My Eliza

Content warning: incest themes, manipulation, deceit, chastity cage, forced arousal, light BDSM. There is no P-in-V sex. There are several descriptions of the narrator's pain. I debated which category to put this in for a long time, ultimately settling on mind control despite the BDSM/horror themes. If it belongs somewhere else, tell me in the comments. Would love to discuss!

This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18+.

#

The final bell rung as I finished handing out the graded history papers. The seniors at St. Mary's School for Girls in P--, RI stuffed the papers in their backpacks and hurried out in a little tornado of pleated skirts and school sweaters. I smiled and waved as they departed, careful to maintain a friendly, avuncular posture, and to not let my eyes wander to the hems of their tartan skirts, or their delicious, pantyhosed legs. It was a hard act to maintain, particularly when Molly Rutledge filed past in a storm of red hair and bouncing breasts, her hips swishing like a cat's tail. But now that my 18-year-old daughter Eliza had transferred here, I needed to be even more careful. The absolute last thing I needed was for her to learn what a pervert her father was, or how I'd historically availed myself of some of St. Mary's more spirited students.

Until a few weeks ago, Eliza had been a boarding student at Andover in Massachusetts, out of sight and out of mind. The call had come shortly before the holidays: Eliza was being expelled. She cited all sorts of reasons. Truancy, poor grades. She was coming home, and my wife's and my anger was immeasurable. With my wife traveling all the time, I was left to deal with it, and my extracurricular activities would need to be put on pause.

There were other adjustments that had to be made, too, now that Eliza was around, besides not bringing any girls home to fuck while my wife was away. I had to get used to feeding another person, for one. I had to remember not to walk around the house shirtless, as I sometimes did in the mornings upon waking up and before showering. There were all sorts of minute changes that occur when you're no longer living alone, as I often found myself to be while my wife was traveling. I tried to look on the bright side, to focus on the benefits of having our daughter at home. But it was difficult, at times. Ashamed as I was to admit it, I hardly knew her. She had lived out of the house for so long, it had felt like having a stranger in the home.

I donned my winter jacket and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, checking to make sure I hadn't left any loose papers out on the old, wooden desk, before turning off the lights and leaving the classroom until Monday. The hallway was teeming with students chatting gaily about their weekend plans as they slammed their lockers and tried to get the hell out of there. I paid careful attention to Molly as I passed, hoping to hear a bit of the salacious detail she was no doubt sharing with Kiera Longwood, and was mildly disappointed to only catch a snippet of a complaint about her homework load. I hoped that wouldn't be the only load the buxom redhead would be taking that weekend. And I was sorry it wouldn't be mine.

I hadn't always thought of myself as a pervert, to be honest. I had been a history teacher at St. Mary's for about ten years, now, and the main draws at first had been the salary, long vacations and proximity to our home. It was only after the first few years that I came to see the beautiful girls and their delectable uniforms as a real perk of the job. And it was only after I had secured tenure in my fifth year that I dared pursue anything with one of the students. I had been careful, selective, choosing Beth Steinhardt for my first foray into these extracurricular activities. I say I chose her, but she had really been the one to set things in motion, staying after class one day to suggest a tutoring session. The dark-haired misfit had hardly been the most beautiful girl in my classes, but she had other attractive qualities. She was a loner, for one. She was quiet, preferring her solitary journaling before class to socializing with the other girls. I felt she would be unlikely to divulge our relationship, given these dynamics. She was heading to college in the fall, I understood, and, importantly, she wasn't in love with me. Not that I'm the kind of guy who thinks his students are always falling in love with him, but before you fuck an 18-year-old whose grades are your responsibility and whose life is essentially in your hands, you want to make sure you're both more or less on the same page. I was as much an idle fascination for her as she was for me. It had a shelf life. She would move on. I could work with that.

And Beth's body. Christ. Curvy, voluptuous. She had a natural eroticism that just drove me crazy from the moment I saw her naked. It's no wonder she broke down my resolve, set me on this path. Then she was gone, and I had spent the years chasing that same feeling, I suppose.

Not all of my dalliances over the years had been as perfectly situated, and there had been some close calls. Teachers asking questions. Students asking for a switch to Ms. Collins's history section. And some of them had simply gotten too attached. At 46 years old, now, I harbored no illusions about my physical attractiveness in the eyes of the typical 18-year-old girl, but I worked out regularly, kept trim, and thought my face was reasonably handsome. Handsome enough, at least. And with my sandy hair, flecked with gray in a way I thought looked pretty damn distinguished, I thought I cleared the bar. Still, I knew my role as their teacher had as much to do with their interests as anything else, and, in fairness, if I hadn't first met each of them in their school uniforms, I might not have had much interest, either. There was a certain reciprocity in that, an understanding that these little flings were an exercise in the temporary realization of a fantasy, rather than the start of a legitimate, sustainable relationship.

Besides, they all knew I was married.

I threw the outer doors open and stepped into the brisk, January afternoon, traipsing toward the hedge garden that separated the school from the faculty parking lot, where I would meet Eliza before driving home. I was looking forward to a quiet night in, perhaps getting a head start on the next week's lesson planning, when I heard my name called out from one of the hedge rows.

"Mr. Powell," the female voice said, whispering hoarsely above the gentle breeze.

I looked to my left. Nina Grambling stood with her back pressed against one of the hedges. She wore a powder blue puffer jacket that covered most of her uniform, except for an hint of the blue and red tartan skirt that ended an inch or two above her knees. She wore white hose and a pair of black Mary Janes, and clutched the top of her backpack in her hands. There were white and blue ribbons tied in her long, straight blonde hair, in her usual, girly style.

"Nina," I said, looking around to make sure we weren't being watched.

She bounced her back against the hedge, rustling the tightly-packed leaves. Nina was 19 years old, having failed to graduate last year for a lot of the same reasons that brought her into my special attentions. She was a trouble-maker, a "wild one," as the headmaster had described her. But her continued presence past the sell-by date was causing some issues.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" She asked.

I stepped closer, maintaining that avuncular expression I mentioned earlier, ensuring there could be no question of impropriety from anyone who happened to be watching at a distance.

"And what would that be?" I asked.

"My goodbye kiss, silly."

Nina dropped her bag to the pavement and shuffled her feet wider.

"Nina... we can't. We've talked about this..."

She put a hand on one hip and bounced her leg, pouting in frustration.

"It's always something!" She shouted, stamping a foot. "'I can't leave my wife.' 'It's not a good time.' Sometimes I think you don't take me seriously. Like I'm just some silly little plaything. Is that all I am to you, Mr. Powell? Some silly thing to toss aside once you've had your fun?"

She had the truth of it, to be fair. I didn't intend to leave my wife for her any more than I did for any of the other girls I had been with. It just wasn't in the program. Nina had claimed to understand that in the early innings, and had hardly objected when I called things off the prior semester, warning her about the repercussions if Eliza should discover my infidelity, if the school should learn about us. I considered whether Nina was just playing a game of her own, now.

"Nina... we talked about this. You're acting conspicuously. Somebody will see."

She leaned back again, and resumed her gentle bouncing against the hedge.

"Promise me, then. Promise me that when I graduate, we can be together. That you'll leave your wife."

"Nina..."

"Promise me, or I'll scream."

She was crazy enough to do it, I realized, regretting in that moment that I had ever gotten involved with a chick as crazy as that, and not for the first time. This was a girl who had already failed to graduate, whose wealthy parents could absorb the shock of her dismissal from school. A girl who had less to lose. A poor choice, in the end.

"Alright!" I said, holding up my hands like I was trying to calm a huffing bull. My glasses had begun to fog under the steam of my breath. "I promise. Just wait until the end of the year. Please, my dear?"

Nina bent down and grabbed her bag. The back of her skirt inched up her legs, revealing the lacy top of her non-sanctioned stockings. She had a way of reminding me why I picked her in the first place.

"Ok," she said. "Just don't break my heart, Mr. Powell. I'd never forgive you."

She turned and skipped down the row towards the front of the school, where the buses idled and waited for students. Her hands were interlocked above her ass, her hair bouncing and skirt fluttering as she went. I exhaled, the air steaming with my breath. Too close, I thought, turning back to the main path and seeing Eliza standing there. Who knows for how long?

"What was that all about?" Eliza asked.

She stared coolly at me from behind her own eyeglasses, just about the only physical feature we have in common, with her shoulder-length brown hair fixed in place against the wind with two tortoiseshell clips. Her face was severe for her 18 years, and I might have guessed she was slightly older than that if I weren't something of an expert on the subject of my own daughter's age. Her large, black Canada Goose coat seemed to swallow her body whole, but despite her smaller size, Eliza had significant presence. She just had that, I don't know, gravitas. I chalked it up to her time at boarding school. The time away from home had matured her. It creeped me out, if I'm honest.

"Oh!" I said, real smooth. I had to think fast. "Eliza! I didn't see you, there. Ah, we were just discussing the history paper she had written. She wanted to make sure I understood how much time she had put into it and asked me to reconsider her grade. That's all."

"Oh," Eliza said. "But why did she tell you not to break her heart?"

I shivered. Because of the cold, I told myself.

"With a bad grade," I said, quickly enough to pass muster, I thought. "What else?"

"I see."

We walked quietly to my sensible Korean sedan, and I considered the likelihood that Eliza had heard more of the conversation than that. I decided she must not have heard the bit about leaving her mother at the end of the year, or else she might have asked about that.

Eliza's relationship with her mother was complicated. My wife was the CEO of an executive recruiting firm based in Boston, and regularly traveled for work. For the last three and a half years, with Eliza away at boarding school, we had each had limited face-to-face contact with our daughter, and the relationship had become pretty strained, especially between Eliza and my wife. I considered this a potential explanation for her poor performance at Andover, which saw her excused at the end of the last term and required me to scramble to get her admitted to St. Mary's for the spring semester. I resisted the idea, at first. I'm not proud of it, but her presence would put a stop to my extracurricular activities for a while, and besides, it just seemed strange to have her at my place of work. But with my wife gone all the time, there was nobody else to figure out a plan. So I made the arrangements. I just hoped that she could keep up with the workload. St. Mary's was a challenging school, and Eliza seemed to struggle in academic environments.

"So," I asked, unlocking the car. "How are you liking St. Mary's so far?"

"You asked me that yesterday," she said, sliding into the passenger seat and placing her bag in the foot bed. "Maybe if I were one of your cute blonde students, you'd remember what I said."

"Eliza," I said, turning the ignition with more force than was probably needed. "Stop that. That's how rumors get started."

I waited for her to nod, and considered how little I really knew about my daughter. She had grown up away from us, for most of these past few years. And like I said, I worried whether she had heard more than she let on, after all. If she were to talk to Nina, or begin making inquiries of some of the other girls, that could have really fucked things up for me. This would have to be carefully managed, I knew. We drove home in relative silence, me wondering who this girl really was, and what she might be capable of.

#

For dinner that night, I ordered pizza from Rigoletto's. It had been a busy start to the semester, and with my wife traveling yet again, I hadn't had any time to go grocery shopping. Besides, I wasn't much of a cook to begin with. I asked Eliza if she had any weekend plans as we tore into the pepperoni pie at the kitchen table, but she simply shook her head. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to get a normal conversation going.

Her comment about "cute blonde students" still rang in my ears. For one, it suggested I had been neglecting my daughter, and I felt guilty. I knew I had never been the father of the year sort, but I hoped we might make the best of this situation and repair our relationship. She would be home for the semester. It was unexpected, yes. It was interruptive. But it was also an opportunity to be a dad. I knew I should try to make the most of it, and resolved then and there at the kitchen table to put in a little more effort.

But on the other hand, the comment really did suggest an awareness of my relationship with Nina that went beyond the typical teacher-student dynamic. It could be my guilty conscience seeing phantoms. I knew that. But where there was smoke, there was often fire, and I understood Eliza might be thinking along the same lines.

"What do you say we watch a movie or something tonight?" I said, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.

"I could do that," Eliza said, taking a sip of coke. "But could we talk a little bit, first?"

Here we go, I thought, feeling foolish I had tried to shift gears without recognizing the elephant in the room. I tried to calm down, to recognize I was jumping at shadows. There was no need to see danger everywhere. It was normal for a father and daughter to talk a little bit.

"Ok," I said. "What do you want to talk about? Shoot."

Eliza leaned back in her chair. She wore a white long-sleeve shirt, and I strained to not glance at the yellow bra strap that revealed itself on her shoulder.

"How are things with Mom?"

"Lize," I said, doing my best impression of a father warning his kid to knock it off.

"What?" She asked, stretching her arms out, the fabric of her shirt stretching against her chest. "She's gone all the time. Doesn't it affect you?"

The subtext of her prior comment seeped through her words. She suspected something. Maybe she didn't know what, exactly. But then I thought perhaps this was her way of diffusing the tension, of giving me an out.

"Sure, it affects me," I said. "I miss her. It's hard not having the woman you love around."

Eliza placed her hands on the table.

"Is that why you let students flirt with you like that?"

"I..." She was either trying to trip me up or provide an off-ramp, and I couldn't tell which. "I've been at St. Mary's for over a decade, now. It's not unheard of for some girls to... act a little familiar with their teachers. Maybe not develop full-on feelings, but you do hear about it. They train us in how to deal with that sort of thing. But when it happens... you know, we're only human. It can be flattering."

Eliza nodded thoughtfully. The yellow bra strap re-emerged from its hiding place. I wondered if it had really been that easy, in the end.

"I guess I can understand that," Eliza said. "Okay. So, movie night? You pick. I'm going to change into my pajamas."

I sank into one corner of the long living room sofa and clicked around the TV screen for a suitable film to watch. Romance was out. I assumed Eliza didn't like hardcore action. I scrolled through the straight-to-streaming fantasy films, researching their reviews on my phone, when Eliza entered the living room, again. She wore an over-sized, tie-dyed t-shirt that fanned out at the hips and a pair of thick, navy knee socks. She sat in the other sofa corner with her bare legs stretched across the cushions, her feet mere inches from me.

"Do any of these look good?" I asked, flipping past various sword and sorcery titles. Eliza shrugged.

"Whatever," she said. "Doesn't matter much to me."

I picked one almost at random, and settled in for the film to begin. As the swords clanged and steeds charged on screen, I became aware of Eliza shifting in her seat, her pale legs moving enticingly, and fought the urge to look over. She was still my daughter, even if she was practically a stranger. She wasn't just one of my regular students, some lust object for my eyes to devour. But as time went on, the film had a hard time capturing my attention, and a flash of yellow in the corner of my eye broke my will. I glanced over, seeing a small, yellow triangle of fabric where her pale thighs met and the t-shirt ended. Eliza was resting her head on the armrest, idly moving her bent left leg gently back and forth. The yellow triangle expanded and contracted with each movement. I swallowed my saliva.

"You know," I said, looking back to the screen and standing up. "I may just try to get a head start on some of my lesson planning. It's been running through my head and distracting me."

"Oh," Eliza said, sitting up. "Okay..."

I poured a glass of tap water and carried it up to my office on the second floor, drinking the glass's contents before I'd even sat down. There was no defensible reason my pulse should be racing like it was, and I scolded myself for reacting so inappropriately to the sight of my daughter's underwear. It was just clothing. She was in her own home. She had a right to be comfortable without worrying about her father leering at her. This shouldn't take getting used to. I was her father. I needed to act like it. To think like it.

I opened my laptop and began to type, focusing on next week's segments on World War I. I referenced the prior year's work as well as the textbook's own suggestions for lesson planning, and searched online for any interesting new ways to discuss the Great War. Everything was either dumbed down to the kindergarten level or way too elaborate, involving all sorts of props and preparation I knew I didn't want to spend the weekend on, more suited to a WW1 enthusiast convention than a high school classroom. Before I knew it, an hour had passed, and I had barely made a dent in the new plan. I could always just use last year's, I thought, when a knock came at the door.