As a teacher in a high school, there are many temptations to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Yet, although I have many fantasies of being seduced by a student, boy or girl, I have resisted the temptation because I love my job and would hate to be caught in a compromising situation that could cost me my career.
That said, when a young lady comes to school dressed in a skirt and pantyhose, when the cheerleaders come to class in their skimpy cheerleader outfits and pantyhose, or when the girls continue to showcase their breasts and asses with tight clothing, it can be difficult...leading to me occasionally pleasuring myself in my classroom by, writing stories on my iPad or laptop or fantasizing about submitting to a student while my husband and I have sex.
The temptation was never greater than this past semester when I had a student named Sarah in one of my classes. The first couple of weeks of the semester Sarah stood out not in a sexual way, but in an intriguing one. She was a unique mix of nerd and cheerleader, an odd combination of studious overachiever and giggly school girl.
To explain this further, she sat in the front row, took notes and asked questions. She made it clear she was determined to get an 'A' in the class...which was very ambitious because of my reputation of being the hardest assessor in the school.
Although she spoke with confidence, she also wore her heart on her sleeve and seemed insecure about her own abilities...often asking questions that she knew the answer to but wasn't positive she was right.
Lastly, her fashion sense was a roller coaster of styles as if she had fashion deficit disorder. I didn't notice this at first, but as the semester progressed I looked forward to seeing what she would wear each day. One day it might be jeans and a t-shirt, the next a longer skirt and a blouse, the next a mini skirt that was borderline breaking dress code (although I didn't call her on it) and the next day sweats and a sweatshirt. Of course, as anyone reading my stories knows, I have a nylon fetish. So I am easily distracted by the rare girl who wears pantyhose to class. Sarah wore them once a week at first, and as the semester progressed, she began to wear them more often. It got so bad that I was disappointed on the days she didn't wear any. Also, all her shoes, even with jeans, were two inch heels or more (boots or high heels) and always very fashionable.
Although a brunette, her hair was dyed blonde which brought out her crystal blue eyes and dazzling smile. She was not pretty in a drop dead gorgeous way, yet her beauty resonated in a much more memorable way. Her hair, eyes and smile drew you in and captivated you, even while contradicting her slightly high pitched valley girl voice. In every way, she was an oxymoron which drew me to her more than most girls I found attractive over the years in my classroom.
The past couple weeks I had noticed a new shift in Sarah's dress and demeanour. She wore skirts or dresses every day, her breasts seemed to be accentuated by her dresses, blouses or tight sweaters, her large breasts, something I hadn't noticed before, plus she wore nylons every day. Unknown to her, or so I thought at the time, she had become a constant distraction to my teaching and the constant focus of my masturbation sessions.
She would dangle her heels on her toes, distracting me as I watched it like a hypnotist's watch. Or she would slide her stocking-clad foot in and out of her heels which would cause me to lose my focus mid-sentence and stammer as I tried to teach.
I had twice in the past three days masturbated at my desk at lunch, my desk thankfully hidden from view from the classroom door, each time imagining submitting to this sexy, sweet, intoxicating young woman.
In the end, she was an intriguing enigma, just thinking of her kept my pussy constantly wet, but I never thought it would go any further until the day it did.
On a Friday, a day when teaching was at a minimum, the weather finally becoming nice and the May long holiday about to start, my life changed forever. Fifteen minutes after the bell rang, the school would be like a ghost town as students and teachers alike headed to the lake for the beginning of summer in Canada.
To my surprise, Sarah asked in the morning if she could meet me after school to ask a couple questions about the psychology essay she was writing. Her topic was women in positions of authority and the psychological impact of it...something very intriguing I thought.
I joked, glancing down at her red painted toenails in beige nylons out of her heels, "Shouldn't you be going to the lake with your friends for the weekend?"
She shrugged, wiggling her toes, "I'm staying home this weekend to test my psychological theory."
"How interesting," I said, curious what kind of testing she planned to do.
As she stood up, sliding her feet back into her heels, which I watched too intensely, she added, her tone ominous, unlike any I had heard from her before, "Oh trust me, it is VERY interesting."
"I can't wait to see where you're going with your theory," I said, expecting a thoughtful paper from her.
"Actually, you are a test case," she added, slipping her foot out of her heel again, as if knowing she was distracting me.
"I am, am I?" I questioned, playfully, curious how I fit into her paper, as I glanced down at her nylon-clad feet.
"Oh, in a big way," she smiled, slipping her foot back into her heel, before saying, in her usual cheerful bubbly manner, "See you after school."
"Sounds good," I added, deciding to text my husband that I may be late and for him to be home when the children arrived home from school.
The rest of the day dragged by, like the last day of school before a break always seems to, students and teachers alike restless and ready for a long weekend away from school.
I was at my desk packing up a few papers to grade over the weekend, although only if the weather ended up keeping us in the house, when Sarah came in. Oddly, she closed the door.
I asked, "So, what can I do for you, Sarah?"
I need you to answer a few questions for me very honestly," she said, sitting at a desk in the front row, directly in front of me.
"I'm an open slate," I smiled, not remotely ready for the questions she was about to ask.
She pulled open a pad of paper and asked, "When was the last time you masturbated?"
"Pardon! Why would you even ask such a question?" I gasped, surprised at the question and embarrassed to admit it was actually at lunch today, while thinking of submitting to her in my classroom. Strangely, many of my fantasies started just like this...alone in my classroom with just a student and me.
"My paper really shifted in focus the more I researched. I know it theoretically isn't appropriate for high school writing, but all my research led me to look into the role of women in authority and the natural role of sexual submission that often correlates with positions of authority," she explained, slipping her stocking-clad feet out of her heels.
"Really?" I asked, hearing her, but staring at her feet.
"Yes, for example, most women in positions of authority at work, like lawyers, doctors and teachers," she continued, stressing the word 'teachers', "look for and crave sexual submission outside of their professional life...needing to let go of the high levels of stress that impact their lives during the work day."
Oddly, her words were definitely true for me. I am very firm and have a reputation as an excellent, no-nonsense teacher who is also compassionate and dedicated to student learning. Yet, at home in the bedroom, I am very submissive to my husband and my writings on Literotica are predominantly stories of submissive women. Still, my response back was to feign denial. "That seems like a rather ludicrous conclusion."
"Oh I have a lot of evidence," she said confidently, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes.
Again I was distracted by her stocking-clad legs and feet, not yet catching on that I was being played like a puppet...Pavlov's dog theory working in her favour. "Like what?" I asked, curious, even though I should have ended the conversation right then and there.
"Interviews with professional women, professional test studies and my own personal case tests," she continued.
"Well, I look forward to reading your paper," I said, curious as to where her research went...maybe would help explain my own contradictory persona from the classroom to the bedroom.
"So when did you last masturbate?" She repeated.
"I'm not comfortable with answering that type of question, Sarah," I said, suddenly uneasy with the conversation and her tone.
"Jasmine, you're one of my test cases I need an answer," she revealed.
"Excuse me?" I asked, although it had become shockingly clear that she was playing me.
"I know how you look at me, Jasmine, and I know exactly what you want," she revealed, a confidence in her unlike any I had seen before as she stood up.
Trying to remain in control of the situation, even as I could feel it slipping away, I said firmly, "You shouldn't call me Jasmine, Sarah. I am Mrs. Walker to you."
As she sat on top of her desk, crossing her legs, her skirt riding up high enough to show that what I had assumed to be pantyhose were actually thigh highs, she continued, ignoring my protest, "For example, Jasmine," she continued, stressing my name, "I know you have a fetish for nylons."
"I do not," I countered, even as I continued taking lengthy glimpses of her nylon-clad legs and feet, as I wondered how obvious I must have been for her to know that.
"Denial is another symptom of the women in my authority theory, their difficulty in accepting themselves," she continued.
"How so?" I asked, both looking for a way to poke holes in her seemingly logical theory and curious to see if she could continue to be right about my split personality.
"Women like you are strong-willed, determined and passionate," she said, her leg swinging back and forth like a pendulum, pulling my gaze away from her eyes constantly. She continued, "Yet, this work lifestyle is exhausting and once you're at home you want to just let go, don't you Jasmine?"
I shrugged with a playful smile, pulling my eyes away from her legs and back to her eyes, "Of course. A good bubble bath and a glass of wine does wonders."
"Oh, that works for temporary relief of stress," she agreed, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs in what seemed to be slow motion.
I tried not to watch, not to get drawn into the seduction I was now realizing I had become a part of. But the magnetic pull was impossible to resist...my fetish, my inherent submissiveness, overriding my morals and professional ethics.
She continued, her tone having a hint of amusement at my weakness, "But in the end, almost all these prototypical psychological women need sexual submission to become truly free of the intense pressure of their day to day lives."
"I-I-I need to g-g-go," I stammered, standing up, knowing I was no longer in control of this situation, my pussy wet with need and my own moral dignity weakening at the thought of submission to this beautiful, sexy, exotic, seductive young lady.
"Sit down, Jasmine," she ordered, firmly.
Startled by her strong firm voice, so unlike her usual bubbly tone, I obeyed...pussy juice leaking into my panties as I sat.
"Good girl," she purred, her tone not as condescending as one might think and yet making my pussy even wetter.
"This has gone too far," I tried to protest.
"What has?" She asked innocently.
"This," I said, not able to put into words anything more profound.
"You still haven't answered my first simple question," she pointed out.
"At lunch," I admitted frustratingly.
"Was it about me?" She asked, her tone dripping with sexual intent.
"Yes," I whispered, embarrassed that she seemed to see right through my hard exterior.
"Are you submissive in the bedroom?" She asked.
"Sarah, that is completely inappropriate," I protested, although this whole conversation was inappropriate.
"Answer the question, Jasmine," she ordered.
"Sarah, please," I weakly protested, even as my cunt leaked and my mind wandered back to her long, nylon-clad legs.
"Do you want to see some of my research?" She asked, continuing to ignore my protests.
"I guess," I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.
She stood up, bent over, giving me a long look of her well curved ass and amazingly toned legs, grabbed a binder from her backpack and handed it to me.
She remained standing in front of me as, my hands trembling, I opened the binder. I gasped at the title: Mrs. Walker's submissive tendencies. As I read the observations made about me by a student I felt my cheeks burn red in shame. Was I that transparent? Did others notice my unhealthy obsession with Sarah and my fetish for nylons? What was Sarah going to do with this knowledge? I could be fired.
May 5th-May 14th
1. Checked out my legs several times per class.
2. Looked at me more when I dangled my heel on my foot.
3. ALWAYS looked down at my feet every time I dropped my heel to the floor...even when in mid-sentence.
4. Seemed to attempt to not look down at my legs while teaching, but still took quick glances as she tried to maintain eye contact with the class.
5. Oddly, didn't seem to really notice my breasts even when I wore tight fitting outfits that really accentuated them. However, in the past couple of days, she did take a second look when my cleavage became much more ample.
Conclusion:
Ms. Walker has a nylon fetish and although married will likely submit to a powerful young woman, particularity if the young woman is wearing nylons.
"Is my conclusion correct?" she asked, even though her tone implied she was already confident she knew the answer.
"It's not that black and white," I tried to counter.
"It isn't?" She asked, moving around to my side of the desk, before sitting on my desk and crossing her legs, her right stocking-clad foot now a couple inches from me.
"I just was always intrigued by your diverse fashion sense," I defended, which was true, as I desperately tried to not look at her foot.
"So you don't have a nylon fetish?" she asked.
"My husband does," I explained, the temptation strong to touch her foot and see if it was real silk like I thought it was.
"I don't think he is the only one," she assessed correctly.
I had no good answer to her words so I remained silent, finally glancing down at her nylon-clad foot.
"Go ahead, Jasmine, massage my foot," she offered.
My mind on cruise control, I took her foot in both hands, instantly confirming I was correct...the nylons were expensive silk.
"Good girl," she purred.
I couldn't believe how soft her nylons and foot were, a fantasy many years in the making now finally occurring.
After a moment, she offered, "Go ahead and kiss my foot, Jasmine."
I hesitated. I wanted to obey. Yet, I knew this was crossing a line, although drooling over her in class and massaging her foot had already clearly crossed the moral line between teacher and student.
"Now, Jasmine," she ordered, her tone shifting from soft and sweet to firm.
Feeling completely at her mercy, my will power non-existent, instead of resisting, my submissive DNA to obey and serve took over. I leaned forward and kissed her foot.
"Good girl," she again approved, which only enhanced my eagerness to obey. I continued kissing her foot, then I began taking each toe in my mouth and sucking it like a tiny cock. After sucking each toe, I licked the sole of her foot, the taste of nylon and her natural sweat a salty treat.
She laughed, "That tickles. Does my pet teacher want my other foot?"
Being called 'pet teacher' sent a chill down my back as I briefly recalled actually writing a story called "Pet Teacher", which became my first popular lesbian series (well, that and "Bedding the Babysitter"). I looked up, my mind preoccupied with pleasuring her foot, and I briefly lost where I was. "Yes," I whispered, coming back to reality, and wanting to replicate the same thorough attention to her other foot...equilibrium or balance being important to me. For example, if my husband sucked my left nipple, he sure as hell better suck on my right nipple too. I would obsess with the neglect if it didn't happen and not be able to enjoy myself.
I waited impatiently as she crossed her legs. She began to change legs, but then said, "Stand up, pet teacher."
"Okay," I obeyed, standing up, nervous yet curious where this was going.
She got off the desk and moved her hand under my dress and directly to my really damp panties. "Look at you Jasmine. You're soaking wet; you are a teacher slut. You want it badly, don't you?"
I moaned, her words, name-calling and touch driving me crazy, "Oh, God, Sarah, we can't do this here."
Ignoring my feigned protest, she kissed me. My knees wobbled on contact and I melted into her, kissing her back with the reckless hunger of a teenager kissing for the first time.
Breaking the kiss, she said, her tone showing disappointment, "For such a nylon lover, I am surprised you wear pantyhose instead of thigh highs. An eager submissive slut like you should always have her cunt easily accessible, don't you think?"
Being called a slut by my best student should have been a slap in the face, but instead only enhanced my natural desire to please. I answered, "I often do wear thigh highs to school. But today's dress was a little too short to hide them."
"Starting Tuesday, I expect my pet teacher to always be in thigh highs," she said, her finger tracing my pussy lips through my panties and pantyhose.
"Okaaaaaaay," I agreed in a moan, her fingers teasing me relentlessly.
Removing her hand from underneath my dress, she sat in my chair. "Ooh, this is very comfortable. Is this the chair you masturbated in today?"
"Yes," I admitted, my cheeks already so red with shame and excitement, I doubted they could get any redder.
"On your knees, Jasmine," she ordered.
I had heard these words many times...although for the past twelve years it was by my husband and it always meant I was about to suck cock and swallow a load of his cum (except on the rare occasion when we were in a different city or country, when he liked to give me a facial and have me walk around the bar, restaurant, mall or beach with his cum on my face.
I had also written these words in the majority of my stories at the key plot point where the prey submits to her or his predator and to his or her own submissive tendencies.
Becoming like a character from one of my stories, I obeyed, dropping to my knees, in my own classroom, beside my desk and in front of one of my students.
She moved her foot to my mouth and I replicated the eager thorough attention I had already given her other foot.
As I did, she continued her questioning of me. "Do you like being called names?"
"Pardon?" I asked, not really hearing the question as I focused on sucking her beautifully manicured toes.
"Do you like being called slut, bitch, whore, etc?" she reworded.
"Sometimes," I admitted, figuring I was too far gone into her psychoanalysis and submission to not answer her questions truthfully.
"When?" She asked.
"In the heat of the moment of submission," I answered.
"Why?"
"It's like you said earlier, I suppose. All day I have to be in charge and once I get home and the kids are in bed and the grading is done, I just want to let go," I admitted.
"You want to be a slut?" She clarified.
Deciding to just be as frank as possible, I answered, "I want to be a complete slut. To be my husband's full service plaything to be fuuu."
"You can swear in front of me, Jasmine," she said. "I do plan to make you my full service plaything, my personal teacher fuck toy."
Hearing her say fuck was at first surreal based on her polite manner before today and yet it also broke the last barrier holding me back from complete submission...since she had made her intentions crystal clear. "Yes, dammit, I want to be a fuck toy, a cum bucket, a pussy slave, a submissive slut who obeys without hesitation," I rattled off freely all the names I had fantasized and written about in my stories.
"Do you call him Master?" She asked, her facial expression, as I looked up, not showing any surprise at all by my dirty declaration.
"Sometimes," I nodded, as I lifted her foot up slightly so I could lick the sole.
"So theoretically, I would beeeee?" She asked, not finishing the sentence...obviously wanting me to say it.
"My Mistress," I finished, the words flowing off my tongue smoothly.
"Good pet," she said softly. "Is my pet horny?"
"Yes, Mistress Sarah," I quickly answered, my mouth watering with anticipation of tasting her cunt...a long held fantasy of eating a student tantalizingly close.
"Does my pet want to come?" She asked.
"Yes, Mistress Sarah," I nodded, liking how easily the words 'Mistress Sarah' flowed out of me.
"Does my pet want a treat?" She asked, opening her legs wide, revealing she was sans underwear.
"Yes, Mistress," I repeated, willing to do anything to please her...as I was completely intoxicated by her allure and powerful personality.
Just as I was about to commit the ultimate sin of my profession, the intercom came on, bringing me instantly back to the reality of where I was and what I was doing.
"Mrs. Walker, if you are still in the building, you have a phone call on line three," our secretary announced.
I quickly stood up rattled as Sarah, legs still open, suggested, "You should probably get that."
I went to the phone near the door and answered it.
"Hello, Mrs. Walker speaking," I said, glancing over to my desk where Sarah was writing in her notebook.
"Hi, honey, I tried you on your cell but you didn't answer," my husband said.
"Oh, it's still on vibrate in my purse," I explained, sensing immediately that my husband calling seconds before I was going to sexually submit to a student was a sign that I wasn't supposed to do it.
"Just wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at Chantis for supper," he said, before adding, "I got a babysitter for the night."
"Sure," I agreed, my husband a very thoughtful man...knowing that it had been a long month with him gone in the oil fields a lot lately, making me often a single parent.
"How long will you be?" He asked.
"Not long," I answered, glancing back at my desk where Sarah was watching me with an eyebrow raised.
"Meet you there in an hour," he offered.
"Sounds perfect," I agreed.
"Love you," he said, another reminder of the betrayal I had almost committed.
"Love you too," I replied, thankful that he had called exactly when he had.
Hanging up, Sarah asked, "Plans with hubby?"
"Supper with him. He got a babysitter for the kids," I answered, hoping that would be the hint that this was as far as we were going to go.
"How sweet," she smiled. "Then you'd better hurry," not catching onto my hint.
"Sarah, I'm married," I pointed out, still at the door.
"Is that enough for you?" She asked.
It was a strange question to be asked. Yes, he made me happy as a husband and when he was home he brought me sexual satisfaction unlike any man I had ever been with...yet he couldn't possibly fulfill the growing obsession I had to be with a woman...to taste a cunt. I answered, lying, "Of course he is."
She laughed, "You're a terrible actress, Jasmine. Now get back over here."
"We can't do this," I said firmly.
She sighed. "Oh, another bout with denial. Jasmine, you are who you are...you can't deny it no matter how much you try."
"Denial about what?" I asked.
"Do you find me attractive?" Sarah asked, standing up.
"Yes, but that doesn't make this right," I answered.
"Do you fantasize about serving me sexually?" Sarah continued, as she walked to me.
"Yes, but fantasy is not reality," I pointed out.
Reaching me, she smiled, her voice sultry, "But it can be."
"Please, Sarah, we can't do this," I said, my husband's phone call like a cold shower of reality.
She sighed, "Look, I know you want this. No, no, you need this. And I want another pet teacher."
"Another?" I asked, the revelation surprising and yet instantly I had two mixed contradictory feelings:
Relief: Thank God I'm not the only one!
Jealousy: who else is vying for this beautiful young domme?
"Yes, and I bet she would eagerly replace you between my legs...she is a very eager teacher slut," Sarah said, compounding the mystery.
"Who?" I asked, dying to know who else submitted to Sarah's charms and who else I would possibly be competing against...forgetting my moral resistance to the betrayal of my wedding vows.
"Knees now," she ordered, not answering my question.
I protested, "Someone can see us."
"Crawl back to your position on your knees beside your desk then," she suggested.
When I didn't immediately respond, she sighed heavily, "This is your last chance, Jasmine. If you won't submit like a good pet and eat my cunt, I am sure Ms. Shannon will eagerly do it."
Ms. Shannon, Carol, was a complete bitch who I disliked immensely. She was a lot younger than me. A diva who thought she was better than everyone else and was engaged to marry some big shot attorney this summer. She desperately tried to be cool with the students and really had never grown up.
My facial expression must have given away my dislike for her as Sarah asked, "What? You don't like Ms. Shannon?"
"Not really," I admitted.
She put her hands on my shoulders and guided me back onto my knees...my brittle resistance shattered completely.
She moved her finger under her dress, slipped it inside her cunt, pumped it in and out for a few seconds directly in front of me before pulling it out, coated in her wetness and moving it to my lips, "A sample for my pet teacher."
Her scent was enticing and without even thinking about it, I opened my mouth and sucked the juices from her finger. Any lingering doubts of my desire to taste pussy, to submit to her, faded with the thought of tasting her tantalizing nectar directly from the source.
"So who is eating my cunt, you or Ms. Shannon?" She asked, looking down at me, even though I imagine she already knew my answer.
"Me," I quickly answered, determined suddenly to be a better pet than Carol.
"Good answer, my pet," she smiled down at me before turning around and returning to my desk.
I glanced up to my door window, realizing the past minute of being on my knees could have been witnessed, before I scurried out of view and towards my desk.
Reaching Sarah, her legs spread open again, I stopped at her feet, like a loyal puppy, waiting for encouragement.
"Does my pet teacher want to eat her student's cunt?" She asked.
"Yes, Mistress Sarah," I nodded, looking directly at her inviting shaved pussy.
"Does my pet teacher want to be my slut?" She questioned.
"Yes, Mistress Sarah," I agreed, willing to do whatever she said to get another taste of her pussy.
"Go ahead, Jasmine, begin your journey into lesbian submission," she offered.
I didn't need to be told twice as I leaned forward between her legs and began licking, my fantasy, as she had said earlier, becoming a reality.
"That's it, Mrs. Walker, lick my cunt," she moaned, reminding me of my married status.
Yet, at the moment, I wasn't a teacher, a mother or a wife. I was a submissive lesbian, a pet teacher, a hungry slut that aimed to please...to serve.
As I explored her cunt with my tongue, I couldn't believe how wet she was. Apparently she was as turned on thinking of me submitting to her as I was with the possibility of serving her. I also couldn't believe how intoxicating her scent was or how amazing her pussy tasted...like the first time I tasted chocolate, I knew I would crave this the rest of my life.
"You are a natural, Jasmine," Sarah moaned as I parted her pussy lips with my tongue and tried to fuck her with it. "A natural pussy pleaser."
Hearing her moan, hearing her words of encouragement, I wanted to make her cum, to hear her scream, to prove I was a better pet than that diva bitch...to be the best pussy pleaser I could be. I always strived to be the best at everything I did: teaching, parenting and writing...now I wanted to add perfect pussy pleaser to the list.
I swirled my tongue around her clit, purposely teasing her like my husband teased me, sensing that eventually she would beg for clit attention like I always did. After a couple of minutes of teasing and probing I felt her hands on my head as she ordered, "Suck my clit, Jassssssmine."
Her tone told me she was close, so I focused on her clit, flicking it relentlessly with my tongue. Each flick made her legs twitch and her moans increase, when I knew she was close to orgasmic bliss, I wrapped my lips around her clit and sucked it between my lips.
"Fuuuuuuck," she screamed, grabbing my head and holding me deep into her pussy, loud enough to alert anyone in the building as her cum squirted out of her like the gush from a broken water spout. I eagerly lapped her cum as my face was coated with her sweet wetness.
Letting my head go, I kept licking her juices, my face feeling drenched with wetness.
"You're a quick learner," she said, between breaths.
"Better than Ms. Shannon?" I asked, wanting instant recognition of superiority.
"I think I will keep the comparisons to myself for now," she smiled.
"Yes, Mistress," I nodded, disappointed to not get immediate approval, wiping my eyes that were wet with pussy juice.
Looking down at me, she smiled, "Sorry, I'm a squirter."
"I thought squirting was a myth," I said.
"Well, your face proves it isn't," she smiled, before asking, "Does my pet teacher want to come?"
Forgetting about meeting my husband in under an hour, my desire to get off now all that mattered, I answered, "Yes please, Mistress Sarah."
Sarah opened my desk and pulled out a pair of scissors. "Lift up your dress."
I stood up and obeyed. I watched, frozen like a statue, as she first cut a hole in the crotch of my pantyhose. She then, to my surprise, cut my panties off and tossed them on my desk. "Sluts of mine don't wear panties," she announced.
"Yes, Mistress," I nodded, already wondering what it would feel like to teach a class without underwear.
"So how badly do you want to come, my pet teacher?" She asked, crossing her legs.
"I have never wanted or needed to come more," I admitted.
"You understand this isn't a one-time thing," she revealed.
I hadn't thought past this one encounter, yet I couldn't fathom not tasting her again. So I nodded, "I understand, Mistress Sarah."
"You will meet me whenever and wherever I call for you, will dress as I instruct you and you will call me Mistress Sarah whenever we are alone," she explained, still looking down at me.
"Yes, Mistress, but please understand I have two young children and am often alone with them," I pointed out, not wanting to disappoint her later and pointing out her expectations may be impossible.
"Good point," she nodded. "I will make sure to give you time to get daycare or even provide daycare for you."
"You'd provide daycare for me?" I asked, surprised.
"You and Ms. Shannon are not my only sluts," she revealed, again making me curious.
"Who else?" I asked.
"There are a few," she smiled. "I seem to have the ability to entice straight girls and women to cross to the other side."
"So you do," I smiled back, utterly smitten with her.
"Straddle my foot and fuck yourself to orgasm, Mrs. Walker," she ordered.
"Really?" I asked, expecting her to lick me.
"I don't eat cunt, Jasmine. I just like the power I have over women like you," she revealed, before adding, "although I do like a nice hard cock in my mouth."
I shook my head, "You're really an enigma."
"As were you," she smiled, adding, "before I pulled you out of the depths of vanilla and into the colourful world of submission. Now straddle my foot, you have dinner with the hubby, don't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," I nodded, to both the question and the order. I stood up, awkwardly straddled her foot, my back to her, and grabbing her ankle, slowly lowered my fevered cunt onto her nylon-clad toes...another fantasy I had written about in a couple of my stories (most recently in one of the three 'Catching Mommy' alternate endings).
"Fuck yourself on my foot, my pet teacher," she said from behind me.
Although awkward, I began grinding my pussy back and forth on her nylon-clad foot. The act was so submissive, and I was so horny from all that had transpired, it didn't take long before I felt my orgasm begin to rise.
"Are you going to come on my foot?" she asked, as she squeezed my ass.
"Yeeeessss," I whimpered, trying to get more of her foot in my cunt.
"Tell me what you are," she ordered.
"Your sluuuut," I moaned, feeling completely free announcing it.
"And you will always be a good pet?" she asked.
"Yessssss," I agreed, rubbing my pussy furiously on her foot.
"Come, slut, come like the submissive pet you are," she ordered.
"Kkkkkkkk," I whimpered, so close, continuing to grind my cunt on her foot.
A moment later, my orgasm refusing to break through me, regardless of how hard I ground against her, she said, "Bend over the desk, slut."
I quickly obeyed, watching as she grabbed an empty plastic pop bottle from my desk and, moving behind me, slid it inside my cunt.
"Fuuuuuuuuck!" I screamed, as she began fucking me with the pop bottle.
Filling my cunt, widening it, it didn't take long, fifteen to thirty seconds, of being fucked by the bottle, and I came. "I'm comiiiiiiiiiiing!"
I closed my eyes and just allowed the intense orgasm to course through me with the intensity of a 1000 fires.
Pulling the bottle out of my cunt, Sarah said, "You are one hot teacher slut."
"Thank you," I weakly replied, the compliment embarrassing.
She walked around to the desk she was sitting at an hour ago, hopped onto it, rolled the stocking that I didn't ride off her leg and wordlessly shoved it into her cunt, the whole stocking disappearing completely. She then slowly, as I watched intensely, pulled it back out. Once it was all back out, she walked over to me and put the stocking in my mouth.
As I instinctively sucked on her juices in the sheer nylon, she returned to the desk and did the exact same thing to the other stocking.
Pulling it out of her shaved cunt, she said, "Take your pantyhose off, Mrs. Walker."
Standing up, my knees still feeling like jello, I obeyed, keeping her stocking in my mouth, unsure what her plan was.
Tossing me the other stocking, she ordered "Put these on."
"Really?" I asked, taking the other stocking out of my mouth.
"I want you to be thinking of me all night while you are with your husband," she smiled.
"Okay," I nodded tentatively, sitting on the top of my desk and putting a very wet silk stocking on my leg.
As she grabbed her bag, she pulled out her phone and said, "Pose."
I froze and before I could speak, the stocking halfway up my leg, she snapped a photo.
"For prosperity's sake," she smiled. "Although you should definitely do your make-up...you look like you just ate a pussy."
"Please delete that photo," I pleaded, finishing putting on the first wet stocking...wondering if my husband would be able to smell Sarah's scent on my new nylons.
"I could be fired," I pointed out, the sentence clearly way too after-the-fact.
"Then be a good obedient girl and no one will ever know that underneath your conservative teacher attire is an eager, submissive, pussy pleasing slut," she said, putting her phone back in her purse.
"Okay, but please keep this our secret," I requested, putting on the second stocking, somehow feeling like both a good girl for obeying and, conversely, a bad girl for my sinful behaviour.
"Girl guide's honour," she smiled, grabbing her bag and coming to me.
"You were a girl guide?" I asked.
"A girl guide mother was my first pet," she revealed, as she kissed me.
I again melted into her kiss, feeling a longing to be with her I hadn't felt since I first met my husband.
Breaking the kiss, she said, pulling out her phone and quickly typing something, "Enter your cell number, my pet."
I grabbed the phone and saw that she had named me 'Pet-teacher'. I typed in my number and asked, "What is MS. Shannon's nickname?"
"Dumb bitch pet," she revealed, which made me giddy inside.
"That she is," I agreed, the new stockings on as I stood up and slipped into my heels.
"I think you two have a lot more in common than you would like to believe," she smiled, turning and starting to walk away. At the door, she stopped, turned and added, "At least psychologically speaking that is."