Secret Masochist - Education Ch. 17

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

Chapter 17

Reminders and promises

Mr. Peterson opens the doors of the wardrobe, the creak of the heavy wood filling the room. "Come here, Miss Murray. Don't be shy."

Why on earth would I be shy about anything at this point? In spite of yourself, you do feel somewhat... strange as you walk over to stand by Mr. Peterson. Something about being completely naked, while he's wearing a robe. It feels uncomfortable, but also... natural? You can't put your finger on it, but the feeling definitely isn't helping the burning in your pussy. Let's get on with this so I can earn another orgasm.

The inside of the wardrobe is full of dress shirts and jackets with matching slacks on wooden hangers. Mr. Peterson parts the wall of masculine garments and reveals a small chest at the back. He undoes the latch, and then turns to face you. Your heart beats in your chest and your cheeks flush, your nakedness suddenly very hard to ignore.

"Now, Miss Murray, yesterday you experienced extremes of both physical and emotional stress, and in that condition you made a choice. A surrender. You recall what I am speaking about, of course?"

Your breaths get heavy. Is he seriously going to make me say it again? Despite your flash of annoyance, you feel your body grow warm as you say the words. "Yes, Mr. Peterson. I... I gave you my body."

"And now that you've had some time to live with that decision, and a chance to think more... clearly... are you still satisfied with that choice?"

Taken aback, you're not sure how to respond. However, once you start to think about it -- about the lessons he taught your body yesterday -- the answer is clear. He made your body his when he broke you, when he pushed you past your limits with sweet pain and exhilarating pleasure. Even if you did want to push back, to resist, your body can no longer deny it. Being close to him is enough to make your pussy tingle with need. "Yes, Mr. Peterson." Your voice is soft, but you're surprised at how confident it is. "My body belongs to you." I... I really mean it, don't I?

Mr. Peterson nods and gives you that small smile again. "I am very pleased to hear that, Miss Murray." He reaches into the wardrobe, opens the chest at the back, and pulls out a small silver object. "The first article I will have you wear today will be a signifier of this. A reminder of what you have given to me. A symbol of what I alone possess."

He hands you the object. It's a buttplug. Your breath quickens as you feel the weight of it, the metal cool in your hands. Turning it over, your eyes grow wide as you notice it flares out to be a bit wider than Mr. Peterson's cock. On the flat base, a dark red "P" is engraved in elaborate script. You feel like you should be smirking at that, or coming up with some kind of snarky joke about his hubris. Instead, all you can think about is what the plug will feel like stretching your asshole. What it will look like with his proud initial claiming what is his.

"What are you waiting for, Miss Murray? I trust you know how this is used."

You look up into his dark eyes. "Yes, er, I do, Mr. Peterson. It's just... it's so big... do you have any lube?" You can feel your cheeks glowing red.

His smile sharpens. "Only that lubricant which I used last night, Miss Murray."

"But you didn't..." Your breath catches in your throat as understanding dawns on you. Realizing what you must do, you can feel the blush spread from your cheeks down your neck. Eyes locked on his, mind too overwhelmed with embarrassment and arousal to process what you're doing, you bring the plug up and start to run your tongue over it. Putting it partway in your mouth, you make sure to get it as wet as you can.

You know how pathetic you look right now, standing there naked in front of your history teacher, fellating a buttplug. He is clearly enjoying the show, and his attention is making your pussy gush. Once the plug is as wet as you can make it, you bring it down behind you. Using your other hand to hold a cheek open for access, you push the tip against your tight ring. Your eyes are wide, and a small gasp escapes your lips. Mr. Peterson's steady gaze pushes you to continue. A soft moan emanates from deep in your chest as you feel the plug stretch you wider than you ever thought you could go. The moan becomes a sharp "ah!" as your sphincter suddenly closes around the plug, and you feel the base pressing snugly against you.

Mr. Peterson's smile widens. "Excellent work, Miss Murray." His hand comes up to stroke your cheek, and you feel yourself lean into his touch, unable to help yourself. "Now, turn around and show me what is mine."

Breaths heavy, you turn and bend over, using both hands to spread your cheeks wide for your teacher. You tremble, knowing he can clearly see both your dripping pussy and the plug marking your ass -- your body -- as his. Part of you is mortified at how far you're going, how much you're surrendering, but more and more all you can feel is pride at how well you are learning his lessons.

"Very good, Miss Murray. Now straighten up and turn around." You do as you're told, and your eyes lock onto the short silver chain in his hands, capped at each end by... "These clamps represent your desire for pain. Yesterday, I used pain to teach you, and to break you. Place these on your nipples, Miss Murray, and be reminded of what pain means to you."

Your nipples are so stiff they ache as you take the chain from Mr. Peterson. Pulling in a deep breath, you obey your teacher, gasping as the clamps squeeze your sensitive buds. As you release the clamps, allowing them to apply their full force, you suck in a breath through clenched teeth. The pain is intense, and you can feel your clit buzzing in response. After a few breaths you grow accustomed to the new sensation, and you look up at Mr. Peterson for approval.

He nods, and then reaches into the chest one more time. Your heart skips a beat as you see him pull out a small collar made of red leather, with an elaborate silver clasp on the front. Is he... is he going to make me wear... Your whole body tingles and you feel your already wet pussy flood. No... I... I can't...

"This collar, Miss Murray, represents your complete submission, in both body and mind." He reaches up and places it atop the wardrobe. "You have yet to earn it, but I wanted to give you something to... aspire to."

I haven't... earned it? Heat flares in your chest. Wait. Aspire to... complete submission? Do I... do I want that?

Mr. Peterson continues, interrupting your conflicted thoughts. "For now, you should remain focused on your education. To assist with that, you must be properly dressed. Reach under the bed, Miss Murray, and you will find something I have acquired for you."

Properly dressed? Wasn't my outfit yesterday "proper" enough? You take a deep breath. "Yes, Mr. Peterson." Getting down on your hands and knees, you peek underneath your teacher's bed. The bed where you offered him your pussy, only to have him judge you unworthy. Cheeks burning at the memory, and at the knowledge that you're giving him a perfect view of your plugged ass, you peer into the gloom. There's a small silk package tied with a ribbon, which you pull out to get a closer look. Sitting up, you feel the package in your hands. It's pretty obviously clothes, but there's not nearly enough bulk to be a whole outfit. Right?

"Open it, Miss Murray, and put it on." His voice has just a touch of impatience to it. Obeying your teacher, your trembling hands pull open the ribbon and empty the contents of the package onto the bed. Your jaw drops. It's a whole outfit, alright, just not one you ever in your life thought you would wear.

Unable to refuse Mr. Peterson's directions, you put on the clothes, if you can call them that. A pair of white lace panties, with lavender trim and no crotch. A matching pair of lace stockings, complete with garter belt. A lavender bustier that cups, rather than covers, your breasts. Along the bottom of the bustier is a sheer white skirt that doesn't quite reach down to your bare pussy. As you don each piece of the outfit, a knotted pit of sheer embarrassment grows, along with a new feeling. You can't put it into words, but you know it has something to do with the fact that you would never in a million years wear something like this on your own...

...but you didn't even hesitate when Mr. Peterson gave you the command.

You fight the urge to fidget, feeling utterly out of place in this strange -- yet somehow exciting -- costume, so you clasp your hands behind you. Looking up shyly at your teacher, cheeks crimson, you see his small smile. Hating yourself, you feel a thrill at his approval. Do you like what you see, Mr. Peterson?

"I am incredibly pleased, Miss Murray. This look suits you perfectly. You may not agree quite yet, but as we go through today's lesson I believe you will find this is exactly what you need." He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. You feel oddly bashful, and you look down at your feet. Mr. Peterson cups your chin with one finger and pulls your gaze up to meet his. "I can see it is already having an effect. Isn't it, Miss Murray?"

His face is so close to yours. You can feel his breath across your lips. All you can manage is a whisper. "Yes, Mr. Peterson."

His other hand gently touches you just above your bare pussy. Your whole body is trembling, and you desperately wish he would move his hand lower and touch your wetness. Instead, his finger slips inside a small pocket in the front of your crotchless panties, just over your clit. "If you perform well today, Miss Murray, this is where I will place a vibrator, so that I might reward your obedience."

Obedience. You feel your knees grow weak. His dark eyes are all you can see.

"And if you exceed my expectations, there are other privileges available for a good student."

I can be a good student, Mr. Peterson. Your heart is racing, your breath shallow.

"Now, Miss Murray, there is something very important I must ask you to do."

Yes, Mr. Peterson, anything you want. Your lips part, longing for him to touch them with his own.

"I find myself quite famished, Miss Murray. Go down to the kitchen and make us some breakfast."

You blink.

Breakfast?

What the fuck?