Teacher Used as Reluctant Model

This is story is fictional, and all the characters mentioned in it are and were 18 or older.

I personally dislike stories of rape or other types of forced sexuality, and have wished there were more "Reluctance" stories in Literotica's NonConsent & Reluctance category, for example of the "Oh no, I know I shouldn't be doing or allowing this, but I can't help myself" variety. Accordingly, this is a story of reluctance and, in Part One at least, a story of exhibitionism and voyeurism, but not a story about being literally forced to do anything. Any coercion, any pressure to comply, was situational and ultimately consensual in nature. Looking back at it now, I realize that at any time I could have stopped the process and just left, if I'd had the courage to do so, but at the time I felt I couldn't or shouldn't because I was pressured by financial reasons and my own naïveté and misplaced sense of duty as a young teacher to continue "just a little longer," until I no longer had control.

This all happened when I was much younger and more naïve, only 19 years old, in a country that had only recently emerged from behind the Iron Curtain and from being run by the Communist Party, but was now "liberated" from official state communism.

PART ONE

I had accepted a job to teach high school-level English literature at what I understood was considered a highly regarded private boys' school in an Eastern European country which shall go unnamed. The pay structure was scheduled so that I would be receiving little more than room and board, plus round-trip airfare from America, but upon completing the school year I would receive a guaranteed bonus that would effectively more than double my salary, making it a very lucrative job indeed. (Right, I know what you're thinking, but as I said, I was quite naïve.)

I didn't know the native language but I was assured that wouldn't be a problem since all my students, and all the faculty, would be able to speak English. I've changed the names in this story mostly because if I used the actual names you might not be able to pronounce them, and it was a long time ago so I've forgotten many of the names anyway. I'll never forget the experience, though. I'll refer to myself (and have the other characters refer to me) as "Teacher" -- which, now that I think of it, is actually what they called me.

Everything went well for most of the year, the boys were all upper-class, from wealthy families, and were very well behaved. All was as I expected, and I was shown the greatest respect, at least until the last day of classes. The last and final class was the final lecture for the graduating class and was held at the end of the day. I had brought some cookies I had made to give to the students, and was about to hand them out, when the school Headmaster came in, called the students to attention, and addressed the class.

"Boys, for your final class I am going to give you a special lecture. You will soon be going out into the world, and will probably travel on vacations with your families, including to Western countries that have been off-limits to most citizens until recently, so you must learn the customs and about the people of those Western countries, including Western Europe and even America, where your Teacher is from. Because the rules of this school and the standards of morality enforced by the state have required that you refrain from immodest behavior around respectable women, there are many things you don't yet know about women, especially about Western women, and about the clothing of Western women, that you should know before graduating, and it is our duty to teach you. Therefore, with the assistance of your teacher here, who is not a citizen and therefore may be treated with more familiarity, and since you are all now of legal age to be taught this material, I will be giving you a final lecture to explain some things to you about the female of our species and their clothing, especially those of Western countries."

The Headmaster turned to me. "Teacher," he instructed, "please be so good as to stand in front of the class and face the students."

I was unprepared for this and did not know what assistance I would be called on to give, but so far it all seemed innocent enough, so I did as I was told. The Headmaster had told me I should wear my "American clothing" for the final day instead of the far more concealing "teaching uniform" I was required to wear during the rest of the school year, and I was happy for the change and the freedom to dress as I would in America. Still, I was wearing what in America would be considered very modest attire, including a full length dress with a slip beneath it. I stood and faced the class, feeling a bit nervous, not knowing exactly what was going to happen.

"Students," began the Headmaster, "here you will observe your Teacher, who is a typical young American woman. She is considered very attractive in her own country of America, though most in our country would consider her too thin to be truly beautiful like the more stout and plump women of our country, but still of more than acceptable beauty. Still, you'll see that she is wider at the hips..." At this he gently touched the side of my left hip with his right hand, which startled me and caused me to jump a bit. "Teacher, be still!" he barked, with a brusqueness I didn't expect. "This demonstration is required for the students to observe." So scolded, I contained my surprise and stood still.

"So," he continued, "wider at the hips than at the waist," he said, his hand gently sliding up to my waist, "and then wider again up by the breasts." His hand continued sliding up and I caught my breath with a start as I felt his right hand along the side of my left breast outside my dress. But I didn't move. This must be considered normal, I reasoned to myself, since the Headmaster was a highly respected man in his country, and anyway this was just for demonstration purposes so I thought it must be perfectly normal for teachers to submit to at this school.

I looked at the students and they were all sitting politely, not leering at me but sitting attentively and gazing intently at the parts of my body the Headmaster was indicating. I began to blush. I breathed a sigh of relief as the Headmaster's hand moved away from my breast.

The Headmaster continued addressing the students. "As you can see," he said, a woman's wider hips and large breasts, very different from a man's, are fashioned this way by nature to create physical attraction in the male. Observe the American dress, made with bright colors, very different from the more drab dresses of our own women, also designed to attract the attention of men. This is why in this country American women, and women of the Western countries in general, are considered provocative and immodest, and are often assumed to be sluts. And certainly, I would never demonstrate on a woman of our own great country the way I am demonstrating on the body of this American woman."

I was a bit shocked by this last comment, which I felt was disrespectful to me and to all American women, but cognizant of this man's superior position as Headmaster, and his position as my boss, I said nothing. Then he continued.

"It's important for you boys to understand the functions of the clothing of the Western woman. For instance, under their dresses, Western women often wear an under-dress known as a slip. Teacher, please remove your dress so the boys can see what an American slip looks like while it's being worn by a woman."

I was profoundly shocked upon hearing these words. "But Headmaster," I protested, "it would not be considered decent in my country for a woman to remove her dress and stand around in just her slip in front of boys, especially in front of her own students, even if they are about to graduate. Surely, you will not have me do that!"

The Headmaster looked at me sternly. "Teacher," he commanded, "this is not your country. We are teaching this class according to the customs of this country, and I expect you to comport yourself as a professional and allow me to provide the necessary instruction. Do not insult our boys by thinking they will take the demonstration in the wrong way, and do not insult me by thinking I would do anything improper!"

I did not know what to do, but he sounded so convincing and what he said sounded logical at the time, and I certainly did not want to seem unprofessional, so, blushing deeply, I reached behind myself and unzipped my dress, slowly removed it, folded it, and placed it on the back of a chair that was behind me.

"Very good," said the Headmaster. "Now turn and face the class once more."

I turned and stood there facing the class in my slip, no longer wearing my dress, feeling very embarrassed but trying not to show it. "Remember," I told myself, "you must continue to act professionally, as a teacher should!" This was difficult, however, because the students were no longer just looking at me attentively. They seem surprised, some shocked, and most of them, indeed, were now staring at me with what seemed to be lust.

"As you can see," continued the Headmaster, "this Western slip is a plain white color but is still rather frilly and delicate compared with the undergarments of our women, and of a light, rather frivolous material." At this the Headmaster ran his right hand along the fabric of my slip from the shoulder down to the hem along my side, and then up again and along my waist. I froze in shock and alarm, not daring to say or do anything.

"The material of the slip your teacher has purchased for herself feels quite soft," said the Headmaster, reaching down and lifting the hem of my slip up above my left knee and to my thigh, while feeling the material between his thumb and fingers. "Perhaps you will be able to feel the material later yourselves, boys," intoned the Headmaster, releasing the hem of the slip and letting it drop, "but right now we must continue the lesson. It should not surprise you to know that under the slip, the American woman wears undergarments of similarly frivolous and frilly fabric, again very different from the coarse and practical undergarments of our own women." He turned to me and said, "Teacher, remove your slip so we can teach your students more about female American undergarments."

"Oh no, Headmaster, I couldn't do that," I protested. "Surely I couldn't!"

"Teacher," the Headmaster sternly commanded, "you must do as you're told as a teacher here in this school. We must teach as best we can. Do not disappoint me or betray the trust I have placed in you. And remember that if you do not successfully complete the school year, which includes today, you will not receive your end-of-year bonus."

At this last threat I froze. I could not afford to lose that bonus, especially since I had splurged a bit while sightseeing during my days off, and without that bonus I would no longer even have enough cash or traveler's checks (these were in the days before credit cards were common, and I didn't have one) to pay for my return flight, since the fares had recently gone up.

So, steeling myself for what lay ahead, I determined to brass it out and just successfully complete this final day, even if that meant showing a class full of boys, who had until now looked up to me as their respected teacher, what I looked like dressed only in my underwear. So, shaking, I turned my back to the class, slowly pulled my slip up over my head, and folded it over my dress that was folded behind me on the chair.

"Very good," said the Headmaster. "Now don't turn around just yet, but continue standing with your back to the class." I was just a little bit relieved at this, since my underwear was quite thin, almost semitransparent, and I was more ashamed to show my front than my back while wearing nothing but my bra and panties.

"Now you can see, boys," instructed the Headmaster, facing me, "an American woman's underwear consists of a top garment, known as a 'bra' or brassiere, which supports the breasts and is usually but not always fastened at the back, and a bottom garment usually referred to in American English as 'panties' that are similar to men's undershorts but are more frilly, for as you can see they have feminine ruffles along the edges," said the Headmaster as he reached over with his left hand and grabbed the bottom of my panties so he could feel the ruffled lace, the back of his fingers shockingly brushing against the underside of my naked bottom under the bottom edge of my panties.

"And you can see that these particular panties are somewhat sluttily translucent so that you can clearly see the crack of your teacher's behind, or as it is often called in British English, her 'bum', in American English her 'ass', or her 'derrière' in French," he said. I felt ashamed at his "sluttily translucent" comment, implying I was slutty when I was actually a virgin and was very modest and shy, but I was once again glad that I was not facing the class, not letting the boys see the front of my panties through which they'd probably be able to discern my pubic hair, and especially the front of my bra since -- oh no, I thought to myself. For I was suddenly aware that my own body was betraying me at the knowledge that this man's fingers were touching and moving across the bottom of my right ass cheek while all the boys in my class were watching, and I was letting him do it, and my nipples were becoming aroused and protruding, and that would be visible if I turned around. I silently prayed I wouldn't be instructed to do that.

But then my attention was diverted by the fact that the Headmaster had moved his left hand higher on my behind and was running it over my panties. I felt his fingers moving over my panties along the crack of my ass, invasively pushing my panties into the space between my two butt cheeks with his fingers while his thumb moved to one side and he began squeezing my right butt cheek, in full view of the entire class of boys, my students. I was mortified. My own students, all of whom were younger than I, were watching a man fondling my behind through my panties and squeezing my ass!

I thought this was surely the worst of my embarrassment. But worse was yet to come.

(To be continued -- if you've enjoyed the story and want to hear what happens next.)