Miss Smith continues her home studies. She rarely is conscious of being anything other than missy. There is much to learn.
Enjoy
xantu
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
At first missy could not figure out where she was. She woke to the sense that she was falling and her whole body jerked against the belts holding her, instinctively trying to catch herself. Only then did she remember her choice to stay strapped to the wall.
It seemed like each time Mick touched her it lit even greater fires of maddening passion in her and when he had inflamed her and then left her there in an agony of frustrated lust he had said to her to choose. She could choose orgasm and to remain strapped to this board hardly able to move or to suffer her need unfulfilled. She had not hesitated a second, not only did she crave the blinding ecstasy more than air itself, she craved the straps. She feared freedom more than she feared death.
The room was empty. She did not know where Mick had gone, but she knew somehow in her heart he would be back. There was a bond that stretched between them. He owned her and yet she knew that she held his heart in her hand.
She could barely turn her head but she cast her eyes toward the stairs as she heard a loud series of bangs and thumps coming down them. Her heart jumped and a tiny smile flickered across her lips as she saw him wrestling the large recliner down from her bedroom, dragging it down the stairs one step at a time.
She did not speak; she knew she did not have permission. She waited, her eyes drinking him in. He was whip lean, all bones and wire, with high cheekbones and slanting smoke colored eyes. His skin was dark and his too long black hair was thick and straight. He looked wild, like an Indian warrior, or a Mongol Prince. Miss Smith had no knowledge of his background. He had never spoken of a family. She had never even seen him socialize with the other students at the high school. She did know that none of the bullies or jocks met his eye, and they all seemed to step wide of him, as instinctively aware of the anger and violence hidden under the surface as she had been.
He had always arrived early to her class and always had been one of the last to leave but had rarely spoken to her. He just followed her with his eyes. And then he would gather his books and papers, nod a curt good bye and she knew he would be there again the next day. He was not a good student, turning in only average work, but he never missed an assignment and seemed content with the C's and D's he earned.
When he had dropped out the previous year, she had missed him, wondering where he had gone. She had been pleased when she saw his name back on the registrations lists. She had told herself it was a teacher's pleasure at seeing a student determined to graduate, to succeed, and she had believed that was true. There was no way the Miss Smith could have ever thought any other way about a student, even a nineteen year old returning senior. But Micky Britton had seen something in her that she had not even known existed.
He had seen missy, or what was to become missy. He had looked into her heart and seen the thing inside her that was desperate to escape the pointless routine of her meaningless drab existence. He had set that thing free and named her missy.
His eyes met hers as she watched him drag the large leather recliner across the room and situate it so he could have a good view of her and the rest of the room. "You got cable?"
"I have a satellite dish but it is only connected to the television in my room." She paused and then added, "Mick Sir."
"I can string some cable down here I guess." He looked around the room. "We will be spending most of our time down here, missy."
A kind of nagging worry kept eating at her, a panicked voice way in the distance. How long was he planning on staying here? What if the school found out? She could lose her job. The neighbors would notice his car. They were old friends of her mother and not particularly discreet. Gossiping was all many of them had left in their lonely lives. She was becoming intensely aware that Miss Smith was starting to take over her thinking, that missy was getting pushed into the back of her awareness.
A small wave of panic swept over her and she tested the strength of the straps holding her to the wall. She could not keep her silence anymore. "How long are you going to be here?" Her voice was tense with anxiety and doubt.
Mick looked at her, his head tipped to one side. Miss Smith looked back, tried to meet his eyes but faltered and looked away. But her fears still raged inside her. "What if someone finds out? If someone finds out, I could get fired. You can't live here."
"No one will find out."
"But your car, someone will see your car. My neighbors are nosy they will see and they will talk."
Mick got up and walked to her, he put his hand over her mouth. "Missy shut up."
Her eyes were wide and filled with fear as his hand pressed her lips to her teeth, trapping her words in her mouth. A soft sob of terror rose up her throat and swelled her cheeks before leaking out her nose.
He leaned close and spoke softly firmly. "I am going to take my hand off your mouth but you are going to remember your first lesson. I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer them and only answer them; do you understand?"
Miss Smith nodded as much as she could with the belt around her neck holding her tight to the wall.
Mick removed his hand. "Good. Now missy what is your first lesson."
Miss Smith took a deep shuddering breath and muttered, "Shut up and listen." Her voice was suddenly dark with rebellion.
Mick frowned at her tone, but continued, "Now tell me your second lesson."
Her eyes flashed up at his and stared, challenging him to do something. "I am supposed to fucking obey."
His response was quick and harsh; the slap would have rocked her if she was not so tightly bound. The second one was even more violent. Her ears rang with the force of it and her cheeks burned and ached. She tasted blood in her mouth and her tongue instinctively found the tiny cut on the inside of her cheek. She looked at him in shock, her mouth gaping and her eyes terrified.
His voice was quivering with rage. "Missy your third lesson is respect. You will always speak to me with respect." He raised his hand again and she closed her eyes and braced herself but the blow did not come. She heard his feet heavy and loud as he stomped up the stairs. A pang of alarm shook her as she heard the front door slam.
She had no way to measure time. A dry calm voice in the back of her head told her that most likely a minute would seem like an hour with nothing to do but hang there. She listened intently for some clue as to the passing of time, but it was deep in the night and it was a very quiet neighborhood. The only sounds were the subtle creaks and ticks of the old house as it slowly warmed and cooled, she could not hear the old gas heater in the utility room off the back porch but she could almost feel the vibration through the walls of the house when the fan would kick on. She found herself counting the cycles, letting the belt around her neck support the weight of her head, her eyelids sagging shut.
She was jerked awake by the loud sound of his feet on the stairs. He was freshly showered and wearing different clothing when he stood before her, he had dark circles of fatigue under his eyes and he smelled of cigarettes. She had never seen him smoke and he had never tasted of cigarettes when he had kissed her. She wondered who he had been around that smoked.
His voice dropped into his familiar 'teacher' tone. "Missy what is your first lesson?"
This time her voice was soft and obedient. "Be quiet and listen Mick Sir."
