and take the position. Your hands are clasped behind your head, pushing your chest out. Your knees are spread wide, exposing your dripping pussy. The hardest part is being up on the balls of your feet. Your leg muscles burn and your whole body shakes as you struggle to hold the position. How can holding still be this hard?

You have to endure, though. It's not the punishment you're afraid of, it's failure itself. You had long since banished the safe word from your mind, refusing to even consider giving up. The idea of falling short now, after everything you've been through, fills you with dread. I have to show Mr. Peterson I can do this. I have what it takes. I've learned my lesson.

I'm worthy of being broken.

This was your third position since choosing the path of pain. In the first, Mr. Peterson had you remove your shirt and bra, and lean over with your hands against the wall. He had then used a short leather flail to flog your back. He had taken his time, varying his rhythm and intensity, making sure to mark every inch of skin from your shoulders to the top of your skirt. When he first started, it almost seemed like a letdown after the intensity of having your breasts whipped. By the time he was finished, the stream of tears on your cheeks was matched by the pussy juice flowing down your thighs, and your throat was hoarse from screaming.

In the second position, Mr. Peterson made you remove your skirt and prostrate yourself on the floor, arms flat out in front of you and your ass raised high. In that position he had tortured your legs and ass with clothespins. He must have used dozens on you. All up and down your stocking-covered legs. On your sensitive feet. On the juicy flesh of your rear. He had even attached a few to your pussy lips. Each individual pinch was nothing compared to what you'd already been through, but together they were a symphony of pain that had you begging for relief. He had allowed the overwhelming sensation to sink in for what seemed an eternity before removing the painful implements. Of course, he hadn't simply taken them off. He had used a short whip to knock them off, one by one, making you thank him each and every time. You almost came when he whipped the ones off your pussy.

The memory of all that pain makes your clit buzz. In spite of how excruciating it had been, you now long for his touch again. You wish Mr. Peterson would do something, anything. So far in this position all he's done is stand over you. No whips, no paddles, no clamps or clothespins. Not even any words, except for admonishing you when you fail to hold the position for even an instant. You wish he would hit you. You wish he would speak to you with his stern voice, teach you something about yourself, or even just comment on your performance. At this point a history lecture would be better than being stuck with your own thoughts.

Trying to distract yourself, you look up at Mr. Peterson. His dark eyes bore into you, judging you, and you can't bear to hold his gaze. Your eyes flick down, following his chest hair as it tapers into a trail down his toned stomach and starts to widen before disappearing behind the waist of his pants. You stare at his crotch directly in front of your face. Your shaky breaths become heavy as you imagine Mr. Peterson taking out his hard cock and presenting it to you. Would you kiss it? Suck it? Beg him to fuck you with it?

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus. What is the matter with you, RC? This submissive posture keeps pushing your mind to thoughts of... serving him. When you recoil in confusion from those thoughts, you're caught in the sensations he's caused in your body. Your breasts still tingle where he had whipped them. Your back throbs from the brutal flogging. The skin of your legs, your ass, your pussy lips, all sing with the memory of the clothespins, how they stung when they were whipped off you. Every muscle in your body burns as you struggle to hold your position. The fire started as a dull ache, but now threatens to consume you, coursing through your limbs and making your pussy throb.

Why is this so much harder to take? What is it about this pain that's so much worse than what Mr. Peterson has already done to you? Before yesterday, you had never even imagined having such things done to your body. You're completely covered in welts, marks, bruises, all telling the story of how your history teacher had shown you what pain and punishment truly meant. But all you had to do then was take what he gave you. Allow him to inflict his lessons on your studious flesh. This pain, however...

This pain you were giving to yourself.

You feel your legs start to tremble again. The burning is too much. A strained whine escapes your throat. I can't. I can't do it, Mr. Peterson. I'm sorry. With one last gasp of despair, your body gives out, and you collapse backwards. The feeling of your bruised back hitting the floor makes you writhe with pain. You sob, completely disgusted at yourself for failing after coming so far. You're pathetic, RC.

"Look at me, Miss Murray."

You prop yourself up on your elbows and lift your shoulders off the floor so you can look at Mr. Peterson standing over you. Tears fall down your cheeks. You want to look away in shame, curl up into a ball and weep, but you can't disobey your teacher. Your body won't let you.

"What happened, Miss Murray?"

What happened? I... I failed. "I... hic... I couldn't do it, Mr. Peterson. I c-couldn't hold the position."

"Why is that, Miss Murray? You were able to take much more before this."

And I can take more... I just... I need... "You were doing it to me before, Mr. Peterson."

"And you couldn't do it to yourself?"

Your breaths get heavy. "N-no, Mr. Peterson. I couldn't."

"So what is it that you need, Miss Murray? What do you need to pass this test?"

Without thinking, your legs spread. "I n-need you, Mr. Peterson."

"What precisely do you need me to do, Miss Murray?"

Your heart pounds in your chest. Am I really going to do this? "I need you to... control my body, Mr. Peterson."

"I don't think that's quite enough, Miss Murray. I've been controlling your body for hours, now." He steps forward, between your open legs. "There's something else, Miss Murray. Something you must do."

Yes. "I... I need to give you my body, Mr. Peterson."

He smiles, and joy blooms inside you. "Yes, Miss Murray. You have learned your lesson." He kneels down. "Now, you shall receive your reward. Pull your legs back for me."

You do as you're told, pulling your stocking-covered legs back toward your chest and lifting your ass up off the floor. Mr. Peterson unbuckles his belt and pulls his slacks down enough for his cock to come free. Your eyes immediately lock on to his stiff, uncircumcised member. Oh my god I want it inside me please Mr. Peterson. Your rebellious mind is quiet. Your body is in control now, and it belongs to Mr. Peterson.

"Open your mouth, Miss Murray."

You obey, and Mr. Peterson puts two fingers between your lips. The same fingers you sucked your own cum off of, back before he broke you. He allows you to suck on them again, working your wet tongue over them.

"You have been an exceptional student, Miss Murray. To demonstrate my ownership of your body, I will give you what others could not. I will fill your ass with my maleness."

You moan around his fingers and your pussy gushes. Yes please Mr. Peterson my body is yours. He removes his fingers from your mouth and presses them against your puckered asshole, making you gasp.

"Deep breath, Miss Murray, and relax."

Following his instructions, you look into his eyes as you feel his fingers sink inside you, coating the inside of your rear entrance with your own saliva. He slowly moves them in and out, stretching your ass, preparing you to take him even deeper.

"I am very proud of you, Miss Murray. Your body has responded to this tutoring brilliantly." He removes his fingers and places the head of his cock against your asshole. "Are you ready to give me your body, Miss Murray?"

It's already yours, take it, please. Your voice is a trembling whisper. "Yes, Mr. Peterson."

He presses forward. Your eyes go wide as your asshole stretches around him. You feel fear deep inside your mind, fear of pain, fear of surrender, but your body isn't listening. Your body is listening to Mr. Peterson, and he instructed you to relax. So you do, your tight ass opening to allow his hard, hot cock to enter you. Inch by inch he presses inside. You've never taken anything so deep. This part of you now belongs to him alone.

He's fully inside you now. You feel so stretched, so full, so content. It hurts, and the pain is delicious. Your asshole clenches around him, and you look up into his dark eyes. Something in them gives you permission to let go, and you release a long, low moan of surrender. He starts to move, pulling out until just the head remains inside, before pushing forward, again giving you that sweet feeling of fullness. You want his cock in your ass forever.

Mr. Peterson settles into a steady rhythm, alternating long, powerful strokes all the way inside you with swift, short pumps right at your entrance. His eyes never leave yours. His breaths are heavy, yours are short, sharp, joyful gasps. Your hands keep your legs back, giving him full access to your body as he takes what you've given him. Your clit buzzes and your pussy throbs. You never imagined having your ass fucked could feel this good.

"How does it feel, Miss Murray?" Mr. Peterson's voice has a rough edge to it that sends a hot thrill through you. "How does it feel to accept my male authority inside you?" His hot breath washes over your face. "How does it feel to accept my ownership of your body?" His sweat drips down on you. Your body revels in the feeling of being taken, filled, covered, dominated.

Your ass squeezes on his hard cock pumping into you. A cry of sweet pleasure bursts from your throat. "HAAAaaooh Mr. Peterson. Oh my god Mr. Peterson it feels so good. My ass is yours. My body is yours. Please please please keep taking it keep fucking me keep owning meeeeaaaAAHHHH!"

Mr. Peterson increases his pace, his intensity. Overwhelmed by the sensation, you squeeze your eyes shut as his cock swells inside you. "Look at me Miss Murray." You open your eyes and fall into his. "I am going to fill you now. I am going to claim this part of you as mine. Do not look away."

His words send you over the edge. How... how can I... he didn't even touch... Your breath catches in your throat as your orgasm shudders through you. Mr. Peterson grunts as your asshole clamps down on his hard cock, and you feel him throb as he empties himself into you. Vibrating like a plucked harpstring, your whole body sings with the pure joy of surrender.

Finally, you both come down from your shared climax. You remember how to breathe, gasping and trembling as you look up into Mr. Peterson's eyes. He holds himself inside you as you feel him slowly soften. You don't need to wait for him to ask for the words.

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson."

He brushes your sweat-slick hair from your forehead and strokes your flushed cheek. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, but hold back, not knowing if you're allowed to. Instead, you squeeze your ass around his still-firm member, and he smiles in response.

"I'm very proud of you, Miss Murray. You have come so far since the start of this tutoring." His cock gives one last throb inside your tender asshole. "But there are still lessons you must learn, aren't there, Miss Murray?"

A flutter of excitement -- or is it fear? -- passes through your mind. Even after giving Mr. Peterson your body, you know there is still something more you have to give him. You still need to surrender your will before you can complete the tutoring. Even with his cock inside your well-fucked ass, and his hand tenderly cradling your cheek, you feel doubt start to creep in.

I've come so far... but can I really go there?

Will there be anything left of me if I do?