Training Teacher Ch. 01

I looked at her, startled. This was not part of my plan; I would then be at the mercy of Mrs. Peterson's decisions about where I went. I protested, "Oh no, I can take my van."

The tone was back, and each word dripped with authority, "No, Hannah, we will go in my car." Her voice and look told me this was non-negotiable, so I gave in and followed her to a blue sports car. As I followed, I wondered how I was going to get out of this mess; yet a small part of me, deep down inside, was intrigued to see what would happen next.

Constance opened the door for me and waited until I sat down. I was shocked once again when she leaned over and buckled my safety belt for me as if I were her little girl. Her breasts swayed unfettered under her blouse, and her sweet exotic scent lingered in my nostrils. The small curious part inside me was growing; I could feel the shift inside me. My will to resist her was weakening. I tried to suppress my excitement, my eagerness, but my pussy, now damp, was making it incredibly hard to focus on what the right thing to do might even be.

As Mrs. Peterson drove, I shyly looked over at her. She was a beautiful woman, and it had been so long since any person, even a woman as arrogant as she, had given me any sort of enticing attention. I looked down and noticed her skirt had crept up. I gave out a slight gasp as once again I saw the top of her nylons and the trace of a garter. The only time I'd ever worn a garter was on my wedding day. The thought that this bitch of a woman dressed so sexily was a revelation. It also was getting me hornier. As if she could hear my naughty thoughts, she moved her right hand onto my leg. As she drove, her long supple fingers slowly slid up my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt as they went. I could no longer think straight. My protest was so weak it was inaudible. I tried to close my legs to block her hand, but a quick and forceful gesture from her hand ended my pathetically weak resistance.

When I looked up, I realized we were pulling into the driveway of a large house, a mansion, really. I asked nervously, but I already knew the answer, "Where are we?"

She shrugged, her hand leaving my leg, and responded nonchalantly, "My home."

I panicked, my sense of propriety coming back to me in a wave. I became stubborn, "I can't go into your house, Mrs. Peterson. It isn't right. What would your husband and daughters think, not to mention Devon? I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased at seeing his teacher in his own house."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, my dear little Hannah. They're all conveniently gone for the evening. We have the place to ourselves, you see, just you and me and our cups of coffee." She gestured quotation marks around 'cups of coffee' that had me wondering briefly when she added, "And by the way, please call me Constance."

Seeing that I was still sitting there stubbornly, Constance got out of the car and walked around to my side. She opened my door and leaned in to unbuckle my safety belt. I held my breath, paralyzed at first, but then grasped the catch to stop her from unbuckling it. She looked at me sweetly, eye to eye, and then kissed me on the cheek. Then she leaned into me, her breasts plastered against my shoulder. "Don't you worry your cute little head about the details, my pet." Her hot breath on my ear weakened my resistance. She bit my ear with a not gentle, not hard, but al dente nibble and stood back up. In the meantime, she had the seatbelt unbuckled. She grasped my hand, pulled me out and explained, "You are mine tonight, my pet Hannah. I own you. It's really quite simple for you. All you need to do is submit to me. To obey my every command."

Such words should have freaked me out, yet they did the opposite. In an instant, waves of guilt and shame washed away. As a teacher I'm always in charge, always putting out fires, always coming up with the solutions to issues. It's exhausting both physically and mentally. So when Mrs. Peterson... Constance... told me not to worry and just to submit to her, it felt like I was five years old and Mommy was calling me home. The invitation just to let go and let fate or someone else make my decisions for me was such an overwhelmingly great feeling, that suddenly nothing else mattered... but obeying.

I allowed her to take my hand and lead me into her house. "Maeko," she called out as she led me to the living room couch. "Have a seat, Hannah."

My heart skipped a beat as I learned someone else was here. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the Petersons' maid. She was dressed in what appeared to be a caricature of a maid's uniform. It was black, with a white lace cap, but the part meant to cover her body was shoulderless, with a deep, plunging neckline, and the ruffled skirt barely covered her crotch. She looked Asian, and like the stereotype her figure was slight and her breasts small; but even so, they were revealed almost to their nipples. Once I'd taken in the revealing outfit, I belatedly recognized I'd been ogling Mrs. Chung. Mrs. Chung's daughter Bao was in my class, and unlike her classmate Devon, she was an absolute genius and a sweetheart of a girl.

"Yes, Mistress, what can I do for you?" asked the Asian mother and maid, standing in a submissive waiting position. I was slightly taken aback at hearing the mother of one of my students addressing Constance as 'Mistress'.

"Could you please bring my guest here a glass of wine and me my usual?"

"Yes, Mistress," Mrs. Chung responded, and subserviently and immediately exited. The bottom swells of her ass cheeks were clearly visible as she walked away, with no sign of any underwear.

Seeing the look of shock on my face, Mrs. Peterson asked, "Oh, you know Maeko don't you?"

"Bao is in my class," I explained.

"I know," she responded, "Maeko is a very, very, good maid. A full-service maid, no less." She added that last part as if to imply 'full service' had a hidden meaning. "I'm going to change into something a little more..." she paused, considering the best wording for what she wanted to say, "...a little more me. Just relax, Hannah. I shan't be long."

Of course, I couldn't relax; even as I attempted to ease my tension into the most comfortable leather couch I'd ever sat on. My anxiety was overwhelming. My inner turmoil and anticipation of what might transpire while I was here had me both curious and wanting to flee the room, the house. As I was about to do just that, Mrs. Chung re-entered the room, and at odds with her revealing costume, was walking with impeccable dignity, expertly balancing a tray with two glasses of red wine along with the rest of the bottle. She had also thought to add a plate of appetizers. Not traditional fare like cheese and crackers, etc., but a selection of delicate California rolls. After setting the tray upon the oak coffee table, she simply left. Never once had she looked at me to acknowledge that we knew one another.

As I reached for a glass of wine, I thought to grab the bottle. Instead, I took a lengthy sip from the glass. The refreshing wine calmed my nerves. I took a second and third sip. As I was taking another sip of my now half empty glass, Constance walked back in. Her 'more me' look was stunning. She had on a short, black leather skirt, black thigh-high boots, black stockings, and a red blouse. Her red hair had been combed out of its earlier bun and flowed down her shoulders elegantly. If she was pretty while dressed in her usual stuffy attire, I could see she was drop-dead gorgeous when she let her hair down.

She sauntered to the table and lifted her glass of wine. "Oh, I so need this," she announced and then noticed my glass. "Oh my, Hannah, I see you must have needed it too. Let me give you some more." She then raised her voice, calling, "Maeko."

As Constance refilled my glass, Maeko re-entered the room, "Yes, Mistress?"

Constance informed her, "You may go home now; I shan't need you for the rest of the evening,"

"As you wish, Mistress," the Chinese maid replied softly as she gave a slight bow and departed the room.

Constance immediately turned to me, took a sip of her wine, and looked me up and down. She had this odd look on her face, as if to analyze me. It had me feeling like a piece of meat, like I often had in college when I'd attended rare frat parties. Back then, the boys were only after one thing... sex. Constance, seeming to know her power over me, repeated a question from earlier today, "So, Hannah my pet, how do you plan to get on my good side?"

I had no idea what to say, but she didn't require an answer. She simply walked over to me, set down her glass, took mine from my hand and set it down as well. Seating herself next to me, she immediately had me locked into an embrace and was kissing me. This time her kiss was more passionate and more domineering. I broke the kiss and pleaded weakly, "Please, don't." But deep down I didn't want her to stop, and she knew it.

"My pet, I'm doing exactly what you wish me to do. You wish for me to kiss you. To make you my little plaything, do you not?" Her hands on my thighs were a great distraction as I tried to respond coherently. Her lips moved to my vulnerable ear, nibbling on it as she whispered, taking a short breath between each word, "Well... am... I... correct? Are... you... ready... to... submit... to... your... Mistress?" The questions took over a minute to finish as she bit my ear and finished by probing her tongue towards my eardrum.

I moaned in pleasure, my will to resist non-existent. I was nearly writhing.

Not waiting for an answer, not that I was able to supply one, she began to fumble with the buttons on my blouse. She continued her warm assault on my ear, "So, shall I have any more problems with you, my pet?"

Another moan escaped my lips, my panties now moist, as I struggled even to comprehend her question. Again, I had no answer to give her.

"You shall be a good teacher henceforward, will you not, my pet?" she purred, as she pulled my blouse out of my skirt. My fevered brain could supply my lips with no words to utter as I was now writhing helplessly.

Finally, she demanded a response. "Answer me, Hannah!"

I was startled by her change in tone and I answered obediently but without thought, frightened to make her angry with me. "Yes."

"Yes what?" she asked, her tone conveying her annoyance and impatience at what had somehow been my incomplete response.

I paused, unsure of what she wanted, until I recalled Maeko's submissive words and realized exactly what was required of me. I whimpered, like a child attempting to avoid corporal discipline, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good girl," she purred, her gentleness returning in a heartbeat. She removed my blouse and began exploring my body with soft pecks from her sweet lips, transmitting goose bumps all over my body. Her pecks became sensual kisses on my shoulder and tummy as she unhooked my bra and slid the straps from my shoulders.

As my breasts were released from their restraints, I felt all my insecurities returning to me. I felt embarrassed and vulnerable to be seen with all my flaws before this beautiful woman with her perfect body. I attempted to cover myself, but was quickly scolded, "Don't you dare cover yourself, Hannah. You must allow your Mistress to see you." She gave me a once over as I trembled nervously, awaiting her inevitable criticism, like she'd always given me at least by implication even back when her daughters, whom we'd both agreed were stellar, had been my students. Instead, she pinched my now stiff, swollen nipples. I gasped at the pain. I also gasped at the pleasure it gave me. Without a word, she dipped her head to my breasts. Her tongue darted out and flicked over each nipple. The wetness of her tongue and the heat of her breath had me on the edge of ecstasy. Noticing the increase in my moaning, Constance ordered, like a mother would discipline a child, "Don't you dare come, my slut. Not until I give you permission."

Being called a slut was both like a slap in the face and also like a rush of adrenaline to my extremely wet pussy. The two extremes had me baffled. I was not a slut; I hadn't even had sex in over a year. Yet here I was, topless in a parent's living room. So what did that make me? As I considered this conundrum, Constance stood and pulled me to my feet. I stood helplessly as this pretentious, arrogant bitch unzipped my skirt, yanked it down over my hips, and then allowed it to fall to the floor on its own. She seemed to relish removing each high heel in turn slowly, as she eyed my well-built legs.

She moved back up to my midsection and asked, her tone a blend of authority and compassion, "And what's with your wearing pantyhose? A good slave, especially one with such fine legs, should only wear thigh-highs, or garters and stockings. From now on Hannah, that is what you must wear at all times. Even at times you don't expect to encounter me. Understood?"

First I was a pet, then a slut, and now a slave. I stood there embarrassed at the current situation. Realizing she was awaiting my response, I answered with what I was sure she wanted to hear, "Yes, Mistress."

She repeated her desire as if to require my complete understanding. "I expect you to be wearing such hosiery every day from now on, my little lez."

"Yes, Mistress," I replied. For some reason, the thought came to me that I would have to go shopping. I shook my head as I realized I was being foolish, that this evening would be a one-time thing. It had to be.

Constance? Mrs. Peterson? Mistress? Lover? Unsure of how to think of her, I watched as she now slowly pulled down my pantyhose. Now I was standing and shivering in only my underwear. I'd never felt so vulnerable and helpless in my life.

Her hand slowly caressed my arm as she whispered, 'You are a submissive little slut, are you not, Hannah?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely confused. The concept had never occurred to me. A light chill in the air had me slightly trembling.

"You wish to obey," she explained. Her mouth went to my ear as she whispered, "You need to obey. You are fulfilled only when you obey."

I whimpered. Oddly, at this pivotal moment, what popped into my head was the National Junior Honors Society Pledge. One line of the Pledge in particular stood out for me: "I pledge to give of myself freely in service to others." It was a pledge I'd made years ago, but in retrospect I realized it was a pledge I have always kept. I am the one my family relies on, and I'm the one they take advantage of when they need help. And at school I sacrifice my time and my life for the students whether they're technically my students or not; and now that I reflected on it, I'd always acted submissively in the bedroom with my ex-husband as well.

I was brought out of my trance-like state by Constance who repeated, "So slut, are you submissive?" She paused, her hand now at the entrance to very damp pussy, and emphasized, "My submissive.?"

I involuntarily let out a moan and the word "yes" escaped my lips.

"Good girl," she said again, as if I were still a child. "My, my, my, you're drenched, my pet. Why are you so wet?" She waited for a response, but I couldn't verbalize my answer. It was way too humiliating. I heard her take a deep breath, then: "Answer me, whore!" she bellowed.

I stuttered out of total fear, "I-I-I can't, Mistress, it's too humiliating!"

Her anger immediately dissipated and her deceivingly seductive smile returned. Her finger probed inside my panties. "My pet, have I not made it crystal clear? I own you. I am your Mistress. You are my slave, my whore, my submissive, dyke, cunt, bitch, whatever I decide to call you at any moment. You will only come when I give you permission. Your main purpose in life and especially when you're in my presence, is my pleasure. You get wet just thinking about pleasing your Mistress." She shoved her finger deep inside my pussy. My resistance waned. I wanted to come. At that moment, I wanted her to be my Mistress. My breathing became more a series of pants. Her finger was driving me crazy. "Submit to me, whore!" she thundered.

Without any thought or reflection, the words flew out of me with equal volume, although with none of her authority but rather with total desperation, "I am your slave, Mistress, I will obey you!"

My Mistress pumped her finger hard with three quick thrusts, whereupon she withdrew it and placed it in her mouth. After savouring my juice, she placed her hands on my shoulders and guided me to my knees. She lifted her foot and commanded me to remove her boot. I did, ever so slowly and gently. Her pedicured foot, toenails painted ruby red, matching her lipstick, was in my hands. She instructed me to lick the bottom of her foot. I lifted her foot up and extended my tongue to her nylon-covered sole. I took my time, determined to be a perfect slave, to do anything not to incur her wrath, as I licked every inch of her foot. The taste was a mixture of leather and sweet sweat. Although hardly an appetizing taste, my focus on pleasing her made the experience thrillingly enjoyable. I was ordered to repeat the task on her other foot, and again I focused solely on pleasing my Mistress.

"You are a good slave," Mrs. Peterson said approvingly. Her approval warmed my insides, and I awaited further instruction, kneeling before her.

I watched intently as she backed up a couple of feet and unbuttoned her red blouse. Her eyes never left mine as she slowly, painfully slowly according to my perceptions, undid one button at a time. I watched, desperate to view her hidden flesh. Seeing my eyes riveted expectantly on her bra-covered melons, she slyly smiled and went for her skirt instead. She unzipped it slowly, letting it carelessly fall to the floor. I admired her standing there before me in a garter belt, black thigh-high stockings, a black lace bra, and a matching thong. Her pale flesh was an intoxicating contrast to the dark lingerie. My pussy tingled with anticipation. I desperately wanted to unwrap my Mistress' treasures. Finally, as if reading my mind, she unhooked her bra, slipped it off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Her breasts swayed a bit, although still incredibly firm for her age. She posed for me and asked, "Do you like what you see, whore?"

"Yes," I responded honestly, mesmerized by the older woman's amazing body. I could only dream of having a body like this one ten years from now. I watched as she hooked her fingers over the elastic of her thong and slid them down her luscious legs. My eyes focused on her flawlessly trimmed pussy. The garter and stockings perfectly framed her pussy and its thin strip of auburn hair.

She balled up her thong and tossed it at me. Although I was surprised, I caught her piece of string-like underwear and instinctively brought it to my nose. As I sniffed her aroma, she commented, "Wow, you really are a little lezbo, aren't you?" Realizing what I was doing, I blushed and dropped her slightly damp thong to the floor with the rest of our discarded clothes. "Take your panties off," she instructed. I got off my weary knees and awkwardly, my legs numb from being on the floor for so long, removed my final piece of restrictive clothing.

Now that we were both standing, my Mistress stepped up to me and kissed me, pulling me into her. Our breasts flattened against each other. I moaned into her mouth as her knee pressed between my legs and against my naked mound. Our kissing was intense as her tongue darted into my mouth and she seemed actually to suck my tongue into her mouth.

After a couple minutes of this reckless passion, she grasped my shoulders, and for a second time, this time roughly, she pushed me onto my knees. She scolded, "Slut, you've gotten my knee all wet with your pussy juice. Clean it up." I looked at her knee, which indeed had a special gleam to it, and I attempted to suck my juice from her stocking. I heard her purr, "Good cunt," as I extracted my juice.