She was waiting in his office when he finished teaching. Sitting on his desk precisely. Legs crossed and comfy having considered and prepared her speech. He entered, shutting the door and dropping a pile of books on the chair before he noticed her and stopped dead.
"Hi, sir," she chirped. "How was the rest of your day?"
It was like someone had pressed 'pause' on him. Not only did he not reply. He didn't move. He just stared at her where she sat on his desk. This was not the plan. He was leaving it be. But now she was here. On his desk. Like she owned the place. Like he wouldn't reprimand her and kick her out of his office. Why wasn't he doing that again?
Running out of patience for the stalemate that they seemed to be in, she took the lead. She told him to sit. He sat - he had no better suggestions. Then she began her speech. She asked if he enjoyed their encounter this afternoon, told her how much it made her wet to watch him reacting to their conversation. Asked if he liked domination and submission and what he enjoyed about it and finished on a proposal: he would submit to her, but they wouldn't touch until summer when she was free from school.
He listened although he was aware that his brain wasn't functioning properly. He had wanted this for years. He'd never dreamed it would happen. And now his only opportunity was with a schoolgirl? The world hated him. He didn't acknowledge his interests to her. He kept things so professional, but it was like she could see inside of him. She knew. And through some basic questions she was challenging his willpower. He wanted to indulge himself so much. He was so lost in thought, he forgot that she was expecting an answer.
Throughout her soliloquy, he didn't move. He barely even breathed. But she was paying attention. When she mentioned, their interaction had made her wet, his eyes widened...just a little. When she spoke about domination and submission, he fidgeted...just a little. And when she proposed his submission, his breath hitched...just a little. She smiled. She knew she had him. But was he brave enough to say it?
"Let's make this easy...sir," she said after a brief pause. From her position atop his desk, it was easy to see the 'sir' as what it was, a reminder of his subordination. He was beneath her, figuratively and literally.
"If you are brave enough to submit to me until summer, and give that hard cock straining in your trousers the fulfilment it's after, then lift yourself out of that chair and kneel on the floor. Knees apart, arms behind you, eyes down. If you aren't, take yourself to the bathroom and see to that erection otherwise you will get yourself in trouble and I will be gone when you return. You can spend each lunch time knowing I'm masturbating on the field and making use of other slutty boys around here to pass my time."
The conflict showed across his face. He knew even without the touch, it wasn't appropriate. But giving someone else that control, would take away his responsibility. It wouldn't be his concern if it were appropriate or not. He would no longer be a teacher. He would just be following orders. His cock had definitely already made up its mind. He'd never been so hard. The gleam in her eye, the fishnets, the schoolgirl uniform, the way she leant forward just enough to suggest a flash of cleavage but not enough to give him the full view he wanted. He would have to work for that, he knew. And there she sat. Cross-legged. Who sits cross-legged on a desk?
"Bored now. 10, 9, 8, 7..." she barely even lets a second pass between numbers. If he's going to take this long to decide, she'll go and find someone else to play with, there are plenty of boys in this place that need some direction. By the time she reaches 5, he is on his knees in the middle of his office exactly as requested. That's better.
