Her Education:
Chapter Three
The Student
It had been a week since I had met my teacher.
We had messaged every night since. He was controlling my orgasms. He had not let me cum the last three nights we had played, and with my new routine of a morning edge I was feeling needy and super sensitive down there.
And tonight would be our first in-personal date. Tonight he was going to claim me.
The cab was outside. I put on my shapeless, full length quilted coat over my carefully chosen outfit; thankfully it was a cool enough September evening for it not to look out of place, then took a deep breath and went out to the waiting cab.
My mind raced throughout the drive. Could the driver tell? He was around my age and glanced at me in the rear view mirror, checking me out. I blushed. Could he sense my arousal? Did I look different? It felt impossible that someone would not notice. Good Girls did not cross town dressed for sex. Dressed to be fucked by a man they met on the internet. To begin their sexual education. Fuck. I was shaking and we were only halfway there.
I typed the message out.
Sorry. I thought i could do this but i can't. This isn't me. You haven't done anything wrong. I just can't. Sorry for mucking you around.
Then deleted it. And typed another, most of the same words in a different order.
I asked the driver to drop me at the metro station near his house. I looked at the departure boards to see how long I had to wait for my train back. I wasn't really going to do this. But my phone was in my hand and checking the map as I walked towards his house.
And now I was at his door and was ringing the doorbell and he is opening it and fuck he's hot.
"Hi."
"Hi."
He gives me a big smile and I begin to relax a little.
"I wasn't sure if you'd show. I mean the texting was hot but... you know."
"Yeah. I wasn't sure if I would go through with it until I was knocking on your door." I gave a nervous laugh. "Have you ever been stood up before?"
"Of course. I ask a lot. And it's no big deal. We'll it's disappointing of course. And a bit of a blow to the ego," He gave a laugh that sounded real and I relaxed a little more, "But hey, it's all part of the game."
He fixed us both a drink, opening the bottle and pouring my glass in front of me for reassurance and we talked about nothing for a few minutes, moving from the kitchen to his living room where he sat on an armchair while I circled, part waiting to be invited to sit, part wanting to nosy around the room to see if there were clues to the man behind his cool, commanding persona.
He had presence, and the ability to remain quiet when most men would fill the silence with nervous chatter.
He was so different from the boys I usually dated he could have been from a different species. Where they were ingratiating he was direct, while still remaining polite, like it was normal to discuss on a first date how often he would allow me an orgasm.
His gentlemanliness was as refreshing as it was unnerving. He never sent me a dick pic, not yet asked for a nood, never even glanced at his phone on our date.
But he told me casually how he would play with my ass and train it to take a cock as part of my education even though he wasn't big on anal ("bit messy to be honest and I'm big enough that I don't usually crave a tighter hole" in his words).
His salt and pepper hair was worn slightly longer than most his age. His eyes had transfixed me when we met. Deep and blue and calm like the sea after a storm they seemed to look through my exterior and see into my soul. But I could sense he worked hard to make me feel safe, and despite everything I felt more at ease with him than I did with all those nice boys i'd dated.
We hadn't discussed what
he
would wear for our tryst but he clearly had considered it. Or maybe a check wool tailored jacket, crisp pale blue shirt and grey trousers were just his work outfit. Either way it was a look that would complement my outfit well, especially for what we had discussed.
"The door is locked but the key is in the lock. You can leave at any point. You have the postcode if you want to call a cab."
"Safewords. Listen carefully. We will operate in a simple traffic light system, Green, Amber, Red. Green you're comfortable. Amber it's getting a bit much and you need me to ease off a bit. Red is too much and I will stop immediately. I will occasionally check in but I need you to speak up when you feel we are moving into amber. This is not about seeing how much you can take. Using safewords is not a failure, it's an important part of play and building trust."
"Look at me Kitten. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir"
"Have you been edging as instructed?
I nodded but he knew from our messages that I had been.
"Every morning before you get up and at least once in the evening?"
"Yes Sir. Every day. I have followed your instructions carefully."
"How does your edging regime make you feel? It's not for everyone."
"Different. Not what I was expecting. I'm not a total mess if that is what you're asking, although it has only been a week and you've allowed me a couple of orgasms. It might be different if you deny me.
But it's good, it gives me a constant buzz. Like I can forget it if I'm concentrating on something but it's always there. My body feels much more sensitive too. I'm more aware of how my clothes feel on my body. I find myself choosing to wear more tactile fabrics next to my skin. Not just down there, everywhere. And I... I"
I stuttered and felt the colour flood my cheeks, " I touch myself much more during the day. I nip to the ladies at work for a little rub... and I've been tugging at my panties at my desk just to give my kitty some extra stimulation. I didn't even realise I was doing it at first. Like I'll be on a boring conference call and just tugging at my panties."
My face was crimson but he was impassive, nodding, considering my answer.
"Good. So we'll continue with that. I might slowly reduce the frequency of your orgasms but if it gets too much for you I need to know. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir." I stared at my feet, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl in front of the headmaster.
"Have you been practising taking the toy I bought you in your throat? Testing your gag reflex?"
"Yes but it only arrived a couple of days ago so I've not had much chance to practice. I'm not very good yet, I can't even take half of it without gagging but I am trying".
He was silent, waiting for me to say more.
"I had a good long session with it last night as I edged and played with my nipples. I got really drooly. I think it was the sluttiest I've ever felt in my life Sir. Humping my childhood stuffie and training my throat to a much older man's instructions. Imagining you were in the room, directing me".
He knew all this already. Just like in our first date he was making me say it out loud and to his face to make me feel submissive, feel like his student. And it was working. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper into Subspace, a state I had only previously managed to get into alone, after playing for a long time.
I felt light and heady, a bit like I had a couple of glasses of wine but with all my senses heightened and more alert rather than dulled. Relaxed but not sleepy.
I felt
Owned
.
"Do you enjoy playing with your nipples?"
He interrupted my reverie with a question I wasn't expecting.
"A little yes. But I mainly do it because it looks slutty and makes me feel like a whore. I like putting on a show for you when we play together. I feel objectified. Imagining it's all for you, like I really am your porn star."
Only he hadn't asked for pics or clips of me in this state. Yet. When I obliquely brought it up he responded he was old fashioned and was looking forward to seeing the real thing soon. Which reassured me a little. Probably not a psycho axe-murderer. Probably.
"So. Have you worn what I asked?"
"Yes Sir"
I nodded and became aware I hadn't taken off my long coat.
"I think it's time you lose the coat Kitten."
I unzipped my coat and threw it to the side and forced myself to look him in the eye as he appraised my outfit. He leaned forward, elbows on knees with his drink still in his hand and devoured me with his eyes.
"I followed your instructions Sir. It is my actual old school blazer, tie and plaid skirt. And I've rolled up the skirt like I did in my last year of school when I had that crush on my English teacher."
I had confessed that in my fantasies I was drawn again and again back to the last year of school and the relationship that developed with my favourite teacher, Mr Knight, my sixth form English teacher. How he would praise my work while criticising everyone else's.
How he would crouch down in front of me while I parted my teenage thighs to show him the bare skin of my thighs above my thigh high socks, or sometimes the lacy tops of the Hold Up stockings I stole from my mum.
And then how I would write about sex in my creative writing assignments and he would blush and say in a low voice "What are we going to do about you Miss?" in a low voice when giving me my grades.
For weeks he found any excuse to hold me back after class, then I would ask him to clarify a point of the lesson and we stole five minutes a week between classes to talk and slowly grow closer. I learned that he was in an unhappy marriage and I craved more, was desperate for something to happen, for his touch to move up from where rested his hand on my knee.
But it never happened.
Then, after months of longing, after our last class together, he lurched forward without warning and gave me a clumsy kiss on the lips, then drew away apologising, ashamed he had lost control and clearly terrified of losing his job. But in my fantasies things played out differently. And now I had a chance to experience my long held fantasy, my alternative ending.
"The white shirt is new, a size too small, cheap and thin, as instructed. I hope you like."
"And underneath?"
"Why don't you find out? Sir."
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and stepped toward his chair. He remained seated but reached out to caress my leg, and slid his hand to my bare thigh, then under my little school skirt until felt his fingertips graze my slit through the silky panties he had told me to wear. I gasped and my knees almost buckled under me.
"You don't look very steady on your feet Kitten. Sit."
His legs remained spread so I straddled his thigh. Only when his leg pressed against the thin material of panties did I realise just how wet I was.
The Teacher
Not only had she shown up on time but she had dressed exactly as I requested. The uniform was obviously sexed up but a genuine school uniform; more slutty sixth former than a trashy sex shop costume.
