Secret Masochist - Education Ch. 14

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

Chapter 14

A chance to rest, and reflect

Why does this feel so strange, after everything else? Mr. Peterson had shown you things about yourself you'd never suspected. He had left his mark all over your young body, showing you undiscovered heights of pain and pleasure. Teaching you what it meant to blend the two together into something completely new. He had guided you down the path of self-discovery, getting you to open up parts of yourself you thought had been closed forever. After all that, surrendering your body to him had seemed only natural. Giving him your ass, taking his hard dick and hot cum deep inside you, was just another step in your education.

But where does taking a bath together fit into all that?

Really, it was more like him bathing you. After the intensity of him teaching your body to behave, you had been a quivering, sweaty mess. He had picked you up -- which was a surprise, as he isn't that much bigger than you -- and carried you down the hall to a bathroom. He peeled off your stockings, soaked through with sweat and pussy juice. He guided you into the tub after filling it with steaming hot water, and started to gently wash you down. Somehow, it was harder to take these soft, caring touches than all the brutal punishments he had administered over the course of the day.

"Mr. Peterson? Why... why are you doing this?"

He's behind you in the tub, as naked as you are. Something about that level of intimacy frightens you. You almost wish for the separation of clothes or a whip, something to come between you. You feel an urge to be close to him, sink into his arms, and that terrifies you.

This is still your asshole history teacher, after all.

"You are my responsibility, Miss Murray." He softly runs a soapy washcloth over your back, reminding you of the tender bruises he gave you. "You gave your body to me. It is now up to me to ensure it is taken care of. And, I must say with some pride, your body has taken quite a lot." He runs the washcloth up and down your arms, over the faint marks from yesterday.

I don't need you to fucking take care of me, asshole. Your mind is still struggling with the idea of giving yourself to him. In spite of the ecstatic thrill of giving him your ass, in spite of how good it felt to have him over and around and inside of you, part of you still wants to keep him at a distance. You're glad he can't see your face, because you know your inner conflict is written all over it.

Even as your mind still pushes back, your body continues to relax under his touch. I have taken a lot, though. And... and it's all because of him. Your pussy tingles at the memory of all the orgasms he's given you. Even the dull throb of your bruises and welts as he runs the washcloth over them feels good. Like a reminder of how much you're capable of enduring. The warmth of the water and comforting feel of his touch start to push your troubled thoughts away. You let out a deep sigh, unable to remember the last time someone pampered you like this.

Just as you're about to ask him what comes next, you hear a knock down the hall. Your eyes go wide. Who the fuck?

"It sounds like dinner has arrived, Miss Murray. I need you to go and retrieve it from the delivery man."

The mention of dinner brings your attention to the rumbling in your stomach. You hadn't eaten since you scarfed down breakfast on your way out the door this morning. The tutoring had been so intense you hadn't even noticed how hungry you were.

"Um, Mr. Peterson, I'm not..."

"You may put on your shirt and your skirt, Miss Murray. You shouldn't need anything else to preserve your modesty." Mr. Peterson stands and gets out of the tub, offering you his hand to help you up. "Now, please hurry, we don't want to keep him waiting."

I may have given you my body, asshole, but I'm not your fucking servant. Your inner protest is quickly drowned out as your stomach rumbles again. I am starving, though. You quickly scrub yourself down with a towel and throw on your skirt and the white button up uniform shirt. As you walk down the hall toward the main room you become very conscious of how the too-small shirt hugs your chest. Approaching the front door, your face goes crimson as you realize your quick toweling didn't get rid of all the moisture, and you can feel the fabric clinging to your round breasts and stiff nipples.

Grabbing the doorknob, you hesitate. Looking down, your fears are confirmed. The shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, fully revealing the shape of your tits, your stiff brown nipples clearly visible. Your mind races. I... I need to grab a towel, or... or my vest... The deliveryman knocks again, the insistent noise making you jump. Afraid of what Mr. Peterson might do if you delay any longer, you take a deep breath and twist the doorknob. Whatever, it's just some random delivery punk. Let them have a show, I'm never gonna see them again.

You pull the door open, and your jaw drops.

"RC? Is that you?"

You've been crushing on Drew all year. He's one of the rare boys who is so completely gorgeous and cool that even you are too intimidated to make the first move. His delivery uniform can't hide the lean muscles on his tall, athletic body. A baseball cap with the logo of the local Chinese restaurant sits on top of his frizzy black hair, and his breathtaking hazel eyes are busy devouring your body. You start to feel warm, knowing he's getting a good look, wishing it could have been under different circumstances.

Any other circumstances.

"It is you, holy shit!" He let's out a low whistle, and then his eyes snap back up to your face. "Wait, is this your place?"

Your cheeks are glowing red as you try to find an answer in your scattered thoughts. "H-hey Drew, uhh... well, heh-heh, y'see..." Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck do I say?

"Naw, hold on..." he takes a peek at the delivery slip. "No way! What are you doing at Mr. P—"

"Tutoring! Sp-special tutoring!" You wince. Jesus RC was that really the best you could come up with?

A broad smile reveals Drew's gleaming white teeth. "Uh-huh... tutoring. Well, RC, it sure does look special."

"Drew!" You grab his arm, remembering one of the first rules Mr. Peterson gave you."You cannot tell anyone!" You must keep your participation a secret. "Seriously Drew, please. Nobody can know about this."

His eyes soften for just a moment, and you feel a flash of hope. Then his grin comes back, and your heart drops. "Know about what, exactly?"

Your breaths get heavy as you feel some of Mr. Peterson's cum leak out of your asshole. "I...I can't... it's complicated."

Drew gives you a nod. "Mm-hmm. Alright then. I don't particularly care for complications myself, RC. So why don't we keep this simple." His eyes drop back down to your chest. "Favor for favor?"

Really, Drew? The cum starts to make its way down your inner thigh. You need to wrap this up before he finds out too much. Before Mr. Peterson starts to get impatient. Before you get too turned on. "Alright, fine, you can... you can cop a feel. But you have to promise!"

He lets out a giggle. "Oh I promise, RC. Don't you worry that purple head of yours." The hand that isn't holding the delivery bag reaches up and squeezes your breast through your damp shirt.

"Ah!" He clearly knows what he's doing. His strong hand cups and massages your soft flesh as his thumb rubs across your stiff nipple. The fabric of the shirt adds an extra layer to the sensation, and your clit starts to buzz with arousal. "Mmmnnn..."

"Well as much as we both seem to be enjoying this, RC..." He gives you one last good squeeze before pulling his hand away. "I do have other deliveries to make tonight. Can you sign here please?"

You snatch the slip away from him and sign it quickly, hands shaking. He takes a look at it as you hand it back to him and he gives you the bag of food. "What, no number?"

"We're in second period together, asshole." You shut the door in his face and take a long, shuddering breath. Holy fucking shit did that really just happen?

"A friend of yours, Miss Murray?"

You yell in shock, nearly dropping the food as you spin around to see Mr. Peterson behind you. How did he get so close without Drew noticing anything?

"N-no, Mr. Peterson. Not exactly. He's, uhhh... just a classmate."

Mr. Peterson has put his grey slacks on, and has traded his button-up for a black pullover. He looks comfortable, confident, in control. "Is that all he is to you, Miss Murray?"

You shudder as you feel more of his cum leak out of you. Openness. "I... I wish it wasn't, Mr. Peterson." You take a deep breath. "I have a, er, I'm very attracted to him. I wish we were... more involved."

"And why aren't you, exactly?"

C'mon, Mr. Peterson, I'm starving. "I just... I haven't had the guts to do anything about it."

He gives you a smile. "I find that somewhat surprising, Miss Murray, given your sexually adventurous nature."

Fuck you. You keep your mouth shut.

"I take it you enjoyed his... manual attentions?"

How did you... "Y-yes, Mr. Peterson."

He nods. "Very good, Miss Murray. I was worried you may have been too sore after our earlier session." He turns and starts walking back toward the hall. "Come, let us eat."

You follow him down the hall to the dining room. How many rooms are in this house? He already has the table set for two, and he helps you unpack the delivery bag. Without waiting for permission, you immediately dig into the sesame chicken and fried rice, your empty stomach allowing no hesitation. Mr. Peterson serves himself a measured portion of each dish, and begins to slowly eat with a pair of chopsticks.

Once the sharp edge of your hunger is dulled, you put down your fork and proceed to empty the glass of water he'd set out for you. As you set the glass down and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you look up to see Mr. Peterson watching you. You feel your cheeks get warm. For some reason, even after everything else, him seeing your eating habits is uncomfortably intimate.

"Is there anything you wanted to ask me, Miss Murray, while we are taking a rest?"

You blink, taken aback by his warm, disarming tone. Is this is another test? In spite of your caution, you can't help but ask him something that's been nagging at you since yesterday. "Er, yes, Mr. Peterson. Did you... did you know I was... into this sort of thing?"

He gives you a piercing look. "What sort of thing, Miss Murray?"

You look down at your plate. "You know... the punishments... the lessons... all of this."

"I had strong suspicions, Miss Murray, which I quickly confirmed in our session yesterday." He pauses as the color in your cheeks deepens. "Did you not know?"

You peek up at him through the purple hair that's fallen over your eyes. "I... no, Mr. Peterson. I had no idea."

He nods slowly and puts down his chopsticks. "You continue to surprise me, Miss Murray. Do you really mean to tell me that in all of your... carnal explorations, this never came up even once?"

You shake your head. "No, Mr. Peterson. I'm usually the one taking the lead with my partners, and I just never thought about it. I mean, I knew some people were into this, but I never imagined it for myself." Part of you still feels it is deeply weird to be opening up to your history teacher like this.

"Were you happy with your sex life, Miss Murray? Was it fulfilling to be... taking the lead?"

"I thought I was happy, Mr. Peterson. I guess I just never realized what... what I was missing." You look back down at your plate. There's another question you need to ask. You take a deep breath, summoning all the courage you can. "Is this... am I this way because of my... my father, Mr. Peterson?"

There's a pause, and your stomach starts to tie itself into knots. "What do you mean, Miss Murray?"

"You know... I get off on being... being punished. And... I... my first time touching myself was after my father spanked me. Did he... did he make me this way?"

"Look at me, Miss Murray." His voice has taken on that commanding tone again. You look up, and his face is still warm and open. "Miss Murray, I cannot tell you who you are, or why. I do, however, have a good deal of experience with women such as yourself. If you want to know my honest opinion, I believe you were always this way. This is a part of who you are, and your father's punishment merely awakened it." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "Furthermore, Miss Murray, given what I can deduce of the troubled relationship you had with your father, I believe that interaction is why you have hidden this part of you from yourself for so long."

You sit back in your chair, stunned. It all makes sense. But how could he... "How did you know, Mr. Peterson? How could you know all this about me? Why... why me?"

He smiles at you. "You underestimate both of us, Miss Murray." He pushes his chair back from the table. "There will be time for more answers during tomorrow's lesson. Now, help me clean up dinner."

The two of you work to put away the leftovers, and you help him wash the dishes. It feels so strange to be standing there next to him in the kitchen, doing chores. Is it because all you're wearing is your schoolgirl skirt and shirt? Is it because your asshole is still sore from when he fucked you? Is it because you can still see the welts on your arms from yesterday?

Or is it strange because this is all starting to feel so normal?

"It is about time we retire for the evening, Miss Murray. We have had a long day, and there is much more we must do tomorrow." He dries off his hands with a dishcloth and turns to face you. "There is one last choice for you today, Miss Murray."

Your breath gets shallow. "Yes, Mr. Peterson?"

"You have done exceptionally well today, and have earned your rest. If you wish, I have a guest room made up for you, and you may have the rest of the evening to yourself to recover."

Your heart starts to pound in your chest as you realize where he's going with this.

"Alternatively, if you are open to one last lesson for today, you are welcome to share my bed with me tonight."

Your pussy begins to buzz with excitement. Share his bed... Part of you wants to retreat. Take the opportunity of rest and privacy to gather your thoughts. Find yourself again after this whirlwind of a day. Your body, though, gets warm at the thought of being close to him, touching him, feeling him inside you again. Maybe even...

"Well, Miss Murray?"