Teacher Is Mistaken Ch. 20

She wanted to shout and struggle, only just holding back the impulse.

He pulled her mouth open, and she compliantly let him gag her. A blindfold completed her physical subjugation. Was he at last revealing a wild side? Was this what he wanted to do to her all along? He pulled her slowly along the carpet so as not to burn her naked flesh.

She felt something around her, then realised he was pushing her into a box. He tipped it up so she lay on her stomach. Unable to see, she felt the box being closed. She was trapped inside. It wouldn't take much to lose control in a frightful panic attack. Instead she took a deep breath, then quietly sobbed.

He had decided her fate! Not taking a chance that she might fight his decision, he had her bound and packaged. She was to be given away to become a frat house whore-slave. She would have to learn to put up with callous young men using her as a sex slave.

Hollie couldn't control the tears. They flowed from her, not just for the dire future, she cried over his treatment during the past few weeks. His casual, indifferent use of her had been so hurtful. Now this! It was too much to contend with. She lay there thinking over all that she had been through, only to end up like this. She was nothing more than an object to be used and abused, then given away to a bunch of adolescents.

The box was manhandled into a van, and she was driven away.

***

Roger settled into a routine, as the women also did. They had been told their husbands were missing and wouldn't be coming back, so he was looking after them.

He tried to explain the difficult situation, only half understanding it himself. His father explained that the security agency the husbands worked for, wanted to keep their deaths from the public, and therefore the media.

Rachael was naturally upset. She at first wanted to go home, then relented. Fortunately she had become used to being his slave, and sunk deeper into the role, submersing herself into it as a way of relieving the grief.

Bridget's husband owned the house they were staying in. She no longer had a say in what went on in her own house, as she was an obedient pony-girl. The thorough training she received worked upon her already submissive personality. She returned to the house and accepted living in the stables as a well behaved pony-girl.

She too had been upset when Roger said her husband had been killed. Far less so than Rachael. She had snorted and stamped a foot, wanting to be taken out to the training ring. Roger worked her hard making her trot and gallop to exhaustion. He had worked out that she was making mistakes so that he would use the whip on her. For some reason she felt guilty and needed to be punished.

Both women felt guilty over the slight pleasure they felt to be free of inattentive husbands. He warmly reassured them, and did all he could to help them through a difficult time.

Angela had wailed and made a scene on hearing her father wasn't coming back. It was more natural and understandable. She didn't want to continue with the days training, and rejected being a pony-girl. This rejection had been expected and was late in coming. Roger didn't know what to do with her. How to console her was another problem.

After a few weeks Angela was still withdrawn and difficult to deal with. The morning exercise routine had been completed, and both Bridget and her daughter were brought back to the stable. They were tethered to a post ready to be stripped of the pony-girl outfits, for a wash and rub down.

Bridget bent forward looking back at Roger. She whinnied, trying to gain his attention. The shiny black leather fit her like a sheath. The split at the crotch was gaping, from the way she stood. She rang the little bells attached to her nipples, as though summoning a maid. It was attention she wanted, of a different kind.

Roger playfully slapped her rump, and fed her a treat from his palm. She adroitly sucked it passed the bit in her mouth. He pressed up close behind her, feeling her push against him. She snorted and nodded her head. There was nothing she could do to help herself, as her arms were tightly strapped up her back. All she could do was push her bottom out as an offering to him.

There was no need for foreplay. He pushed into her, feeling her vagina tighten upon his cock. This was not for his pleasure, it was to keep her contented. She needed a good fucking and it was his duty to look after her. He knew she liked long, slow, hard strokes, with occasional lifts to rub her clit.

She was still wearing the nipples clamps so he kept his hands away from her breasts, as it would be too painful. She enjoyed having them massaged, but not today.

The whining and moaning was the sign he was waiting for. He thrust in deep and very slowly. Holding her up on tip toe with his cock deeply imbedded in her body, she shivered from an orgasm. He was still impressed with how strongly she gripped his cock.

She complained when he moved, thinking he was withdrawing from her. Teasing only, he slowly travelled back up inside, to fill her up, all the time feeling inner muscles spasm. The rippling tightness almost made him cum.

He reminded himself Rachael was waiting for him, and Angela too might need him. As a master he had a responsibility to care for his slaves. As much as they cared for his needs, he had to keep them in line, as well as satisfy their needs. It was a hard job, but someone had to do it. The thought made him chuckle. Having so much self-control left him feeling powerful. He had three women under his control, keeping them as obedient slaves.

Angela looked at the two of them and snorted in disgust. She hadn't been a submissive, and was preparing to be a mistress in her father's house. Giving in to the horrendous training had been excruciating for her, though she recognised why her mother enjoyed it. Watching this young guy screwing her mother was abysmal.

He removed Bridget's pony boots, and peeled off the outfit together with the rest of the gear. He rubbed down her aching muscles, while she stood enjoying the massage. He hosed her down over a drain cut into the concrete floor. She gratefully retired to her stall to lay in the straw. A mid morning doze after a good orgasm was welcome.

Angela was glad to have her arms free, and flexed them to get the circulation back. She objected to being kept as a pony-girl, yet the harsh training still kept her in line. Occasionally she tried to rebel, but Roger made sure she obeyed him by using a whip, and by demanding obedience.

He was still trying to work out what to do with her. She wasn't a submissive person, so it was a torture for her to be kept like this. The depression over her father had pushed aside the expected rebellion, delaying it for awhile.

Angela was naked, and tethered to a post waiting to be hosed down. Roger massaged her aching limbs, which was needed after the demanding work out. Without the bit in her mouth she could at least speak. It was difficult to work her mouth after enduring a bit for so long. She had hardly spoken at all since being trained.

"Roger," she quietly said.

He stopped rubbing her down, wondering if she would at last open up to him. He wanted to share her hurt, to make it more bearable.

"You were a friend in college," she said.

"Hardly. You were a first class bitch," he said, and regretted the harsh statement.

"I was," she sighed. "I meant, I guess, we were in the same classes sometimes. Now your fucking my mother," she said, sounding confused.

"Go on," he said, encourage her to speak her thoughts.

"It's not right," she explained.

"It's what she needs. I'm trying to look after you both. It's important to keep you both, I don't know, just to keep things going for awhile," he said.

"Don't say it's for the best. This was my home. You're keeping us as a pony-girl's in the stable," she complained.

"Your mother was a slave, and still is. She's happy enough," he told her.

"Yes, I see that. She has a young guy to fuck her and no responsibilities. Especially now she's just a stupid pony-girl," Angela bitterly said.

Roger continued to massage her arms, while listening for clues on what to do with her.

"Admittedly mom gave father a hard time. She was supposed to be his slave, yet she ran circles round him, even playing around with a waiter. It's ironic! Now she's running around an exercise yard, playing at being a pony-girl. She's still got a young guy fucking her. It's no wonder she looks contended," Angela bitterly mused.

He began to massage her breasts, noticing she didn't object.

"Did you know my father wanted us to hook up together?" she asked.

"Yes," Roger conceded, not mentioning it was for his father's financial support.

"Stop doing that. I'm not a slave! You can't just use me," she quietly said.

"You are a slave. My father paid off your fathers debts. Now I own you both, and have to decide what to do with you," Roger heavily stated.

"No!" Angela whispered.

She knew someone had helped her father out of a difficulty, but didn't know it was Roger's father. She understood all about the underground slave trade as her father had bought her mother. It was illegal, yet the arrangements were honoured by wealthy and powerful men. If this was true, she was destined for a very different life than she had expected.

"I could keep you as a pony-girl, or sell you on," he suggested.

"Please!" she uttered in alarm. Her worst fears were confirmed. Instead of taking on the role of a mistress in this house, she had become a slave. Worse than that, she was a trained pony-girl.

"Please what?" he asked, hoping she would have an alternate suggestion.

"Please, Master," she pleaded.

She missed what he meant, thinking he wanted her to acknowledge her position. The idea that he would keep her in this demeaning role, or even sell her, was frightening.

"I'm your master, so accept it," he forcefully said.

His cock nudged her bare ass, and slid between her cheeks. The cleft was tight and deep. She could have fought him off, yet continued to accept his manipulation of her breasts, and the unwelcome presence of his cock. He pushed forward with his hips, guiding his cock deeper between her cheeks.

Angela froze, unable to speak, while wanting to tell him to stop. Was he going to prove his mastery over her by buggering her? She didn't want that. She would give in to a decent screwing, but not that. It occurred to her that she was wet and ready for him. Surely it was wrong. She had watched him fuck her mother, so couldn't accept him as a lover. Worse than that, he was going to fuck her as his slave!

Her breathing was becoming ragged. She was trying to pull away from him, with ineffectual moves, not trying very hard. He rocked his cock over her lips, slowly moving his hips back and forth. Squashing her against the rail, she pressed back at him. To a small extent she was imitating her mother, though less provocatively.

He awkwardly bent his knees and pushed upward, to impale her.

"No! Please master," she squealed. This shouldn't be happening at all, not with a fellow student who was fucking her mother. She was a mistress not a sex-slave!

With him rising up inside her so deeply, she had to stand on tiptoe. His cock was still slick with her mother's cum! He was sawing into her, raising her on tiptoe with every deep penetration.

"Yes, master, fuck your slave," Angela implored him. She needed this, and abandoned ideas of how wrong it was. It felt right and was so very satisfying.

"Oh! Yes! Yes, master," she wailed.

Bridget sleepily looked up from the stall, wondering what all the fuss was about. She saw her daughter tethered to a rail, with Roger slamming into her. He was pounding away at her with strong leg muscles bulging. She watched her daughter become still, and their master push upward, lifting her up. Her daughter was squirming on the end of his cock.

Angela looked happy and Bridget hoped the feeling would last. Knowing her daughter had been unhappy, and unable to do anything about it had been awkward. She could see Roger was trying to be a good master in difficult circumstances, and just hoped it would all work out.

She tried to be an example by being well behaved. The rewards were clear to see, as their master fucked her and treated her so well. Perhaps Angela would now buckle down to being a good pony-girl.

Roger bedded Angela down in her stall. He would check on Rachael, then return to feed them both. Rachael had staff to look after her house and garden, so she was ill prepared to be a maid. Cooking from a recipe book was slow. Even dusting had its disasters, when she broke an expensive vase.

Roger had spanked her, and sent her to bed without a reward that evening. She obviously enjoyed the spanking, but didn't appreciate being sent to a spare room without him. She enjoyed sleeping at her master's feet. When she had achieved something he cuddled her until falling asleep. In the morning he awoke to find her between his legs, suckling his cock.

Waking up with a hard-on meant he had to stop her from sucking him off. He had to pace himself if he was to satisfy the two of them. Though now Angela was ready to accept him, he had three slaves to ration his energy between. Rachael was sure to complain if he missed her out.

Rachael came bounding in, wearing just an apron. "Master, how may I serve you?" she gushed.

He looked her over, almost hoping she had done something wrong. "Have you been a good slave this morning?" he asked.

The casual gesture of his hand was responded to immediately. She sank to the floor in a submissive pose.

"Yes, Master," Rachael quietly said.

It was still humiliating to be treated so offhandedly by a young guy. He was nineteen, and had been a social inferior. Though with her husband gone, maybe she no longer was superior in a social sense. Certainly not superior in this situation, as she was his slave. The slave game had meant to be a week of fun, though she had been stuck here for some weeks. It looked as though it would be for a lot longer.

What was surprising is how deeply she had accepted him as her master. The sex was wonderful. He took care to find out what excited her, and only pushed the limits a little more than she would have normally endured. That he had mastered her was undoubtedly true. She was even smitten with him, which drove her into trying hard to make him happy.

"So I don't need to spank you today?" he teased.

"If it would please Master, slave is happy to be spanked, master," she smiled back, then remembered to dip her head in respect to his authority.

"Good girl, your master is pleased with his slave," Roger smiled back at her. It was a good job he had saved himself for her. She looked as though she were on fire.

"What have you been up to?" he asked, suspecting something was exciting her.

"Your slave has cooked her master a pizza. One made from scratch, not frozen," she boasted.

"Well done! Is it ready?" he eagerly asked.

"Yes, master. May your little insignificant slave girl serve Master?" she eagerly asked.

"Sure. I'll come into the kitchen for lunch," he said.

She certainly wasn't little or insignificant. She was as tall as him in high heels. She had an hour glass figure, though not overweight. Rachael was older than him by fifteen years yet looked magnificent.

The pizza was not the best he had ever tasted, but much better than the frozen food delivered, or served in restaurants.

"Your master wants his slave dressed tonight, understood?" he demanded.

"Oh! Thank you master," Rachael gushed. She knew what that meant. She was to wear a little red dress with stockings and high heels. Her master had bought it for her when she managed to work out how the washer worked. More to the point, it exciting him when she wore it. He was sure to perform extra well for her tonight. She hummed to herself while tidying the kitchen.

While she was busy he went to the study. News on the embassy bombing hadn't mentioned their husbands demise, or even that diplomats had been near the scene. He soon gave up the search for information.

There was a WEB site of interest that traded in slaves. It was well protected and he was only able to gain access using Nathanial's identity. There were a few slaves for sale, and another section listing slave registration numbers. Bridget had a slave number tattooed just above her labia. She was listed with a few details, but nothing to identify who she was, or where she was.

He looked up another number. Hollie was there too. He reminisced for a moment, wondering how she was and who she was with. He hoped she was well, and regretted not looking after her well enough. He was making up for previous inexperience by doing his best for these three slaves.

He would have to register Angela and Rachael. Then they could be tattooed with the number as tradition dictated.

Rachel kept her crotch well shaved. He and Rachel had to shave the two pony-girls each morning before harnessing them. Their arms and hands were regaining strength now back home, as they weren't constantly bound in the arm sleeves. They were still too weak to take a chance making them shave.

He noticed a red mark against Hollies' number and wondered what that meant. Rachael walked in looking impatient. He would have to take a closer look at the WEB site later.

"Good slave-girl. You have the pony-girls feed bottles ready," he commented.

They entered the stables to find both pony-girls eagerly waiting for them. They were soon hooked up to the feeders, and sucking strongly on their lunch bottles. Roger looked at them, wondering when he might take advantage of this attractive looking skill. He still hadn't had time.

There was always something to do in the house or gardens. The stables too needed keeping clean. A gardener came in three times a week and cleaned the stables on a Wednesday. The pony girls had to be brought in before he arrived to clean them. They were locked in the utility room while he was there.

He watched them sucking on the phallic teats. They swallowed them down their throats to push their lips against a lever, which delivered a splash of nutrient into their stomachs. Up and down the cock shaped teat they rocked their heads, looking very erotic. The bobbing heads were sometimes in synchronisation, though not today.

He had to save himself for Rachael tonight. Next time she made a mistake he would send her to the spare room, and take advantage of this appealing skill. The thought of Angela's mother bobbing her head up and down the length of his cock, giving him a powerful deep throat experience, was interesting.

All three women noticed his erection and became agitated. Even Angela was closely watching him. Not with the angry eyes this time. When they were unhooked from the feeders they were given a rest for an hour. Another exercise period this afternoon to keep them fit, then free time until the next feed. Later they were bedded down for the night, and he could at last rest for the evening.

Rachael had finished her chores for the evening, so was allowed to curl up in the desk well to rest at his feet. She was expecting a reward this evening, so was behaving especially attentive to her master's needs.

Roger registered Rachael and Angela as slaves, and received numbers for them. He looked again at Hollies' number and description. There was a red symbol against her number. He wondered if it meant she was a runaway, or set free. Before he could check Rachael laid her head in his lap, purring like a kitten.

"Alright, slave-girl. Go get changed," he relented.

He shut down the computer and prepared himself.

She wobbled in on red high heels, wearing the figure hugging sheath of a dress. It was low cut with a short hem, pulled tight under her cheeks. The red suspender belts were on show, holding up sheer stockings. The stockings had a hint of red, with a red seam up the back.