(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)
Chapter 24
The Final Test
There's no more doubt, no more hesitation. Whatever fear or confusion once lived inside you has been banished by Mr. Peterson's discipline, by your obedience to his instruction, by his domination of your body and will. Your nipples stiffen, your pussy tingles, your mind is clear and focused. "Yes, Mr. Peterson. I'm ready to earn the collar."
Your teacher gives you a small nod, his eyes burning like dark suns above his small, sharp smile. "Very well, Miss Murray. In that case, it is time for your final test to begin. If you fail at any point, for any reason, this tutoring will be over immediately, and we will never speak of it again." He takes a step toward you, close enough for you to feel his breath across your face, the heat from his naked body on yours. "And if you pass the test, if you can prove to me that you have learned all of my lessons, that you understand the meaning of discipline and obedience, that you are worthy of the collar..." He gently wraps one hand around your throat. "You will belong to me."
Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but thanks to the discipline you've learned you're able to keep your voice steady. "Yes, Mr. Peterson. Test me."
His hand constricts, just a little, just enough for you to feel it, and he uses it to guide you toward the bed. You allow him to move your body, your will subsumed by his, your feet taking each step without needing to think. You move where he wants you to move, do what he wants you to do. When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, he pushes you down, forcing you to sit. Your eyes are held by his as you once again move below him, and once again you feel the blissful calm of being put in your place.
I already belong to you, Mr. Peterson. Can't you see that?
Your teacher releases your neck and takes a step back. "Now, Miss Murray, for the first part of the test: bring yourself to orgasm."
You stop your brows from furrowing in confusion as your body grows warm at the command. After being denied and frustrated all day, after having to prove yourself by turning away from release and satisfaction, you almost want to ask if he's sure.
No, it's not my place to question him. My place is to obey
.
Still looking up into Mr. Peterson's eyes, you spread your legs and use one hand to rub at your slick clit. Your other hand reaches up to cup your breast, fingers gently stroking the fading bruises your teacher's whip gave you yesterday before finding your nipple and squeezing. Mouth falling open to let out hot, heavy breaths, cheeks growing flushed, you marvel at how different this feels. Even though it's your hands doing the work, you feel as if the building pleasure isn't coming from your own touch, but rather being drawn out from inside you by your teacher.
Is this what you want to see, Mr. Peterson?
If Mr. Peterson is enjoying the show you're giving him, nothing about his expression is giving it away. His eyes remain locked on yours, his face a mask of calm authority. "Tell me, Miss Murray, who controls your climax?"
Your hand on your clit starts to move faster as you pull in a shuddering breath. "You do, Mr. Peterson."
"And when will you pleasure yourself?"
You can't believe how wet your pussy is. "Whenever you tell me to, Mr. Peterson."
His smile grows just a little sharper. "And when else?"
You sink two fingers inside yourself. "
Mmnnnnnnn
never, Mr. Peterson."
He nods, and you feel yourself squeeze around your fingers in response. It's like he has your pussy on a string, responding to his every twitch and whim. "Who will you give your body to, Miss Murray?"
It's already yours, Mr. Peterson. Why won't you take it? Can't you see my pussy needs you to fill it, stretch it, fuck it?
You try to clear your head to focus on the test. "You-
anh!
"
No, it's not about what you want, remember?
"Whoever...
mnh!
Whoever you tell me to, Mr. Peterson."
"Very good, Miss Murray." The pride in his voice sends a flare of warmth through you. "And what if I tell you to give it to no one, not even myself?"
Your eyes close as your pussy squeezes around your fingers.
Oh please Mr. Peterson don't do that to me, I'll be good.
Opening your eyes again, you catch yourself looking right at your teacher's cock before quickly looking back up at his face. "I...
haaangg...
I will obey, Mr. Peterson. I will give myself to no one...
mnnn
... if that is what you desire." The thought of being denied his touch fills you with dread, but the flood from your pussy tells you something else.
It doesn't matter what I want. I don't get to choose.
It's all up to him.
After all the denial and frustration today you can feel your orgasm already arriving. Your fingers pump inside you, brushing against your sweet spot, and your other hand squeezes roughly at your breast. Lids drooping down over your eyes, you let out a contented sigh. This is so wonderful. No more waiting, no more holding back, just you, your fingers, and Mr. Peterson watching as you come for him.
Just a little more...
"Stop, Miss Murray. Well done."
Your eyes shoot open.
But... but I didn't...
"Yes, Mr. Peterson." You take a quavering breath and pull your hands away from your breast and pussy. Before you can remind yourself to focus -- that this isn't about the orgasm, this is about the test, about proving your worth to your teacher -- he's on you.
He uses one hand to push you back by your neck while the other firmly rubs at your sensitive clit. He's over you, looking down into your wide eyes as you try to catch your breath. "You passed the first part, Miss Murray. You proved your obedience, your willingness to surrender your sexuality to me." His hand moves from your neck to tease your stiff nipple. "Now, you must prove your body's obedience as well." He pulls back and reaches down, grabbing your legs behind the knees and pushing them back over you, folding you in half and spreading you wide for him. "For this part of the test, Miss Murray, climax is failure."
You barely have time to pull in a gasping breath before his mouth is on your wetness. For the first time, you feel his tongue dance over your clit, spread your folds, push inside you. His beard against your most sensitive parts is a maddening blend of painful and tickling stimulation. Unable to help yourself, your hands grab at his head, fingers digging into his thick hair as unbelievable sensations rock through you. Your mind is so focused on the incredible things his tongue is doing that you don't even realize you're yelling in uncontrollable pleasure until you run out of breath.
Body arching, head slamming back into the bed, legs straining against the iron grip of his hands as he holds you down, you pull in a tremendous breath before letting it out again as another helpless yell. This is too much. Never in your life have you felt pure, white-hot pleasure like this. You realize the reflexive discipline Mr. Peterson has taught you is the only reason you haven't come already, but even that is swiftly crumbling in the face of his relentless oral assault on your quivering pussy.
The orgasm is coming. You can't help it. This is just too much to bear.
Mr. Peterson, please, I want to be worthy, don't make me fail now when I'm so close.
You try to focus on his lessons, push back the coming climax just a little bit longer, and it almost works. Just when you think you have it under control, Mr. Peterson clamps his lips around your swollen clit and sucks, hard, the tip of his tongue pressing against it in tiny swirls.
This is it. There's no way you can withstand the overwhelming sexual force of his technique. You let out a choked gasp as your fingers twist in your teacher's hair, and you feel the first wave of orgasm roll through your body from your defeated pussy. As it makes its way up toward your head, you feel a tear prick your eye.
I'm sorry, Mr. Peterson, I tried, I really did. I just wanted to be worthy. I just wanted to be yours. I just wanted to give myself to you, let go of my own desires. Surrender, submit, give up control.
Something happens inside you. The raging tsunami of your orgasm comes up against the calm warm glow of your submission and dissipates like sea foam. You can still feel the delirious pleasure of Mr. Peterson's mouth on you, but there's no longer any need to resist it. You thought you had already given your teacher your young body and rebellious will, but that surrender had been piecemeal, incomplete. Now, the two are joined together in their submission to this man who has reshaped your very being. You no longer need to fight against the climax, merely accept that it is not yours to have.
It, like you, belongs to him.
Mr. Peterson pulls his mouth away and gives your wet, trembling sex one last caress with his tongue. He looks up between your spread legs at your face, and his smile sets off a cascade of joy inside you. "I'm very proud of you, Miss Murray. You have passed another part of the test. You have proven that your body has learned the lesson of surrender." He releases your legs and reaches up, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you upright against him.
You squeeze your arms around his neck, unable to stop your body from shaking in his strong and comforting embrace. Somehow finding breath, you manage a whisper. "
Thank you, Mr. Peterson
." Feeling him hold you like this, feeling owned and protected, is everything you never knew you wanted. The incomplete orgasm churning inside you isn't a denial or a frustration, but a promise. Mr. Peterson will take care of you, and that thought alone is enough to fill you with ecstasy.
Before you can become comfortable with this new feeling of safety and certainty, Mr. Peterson pulls back, and you reluctantly unwrap you arms from around his neck. He's kneeling beside the bed, his face level with yours, and the dark fire of his eyes once again holds yours captive. "It's time for the next part of the test, Miss Murray. Present your breasts to me."
You're not sure exactly what he means, so you do the first thing that comes to mind. Planting your hands on the bed just behind your back, you push your chest forward, making your breasts stand out, ready for your teacher to do whatever he wants to them.
All you have to do is ask, Mr. Peterson, and every part of me is yours
.
"Tell me, Miss Murray, how have you defied me with your words?"
What?
You're not sure what he means. You don't want to defy him, you want to obey. Before you can collect your confused thoughts, Mr. Peterson's hand comes down hard on your breast. "HANH!"
"Come now, Miss Murray, don't be coy." He savagely pinches the nipple he just struck, making you squeal in pain. "You have a long history of inappropriate behavior to make up for before I can consider you worthy of the collar. Now, think back, and tell me all the ways you have defied me with your words."
He smacks your other breast without releasing your nipple. "GUH! I... I've been disrespectful, Mr. Peterson, I'm—" you bite your tongue before you can apologize.
He didn't ask for an apology, RC.
