The story so far: Armed with a video of my beautiful but evil English teacher, Becky "Ballbreaker" Beakman having wild, sadomasochistic sex with her transsexual lover, I, David Finch (Now known as "Master David"), have made the hapless Miss Beakman and her partner Martha my sex slaves.
Sitting in the library, ostensibly working on my term paper, my mind wandered back over the events of the past few days. At the end of my first evening of sordid sexual excess with my reluctant submissives, I had picked out a very special outfit for the voluptuous Miss Beakman to wear to school the next day. When I walked into English class, I saw that she had complied with my request, almost. She was wearing the gauzy silk skirt, without a slip, which afforded us a very clear view of her shapely legs. But she had topped it with a long blazer that hid her most valuable assets. I stood in the back of the room and stared disapprovingly at her. She could not ignore me for long, and soon returned my gaze with a pleading look. It was quickly obvious that I was unmoved, and she hesitantly removed the jacket and hung it over the back of her chair.
The effect was more than I had hoped for. The thin material of her skirt clung deliciously to her perfectly rounded ass. The back of her thong panties disappeared between her cheeks, giving the impression that she was naked under her diaphanous attire. Only when she turned to face me could I see the faint hint of a white, lacy triangle struggling to contain her pouting pubes. Her blouse was every bit as sheer as the skirt. The half bra displayed her perfect breasts proudly, the dark pink nipples plainly visible through the thin white material.
As my fellow students filed in, their usual loud banter turned quickly to subdued whispers, if not stunned silence. Many of them crashed into desks as they attempted to navigate through the aisles without taking their eyes off of the vision before them. Once we were all seated, with much squirming and readjusting of body parts, Becky announced that for today's class, we would be working on a written exercise. She then handed stacks of papers to the person at the front of each row, and retreated to the safety of her desk. Her plan was to remain safely hidden until the end of the period. Well, we couldn't have that! I waited for about 5 minutes, then raised my hand. "Yes, Mister Finch", she said icily.
"Miss Beakman", I replied sweetly, "I'm having trouble understanding this first part here. Could you come take a look at it?" She started to protest, but quickly realized that I would not be dissuaded. She pushed back brusquely from her desk and headed to the back of the room where I was sitting. Her firm, angry stride made her tits bounce enticingly. Some students glanced furtively as she passed, while others stared outright. She reached my desk and leaned over my paper. As I enjoyed the fragrance of her perfume, I couldn't help but notice that her nipples had become very erect, straining against the flimsy fabric of her blouse. Fear, or lust? I couldn't tell.
"Nice try." I whispered.
Through clenched teeth she said "If you read the directions, Mister Finch, they're perfectly clear."
"Thank you, Miss Beakman." I replied respectfully, "You've been most helpful." She stomped back to her desk, and her ass was every bit as entertaining on the way down as her tits had been on the way up. No sooner had she reached her desk than another hand went up. Then another. Suddenly, everyone seemed to be having difficulty with this assignment. Imagine that! One bright boy even managed come up with a problem that could only be explained by having her diagram it on the board. Her shaky penmanship went unnoticed as eighteen pairs of eyes were riveted to that magnificent ass.
That was but one of the many escapades I had enjoyed at Becky Beakman's expense over the past week. My favorite so far was two nights ago. I instructed Becky to purchase a large, inflatable kiddie pool, and several bottles of vegetable oil on her way home. That evening, Becky and her transsexual partner Martha cleared a space in the living room for the eight foot round, two foot deep pool, and then inflated it, by mouth and in the nude of course. While they huffed and puffed, I rummaged through their bureau, selecting two lacy camisole tops and two pairs of sheer panties. I also pulled out the short, black whip that I had seen Martha use that first, fateful night. I then changed into black shorts and a referee shirt I had swiped from the school gym. A whistle hung around my neck completed the costume. By the time I emerged from the bedroom, the girls had finished blowing up the pool and were sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. When they saw me in my outfit, they looked at one another with an expression of "He's GOT to be kidding!"
I wasn't. I tossed a pair of panties and a top to each of them. No instructions were needed. They grudgingly put the flimsy garments on. I then directed them to the center of the pool, and handed each of them a bottle of oil. "I'm sure ladies of your caliber rarely attend sordid events like oil wrestling matches," I began, "so allow me to explain a few rules. You will begin by dousing each other with the oil. And don't be stingy, we have plenty. At the sound of the whistle, you'll come out fighting. The winner will be the first one to pin their opponent three times. That's both shoulders on the floor for a count of three." Becky and Martha looked at each other with conspiratorial grins. "Of course, what would a contest be without a prize?" I pulled the whip out of my back pocket, and watched their grins vanish. "The winner gets to use this on the loser. And if I don't get a good fight, if I don't see some hellacious clothes-ripping, hair-pulling, tit-squashing wrestling action, then you both lose, and I give you both a whipping. Any questions?"
If they had any questions, they were too afraid to ask them. "Well, then," I announced, "Let the games begin!" Becky and Martha began pouring the oil down each other's fronts. I could see that there wouldn't be nearly enough, so I popped the tops off of two more bottles and joined them in the ring. Soon they were both glistening with the slick oil. As their tops became soaked, they turned nearly transparent, clinging to every curve. When all four bottles of oil were empty, I removed them from the "ring" (Safety First!) and blew my whistle to start round one.
My reluctant gladiators sort of danced with each other for a while, unsure of how to begin. They obviously needed some motivation. I picked up the whip and brought it down hard on an end table. A load CRACK reverberated through the living room, making both women jump. With a look of desperation, Martha lunged at Becky. Becky's feet slipped out from under her, and they both crashed to the floor. Though smaller, Martha had the upper body strength of a man, and quickly gained the upper hand. As they wrestled in the puddle of oil, Marty's cock clipped out through the leg opening of her panties. Grappling with her slick, soaked lover was getting Marty excited, as evidenced by her rapidly growing prick. She managed to get both of Becky's arms on the mat, but not before snapping the shoulder strap of her inadequate costume. I counted to three, slapping the mat with each count for emphasis, then blew my whistle, awarding the pin to Martha. As I rose, I slapped her on the ass and exclaimed "Atta boy! Girl. Whatever. Round two!"
They staggered to their feet and waited for the whistle. Becky actually seemed pissed at having been pinned. There was a definite "You're Next!" look in her eye. I blew the whistle for the next round. Marty again lunged at Becky. But this time Becky sidestepped, grabbing the front of Marty's shirt and trying to spin her around. There was a ripping sound, and Marty sprawled topless into the edge of the pool, leaving Becky holding an oily rag. While Becky stared at the destroyed camisole, Marty sprang forward and grabbed her opponent around the waist. She straightened up, flipping Becky over her shoulder. Becky scrambled forward, her legs flailing, trying to break free. Marty held tight, but Becky was so slippery that all she succeeded in doing was peeling Becky's panties down to her knees before she was finally able to kick free. Becky retreated to the edge of the ring. She tried pulling her panties back on, but immediately discovered that the waistband had snapped on one side. She let out a frustrated scream, and ripped the other side open, tossing the dripping wisp of fabric out of the ring.
