Hey reader, don't read further till we have a few words. I write sex stories. As a matter of fact I've written a lot of sex stories. Over 100 in fact. I write about controversial topics mainly involving the how and why of how submission and how doing what we aren't supposed to do can be an incredible turn on.
What that means is that what turns many of us on, what we fantasize about, is usually far from being politically correct. Now I get tossed into the coals by readers all the time. "That story was not consensual. That story involved bdsm. That was anti-gay."
Well for one, it is fiction. That's like saying King or Koontz murdered folks, because they wrote stories about it. They write about murder for the same reasons I write about sex - for entertainment.
Where's the porn? Where am I going with this?
Over the years, I've had several reader requests for a tale of submission with a white dominant and black submissive. I've always declined because I didn't need the outcry. But that really isn't fair is it? If you are black and submissive, shouldn't you be able to read about your fantasies too?
This is one such story. If you are offended by the concept of a white dom and a black sub; and are offended by hearing the n-word occasionally, I suggest you do us both a favor and read another story.
Now, on with the story.
-Sincerely,
Couture
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"Heather...." Miss Simms was so startled by the sudden appearance of her student that she was momentarily at a loss for words. She was supposed to be grading papers, but first she was snacking on a cup of yogurt she'd taken in to work.
"...this is my study period. You'll have to come back later." Miss Simms managed. She looked out the door of her office. It was just a small office in the back of her room. She could have sworn she had locked the door to her classroom. But perhaps she hadn't. It wasn't as if she had anything to fear. Heddingham High was a private school...very exclusive.
"So I guess you don't want this?" Heather said, tucking the Blackberry back into her purse and turning around. "Fine then. Be seeing you."
"Wait..." The young teacher knew her Blackberry was safely stowed away in her purse, located in her bottom drawer; where it had been all day. But the Blackberry looked just like hers. Perhaps...perhaps she had dropped it on the way in to school.
"...wait." Miss Simms quickly opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. However the handle came loose and spilled its contents on the linoleum floor. The young teacher was aghast. She'd never seen these items before. And they weren't just regular old items either....there were pictures of naked girls in compromising positions, everal small vibrators, a large dildo in the shape of a very well-endowed male appendage...worse, there were other items she couldn't even ascertain the nature of. She quickly shoved them back into her purse before Heather could see.
"Miss Simms," Heather mocked. "I would have never guessed. So kinky."
The young teacher could feel her cheeks redden. Heather had seen. Lord, the rumors were going to be flying if she didn't quickly nip this situation in the bud.
"Someone has clearly been in my drawer and played a joke on me," Miss Simms said. "I guess that is my Blackberry after all. They must have stolen it while they were here."
"Look teach, your purse doing something," Heather giggled.
And it was. Vibrating away. The poor young teacher hazarded a look inside to find the culprit. A purple jelly vibrator was buzzing contentedly. She traced a cord from the base back to a controller and turned it off.
Only it didn't turn off. It began to move. The bulbous shaped head flexing and turning. Dear Lord! Stop you little bastard! Her cheeks were hot from embarrassment. She hit the switch again and this time a ring of tiny balls began to turn. Miss Simms blushed redder and redder, there with the purple vibe gyrating luridly in her small hand. She was mortified. Absolutely horrified.
But along with the mortification, there was another new feeling. An itch. A tingle in her loins. Very small. Just a little sliver.
"I can't wait till I show this to my friends," Heather laughed. "It's priceless."
The tingle gave way to cold dark fear as she stole a glance at Heather and realized the girl was capturing the moment for posterity with the stolen phone. Her phone.
"You can't," Miss Simms demanded. "Give me that. That's my phone and its..its stolen."
"This phone?" Heather asked, holding the phone out.
Miss Simms snatched at the phone, but Heather held it firmly in her grip. The young teacher tugged, but her student refused to let go.
"You are being very rude Rena." Heather said. "Didn't your mother teach you not to snatch?"
No one called her Rena. Her name was Serena. Serena Simms. Even as a child she'd been called Serena. Now this girl. This impudent little bitch had taken her name and turned it into some sort of cutsee white girl name. And yet...and yet...she wanted the phone. And she shouldn't have snatched it.
"I'm sorry," Miss Simms offered, but she didn't release her grip of the phone. She needed it. Badly. "May I please have my phone back Heather?"
Still holding the phone, Heather sat down on her teacher's desk, making herself comfortable. At the same time, she did something that made Miss Simms most uncomfortable.
It was such a small thing. Yet, a chill went down the young teacher's spine. The girl, the impudent little girl had reached up and caught her teacher's earlobe. She didn't tug it. It wasn't painful. It actually felt rather good.
And yet. And yet, it was a touch that assumed a great deal. A familiarity that didn't exist. It wasn't sexual. Not quite. But at the same time, it was unwanted. Miss Simms wanted to tell the girl to stop. However, she decided it better to tolerate it until she had her phone back.
"Good. Now Rena," Heather said. "When you call on me in class to ask me a question, how do you address me?"
It was a thing Miss Simms did that most teachers didn't. She would say "Miss Morgan, what was Shakespeare trying to say when he wrote that?" It was her way of treating her students like little adults. To give them a bit more respect and then expect that they live up to it.
If she grew angry with them, she rescinded their status instantly. "Heather if you are going to act like a child, then get out of my class and sit outside."
Though she had never sent Heather out. It was usually one of the boys. It was usually an effective method of control, but now she wondered if it were such a good idea after all.
"I would say Miss Morgan...but..." This wasn't usual. The girl was acting like an spoiled little child, she wasn't worthy of her adult surname.
"Now ask me nicely Rena."
The girl kept rubbing her ear and it was beginning to grow uncomfortable. Worse, the mysterious tingling in her loins was back. The girl had called her Rena. And expected her to respond back with Miss Morgan. It was an unthinkable audacity. And yet it was easier to go along, at least until she had her phone back and got rid of all the sex toys in her purse.
"Miss Morgan," the young teacher began, her former authoritarian voice dropping to a squeaking whimper. Once the words left her mouth, she wished she could recall them back. It felt as if she had given up something precious. She didn't know what it was, but she prayed she could get it back again after she got back that one very important thing. "May I please...have my phone back."
"How do I know that it is yours Rena?" Heather said. "I mean...it could belong to anyone. Did you write your name on it?"
No she didn't write her name on it. Only children had their names written on things. Miss Simms was an adult. Not some child to be treated in such a manner. The poor teacher felt herself growing angry, but bit back her retort.
The grip on Miss Simm's ear was released, but her situation hadn't improved. Now the girl had her by the chin, tilting her head up to look up at the girl sitting so uncomfortably close on her desk.
"No...but ..it has my number." Miss Simms volunteered, her eyes fluttered up, but she was unable to meet the intense gaze of her student, and they quickly dropped down.
"Are you looking at my breasts Rena?" Heather said snidely, shifting her grip from her teacher's chin, back to her earlobe and forcing her gaze back up.
"No..." Miss Simms stammered. "Of course not." She forced herself to meet those intense blue eyes once again. But it was so hard to hold that gaze. Her eyes dropped once again, but she stopped at Heather's lips. To her sneering little smile. Then it hit her that the girl might take that the wrong way as well. Her eyes darted back to Heather's eyes then back down to the girl's breasts once more. By accident, but this time she actually took note of them. They were large. Much larger than hers. And by the look of the cleavage being shown at the top of the girls baby blue blouse, Heather was fully aware of it too.
"Again with my boobs Rena," Heather said. "Pervert. I have half a mind to take you to the principle's office. And your phone too."
"..no please..." Miss Simms breathed. The principle's office. It was a place she sent errant students. A tool to keep her kids in line. But now... now it was a place that struck fear in her heart. Dear Lord, trying to explain the pictures...the sex toys. She could just imagine the look of disbelief as she tried to explain that they weren't hers. That some student had planted them in her locked drawer. Looking up, she knew by Heather's smile, that Heather knew that her teacher would do nearly anything not to go to the principles office. She felt like she was in a hole and getting deeper all the time.
"Focus Rena," Heather said, giving the earlobe she held a nice pinch.
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again." Miss Simms stammered. "But my phone Miss Morgan. I know the number...I could-I could call it. It would - it would ring."
Heather smiled. She had her pretty little teacher right where she wanted her. Now to bring it home.
"But it could be anyone's number that you called. I know...we could look at the text messages," Heather said. "Don't you have something there that would prove it was you?"
"I suppose," Miss Simms said. Although, she dreaded the thought of her personal life being snooped into by her student.
Heather stood up and moved behind Miss Simms, and handed her teacher back her cell phone.
Miss Simms held it with small trembling fingers. She was tempted to throw the little bitch out of her class now, but there was still the purse full of sex toys to contend with.
"Now let's see if it really belongs to you." Heather said.
Miss Simms reluctantly brought up her messages. Now that she had her phone back, she could stop, and call an end to this humiliating display, but she preserved. She'd prove the phone was hers and get Heather out of the office. Then she'd figure out a way to dispose of the toys in her purse and the embarrassing photo on the cell.
"I can't see it Rena," Heather complained. "And you've got it all sticky with your pawprints. Don't you use a napkin when you eat?"
I do, but I don't usually have a student barge in on me in the middle of a snack, Miss Simms fumed. But she dared not utter those words. Instead she meekly said "Yes" and "Sorry" then cleaned the fingerprints off with a tissue. Besides, most of those 'pawprints' as the little bitch put it, were probably Heather's.
As the young teacher clicked over to her messages, Heather looked over the woman's shoulder's and her hands alternated between giving her teacher a massage and rubbing her slender neck.
