Pedagogue

Pedagogue

I was wondering when she was going to come to me.

Emilia Keating strides into my office. My failing student radiates the confidence that family wealth and a major sorority presidency grants. Her expression lets me know she has something in mind. It will be something manipulative and rather unethical.

Just like her mother

. That memory tries to make me smirk but I keep the cool exterior I maintain for my students. The desk hides the way blood hardens my prick.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Keating."

Without asking for an invitation she plops herself into a chair. The chestnut tressed girl takes her time crossing her legs to make sure I get a good view of the lacy panties she is wearing. She places an expression that isn't quite a smoulder on her features. "Hi, professor," she purrs, skirting the edge of licentiousness.

Again, just like her mother.

I give not the slightest indication that I am affected by her subtle, sexual display. "So what can I do for you this afternoon?"

As I expect, "It's about my mark in this class."

"And?"

"Is there any thing I can do about that?" Her eyes slit and her smile tells me what she is willing to do to get a passing mark.

This young woman is trying my patience, just like her mother.

I manage not to roll my eyes. Instead I purse my lips, scratch my beard as if I'm considering her offer. "Do you have any plans for this Saturday evening?" I inquire.

Emilia can't keep the triumph from her features. "Why, no, I don't."

"Then I suggest you spend Saturday evening, the day as well, studying your pert ass off." I turn back to my computer monitor. "You're dismissed."

"What?" comes her shocked response.

"I said, 'You're dismissed.'"

"But..." There's a long pause. "Fine." The fury in her voice makes me turn back to her. Ms. Keating is not used to resistance and it shows. "If that's how you want to play it, Professor Drake, you force my hand."

History, as they say, is rhyming.

"You'll have to explain, Ms. Keating."

As if I didn't know.

"It's just a short walk to the Dean's office."

I keep my poker face in place as I ask, "Why would you want to do that?"

"It's where you go to place a complaint of sexual harassment."

Just like her mother. I wonder if sexual manipulation is nature or nurture?

"I see. However an investigation will be secret, and will find me innocent."

The dark haired girl smirks. "It won't remain secret for long. I'll have girls in my sorority start 'asking questions' about you. Those will become statements when the people they tell repeat them. Then those statements will appear in social media and then the press will come sniffing around. Before a full blown scandal can result you'll be asked to leave, tenure or not."

"So, that's what happened to Professor Jonas last year." I remark.

"As they say on the news, I can neither confirm or deny such allegations." Ms. Keating's smirk might as well be a confession.

So, I lean back with a sigh. "It looks like you've got me beat."

For a second disappointment fills my student's face. It's not a surprise.

She's looking for the same thing her mother did.

Then her standard expression of superiority appears, leavened with triumph. "I always get what I want."

"Very well. Be at my place this Saturday night. We'll make sure you learn what you need."

Emilia stands and strides to the door. "Thanks, Professor Drake. I'm sure I'll be happy with what we accomplish."

I will at any rate.

As Ms. Keating closes the door behind her the grin that's been threatening to break out shows on my face. What's happened here is almost exactly what happened twenty two years ago in this very office.

* * * *

The phone rings three times before it is answered. "Hello?" asks a female voice with a slight Latino accent.

"I'd like to speak to Mrs. Keating, please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Professor Nathan Drake."

"Oh! Hola, Professor. I recognized your voice." Another woman's voice speaks in the background and the maid's reply loses volume as the phone moves away from her mouth.. "Si, señora. It is." Louder then. "She's right here, catedrático."

"Thank you, Fernánda," says my slave's voice as the phone is handed to her. "You may take the rest of the night off. I'll be fine."

The maid thanks her and I hear a door close a couple of seconds later.

"Hello, Sir," greets Joan Keating.

"Hello, slave."

A pleased little gasp sounds from my student's mother.

"I had an interesting encounter this afternoon," I tell her then.

"Oh?"

"Your daughter came to see me."

My sweet slut sighs with a touch of despair. "I can guess what she wanted."

"Of course you do. You tried the same thing over twenty years ago."

Joan groans then at the happy memories of those days. "You taught me better, Sir."

"It took some doing but you did learn eventually."

"Thank you for that, Sir." Mrs. Keating's tone full of heat.

"You're welcome, slave. As I was saying your daughter tried to seduce me, then threatened me with a sexual harassment suit."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I tried to teach Emilia better but she's so good at manipulating her father. He's spoiled her rotten."

"That was my supposition. Once I'd taught you better I was sure you'd pass my lessons on. Well, without using my forms of teaching, at least."

"I'd never do that," Mrs. Keating tells me in slightly shocked voice. "Safe, sane and consensual you taught me. A child can't give consent." She sighs. "Discipline I tried to teach, but I failed. I'm sorry, Sir."

"I'm sure you did your best, slave. There's no need to worry about punishment on that account."

"Damn!" stage whispers my plaything. Her voice is full of disappointment.

I can't help but laugh at that. Mrs. Keating joins me.

Once we've finished laughing I ponder for a moment. "Joan, do you think your daughter would be amenable to learning the lessons you did?"

She doesn't immediately reply. There's several seconds silence. "I think she would be, Nathan. She had a rather active sex life in high school. It was one of the few times Jim managed to stand up to her. Some of her behaviour was...indiscreet. Our families are rather sensitive about scandal. Emilia took the words to heart. So far as I know she's dialled back her escapades a great deal. She's had boyfriends but none lasted long."

"That's interesting," I note. "She does what she's told and has a high libido. Doesn't that sound familiar?"

Joan chuckles. "I guess I answered your question."

"Do I have your permission to educate your daughter? I won't do it unless you agree."

"Yes, Sir. You do," she tells me without hesitation.

"You're comfortable with the idea then?"

"I am, Sir. I'm your slave so I have no hold on you." Her tone changes. Happiness fills it. "I am glad you asked." There's another change in her voice. It grows firmer. "You play with me. I adore it. But we made our decisions about our lives years ago. What we have suits us both but we have our own lives."

"Thank you, Joan." I let my position as Joan's Master seep into my words. "I have to go, slave. We haven't time for a long phone session. So tonight play with yourself while watching the last video we made. You may not come until the end of it."

"But, Sir! That's almost

two hours!

"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

I can hear her swallow with uneasiness. "No, Sir. I'll be happy to comply."

"Good evening then, slave. I'll let you know how Emilia's education goes."

"Good night, Sir. Thank you."

* * * *

It's just past 8:30 PM when the doorbell finally rings. It seems Ms. Keating is expecting me to simply hand over her new mark and then she'd be gone.

She has much to learn, and it will take longer than a few minutes to teach her. I am very much looking forward to it.

When I open the door the way she is dressed confirms my hypothesis. She's wearing just enough to avoid indecent exposure laws; a halter top, bare at the back, and very short skirt. It nicely displays her smooth skin and her legs are given lovely shape with strapped stilettos. I'm guessing she's going clubbing afterwards.

I scan the street behind her. It seems she had walked here. Not a surprise considering I live very close to campus and the sun hasn't yet set. She'll probably call a cab as soon as she leaves, or so she thinks.

"You should have been here earlier, Ms. Keating. We have a lot to cover."

"No, we don't," she tells me with a cold sneer.

"Please come in," I ask, managing to make myself sound annoyed and upset as I do. It wouldn't do to have her worry.

She strides into my house. "I won't be staying long."

The instant her back is to me I close the door and snap a handcuff on her right wrist. The shock of my action freezes her for the second longer I need to lock her wrists together. "Don't bother screaming."

My prisoner doesn't. Instead she gives a gasp with as much heat as surprise in it. "What, what are you doing?" emerges in a stutter.

"You tried to blackmail me," is my explanation. "I really,

really

do not appreciate that. It would have been much easier if you had just done the work. But you lack the discipline to do that. You've always gotten what you wanted without work.

"So, tonight, I'm going to teach you about discipline. When I'm done, like your mother, you'll understand."

While I was talking I was also leading her to the door to my basement. "Down we go." The chestnut haired girl does as she's told.

"What's my mother got to do with this?"

"She tried to pull the same thing you did over twenty years ago, and I taught her better. I am a teacher after all. Sometimes the lessons have to be outside the classroom."

"She never mentioned you."

"I imagine not. In your white bread, vanilla world women aren't much more than ornaments and crèches. A man might have a mistress if he's discreet, but what she and I did frequently isn't something she could risk getting out. Joan certainly wouldn't share with a daughter who didn't pay much attention to her anyway."

"How did you know that?" my soon-to-be-plaything asks. Astonishment quivers in her voice.

"She told me. I spoke to her the evening after you threatened me. Joan was very unhappy. She tried to raise you right but you had your father wrapped around your little finger so any kind of advice or discipline you were given by your mother was quickly overturned. My little slut was worried about you. It would be only a matter of time before you got yourself in a lot of trouble."

Another gasp spits from Emilia as we reach the bottom of the stairs. My explanation isn't the reason though. She'd just noticed the playroom I had led her to. All kinds of instruments of pain and pleasure are hanging from hooks on the wall or in baskets connected to said hooks. There are other devices scattered here to which a person could be bound or chained. I lead her to one of these; a horse just the right height for her to bend over.

I place her at one end then order "Legs apart please."

She does as I ask while purring, "Whatever you say, professor."

She thinks she can regain control of this situation.

That raises a chuckle from me. Then I snap the leather cuffs placed at the bottom of the horse around her ankles.

"That's not," the chestnut haired woman gulps, "not necessary."

"I'm afraid it is," I tell her. With a gentle pressure between her shoulder blades I push her torso to the surface of the horse. Once in position I unlock her wrists, then pull each limb to the leather cuffs on the legs by her head. Ms. Keating is now helpless.

"Sir?" she squeaks. "This really isn't necessary." Her voice is now filled with trepidation as she's discovered she will have no more control until I grant it to her.

"Oh, but it is." I give her a fond pat on the cheek. My playmate twitches, but doesn't actually flinch. "And from this point on 'Sir' is how you will refer to me."

"You see," I go on, "as I said you need to learn discipline and this is part of it." While I speak I walk to where my student is bent over the horse. Without warning I flip her very short skirt up.

As I'd long suspected Emilia Keating has a lovely ass. The thong she's wearing displays her luscious cheeks. "My word," I remark. "What sort of a woman goes out in public dressed like this?"

"I was going to go to a club when I left here." I can hardly hear the young woman in front of me. She knows what she appears to be.

"Well, we're not here for us to discuss your clothing choices and what it says about your sexuality. We're here for you to learn about yourself and to learn the discipline needed to make use of that knowledge.

"Do you recall how you said you always get what you want?"

"Yes, Sir." Already she is falling into her role. I can hear the capital letter when she speaks to me.

"I know why you do that, and what you really want."

Ms. Keating twists her neck, trying to look at me. She can't quite do it, but I can see her expression; perturbed with a touch of hope underneath it. The gorgeous woman I'm playing with, teaching, wonders what I know about her and how I know it.

"The reason you do what you do is because you want discipline, limits. The sort of discipline and limits that comes from being cared for by a strong man. Despite the facade you erect you're always unsure of yourself, of whether it's you that's important. Not your family, nor your beauty, nor your social position, but you.

"Your father didn't give you that. So you've been looking, challenging men in hopes that they will rein you in. That they will care for you by controlling you. That they direct you so that you can give up the burden of what you have made yourself into and shed your facade."

"No," whispers the brunette bound before me.

"Yes," I tell her. "That starts with discipline, which begins now." My hand slaps her right ass cheek hard.

The woman I'm training shrieks at the blow, and continues as my spanking goes on. Before long those lovely buttocks are glowing red.

My new slave is snivelling by now. She's never had to deal with any real pain before. However I note the crotch of her thong is very wet, wet enough that a tiny drop of fluid trickles down one smooth thigh.

"Well, Ms. Keating?"

"Well...I don't understand," she blubbers.

"I know, so I'll explain. When I finish disciplining you thank me for it. Do so now."

Her response is immediate for my student isn't slow. "Thank, thank you, Sir, for my discipline."

"You're quite welcome, slave. I'm pleased you learn quickly."

She pulls in a tiny breath at my response, then shivers. It's not from cold though. It's that sudden jolt of joy that subs experience when receiving praise from their dominant.

The bound woman gasps again as I pull her thong down. I have to pull it quite a ways for the crotch is glued to her pussy. Once done that I run two fingers up her lips, coating them with the lubrication seeping from her. My new sub groans at my touch, and tries to push her ass back to make my action firmer.

"It seems you enjoyed what I did, Ms. Keating."

Her facade kicks in. "No, Sir. No, I didn't. I, I was scared and I peed myself a little."

I chuckle at that. "I'm afraid not," I tell her as I place the fingers coated in her excitement before her mouth. "The taste of it says otherwise. Go on. Taste yourself and find out the truth."

She turns away from me, lips pursing.

"I said, 'Taste it!' When I give orders they will be followed." My voice is a stern growl for I do not tolerate disobedience from my slaves.

To her credit Emilia obeys without hesitation this time, licks her fluids from my fingers.

"See?" I observe. "Not a touch of urine." I kneel so that we're eye to eye. "Do you know what sort of woman gets wet from being spanked?"

My sweet playmate shakes her head while saying, "No, I don't, Sir."

"They're called a submissive."

A flush of embarrassment suffuses her face. "No, Sir. No, I'm not."

"Then why are you so wet, dripping in fact? I'm sure it has nothing to do with being helpless, naked from the waist down, with your bum burning and that heat warming your pussy."

She looks away. "Of course not."

"Liar." I tell her with a chuckle.

With that declaration I stand, then shamble over to one wall of my playroom. My eyes run over the implements there and I pull one down. It's a flogger of wide, soft leather strips. Emilia's first flogging shouldn't be too severe. She won't learn much if I push her too hard.

The young woman draped over my horse whimpers when she sees what I'm carrying. "Sir? What's that for?"

"It's for more discipline, Ms. Keating. In here you tell me no lies and you obey my commands without hesitation or question."

"But Sir..."

"Quiet! Count the blows."

With that I bring the flogger down on her back. Since the halter covers not a inch of the skin on her back nothing cushions the blow.

My new slut shrieks as the tails land. Little of it is from pain though. It's more surprise. Pain, as I noted, isn't something she's familiar with. The way her muscles shimmy and her ass flexes tells me a lot of the surprise is how hot she finds being flogged. My sexy slave has discovered that being helpless and used is something she likes a great deal.

I wait a moment. As I expect the dark haired girl bound before me manages the "One" I demand quickly.

So I continue, nine more blows. Ms. Keating counts them properly and without hesitation.

By the time I'm done my sweet slave is panting. Her eyes stare at nothing and a little drool runs from the side of her mouth. I can see her pussy clench repeatedly, demanding to be filled.

"Well done," I tell her. When I teach a sub I use as much positive reinforcement as I can. Otherwise they're too busy guessing about what I want from them. Carrot and stick have to be working together.

It works. Ms. Keating gives a content sigh and says, "Thank you, Sir."

Then she turns her head towards me with an expression of concern and confusion. Her reaction is unfamiliar to her. She can't fathom why she should be honestly grateful for what I am doing to her.

"Now, my little slut, you will find that I not only punish bad behaviour but I also reward good." As I speak I slide two fingers into her greedy cunt.

Emilia groans when I do and her pussy clutches my digits tightly. Despite that I have no problem running all the way into her. She's so wet there's a quiet squelching noise as I start my hand pumping.

Just like her mother,

I think with a grin.

My strokes increase in frequency and power until I'm hammering at my new slut's womanhood. She tries to pull herself into my motion, without success as I've bound her too tightly. Yet another way I demonstrate she's completely under my control.

Still, she whimpers, shouts out obscenities full of joy and lust. Sweat seeps from her skin while her inner walls pulse around my fingers. My cock hardens at her display. I do love setting submissive alight in this manner.

As I'm listening carefully I pull myself free of Ms. Keating the instant I hear her go silent. She's at the very precipice of orgasm.

"Oh! God!" she sobs as I stop playing with her. "Sir. Sir. Please!" Her lovely ass flexes. Her legs cord as she tries to rub herself off on the leather of the horse. My sweet slave fails, of course.

"I'm afraid that's not the correct courtesy, Ms. Keating," I explain to her.

The beautiful brunette releases a whine of frustration. "Sir? I don't understand." Her motions cease as her orgasm pulls away from her.

"You thank someone when they reward you."

"But, Sir," she whines. "That wasn't a reward. That was torture." Then a yip of surprise spits from her as my hand lands hard on her ass.