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Teacher's Pet

33600 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Robin Morgan is a small, fragile young woman, naive, but attracted to bondage and humiliation. When she lets her desires slip in front of her professor, her schoolgirl games come to an end. For the professor\\\'s lust is much darker and harsher than she could ever have imagined. As he leads her to ever deeper, more degrading, more painful levels of masochism she finds her entire life refocused around her own slavery and abuse.

Price:  $5.95

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EXCERPT

I was born small, was a small kid, and never really grew very much. Even now, fully grown, I`m barely five feet tall naked.
I was, however, gifted with a pretty face. No, pretty doesn`t describe me adequately. I have a particular kind of face, a sweet, cute, elfin, doll-like face that when younger made adults smile and pat my head all the time.
I have a tiny button nose, large, incredibly soft, moist brown eyes, a small round face, and a small mouth with full, pouty lips. My hair is a rich, soft, silky chestnut brown that gleams in the sun. It`s straight, but thick and full, parted in the middle, and flows down around my face and over my shoulders to half-way down my back.
Being small, and looking cute as I did, I tended to use my looks to get things, or to get away with things. I became expert at looking and acting innocent and fragile and helpless. When I would look that way everyone would smile and feel sorry for me. Who could punish a girl that looked so sweet?
It got me out of a lot of work, and a lot of punishments, and people were always eager to do things for me, because I was so sweet.
I guess I really cultivated this fragile image, so much so that I began to think of myself that way. And whenever someone was mean to me, or punished me, I kind of felt like a sacrificial martyr.
I guess, as I got older, and hit puberty, and as sexual thoughts boiled within me, as they did in all adolescents, my images reflected my self-image. Many of my favorite fantasies involved violation; some man or men brutally violating poor, helpless little me.
I really got into that.
Around this time I remember provoking my step-father into spanking me, doing it purposefully, for sexual purposes. You see, not only did I get off on the - well, on letting a man see my naked behind, which was a terribly naughty thing to do, of course, but I also got off on being held helpless across his lap as his hand cracked down on my bare bottom.
Thinking back, I wonder if he didn`t have some idea of what I was after. I mean, I was a bit old for spanking, and there was no real reason to pull down my pants and panties to do it. Maybe it turned him on a little too.
Like I said, I have a terribly sweet face, and though I never grew very large, I do have, and developed early on, a slender, but firmly feminine body. My breasts are not huge, but given the petite size of my torso, they seem much larger than they are. My hips are slim, but because my waist is so incredibly tiny they seem very womanly.
I look great in tight jeans, and did even back then.
So maybe that was why my step-father continued spanking my bare bottom, and didn`t wonder at why I was being so naughty all of a sudden, and only around him.
The first time I had an orgasm any way but masturbating, was when I was across his lap getting spanked. His hand was cracking down quite hard on my ass, and I was gasping and panting and whimpering in response, trying to hide the heat flaring inside me.
I remember rubbing my thighs together as he spanked, then daringly letting my legs come further apart, imagining his eyes on my nearly hairless pussy. Then I would close my legs again and grind my thighs together. As I did this I came thunderously, and every crack of his hand made the sexual heat flare higher.
One day he was wearing white pants and I guess my pussy was so hot, and my orgasm so wonderful, that my pussy left a dark stain on his pants, and I guess he realized what was happening, or maybe just faced reality. In any case, he could either start fucking me, or stay away from me, and he decided to do the latter. He never spanked me again no matter how I taunted him, and I soon stopped.
But I was frustrated. Sometimes when I masturbated I would do it on my knees, bent over. I would push one hand through my thighs and rub my pussy, and slap my other hand down on my bottom until they were red and sore.
Spanking does hurt, but to me, it`s a brief pain. After the first few spanks my bottom starts throbbing with heat, and each additional blow would just add to that heat until my behind seemed to radiate heat. There was no pain then, just heat. The stinging sharp pain from each new blow tended to be muffled and shielded by the heat.
I lost my virginity to what would by any visible witness, be called date-rape. It wasn`t, though. I`d provoked it. I wanted sex, really, really wanted it, but I wanted it to be.. .well, to be like my fantasies, to have poor sweet little me abused by some horrible guy.
Not only would this fulfil my sense of the dramatic and my martyr wishes, but I would still be a sweet, "good" girl. After all, if I were violated it could hardly be my fault. How could anyone call me a slut or a whore when a nasty guy had forced himself on me?
So one day in the finished basement of a guy`s house, with the rest of the place empty... I got myself violated, and violated good. It was to set the pace for my life. I teased a boy mercilessly, getting him as hot as possible, and then taunted him and told him I was leaving, that I`d only gotten him hot for amusement. He was more than slightly outraged, and I let him tackle me, let him strip me, and let him ride me violently, protesting all the while.
It was fabulous!
But dangerous. It wouldn`t have taken many such incidents before I got a reputation, so I confined myself, mostly, to masturbating while having dark, nasty fantasies. I arranged to be abused a few more times, of course, but always with boys I hardly knew.
It wasn`t until I graduated and went to UCLA that I was able to really experience the kinds of things I`d so long dreamed of. Los Angeles was a huge city, and UCLA was a huge school. I had the anonymity there to do what I wanted without getting a reputation, just so long as I didn`t do it with the same people I had classes with.
The problem, though, was that I was going out with men now, not boys, and encouraging violations by them could get me really seriously hurt. What I needed, was a guy who would be turned on by tying me up and fucking the hell out of me, yes, and spanking me too.
Oh, I`d had regular sexual affairs, but the sex just wasn`t as good, and though, with some encouragement, I could persuade guys to tie me up sometimes, and even spank me, their heart just wasn`t in it. I never knew the thrill of fear and the pain I got with my violation.
I found the man of my dreams in a freshman literature class. The professor was a thirtiesh man with curly, prematurely graying hair, handsome, tall, and well built. He had a dreamy voice, very thick and sexy,
What attracted me to him, though, was when I went to his office one day to submit an assignment. He was standing in the doorway talking to another teacher. He told me to just take the assignment in and drop it on the pile on his desk.
I did, quite casually. One of his desk drawers was op en, and I could see a book inside. It was, from it`s cover, a cheap paperback, and, just out of curiosity to see what kind of a book a professor of English literature would read for relaxation, I bent and took a look.
The title shocked me as did the cover. I quickly backed away and eased between the two men as primly as possible. The title had been "Whipped College Girls", and the cover had shown a big breasted woman hanging naked from her wrists while a man stood behind her holding a big whip.
My mind raced as I considered the possibilities. Perhaps he had confiscated it from a student. No, they didn`t do that sort of thing in college. Well, then, perhaps he was doing some kind of a study of pornographic literature.
In this politically correct day and age? Not likely. He`d be hounded off the campus by feminist groups. The only reason the book could be in his desk was because he was reading it for entertainment. That kind of a book turned him on. Those kinds of stories turned him on.
They turned me on too.
Next class, I couldn`t help but wonder, as Professor Evans looked out on the class, if he was picturing some of us girls all naked and hanging from our wrists, if he wanted to whip us and spank us and violate us.
I was determined to find out.
After some thinking, I decided to catch him alone in his office, not during his visitation periods, because I didn`t want us disturbed by other students, but at some other time.
I hung around the English department for days, being as casual as possible. I found out he wasn`t married, and that he played squash Monday nights, and had a late class on Thursdays. I decided to try Thursday.
It was almost six when he came bustling across the courtyard from his class. I hoped he wasn`t in a hurry. That would put him in the wrong mood for what I was planning. I wasn`t going to come out and ask him to violate me, or anything, but I was going to teasingly make it fairly clear - in a deniable way, what I was after.
I hid, and let him go down the empty hall and into his class. Then I hurried over. Boy, what timing. He had walked in and pushed the door back behind him. It was swinging closed when I caught it, slipped inside, and then pushed it back.
He went to his desk and put down his briefcase.
"Uhm, Professor Evans?"
He whirled in surprise, his mouth open.
"How did you get in here?" he demanded.
"You opened the door. I came in after you."
"Who are you?"
"Robin Morgan, From English 101."
"Consultation times are clearly posted on the door, Ms. Morgan." He
frowned, sitting down at his desk and shuffling through some papers.
"I know," I said, in my most fragile, breathy voice, "but it`ll just take a
second."
I eased across the floor and up to the side of the desk.
"Well, what is it?" he asked brusquely.
"Uhm, my, uhm, assignment isn`t finished. .and I was, uhm, hoping you could give me an extension?"
I looked pouty and soft and fragile. He glanced up impatiently. His eyes gave a little flicker, perhaps at how pretty I was, perhaps at the tight blouse and short, loose, cheerleader type skirt I was wearing.
"I don`t give extensions, Ms. Morgan," he said. "You had plenty of time to do the work."
"I know," I said, in my little girl pouty voice. "I was out partying all the time."
"Is that why your parents sent you here, to party?" He frowned.
"No." I pouted sadly, letting my lip quiver a little. "If my step dad knew he`d probably put me across his knee and spank me."
His eyes flickered a little once again, and he leaned back a little in the chair.
"I think you`re a bit old for spanking," he said softly.
"Oh, he says girls are never too old to be turned across a man`s knee." I sighed. "He spanks my mom sometimes too."
"That`s...hardly a modern attitude, and probably illegal."
"Oh, well, they`re old fashioned. Anyway, I think my mom likes it," I said, giving him a conspiratorial whisper.
"Some women do like it," he said.
"I`m really sorry I wasn`t more responsible, sir," I said. "I know it was bad."
"Yes...yes, you`ve been...a bad girl," he said carefully, testing.
We were both fencing very carefully here, neither wanting to push over the
edge until we were sure of the other. He had more at stake than I did, though. "Well," I said, as if just thinking of it. "Uhm, I know it was wrong of me, and uhm, I`d be willing to do extra work."
"What kind of work?"
"Anything. Anything at all. I know I should be punished for being late." "And what did your...step-father used to do when you were late?"
"He`d spank me," I gulped.
"Did you deserve it?"
I nodded, pouting sweetly.
"Do you think you deserve it now?"
That was a direct question. He was pretty sure now.
"I do. I`ve been a bad girl," I said, pushing my lower lip out.
There. I couldn`t get much more direct myself. My heart was pounding, my pulse racing, and I felt a kind of crackling sexual electricity rolling over the surface of my skin.
He gazed at me thoughtfully, lustfully, warily. Then pushed his chair out from behind the desk and stood up. He moved against me and I caught my breath. He took my arm and led me around behind the desk, then turned me towards it.
"See all these?" he said, his voice a little rough. "These are all assignments handed in on time."
"I`ve been a bad girl," I repeated.
I bent forward, possibly to examine the assignments on the desk, but not really of course.
He moved away, going over to the door, then locked it. He looked at me as he locked it, and I looked at him, and wondered if his heart was pounding as violently as mine was. My face was flushed and then with a kind of rattling sigh of breath I bent forward across the desk, laying my upper body down on it and spreading my arms above me.
My body was trembling with excitement as I lay there. I was panting for breath, my belly fluttering and quivering with anticipation and lust and heat. My mind was in a state of hyper excitement as Professor Evans moved around behind me.
I felt his hand on my back, and bit back an exclamation of shock. Then it eased downwards, trailing my spine, sliding down over my bottom, along my cleft, down, under me, past my short skirt, between my legs.
He cupped my pussy in the palm of his hand, squeezing gently, mashing the soft flesh upwards as my legs spread involuntarily. He rubbed his hand back and forth against my pussy as I closed my eyes and moaned low in my throat.
His hand slid back and I felt my skirt raised over my hips, then his hand on my panties, on the string. He tugged my bikini panties down over my hips,
sliding them down below my buttocks to my thighs. He let them rest there, and for the longest time he just seemed to stare at my naked bottom and pussy.
Then his hand slid onto my bare buttocks, stroking the soft, ivory flesh. Again, as before, his hand slid up and down between my buttocks, then in under me, cupping my puffy little pussy pad, rubbing it and squeezing it softly, letting his middle finger ease up between my pussy lips to slide along my pink flesh and up across my throbbing clit.
"Are you a bad girl?" he said finally, his words a throaty growl. "Y-es," I gasped.
His hand slid out from between my thighs and then I yelped as it cracked down hard against my behind. I felt the sharp stinging pain and knew he had left a red palm print on my now burning flesh.
I waited in anticipation for the second blow, but he seemed in no hurry at all, and even as my insides rolled and shook and my pussy snapped and crackled with heat and sexual electricity he just stood there behind me.
Then he opened one of the drawers of his desk. I started to push myself up, just to see, but his big hand came down on the back of my neck and pushed me back firmly onto the desk.
"Are you a bad girl?" he asked a moment later.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Say it."
"I`m a bad girl," I moaned.
"Again."
"I`m a baaad giiiirl," I moaned.
Then I cried out in pain as something hard cracked loudly against my behind, hurling my soft thighs into the edge of the desk. I jerked my head around to see him holding what looked like a ping pong paddle, only without the rubber coating.
"Turn around," he growled.
My bottom was burning with pain, and the urge to jerk and shake it, to reach back and grab it protectively, was overwhelming, but I obeyed him, turning forward again, laying my chest down so that my breasts pillowed out against the desk, and reaching above me to grasp the other edge of the desk.
Again the paddle smacked down on my bottom, producing a loud CRACK! of noise, and a blast of intensely sharp pain. I cried out again. I couldn`t not. The pain was terrible, much worse than a spanking.
Again it cracked against my bottom, and again, and again, and again. Each time I cried out, even though I clenched my teeth in an effort not to. My bottom was now a flaring burning ache, burning horribly, and each new blow from the paddle sent a flashfire of stinging pain through my system.
I felt tears stinging my eyes as I panted for breath and whimpered helplessly. The paddle hurt worse than anything I`d ever had done to me on purpose. Oh, it hurt! My bottom was on fire.
And still it cracked down.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I was weeping from the pain, groaning and sobbing as the terrible blasts ripped into my tender cheeks. Yet finally, as my behind became a fiery furnace of heat, the intensity of the blows began to fade behind that curtain, that throbbing, radiant flaring heat.
"Dirty little girl," he growled. "Dirty slut."
Again the paddle cracked across my red flesh, then again. I felt something at my pussy then, the paddle. No, the handle of the paddle. It ground against my soft, puffy meat, then twisted from side to side as he worked it up inside me.
He jammed the rounded handle into my dripping snatch, grinding it roughly from side to side, then pumping it in and out several times.
"This is all you sluts ever want, isn`t it?" he sneered. "Dirty little whores needing their pussies pumped."
He pulled the handle out and again the thing cracked against my ass, then again, then again.
I was shacking and whimpering, my body flooded with intense emotional turmoil. Hot, sexual lust and even hotter pain boiled through me.
His hand cupped my pussy pad again, squeezing really hard, making me cry out again in pain and jerk upright. I felt his hand in my thick brown hair, and was suddenly jerked back sharply. My scalp ached and my head reeled as he forced my head way back, arching my back painfully.
His fingers ground up into my pussy, kneading it roughly, digging into the soft, malleable flesh as I quivered and jerked helplessly against him.
Then he flung me forward again and my breasts were crushed below me against the desk. He gripped my panties and tore them off, then roughly spread my legs. I heard his zipper, then felt his cock against me.
He gripped my thighs, his fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, jerking them wider. Then his cock pressed into me and thrust sharply. Again I cried out as I felt his thick cock, his very, very thick cock forced up into my belly.
He rammed it in to the hilt, so his cockhead actually mashed up against my cervix, then ground himself against me.
"That what you want, you little slut?" he sneered. "You happy now?"
He twisted his cock around inside my belly a little more, then began to pump. He used long, savage strokes, each thrust a brutal lunge that spiked his cock deep into my pussy slot and smashed his hips against my aching buttocks.
"This is what all you little bitches need," he growled. "To get fucked hard! To be bent over and FUCKED!"
His cock and his words both pounded into me. I was breathless and gasping like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing, my eyes wide. I was still clinging to the opposite side of the desk as Evan`s rodded his big tool into my burning pussy tube, and couldn`t move, could hardly breath.
The sexual heat was roaring like a bonfire inside me, blasting through me with tremendous power and strength. Everything else, the whole world, all my thinking processes, everything around me, was shrouded. The only clear thing in all of existence was that hard cock ramming up repeatedly into the deepest recesses of my sopping, crackling pussy.


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