Teaching Teacher

Author's Note:

Mistress Pepper and Sophie are "anonymized" versions of me and my slave-girl. The real me. All of my stories are (or should I say will be) my memories of a session with a sub. Thus, they are true stories. Only in this version details have been changed to protect the sub. I do live in Mobile about 10 months of the year (the remaining two I spend in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, where my father is from and lives), and almost all of my subs live in Mobile or a bordering county. I'm originally from Baldwin County, next door to Mobile. I moved across the bay to attend USA. As is/did Mistress Pepper. But I'm not a blond. And you'll most definitely have to guess at my bra size!

And remember, the names and such have been changed in this version to protect the slutty. Only Princess Lilly appears as herself. But she truly has no concept of shame.

Session Date:

2. March 2021

This Story Released:

15. March 2021

Teaching Teacher

Prologue:

In case this is the first of my stories you've read, there are a few things I've skipped over in this story since there are several other stories I've written about this same sub. I tend to write a story after almost all of my sessions with my toys. But I publish very few of them online.

My name is Pepper Rodgers. I'm a 20-year-old Domme, living downtown Mobile, Alabama. I have a decently well-stocked playroom in the second bedroom of my fourth-floor apartment (most of my neighbors are corporate types who aren't always around, giving me a lot of privacy, even in the halls and elevators). I also have a decently stocked toybox. I prefer my toys to be older than I am, around 30-42 years old. I prefer men for myself, however not for my toybox. When it comes to toys, I find women and couples to be far more amusing. Single men tend to be needier, and often too clingy. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few of them in my toybox. I do. They just don't have the same chances of getting there as couples and single women do.

I'm petite. Actually more "tiny" that petite. I'm 5' 1.75" and 91 pounds. I'm not bony, though, I've curvy, like a small-sized woman. I have blond hair down to my shoulders and blue eyes. Oh, and my chest is the only place I'm not small. I'm a 32-D, and I'm very pert. Which makes me popular with the boys.

I'm also slightly bisexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. I would never choose a female partner for even a date, let alone for sex. But I'm not opposed to masturbating with a female toy. Sophie happens to be my favorite sex toy to pleasure myself with. Her tongue has two big advantages over my vibrator: one, it's very delicate and tender. Two, no matter how much I use it, its batteries never die at the worst possible moment! It's better than fresh bunny batteries, it just keeps going until I want it to stop. And I don't even have to hold it in place!

When I want sex I never use one of my toys. I never allow a toy touch, or even see, all of me. And I never bring a toy to my bedroom. Nor do I chose a woman. I pick a man, usually one I find in a club or cafe, or wherever. I flirt, dance dirty a little and if he meets my standards, I ask if he's interested in a one-time-only, no-names-exchanged, hook-up. I've never been turned down.

I have a few standards for my hook-ups. I never pick a guy I know or even just see around. And I insist on a cock between 7 and 9" long and 1.5" across, plus or minus a small bit. I won't touch a guy who isn't circumcised, either. I hate the way the foreskin feels inside me. I want to feel that fat head. The dirty dancing gives me plenty of time to tease a guy hard and feel for myself what he's got. It's the only way not to be disappointed. Guys always lie about their equipment!

Sophie is my 20-year-old live-in slave-girl. She's slightly petite at 5'4" and 119 pounds. She's pretty, too, with long honey-blond hair, green eyes, and a 34-B chest. Sophie is extremely devoted to me. So devoted, and so happy as my slave, that despite not being attracted to women, she's a virgin with men. She serves and pleasures only me, and those I give her to. And while I use her, even with my male toys, I won't allow any man to touch her pussy or penetrate her bottom. Those are mine. Only mine. I've owned her since she graduated high school, but I've known her longer. Since about two months after her 18th birthday, which was also about two months before she finished high school.

Paige is my 19-year-old house-slave and slave-whore. It's a role she definitely loves. She lives with me, too. In a kennel, in the playroom. Like Sophie, she came to me during her final year of high school, just after her 18th birthday. Paige does most of the chores around the house, which leaves Sophie free to cater more closely to me. Paige is also my whore. Whenever I need a female body to torment one of my toys, it's Paige's body I use. And Paige definitely doesn't mind it.

Paige is rather lean girl. She stands about 5'6" tall, but weighs only 112 pounds. It gives her a slightly stickish figure, with only the gentlest of feminine curves to her waist and hips. But she does have a pair of rather perky, and slightly pointy, 34-B breasts with wide nipples. She has honey brown hair that's long and curly with green eyes.

I believe in taking good care of my slaves. Including their education. Sophie is now a sophomore at Bishop State College where she's studying to become a vet technician. Paige, a year behind her in school, is beginning her freshman year at Bishop. Before they became mine, both girls were mediocre students, and neither had the grades to get into a four-year university. Now they're straight-A students. I wouldn't accept anything less. Both should easily be able to transfer to USA for their last two years of college and earn degrees that would allow them to actually get a decent job. They might not need to work while they're mine, but I want them to have their education and options down the line.

I have three BFFs, (Isabelle, Reagan, and Ellie) none of whom are into my little games. But all of whom occasionally creep into my stories. After all, they are my BFFs so they tend to be around. Luckily they're not offended by anything they happen to see. They're just not eager for me to put on a show on their account.

I also have a circle of five other women friends, all of whom are Dommes as well. Andrea (26), Janelle (35), Colette (39), Diane (43), and Olive (44). we usually get together every couple of weeks for coffee and a little chat about who's doing what to whom lately. We sometimes share, or loan, our toys to each other, but not that often. Sometimes we do a favor for each other, such as providing something different for a toy. Mostly we do what girls do: we gossip.

I get all of my toys through networking. It's almost always either one of the women in our circle who has a toy she doesn't want and offers to point it at another who is interested. Or sometimes one of my toys tells someone, who tells someone, and so on until someone asks my toy to introduce someone to me. Rarely it's someone I don't play with, but who knows what I'm into, who asks me to meet someone. I get plenty of emails inquiring about meeting me, and while I will email and maybe chat with a sub online, I haven't yet met any. I won't rule it out, but meeting online is risky enough that someone would have to convince me before I'd think about it. A girl's gotta be careful!

Most of my stories are from the months I spend in Mobile. I very seldom publish any of the few stories from my time in Russia. That's because Putin's Russia isn't as enlightened as America. Homosexuality is a crime there. And the courts there would deem anything between two women to qualify. However, it's a crime that's not so often prosecuted. Usually no one really cares if it's kept discrete. So while I have been known to play there as well, I've very care who I'll play with. Only those toys that come to me with the most trusted of referrals are considered. And I keep the stories private. I'm definitely not going to advertise what I've done there.

I have dual citizenship. That's a benefit the Russian government bestowed upon me because my father was a junior diplomat at the time. Sophie goes with me to Russia. She, obviously, is an American citizen. She only speaks about five words of Russian, too. But she never leaves my side. And she does wear her collar, much to the dismay of the TSA screeners. That shiny padlock holding it around her neck is not a friend to their scanners. Paige, however, doesn't get to take the trips. I usually leave her with my mom, who enjoys the free house maid she uses Paige as. And, as a Domme, my mom is well versed in the proper care that Paige might need.

Chapter 01: Going To School

My mom is a foster parent. She has been for as long as I can remember. But she only takes in kids that are "short term," usually just a few days. Such as kids who don't have anywhere to stay while their parents are in the hospital, or those waiting on a long-term placement. When I was growing up, we had a steady parade of kids through the spare bedroom. Most were fairly nice, a few weren't, none stayed more than a week or two. The downside to the short-term ones is that they're subject to show up at any hour of the day. Or night.

Since I've moved out, I haven't even tried to keep up with the kids passing through mom's. They just move too fast. Half of the time, I don't even know if she has one, or two, or none. When we find the time to chat, we seem to have far more to catch up on. But she does tell me about some of them.

I know she's had a 13-year-old girl named Kayla for about three weeks now. It's close to a record for her. Kayla's father ran off long ago, and the state hasn't been able to find him. It's the police looking for him, so sooner or later they will find him. But he won't be returning to see Kayla, at least not for a few years after they find him. Kayla's mom had some sort of breakdown and is in the hospital. I'm not sure what her prognosis is, but I gather it's not too good, at least for a speedy recovery. According to mom, DHR is trying to locate a grandparent in Vermont, who hopefully will take Kayla in, but they seem to be having trouble. Grandma is on vacation, and they haven't figured out how to reach her wherever she is. So Kayla is at mom's. And from the way mom talks, she'll keep Kayla until she has somewhere to go. I think she likes the girl. Maybe Kayla reminds her of me. Or maybe I'm just egotistical.

I'm not surprised when mom calls me one morning and asks for a favor. She isn't shy about asking. It seems that mom has an appointment that she can't change. And Kayla's teacher just called to ask mom to come in this afternoon. They couldn't work out a time that worked for both. So mom wonders if I might go in her place.

It's nothing we haven't done many times before. Mom tries to make all of the school events for the kids in her care, even those who are only there for a day or two. And sometimes there are conflicts. When there are, she'll ask if I will stand in for her. She knows she'll get a full report from me. And she knows I won't let the teachers give me any flack. I know what school should be like. I've known good teachers and bad teachers. I've had both and a bunch in between. I'll bet everyone who went to public school has. I'll stand up for mom's kid when it needs to be done. And I'll make sure mom knows about any problems when there are any.

I've even been to a couple of these parent-teacher things for her at Kayla's school, although I've never met this teacher before. But when mom told her that she would have to send me in her place, and explained that talking to me was talking to her, the teacher didn't object. I'm not sure what else mom might have told her, or what impression the teacher has. Maybe she thinks I still live at home, which I don't.

None of which matters to me. I don't care what the teacher is thinking. I will go. Because I have the opening in my schedule, and I like helping mom out with her kids when I can. I will hear what the teacher has to say. I will report back to mom, and mom will be getting all the details. If Kayla's done something, mom will take care of that. If Kayla hasn't done anything, I will let the teacher know what mom and I think. I'm like that. And so is mom.

I barely have the time, I should say. My last class today gets out at one. Then, from three until seven, I'm doing a shift as a nursing intern at USA Medical Center, a hospital that's part of USA, where I'm a second-year nursing student. In just a few months I'll get my license as an LPN. Then it's on to RN, and BSN, and then with some luck, I'll get into a medical school and get my MD. I love nursing, but I have only one problem with it as a career. Taking orders from doctors. I'm good at taking orders, I just hate doing it. I'd much rather give the orders! And it doesn't take a rocket scientist, as the saying goes, to figure out that a BSN is a better bachelor's than, say, liberal arts, when applying to medical school. And nursing will be a great career if I don't get into medical school or decide not to go.

With the driving time, it gives me from 1:30 until 2:30 to meet with Kayla's teacher. This works out exceptionally well since the teacher's planning period is from 1:15 until 2:05. Thus she won't have a class when I can be there, and she won't have to stay after work to meet with me.

I get to the school a few minutes earlier than I'd planned. Traffic was actually moving in the tunnel! It so seldom does that. Or so it seems. I sign in at the office. The secretary there takes one look at me, then a second, longer one. She says she'd offer to have one of the aides show me to the classroom, but "you know your way as good as they do." She grins. And I never got sent to the office! I wasn't even notorious when I went here. So I thank her and head for the room she's told me is the teacher's.

I don't knock. I just walk in. It is a classroom, not a house. "Hello, I'm Diane Rodger's daughter," I introduce myself to the teacher, "You must be Ms. Cutler." I see Kayla sitting at one of the desks. It's front row center, so I doubt it's her regular desk. But maybe, it has to be somebody's desk, so why not hers? At least I'm pretty sure that it's Kayla. I've met her exactly once, an evening about a week ago when mom had me and my live-in slave-girl, Sophie, over for supper. And mostly to catch up.

I remember Kayla as being kind of shy and quiet, but also polite. She seemed fairly sweet. She seemed fairly normal, which isn't always the case for foster kids. She seemed smart, too. Mom is rather diligent about keeping her toys away from her foster kids. She never lets one see the other. And none of her foster kids are there long enough to figure things out on their own. So Kayla doesn't know about mom's version of evening fun. And I'm not going to tell her.

But Kayla does know about me. With Sophie wearing her collar that night, something that never comes off Sophie's neck, no matter what, mom just explained that Sophie and I have a unique relationship. Kayla asked me a few questions, and I answered them, but they were mostly of the "are you gay or bi?" type of questions. She didn't ask anything too probing. I'm not sure what she assumed. Only that she was just as nice to Sophie as she was to everyone else.

"Yes, I'm LeighAnne Cutler," she says. It's the first time I hear her voice. I hear pure Texas twang in it. Otherwise, it's soft, slightly high-pitched, and girly. She points to a chair beside her desk. "Have a seat and we'll get down to business." She says.

I take the seat. LeighAnne takes her seat behind the desk and swivels her chair to face me. She sits, folding her hands on the desk. She takes a minute to fish out a paper, obviously something Kayla has written. The paper, lined and clearly torn from a notebook, kind of gives it away. It dawns on me that LeighAnne could have had it out and waiting, rather than making me wait while she found it. It's clearly a power play on LeighAnne's part. A rather... prim but amateurish one in my opinion. It really just makes me wait and wastes another minute of my time. As if my time isn't valuable enough. Or maybe as if she didn't think I'd actually show up.

I take the paper. It looks to be some sort of essay. "We're doing a lesson on families in today's world. Kayla's assignment was to write an essay on family dynamics. You can see what she's written..."

LeighAnne goes on to tell me, rather than give me a minute to read it myself. She tells me that Kayla has described a family where everyone is kind to each other. Where there are rules, and those rules have consequences. Consequences that can't be "whined" out of suffering. Where the kids have everything they need and are treated nicely. Where the parents care about their schooling and stuff. It sounds exactly like mom's house to me, and I should know since I lived in that house for 18 years. The very same house Kayla is now staying in. It sounds to me as if mom has made an impression on her.

I ask what the problem is with it.

"It's not realistic," LeighAnne tells me. She says that Kayla's essay describes a foster family, and even "several other students" called Kayla out on it. They'd all be in, or were in, foster care and were certain that a foster home like the one Kayla described doesn't actually exist. They have what I call horror stories about foster homes. Homes where the parents only want the check and would prefer the kids didn't come with the check.

LeighAnne tells me that even "real families" aren't like that now. They have two parents with jobs. No family has a parent always home when the children are. That's just the way it is. She tells me that Kayla's description is too "Leave It To Beaver" to be believable.

I stand up for Kayla. I tell LeighAnne, rather directly, that Kayla's description is accurate. It describes my mom's home. The foster home that Kayla is currently living in. Thus, it is factually accurate. Whether LeighAnne wishes to believe it or not there actually are parents who find a way to raise kids, even foster kids, properly.

LeighAnne tells me that she doesn't believe it. She's been teaching for three years now and she's never read a single essay with an obsolete "traditional" family in it. She suggests that I might be idealizing mom's house.

I take offense. I tell LeighAnne that Kayla's essay is accurate. If she doesn't like that, well, I don't care. Kayla's assignment was to write about family dynamics in a real family today, and it seems to me that she's done that. Mom's house is a real family since it's the one Kayla is living in. If LeighAnne wanted Kayla to write about the dynamics of LeighAnne's version of a real family, then that should have been the assignment given. I ask bluntly, "What's the problem, she did the assignment as you gave it? Give her an A move on."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kayla grinning. Whatever assignment she had, is long forgotten. Maybe she didn't expect me to stand up for her. Or, maybe after learning about my lifestyle, she wondered if I would be as firm as her uninformed mental image of a Domme is? In the short time that she was around me, I never had to get firm with Sophie. I almost never do. Sophie loves catering to me too much.

"It seems this was a mistake. I should be discussing this with your mother..."

"Why?" I ask LeighAnne, and now my voice is getting a little sharp and firm. "She'll tell you the exact same thing I am. She sent me. You get me. Neither of us cares what you want." I know, I'm starting to sound a little bitchy. But she deserves it. She basically just called me a liar! As if I don't know how my own mom runs her house.

We go on for a few minutes. It goes downhill. LeighAnne just won't believe it. I wonder what LeighAnne's childhood was like. My imagination says it wasn't so great. I, naturally, stand firm. I am not going to let anyone tell me that I am wrong when I know that I am right. Especially not someone like LeighAnne who has never set foot in mom's house.