Teacher Is Mistaen

Chapter 19

A new master for the teacher

"Come on, let's walk back to the embassy," Bill encouraged his mentor.

"Far safer to get a taxi," Nathanial advised.

The new chap would soon learn not to take chances. He was still enthralled with the appointment, as it was his first assignment overseas. The alcohol was fuelling Bill's bravado, and affecting Nathanial's better judgement.

"It's a great night to take in the sounds and smells of a foreign land. Call it research, Nathanial," Bill laughed.

It was a quiet and pleasant evening. They moved among a throng of people, hardly noticed among foreign businessmen who were out and about in town, drinking coffee at a street corner, or just taking in the sights. The next block was much quieter, when they strolled along a tree lined boulevard near the embassy.

"There you are, safe and sound," Bill announced, as they walked toward a sentry guarding the gated compound. They stopped to show their Id to the marine.

At that moment a flash of bright light lit the dusk. A wave of hot air, as though a jet engine had suddenly turned their way, blasted them from their feet. All three were slammed against the wall, quicker than thought could process what was happening. Shards of metal from a parked vehicle studded the wall, breaking their bodies into tatters of red flesh. The wall gave way under the blast, covering what was left of them in broken bricks. Dust swirled onward into the supposedly secure compound.

A marine officer stepped around the corner of the embassy building, on his way to inspect the reported vehicle. He was knocked from his feet and concussed, but relatively unhurt. The dust was settling, blanketing the courtyard in muffled silence. Windows along the facade were cracked, not broken, having been designed to withstand a blast.

Poor soft human bodies hadn't been so well designed. The three men knew nothing of the explosion, and never would.

***

"Roger. I've got some bad news, are you sitting down? Are you alone?" Roger's father asked.

Roger was feeling pleased with himself until his father phoned. The serious tone of voice left him feeling apprehensive.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Roger replied, from concern for himself.

"Where's Nathanial's wife and daughter?" he asked.

Roger's hands shook. He was in trouble. What did his father know about them, that had him calling so early in the morning, sounding grave.

"They're, err, in bed," Roger lied. He couldn't tell his father the two women were tethered in the stables.

"Listen to me carefully. Something's happened to Nathanial. He's been killed. Sorry to tell you like this. You're going to have to look after them longer than you thought. No! Listen to me. The authorities are keeping it quiet. They contacted me as I'm his best friend and a contact. It doesn't matter why," he smoothly added.

"What happened? You said killed!" Roger yelped into the phone, sounding distraught.

"Calm down, Roger. Nathanial and Bill were on government business. Look, don't concern yourself with what they were doing. I need you to keep calm and look after the two women. A week, maybe longer. Can you do that?" he requested, making it sound like an order.

"Yea, OK. What do I tell them?" Roger asked. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Nothing, not yet. I'll keep in touch. The important thing is to keep them away from the press, and prevent them from making a fuss. Can you do that?" he firmly asked for confirmation.

"Sure. I'll tell them he's away longer than planned," Roger suggested.

"OK. He told me you were looking after them while he was away. You just need to carry on awhile longer. Nathanial mentioned Rachael. Is she still there?" he asked.

"Yea, how did you know?" Roger asked.

"She's Bill's wife. He was worried about Bill finding out. He was introducing Bill to his contacts. You had better keep her in the dark too. I know it's a lot to ask. Just do your best, son," he sympathised.

"OK. I will. Don't worry, I'll look after them. There won't be a problem, I promise," Roger stated, trying to sound confident.

After some small talk the phone went dead.

The time difference in London meant his father was up and busy. As a banker he was involved with financing government business, but Roger hadn't realised it involved dangerous situations. Shit! He hadn't asked if his father was in trouble. A bomb outside a middle east embassy was mentioned. A coincidence his father said. What the hell was going on?

He sat motionless on the edge of the bed wondering what to do. It no longer seemed fun to be looking after three attractive women. He looked at the bedside clock. It was early, though the pony-girls would soon have to be fed and watered.

His slave Rachael was in the next room, sleeping soundly. How could he carry on with her, when her husband had been killed! Get back into a routine, that was the way to deal with it. Push the awful truth to the back of his mind and keep it from them, until father told him otherwise.

"Wake up slave! Your master needs your help," Roger admonished Rachael.

Rachael yawned loudly. She was about to complain about being woken up so rudely. On opening her eyes the events of last night replaced her agitation with embarrassment. The young hunk staring at her had fucked her hard. He was using her as his sex slave!

It was humiliating to be treated so badly, yet it was so very arousing and irresistible. Without thinking she automatically jumped out of bed, to kneel at his feet.

"Sorry master! Your slave is ready to serve you," she sincerely apologised.

In the past such games had been played for just a weekend, with strict rules over how she should be treated. The usual game rules she demanded were void. Nathanial knew who she was, so the threat of her sordid secret being exposed meant she had to submit completely. After a whole week playing the game, the slave role was becoming deeply embedded.

It meant this young man had her at his mercy. He didn't know her husband was an important man, but Nathanial had made it clear she was to obey Roger, until he returned home. Perhaps that's why she was being woken up so early. It was time to leave. She hoped so. Playing the role of slave was leaving its mark upon her, for it was far too enjoyable.

"Make breakfast, then help me with the pony-girls," Roger ordered.

He watched her scurry off to the bathroom, then left to fill the coffee machine. He needed to keep busy, to avoid thinking about the dire situation. He was responsible for the three women, and would have to take care of them. He could do it. He wouldn't let his father down.

After breakfast Rachael followed her young master to the stables. It didn't look as though she were leaving after all. She noticed he was more self-assured, and seemed sterner with his orders. In response to this she immediately jumped to his commands.

Whereas before his demands had been sexual, he was merely treating her like a slave-girl. It wasn't right for an older married woman to be obeying a young man's orders. She didn't treat her servants at home so offhandedly as he was treating her. She just couldn't bring herself to question him. Her self-assurance had evaporated, leaving her completely submissive to him.

The pony girls were awake. They snorted and stamped their feet, indicating attention was needed. They slept naked on straw in the disused stables as they had become used to, during the weeks away at training school. As they were so well trained, they could only communicate like ponies. He figured it would be convenient to keep up the training regime, so they didn't ask awkward questions.

Roger took hold of Bridget's reins, leading her to a drain in the concrete floor. She spread her feet either side of it and let loose. She stood aside to let her daughter take her place.

Roger had found it amusing to watch the arrogant girl in such a demeaning pose, though not today, as he remotely went through the routine. Angela sighed with relief as she peed down the drain.

He fitted a nozzle into Bridget's asshole and opened a valve. The warm water gushed into her, leaving her trembling. The pony-girls obviously didn't like this, but had to stand it. He cleaned the nozzle, unable to watch the woman defecate over the drain. Angela was next. She was less able to cope with the intrusion, so he slapped her ass.

They obediently stood waiting for him to hose them down. Their skin welled up with goose bumps from the cold spray. Their skin was brightly shining, and they shivered, despite the warm weather. He wondered how traumatic the training had been for them to so quickly submit to such indignities.

He fitted the harnesses to their head and led them back to the stalls. Rachael had finished filling their feeding bottles, so they eagerly kneeled to suckle on them. He watched them suck the teats into their mouths, marvelling how deeply they sucked them down their throats.

The rubber teats were shaped like a penis. Both women had learnt to push right down on them, to kiss a back plate. This released the liquid feed. Needing to breath they pulled back, sucked in air, then plunged down its length for another gulp of liquid. The regular head bobbing was fascinating.

It was obvious why they were feeding like this. It must have been obvious to them too, when first being taught the demeaning trick. Despite his best intentions, Roger knew he would have to take advantage of this new talent sooner or later. Seeing the bulge in their necks while pressing home, he considered his cock would be a tight fit.

The feed even had the colour and consistency of sperm. The trainer had told him it was a mix of all the nutrients they needed. There was solid food too, which looked like broken dog cookies. Extra treats could be given to them when they carried out tasks in the yard.

Roger had read the training manual last night, so knew how to put them through their paces. While reading it, he had to send Rachael to a guest room out of the way as she was a distraction. She kept nuzzling him, and playing with his cock. When she slunk below the sheets to suck on his cock, he had to send her out.

"Slave! Go clean and tidy the house. Your master shall inspect your work, so be thorough," he ordered.

"Yes, master, thank you master," Rachael reluctantly answered.

At home she had people to do that sort of thing. Having this young man force her into such a lowly position was demeaning. She liked the idea of being inspected. A thrill of anticipation ran through her body, at the prospect of being spanked for misdemeanours.

She didn't seem too pleased about it, and reluctantly shuffled off. She looked back at him and the pony-girls. The look on her face was obvious to read. She thought he would be taking advantage of them, and wondered if he would be capable of satisfying her later.

The two pony girls were standing straight and tall. The high leather boots were shaped into hoofs, and kept their legs straight. A corset was built into the tight leather bodysuit, forcing an upright stance with breasts pushed out.

The head harness had a short strap clipped to a ring in the small of the back, keeping their heads up. A plume of feathers fixed in the head harness, together with the high heeled boots, left them looking tall and proud. The two pony-girls looked magnificent in the skin tight, shiny leather.

Roger stood behind them with their reins in one hand. He flicked their bottoms with a whip to start them trotting out to the yard. With each step they lifted their knees high, proudly demonstrating their knew found skills.

Angela flicked away some spit from around the bit in her mouth, careful not to spray her trainer. She had learnt the hard way not to get back at a trainer. After being whipped she had been given an extra hard training in the paddock, back at the training stables. Since then she had reluctantly obeyed commands more carefully, to avoid a severe punishment.

Bridget trotted out into the yard with her hip nudging her daughters. It had been silly to think being sent for training had been a cruel mistake. She behaved herself, now that she knew her place, and was proud to show off her pony skills. She felt so calm and content, now that her life had been so strictly defined. Every moment of every day was distilled into a set routine. There were no concerns or thoughts anymore, as she merely had to obey a master.

Roger tied Angela's reins to a post, then attached a long leather rein to her mother's bit.

"Trot, Belle!" he commanded.

Bridget obediently circled the small arena on the end of a long leash. The bells attached to her nipples rang with every step, as her breasts bounced around. Before she became dizzy he stopped her for a moment, and awkwardly turned her around to trot her in the other direction.

When she began to up the pace he checked her with a command, and a flick of the whip upon her backside.

"Good pony-girl, well done, Belle!" Roger encouraged her.

He was learning as he went along, and very glad he had studied the training manual. The turns were a little awkward, but he was learning. It was amusing seeing this friend of his mothers prancing around under the whip. He was using another of his mothers friends, Rachael, as his sex toy. There were enough distractions to let him forget the bad news.

He forgot the awful death of her husband, while concentrating hard on putting her through her paces.

"Here Belle!" he ordered. Bridget trotted over to him, for a treat. He pushed it into her mouth, passed the bit. She awkwardly swallowed it, then nodded her head best she could, showing gratitude for the morsel and the praise.

He fitted the nozzle of a bottle of water into her mouth and squeezed it. She greedily slurped, hardly spilling a drop. He wiped the water from her face with a towel, and stroked her hair, finger combing it back into place. He wiped down her body with the cool wet towel.

He paid attention to the nipple clamps, making sure they, and the bells, were tightly fastened, so as to avoid injury. His hand traced the curve of her cheeks, which were pulled apart by the leather outfit. A finger pressed into the deep cleft between the cheeks, and pressed her puckered hole. The softness of her sex was too enticing not to sample. He lifted the butt-plug tail to run his fingers over her protruding lips.

Pinching them and probing them brought on a snorting and nodding of her head. The lips seemed to flower out around the slit in the tight leather at her crotch. Mesmerised by the sight of her engorged sex, he rubbed the hardening clit. The pony pushed her ass at him, and whinnied for more attention.

Her daughter turned toward them and snorted in disgust. She watched her mother being vigorously finger fucked by a boy she had been to school with. As she was tethered, all she could do was stand and watch. Despite her repulsion she could feel a building arousal.

In training they had been stripped naked and abused, yet neither of them received actual sex. Not even a simple manipulation of her sex had been allowed. Angela rocked the tail attached to a butt plug which was deeply embedded in her bottom. It was a poor substitute compared to what her mother was receiving When she wagged the tail it was large enough to vaguely feel tremors against the walls of her vagina.

Bridget let out a yell of satisfaction from an orgasm rippling from her tummy throughout her body. Angela snorted and stamped a foot, from being left out. Damn it! Her excitement was overpowering the shame of letting Roger get the better of her. She wanted a reward too. Determined to prove herself worthy, she prepared to do her best in the arena.

Angela didn't even consider the disadvantage of the way she was dressed. She was a well trained pony-girl, with attitude. Within the confines of the training, she would perform as guided by her trainer.

***

Hollie was settling in with her new master. He was considerate of her needs and looked after her well. Unlike Roger, her previous master, he was experienced enough to find out what she needed. When she misbehaved he spanked her, or put her in a cage to think over her faults. As time went on it became a rare event, as she had become a thoroughly dutiful and obedient slave.

He made sure she experienced humiliation, but didn't involve others in dangerous games. All she had to do was obey him, and leave all decisions to her master. In return she learnt what he liked, and gladly pandered to his whims.

She was taken out to expensive restaurants and exclusive events where it was safe to wear nothing but a sheath dress. Others eyed her figure, but were too cultured to comment.

A simple walk in the park became exciting. Wearing a short flared skirt she sat on a blanket reading a book. Absently lifting her knees to support the book, revealed a tiny thong.

She pretended not to notice an old guy sitting on a bench opposite her. Through the dark sunglasses she stole furtive looks at him, confirming he was watching the skirt ride up. It was tame compared to what Roger had put her through, yet thrilling all the same.

She tugged at the skirt as though trying to cover herself, seeming to unintentionally reveal more of her panties. The old guy was appreciative and smiled at her when she packed up to go. She smiled back, hoping to look innocent of the show put on for his benefit.

Brad was wise enough not to pick young guys to join in on their fun. In various locations Hollie showed off her body, or was placed in awkward situations. He was always close by in case it got out of hand.

When someone visited she would be allowed to wear a dress, while serving them. Otherwise she spent her time in the house completely naked. Like Roger, her master inspected her shaved pussy. Her master didn't add any more tattoos or piercings. The nipple and pussy rings were kept in place. The slave number just above her pussy looked clear and fresh.

It was only when Peter, his nephew called that she felt uncomfortable. She thought her master purposely left them alone to see how they got on. The young guy suspected they had an unusual relationship, but didn't ask. After all, she was a beautiful young woman with a much older man, so he was bound to wonder.

As Peter was his only relative, she gritted her teeth to put up with the brash young man, for her masters sake.

Sitting at his feet under the desk, she was startled from a reverie when he spoke.

"I've decided you can go back to teaching," Brad announced.

It was short notice and Hollie was worried. She wanted to, and it would help her recover from the complete submission she had fallen into during the break. Carefully removing his wrinkled penis from her mouth, she meekly spoke.

"Thank you, Master. Do you think I can? I mean . . . it's worrying that I might not be able to teach," she thought out loud. During the few weeks serving him, she had become completely dependent upon his every word. Would she be able to function without him?

"Once you get back into familiar surroundings it will be fine, you'll see," Brad reassured her.

"Yes, Master, whatever you say, master," Hollie dutifully replied.

It was true. In class she kept the students in check, because they thought so highly of her. She didn't have to raise her voice. A smile and kind advice brought the best out of them. They appreciated her for treating them like equals. She spent time and effort helping them improve grades, and in return they looked out for her. The older class warned the younger rowdy elements to behave in her history class.

Going home to become a slave-girl was incongruous at first, yet she soon found it easy to slip in and out of the role. Her master was understanding when she needed to stay late with a student, to give them extra tuition. For a couple of months life seemed perfect.