Secret Masochist - Education End

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

Epilogue

A Lifetime of Learning

"Diggin' the collar RC. Goes with your punk aesthetic."

Drew's voice pulls your attention away from the pre-calc lecture, and you look over at him sitting at the desk next to you. He's wearing a light green jacket over his blue-and-white basketball uniform. You always did appreciate your school's policy of making student athletes wear their uniforms to class on game days. The way the fabric lies against Drew's lean, muscly body is a treat for your eyes.

"Ya think so, Drew? Don't think it's too much?"

He flashes you the dazzling smile that you know has gotten him into countless pairs of panties. "Aw no, not at all. I mean, certainly not everyone could pull it off, but you've got, like..." He gives you an appraising look, and something in his eyes changes. It's like he's actually seeing you, and not just checking you out. "I dunno, like an energy that kinda, like, fits with it. Ya know what I'm sayin'?"

Oh, I know what you're saying, Drew. You give him a small nod and a shy smile. Other than Mr. Peterson's collar, you're wearing a fairly normal outfit for a Monday at school. Jeans and sneakers and a zip-up hoodie with a band logo on the back. You'd been just a tiny bit nervous about wearing the collar to school as you got dressed this morning, but you couldn't even imagine taking it off. It's a part of you now. "So you have something important to say or you just trying to make sure I bomb this part of the test?" You punctuate your question with a gesture toward the front of the class, where your small round teacher is still nattering on about polynomials.

Drew leans in, letting you smell his shampoo and body wash, and you briefly wonder if he's one of those boys where those two are the same thing. "Yeah, I, uh, I wanted to ask. How was dinner on Saturday?" His voice drops to a whisper. "How did that 'special tutoring' go?"

You drop your head a little, giving him your best bashful face. Eyes peeking up from under your purple hair, you whisper back. "How about you meet me behind the auxiliary gym before your game and I'll tell ya all about it?"

His eyes widen, and he gives you a dazed nod, like he can't quite believe what he just heard. You smile sweetly at him, and give your attention back to the teacher who's still valiantly trying to explain rational functions to a room full of bored teenagers. You put your conversation with Drew out of your mind so you can focus. Math has always been your weakest subject, so you'll need to put in some extra effort to meet the expectations that have been given to you.

The rest of the day passes much the same. Your friends are all curious about the collar, but none of them really question it. You've always had a penchant for experimenting with fashion choices, even if you typically end up returning to the same basic looks. You knew it wouldn't be completely shocking to the people who know you, but the way they all seem to accept it, to see that it belongs on you even if they don't know the whole truth of why, fills you with a deep joy.

When you meet up with Drew after the last bell, you don't waste any time. You can see the desire in his eyes as you approach, and you know you won't have to mess around with pointless flirting or game-playing to get what you both want. He looks like he's about to say something, but nothing comes out as you gently push him back against the metal wall. Maybe it's the look in your eyes, demure and playful but with the heat of promise shining through. He remains mute as you sink to your knees and reach up to the waistband of his basketball shorts, eyes holding his the whole time. You nuzzle your face against his hard cock through the smooth fabric, and he lets out a choking sound. Giving him a small, coy smile, you pull his shorts down to allow him to come free, springing out with that eager stiffness that only teenage boys are capable of. You open your mouth, extend your tongue, and show him what you learned.

He's not quiet after that. You almost feel bad for him as you give him exactly what you can tell he wants. He likes your tongue here, he likes a firm suck there, and oh goodness does he like it when you swallow him whole. It doesn't take him very long before his whole body begins to spasm, and you pull back to catch all his thick teenage cum in your mouth. When he's finally finished, shivering and moaning, you gently tuck him back into his shorts. You stand and give him a wink and a grin, walking away before he can manage to get any words out.

A few minutes later, you're standing in front of Mr. Peterson's desk, and he lets you wait a moment while he finishes up some work. You don't mind. He's a busy man, and he can't be expected to drop everything for any student who comes by after class hours. He finally puts down his pen and looks up, his dark eyes resting on your flushed face. "How is the assignment coming along, Miss Murray?"

You open your mouth to show him Drew's cum. Your eyes sparkle as you wish you could respond with words. I'd say it's coming quite nicely, Mr. Peterson.

He gives you that little smile. "Excellent work, Miss Murray. Clearly I should not have doubted you when I set the timeline. I will need to revise the goals of this extra credit. Now, swallow."

Your body gets warm as you finally gulp down the thick jizz and feel it slide down your throat. You take your time, letting Mr. Peterson see you savor it, and when it's all gone you open your mouth again and stick out your tongue.

Your teacher nods, his dark eyes warm. "As always, your enthusiasm and commitment deserve a reward, Miss Murray." He reaches into that special drawer in his desk and places two objects in front of him: a small wooden paddle, and a rather impressive looking dildo, the kind that includes a little tickler for your clit. "The choice is yours."

Your pussy tingles as you regard your options. That dildo looks like fun, and you are awfully turned on after finally getting a taste of the boy you've been crushing on for months, but you can't lie to yourself about what you really want. "I'd like the paddle, please, Mr. Peterson."

His smile widens. "Delightfully predictable, Miss Murray. Lean against the desk and pull down your jeans, but leave your panties on."

You look down at the floor. "Um, I won't be able to obey that command, Mr. Peterson."

Your teacher sighs, but you can tell he's still smiling. "Very well then, Miss Murray. Pants down, lean against the desk, and I will just have to make do."

After you obey his instructions, Mr. Peterson directs you to recount the details of your assignment, promising to paddle you for as long as you can keep talking. You draw out the story, relishing the feeling of the smooth wood sharply impacting against your bare ass. You start with how long you've been attracted to Drew, how much you've fantasized about him, continue with a very thorough retelling of your encounter behind the gym, and end with ruminations on everything you hope to do with him in the future. Mr. Peterson indulges you even once it becomes clear you're simply stalling for time so he'll paddle you longer. It certainly doesn't seem like he really minds. Especially since he wastes no time after you finally stop talking before showing you exactly how much an effect your story had on him.

Such is your life now. You continue to show improvement in all your classes, your teachers all remarking on your sudden improvement in discipline and focus. If only they knew the real reason. If only they knew that every day after the final bell you received rewards or punishments from one of their colleagues, depending on your performance that day. If only they knew that the only thing keeping you up to date on your homework and studying was the promise of a visit to Mr. Peterson's secret room if you got all your work done on time.

It wasn't all fun and games, of course. Sure, there were those times that Mr. Peterson would have you masturbate on his desk, and then make you clean up your mess with your tongue while he filled your ass with his hard cock. But there were also those times when you needed to be punished. Even after the weekend of special tutoring, there were still occasions when your discipline slipped, or when you simply failed to perform to expectations. Depending on the nature of the transgression, the punishment could range from a week of orgasm denial to an extended session with some of his more severe disciplinary instruments. As much as you loved pain, some of the things Mr. Peterson could do to you with the tools in his torture room were enough to ensure you never broke his rules carelessly.

There were always those times, though, when you would purposefully seek out his more extreme punishments. Sometimes, the stress and frustration of your daily life would push you out of the focused, fulfilled headspace that you had found by submitting to Mr. Peterson. In those times, you needed a thorough reminder of everything your body and mind were capable of enduring, and your teacher was always willing to give it to you. Other times, you could tell that Mr. Peterson had some dark and troubling emotions of his own to work through. As much as you wish he could simply talk to you about whatever it was, you knew the two of you didn't have that kind of relationship, and Mr. Peterson simply wasn't the kind of man who talked through his feelings. So instead, you gave him an excuse to exorcise his inner demons by indulging his taste for torturing unruly teenage girls. He never went too far, even in his most extreme moments, although there were a couple of times the safe word was on your lips, as yet unspoken.

All the while, you worked on your main extracurricular assignment, which was to pursue your long-desired relationship with Drew. After everything you went through at Mr. Peterson's house that weekend, asking out the hottest boy you'd ever seen didn't seem quite so scary anymore. Of course, it was outside the parameters of the assignment -- and wouldn't have been as much fun -- if you'd simply asked him out yourself. No, you needed to get him to ask you out.

It was a delicate balancing act. You wanted to draw him in, entice him, but you didn't want him to think all you were after was his cock. There were a few more encounters like the first one behind the auxiliary gym, and during each one you worked a little more emotional seduction into the physical. You started to get a sense for what he wanted from a girl, and so you started to act like the kind of girl who could give it to him, if he would only take it. It was after the fourth time you sucked him off that he finally went for it. You had just finished using your hand to pump his cum over your face when he blurted out that he wanted to take you to prom. The absurdity of the whole situation almost made you laugh, but instead you just smiled and gave the tip of his cock a playful little lick before saying yes.

There was still over a month until the big dance, so in the meantime the two of you became one of the odder couples on campus. Him, the star athlete, object of every girl's desire, popular and beloved by students and teachers alike. You, his alt girlfriend with the short purple hair and the little red collar, never really mixing in with his crowd, but always there, holding his hand as he parted the crowd in the hallways like Moses, cheering him on from the stands during his games. You liked to think that when he saw you up in the bleachers, cheering and waving and full of his cum -- which you always made a point of taking from him before his games -- he played a little better. Maybe it was just a silly, sentimental idea, but he did set a school record that season.

As much as you enjoyed dating -- and fucking -- the hottest and most popular boy in school, you never lost sight of the fact that you were doing it for Mr. Peterson. Every escalation in your relationship with Drew, from meeting his parents to taking his dick in your ass, was at the direction of your teacher. He wanted to show you that there was nothing you weren't capable of, that any goal, educational or romantic or whatever else, was within your reach if you focused and worked on it. For that, you were grateful. It felt good to succeed.

You never shied away from an opportunity to express that gratitude. Many of your weekends were spent at Mr. Peterson's house, receiving more of his dedicated instruction. As he had promised, there was always more to learn. You were an eager student, and not just because his home was the only place you were allowed to wear the plug with his initial. You especially loved how spending time at his house gave you the chance to serve him in a way you simply couldn't in public. It still surprised you how much joy you found in acts of servitude, be they simple or elaborate, erotic or mundane, but you always leapt at the chance to perform them for your teacher.

There was one such occasion that stuck with you for a long time. You had started out giving Mr. Peterson a full body massage as he lay naked on a table set up in his living room. The hearth was lit, filling the space with a vibrant golden light. You were dressed in the lace stockings and crotchless panties of the outfit Mr. Peterson had given you that first weekend, but instead of the bustier, your top half was adorned only with several golden chains hanging at various lengths from between your clamped nipples. You loved the way you looked, like your body was a decoration for your teacher to admire, and you wished you could leave the clamps on for longer than an hour or so at a time. Perhaps, if you were good, Mr. Peterson would allow you to get your nipples pierced, so you could decorate yourself for him even more elaborately.

Such thoughts were for another time, though. Now, you needed to focus on your task, working the stiffness and knots out of your teacher's muscles using the techniques he had taught you. Mr. Peterson was clearly stressed about something he wasn't vocalizing, so you did your best to put his mind at ease by relaxing his body. After a while, you could tell you were starting to have an effect, as his face became a little less pinched, his brows a little less knotted. As always, it filled you with pride that you could have such an effect on him.

He finally let you know what it was that was bothering him, after the massage had ended. He was standing in front of the hearth, still fully nude, staring into the flames with one hand leaning against the mantle and the other resting on his hip. You were on your knees behind him, hands gently spreading his cheeks as your tongue performed a different kind of massage on his asshole. He admitted that he was concerned for your future, worried that if the two of you became too accustomed to this arrangement that it would hold you back from pursuing your dreams.

You wished you knew how to tell him that this -- learning and serving and being dominated and tortured -- was your dream. It was a dream you had never imagined, but now that you were living it you didn't want anything else. Unable to put all that into words in a way you thought he would accept, would believe, you instead focused on showing him how you felt with your actions. Your hands found their way around his waist, one wrapping around his stiff cock while the other gently stroked his balls. Meanwhile, your tongue pushed past the puckered ring of his ass to massage inside of him. You felt his body tense up, and then relax, and instead of continuing to voice his doubts about the future, he instead let out a deep sigh.

Whatever concerns he may still have had, they didn't stop him from ordering you onto your belly in front of the hearth. If he was worried about the future, he didn't show it as he lay on top of you and stretched your ass around his hardness. Any doubts that may have been troubling him seemed to get worked out by him trying to pound you through the floorboards, one arm wrapped tightly around your neck and the other hand pulling your head back by your hair so you arched underneath him. How could you ever let go of this, Mr. Peterson?

Your life had seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm when it was finally time to go to prom. Your excitement was bittersweet and anxious, as your teacher had set you a final task for your assignment with Drew. The dance itself was nice enough. You were wearing a floor-length denim dress that buttoned up the front of your torso and split just below your waist to show off your legs. It was an odd fashion statement, elegant and grunge and a mishmash of feminine and masculine elements. It was the perfect prom dress for you, and you loved it, and Drew seemed to love it on you. Which just made what you had to do even harder.

During the final slowdance, as Drew's strong arms squeezed you tight against him, you almost had second thoughts. But the feeling of the collar around your neck reminded you of who you truly belonged to, and when you looked over Drew's shoulder to see Mr. Peterson -- who had of course volunteered to chaperone -- watching you from the margins, you knew it was time. You pulled away from your boyfriend before the song ended, squeezed his hand, and led him away from the dance floor.

Once you found a secluded enough spot, you turned to face him and took a step back. There was a smile on Drew's face, as this wasn't the first time you had led him away from a crowd to get some time alone with him, but there was also a question in his eyes. Even as you started to unbutton the front of your dress, that confusion remained. He could tell something was off, something was different. Something was about to change.

You undid the final button and opened your dress for him, and his jaw dropped. Instead of a bra, your breasts were adorned with thick rings connected by a short chain. Instead of panties, you wore a set of vibrators, over and inside your pussy and ass, buzzing away. Before Drew could figure out how to even begin asking what was going on, you told him. You told him that you belonged to someone else, that you had the entire time you were dating. You told him that it wasn't just about sex, that being owned by this other person was something you needed, and that if he wanted to continue being with you, he needed to accept this part of who you are.

Even after everything that had happened, you were still capable of surprising yourself. You hadn't expected to cry when Drew turned around and walked out of your life forever. Even though it had all been part of a tutoring assignment, even though, once you got to know him, you found the two of you had very little in common, you had started to really like him. Judging by the ache in your chest as you watched him leave, it seems you were maybe even starting to love him. Imagine that.

Mr. Peterson was extremely pleased with your performance, and he told you so when he stepped out of the shadows and placed a possessive hand on your shoulder. As he bent you over against a wall to claim the pussy that belonged to him, he told you that you had exceeded every expectation he had of you for this extended assignment. As he filled you with his hot cum, he let you know that you could choose anything you wanted as a reward, as long as it was within his power to give it you.

That reward begins today. Yesterday, you had graduated with honors, shocking your friends and parents alike. Of course, your academic performance was merely a side effect of the real education you had received. The education that you were now committing to continuing indefinitely. What else could you want other than the chance to serve, to submit, to obey, to learn?

You wait quietly on your knees by the front door, hands folded in your lap. You're wearing the stockings and skirt from your old schoolgirl uniform, and nothing else. The only other adornments on your body are the collar around your neck, the rings in your nipples, the plug in your ass, and the crop you have clasped between your teeth. You had been naughty this morning, and hadn't refrained from pleasuring yourself after Mr. Peterson left the house as you had been instructed. So here you are, ready for punishment, the instrument prepared and your body exposed for his convenience. It's the least you could do.