Secret Masochist - Education

(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)

Chapter 23

Lessons and Limits

Everything is backwards now. You remember how strange it felt when Mr. Peterson was bathing you yesterday. Now, you're the one bathing him, sitting behind him in the tub with your long legs wrapped around him, feeling totally content as you run a soapy washcloth over his back and up and down his arms, the taste of his dominance still fresh on your tongue. He had finally had you remove the outfit, not wanting to get it wet, but the plug with his initial is still a comfortable presence filling your ass. You had felt a faint sadness as you peeled off the white lace stockings and removed the crotchless panties and revealing bustier. Your initial shock at the idea of wearing such things for Mr. Peterson had long since been replaced by the comfortable feeling of knowing you looked exactly how he wanted you to look. So much had happened since you put it on, and you were almost afraid that taking it off would break the spell. Turn you back into the old you.

The old you that despised your teacher for his arrogant tone, instead of feeling a buzz of excitement when he directed it at you. The old you that hated the way he ran his classroom with an iron fist, instead of being eager to obey his every command. The old you that saw him only as a nerdy history teacher, an obstacle in your day, instead of the object of your deepest desires.

The old you, who was scattered, directionless, masking your inner uncertainty with cocky bravado.

Not the new you: focused on Mr. Peterson's instruction, committed to following the path he's laid out for you... but still desperately unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

That cold nugget of doubt is impossible to ignore, even under all the layers of blissful warmth your new self-understanding has brought you. You feel so comfortable with yourself now, happy in a way you never knew you wanted to be -- never knew you

could

be -- and you're terrified of it going away. Fading like a dream once this tutoring ends and you have to go back to your real life.

Shivering, you lean forward, pressing your chest against Mr. Peterson's back and wrapping your arms and legs tightly around him. Nuzzling your face into his shoulder, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold on to this moment.

"Miss Murray? Is something the matter?"

His voice is gentle, with a comforting strength just under the surface. Your heart swells, touched by his sudden concern.

How could I have hated him so much before now?

"I... it's... I'm just... scared, Mr. Peterson. I don't know what happens next."

He takes a breath, and you hold yours. "Do you trust me, Miss Murray?"

Your eyes shoot open.

What?

"I... of course I trust you, Mr. Peterson."

How could he ask me that?

I mean jeez, RC, it's not like you've spent the past 6 months tormenting him on a daily basis.

"So you trust that I have your best interests at heart?"

You squeeze him even tighter and whisper into his shoulder. "

Yes, Mr. Peterson.

"

"Then what is it that is scaring you, Miss Murray, if not me?'

A sudden lump forms in your throat, and you get mad at yourself for being such an emotional little girl. "I... me, Mr. Peterson." You fight back a tear, refusing to admit how upset you are. "I'm scared of what will happen to me when... when the advanced tutoring is over."

You feel him tense up, just slightly. "Miss Murray, when we finish this bath and get dressed, the advanced tutoring

will

be over."

Your heart freezes in your chest.

No

. "What do you mean? You... you said you had so much more to teach me, Mr. Peterson."

No, please, don't let this be over. Not yet. I'm not ready.

"I said there is more I

could

teach you, Miss Murray. There is always more to learn, but I have taught you everything I set out to during this tutoring. You have more than earned an A with your exceptional performance this weekend."

I don't give a fuck about the grade.

"Then what... what was the point of giving you my body... of surrendering my will to you?"

"Those steps were taken for your benefit, Miss Murray. It was essential that you experienced the feeling of giving up control."

"My benefit? But... you said..."

You can feel his smile in the way his shoulders relax. "Oh, I of course enjoyed the experience as well, Miss Murray. Disciplining you as I saw fit was a fulfillment of many of my fantasies, and filling you with my manhood..." He takes a breath. "But this tutoring was always about you, Miss Murray. You were unsure and confused about what you wanted, who you were, and it was creating many problems, both for yourself and those responsible for your education."

I'm not confused anymore. Thanks to you.

"So... what happens to us, then?"

"We will continue our prior relationship, Miss Murray. I will be your teacher, you will be my student, and ideally your performance and behavior in class will reflect the lessons you have learned."

His collected tone had been so comforting to you, but now it's just making you angry.

How can he be so calm?

"But... what if I want more than that?" You feel every part of yourself grow tense, waiting for his answer to the question you didn't even know you wanted to ask.

Mr. Peterson sighs, and your heart drops. "There is something you must understand, Miss Murray: you and I are not equals. I simply have too much power over you, and I'm not merely talking about the classroom." He pauses while his words sink into your numb mind. "Already, I can hear your patterns of speech begin to mimic my own. Multiple times throughout this tutoring I could sense that if I were not careful, if I pushed you too hard and too quickly, I might crush your will completely. You would be utterly subject to my dominance, with nothing of yourself left."

But...

you shiver as you imagine him asserting himself over you so totally. As you imagine being completely powerless to resist.

But what if I want that?

He continues. "Such a thing may seem appealing to you right now, Miss Murray, with the thrill of submission still fresh, but such a... relationship holds little interest for me. An ideal bond between a dominant and a submissive is one of consensual exchange, of power given freely, not taken by brute force."

Your heart pounds in your chest and blood rushes in your ears. It's not fair. You've finally figured out exactly what you want, and now Mr. Peterson is describing in detail what that would look like, but that you can't have it. It's not for you. Not with him.

"Come now, Miss Murray. The water grows cold, and I can tell you have much to think about. It's time we move on."

Your voice is a dejected monotone. "Yes, Mr. Peterson." Reluctantly letting go of your teacher, you stand with him and step out of the tub. You insist on drying him off yourself, wanting to serve him just a little while longer.

He said the tutoring isn't over until we get dressed, right?

Taking your time, relishing the feeling of his body as you rub him with the towel, trying to make this last as long as you can.

Mr. Peterson doesn't protest, seeming to indulge your desire to stretch this out. As you finally get the last few bits of moisture, a question jumps to the top of your mind. "Mr. Peterson... what if... what if we did have such a relationship?"

He looks you in the eye, and your heart aches as you see his dark fire has quieted to a dull ember.

This really is over, isn't it?

He takes the towel from you and begins to dry you off in turn. He's more assertive, efficient, not wasting any movements, not dragging it out like you did.

"I doubt you really want that, Miss Murray." His voice is low as he dries off your back. Do you hear a hint of sadness, or is that just wishful thinking? "I have very... traditional views when it comes to the nature of men and women. It may have been a... pleasing fantasy in the moment to submit to such a man, but would you really want that in the long term?"

Was it really just a fantasy? It... it felt so real... so true.

He finishes drying your back and turns you so he can get your front. The feeling of him moving you, even so gently and for so mundane a purpose, reminds you of the total control you gave him this weekend. You desperately hold on to that feeling, clinging to it like it's the only thing keeping you afloat in a deep ocean of doubt.

"On the same token, Miss Murray, you have quite radical ideas about the world, and the people who shape it. Having you as a committed submissive would lead to some... contentious interactions. And yet, I would never want you to compromise your unique qualities." He finishes drying you off, and looks you in the eye again. Do you see a spark in there, a tiny flicker of that fire that once consumed you? He looks like he's about to say something else, but instead he turns and steps out of the bathroom.

You take one last look in the bathroom mirror, and see how much the bruises and marks he's given you have faded. Fighting back tears, you reluctantly follow your teacher, wishing he would go just a little slower.

As he leads you through the hall, you turn his words over and over in your mind. He's right that even after all the changes you've gone through during the tutoring, after learning all the lessons he's taught you, his patriarchal views and conservative ideas still rankle you. But what upsets you more is his insistence that the joy you felt in submitting to him was just a fantasy.

It was more than that, it was...

you feel a sense of peace as you allow your new self-understanding to fill in the blanks, to guide your confused mind.

It was what I wanted. I... enjoy pain, right? I want to submit, I want to... to be debased. That's how... that's how I find fulfillment. That was the missing piece he showed me. That was the lesson he taught me.

Your eyes go wide.

Submitting to a man like him would be like... like inflicting pain and debasement on myself.

You pull in a sharp breath, your whole body tingling.

What could be more fulfilling than that?

The two of you arrive at Mr. Peterson's bedroom, and as he leads you inside he gestures to the bed, where your schoolgirl uniform lies clean and folded. "Your clothes are ready for you, Miss Murray. I will give you a moment to get dressed while I arrange a ride home for you. I will ask that before you leave you remove the plug and leave it on the bed."

Your ass squeezes around the comforting presence, and you take a deep breath. "No, Mr. Peterson."

He looks you in the eye, and raises one eyebrow. "Pardon me, Miss Murray?"

"I don't want those clothes, I don't want to take out the plug, I don't want to go back to the way we were." You point to the top of the wardrobe, where the red leather collar still lies waiting. "I want that, Mr. Peterson."

That dark fire flares again in your teacher's eyes, and that familiar smile touches his lips. "Are you certain you're prepared to earn that, Miss Murray?" His voice is pure masculine strength, sending a tremor through you. "It will not be easy, and there will be no turning back."

The sudden intensity of his tone would have terrified you before. Now, it just makes you even more determined. You are ready to earn it. You're ready to show him how well you've learned his lessons, how far you've come, how much you've grown.

You're ready to submit to Mr. Peterson. Body, mind, and soul.