========
Message-ID: <172408Z16051996@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an109288@anon.penet.fi (Kid Dynamite)
Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 17:19:15 UTC
Subject: (*) SS - 6

ss_6.txt

I saw the teacher - Mr. Howard? - looking at Jack quizically.  I
thought I saw a touch of contempt in his face.  Once again, my husband
was making an ass of himself.  He was so good at it.  But, I was used
to it.  Resigned to it.

Allison continued, describing the school's reputation, the
importance of maintaining an atmosphere conducive to learning, and
more.  Then she started telling us about some special "disciplinary
curriculum" she wanted to start with Sally.  Mr. Howard would be her
teacher.  She said that it would be a daily thing, sometimes
afterschool, and even occasionally on weekends.  I didn't know what to
make of things.  I was confused - I still hadn't heard what she'd
done.

But Jack was nodding his head, looking over at Sally, and saying
"Mm-hm.  Yes, indeed.  Damn straight," agreeing with the whole thing.

The Dean was saying that the Academy had a "tradition and reputation
of excellence in all respects," and that "special problems required
special solutions."  But, I started to get even more concerned with
the Dean started to give more details.  She finally, with a somewhat
lowered voice, and more measured tones, said that they had "some
experience with problems like this," and that they sometimes used
"old-fashioned punishment techniques, which were out of vogue, now."

"What do you mean?"  I asked.

"Are you familiar with the term corporal punishment?" She replied,
looking steadily at me.  My heart flipped-flopped as the vision of a
recent "test" flashed back to me.  God, was I.  And Allison knew it.
I didn't know whether to feel baited or relieved that she'd kept up
her schoolteacher facade so well.  Never mind the fact that Jack, as
long as I had known him, had insisted on spanking Sally.

I had long since come to grips with that, but still!

"Well, I - "

Jack thundered, "We sure as Hell are!"

"I see," she went on.  "Well, we believe that it has a place in a
larger disciplinary context.  Isn't that correct, Mr. Howard?"

He seemed a bit flustered.  "Um, yes, of course, Dean Pierce."

"Jack, is this a problem?"  She said to him, meaning me, I think.

For a second I thought - no.

But then my hunch was confirmed.  Jack said, "Sure, just like I said,
we've always believed a good whipping put the fear of God into Sally."
He'd already spoken to Allison!  That's why he seemed to know, when I
called him at work!

I felt betrayed.  Like they'd already decided what to do, and I'd been
left out.

"Wait a minute," I said, gathering my courage. Jack looked at me,
surprised, with his "shut up" look.

"I - who would be doing this?"

Allison looked at Mr. Howard.

He straightened up.  "I would, Connie.  I, well, Sally and I have a
good repore, or else Dean Pierce wouldn't have asked me to get
involved.  Believe me, this is best for Sally, and you can rest
assured that we will straighten her out right away."

"I don't know."  I wasn't sure I liked this idea.  And I still didn't
know why she needed "straightening out".

Jack broke in again.  "Yes, we know.  We know that if Sally needs a
lesson, that you're going to teach her one.  And that's enough."  The
last sentence came out with a ring of finality.

"Sally, honey," I said, looking over at her.  "What do you think?"

She didn't look up.  I heard her whisper, "What ever you think is
right."

I steeled myself for Jack's wrath.  "I'm not sure."

Allison stood up and went to her desk, and handed Jack and I a form.

"This is a release form.  Jack, Connie, why don't you read it over."

I tried to concentrate on it, but it was a tangle of legalese.  The
only thing that seemed to stand out was the line where I guessed we
would have to sign.

Allison must have seen the look on my face, because she said,
"Connie, this is basically a form that says that you and Jack agree to
let the Academy act as if it were in your place, and punish her in the
way we see fit her for her very serious behavior.  It also enjoins us
to keep in close contact with you, and most of all to try to correct
her problems."

"Wait a minute," I said.  "What exactly did you do, Sally?"  Sally let
out a little plaintive moan, and covered her face with her hands.

"Connie, I'm afraid you might be quite shocked."

"No, I want to know."

The Dean motioned to Sally.  "Show them, Sally."

Sally stood up, and silent tears were streaming from her face.  She
showed us.

Shocked wasn't the word.

I just started to cry.

I was so mad at her.  I was angry I could hardly speak.  I felt -
slapped.  "Sally, why?  If this is the way you want to act, young
woman, you're going to have to face the music.  We won't tolerate
this."

Jack and I signed the form, and then Jack had to leave the room he was
so angry.

The Dean pulled me into the outer office, and told me that she needed
our cooperation, and that we were not to punish Sally, because they
would take care of that.  "Fine", I said.  "But you better convince
Jack."  She went off to speak to him.

The three of us rode home in silence.  I felt numb.  As soon as we had
pulled into the driveway, and Sally and I got out, Jack announced,
from behind the driver's seat, "I'm going out."

The truck bounced out of the driveway, and sped away.  Although I got
madder every time I looked at her, Sally seemed exhausted.  "Come in,"
I told her, "it's time for dinner."

That night, as I lay there, awake and alone in our bed, the thought
"like mother like daughter" drifted though my head.  It made me so
angry and sad I wanted to scream.

    * * *

"Now, it's time for a physical, Sally."

I led her and Bill into the old schoolhouse's nurse's office.  As was
most of the building, it was furnished and maintained nearly as if it
were still in use.

Sally was deliciously apprehensive.  She seemed jumpy and nervous, and
I could sense her growing disquiet.

"Up on the table, Sally," I said, and proceeded to remove two latex
exam gloves, a tube of lubricant, and a thermometer from a drawer.  I
placed them on the counter next to the exam table, and then thoroughly
washed my hands, letting Sally get a good long look at the items I was
about to use on her.

Bill looked nervous, too.  Like he wasn't sure quite what to do with
himself.  He folded his hands across his chest, then put them in his
pockets, and finally settled on clasping them behind his back, like he
was a soldier at parade rest.  It was quite amusing, although I kept
my face blank and businesslike.

When I turned around, the young woman before me was a sight.  She
looked positively skittish.  Her bright, schoolgirl face was clouded
with worry.  Perhaps even dread.

I knew her agitation was increasing with every moment that she'd been
looking at the items I'd placed on the counter next to her.  The
tension in the room, between us, was palpable.

I was very much looking forward to what I was about to do to her.

I have to admit that it was making me wet.

I had spent the afternoon conducting an "exploratory interview" with
Sally and Bill.  Our afternoon's conversation had been a first lesson
to the lecherous Mr. Howard about just how I expected him to
"instruct" Sally.  About the limits he had had with her, or didn't.
But our conversation had been just that, talk.  Now, I knew that a
demonstration of exactly what was permissible - and expected - was in
order.

"Sally, take off your shirt and bra, and give them to Mr. Howard," I
said matter-of-factly.  I saw the flicker of alarm in her eyes.  She
hesitated for a split second, but then reluctantly began to comply.  I
put on the exam gloves.

She was seated on the exam table, her coltish legs dangling over the
side, facing me.  "Scoot forward a bit on the table," I ordered. She
did, until she was perched nearly on the edge.  "Spread your legs."  I
watched as she cringed, but slowly yielded, until I was treated to an
inviting glimpse of her creamy, curvaceous thighs.

I stepped up very close to her, my body between her parted knees.  I
could feel her thighs on my hips.  My head was nearly even with hers,
and just inches away.

I was deliberately coming to an intimate distance, a distance which
made Sally very uncomfortable.  She looked to down and to the side,
biting her lower lip slightly.

"Now Sally, I'm going to begin conducting an exam.  I want you to
breathe normally, relax, and tell me if this hurts."

I took my time, going with agonizing slowness.  I started very gently,
using feather-light touches.  She showed no signs of reacting.  I knew
that my "examination" was having an effect on her, but that she was
trying to hide it.

After every few touches, I asked her "Does this hurt?"  She only shook
her head.

Slowly, I increased the intensity of my "exam".  My face just inches
from hers, Sally couldn't hide her response.  Her breathing grew
quicker and more shallow.  Her nostrils flared, and a touch of color
rose into her cheeks.

Finally, convinced by the response in Sally's body that the exam was
having its intended effect, I let my exam grow more insistent,
quicker, bolder, and more persuasive.

I watched her face as I conducted my mock physical, and when I felt
her thighs began to unconsciously tighten around my hips in a slow
rhythm, I knew that she was ready for more.

I stepped away, and made some meaningless notes on an exam form.  This
gave me a chance to collect myself for the next part of Sally's
ordeal.  I realized, with mischievous and secret glee, that my own
body was rapidly taking an interest.  I looked at her, checking her
out with a deliberate and frank gaze, knowing that I was embarrassing
her.

She looked delectable.  Just my type.  She was a tall young woman, and
her blonde ponytail and clear blue eyes fit her perfect image of the
innocent, naive schoolgirl.  Her face was sweet, with high cheekbones,
full lips, and expressive eyes.  Her body was marvelous.  Especially
in this state of undress.  Her short plaid skirt, thigh-highs, and
penny loafers made her seem even more exposed, vulnerable, and naked.
I feasted my eyes on her large, firm tits.  Her areola broad and pink,
and her nipples were thick pencil-erasers, but my exam had made them
rosy, long, and hard.  In fact, her whole body seemed a bit flushed.
I was anticipating the next part of her "physical" with a rising flush
of my own.

"Now, Sally, step down, and stand here, at the end of the table."  She
jiggled temptingly as she got down.  "I'd like you to bend over, and
lie, face down, on the table."

She looked at me with trepidation, and then obeyed.  When she was
settled, I surveyed her for a moment.  She was standing at the end of
the exam table, bending over at the waist so her upper body was lying
on the bottom half of the table.  The position put some demand on her
long, taught legs, accentuating their natural curves.

I stepped behind her, and without ceremony, pulled her skirt up and
over her waist.  She gasped.

"Spread your legs."

She hid her face on the table, and then spread for me, and the view
she gave grew more lewd and beguiling.  It wasn't enough, though.
"Farther, Sally.  Much farther."  When she was straining a bit more,
her position undeniably lurid, I looked over at Mr. Howard.

His eyes were practically popping out.

"Good, Sally," I told her.  "Now, let's get started with the rest of
your exam."

I began with her legs.  My hands and fingers explored Her tight,
straining muscles.  "Does this hurt?"

"No."

"And this?"

"No."

So it went, my hands slowly rising upwards from her ankles.

I could smell her sweet, musky heat as it rose from between her legs.
Unable to resist, I indulged myself.  I ran my fingers under the
elastic of the back of her panties near her waist, and gathered the
thin white material that was covering her round, firm buttocks,
creating a thong.  I twisted the material, until it was a thin rope of
cotton running between the beautiful white mounds of her ass.  It
widened at her crotch, still covering her charms.  I pulled this thin
cotton rope upwards, away from her body.  I pulled it deeper and
deeper into her crack, watching as it hugged her barely-hidden
treasures tighter and tighter.

I held it there, watching as Sally adjusted to this new pressure on
her privates by first resisting, which only increased the pressure,
and then eventually submitting to me.  She let her body follow the
upward and outward tugging, and she pushed her bottom up higher and
higher into the air.  Then I started pulling again, harder this time.
I used more strength, knowing that it was forcing the cloth deeper
into her ass, squeezing her delicate flesh harder, and making her
thrust herself out at us obscenely.

With my free hand, I resumed my "exam".

A few tense, breathless minutes later, when the cotton strip was good
and damp, I told her to get undressed completely, and get up on the
table on her hands and knees.

When she was naked, and in that humiliating and vulnerable position, I
dabbed a bit of lube on her, and with a quick, smooth jab, put the
rectal thermometer to good use.

I studied her gorgeous, inviting body from a vantage that left nothing
to the imagination.  She was more than ready, and her heady scent was
driving me wild.

As I intermittently twirled the thermometer, I gave her an exam like
none other.

Later, her cries, whimpers, and moans still echoing in the little
room, I pulled out the thermometer.  "98.6," I said.  "Perfect."  But,
I waited to remove my sticky fingers until the lewd undulations in
Sally's sweat-covered body slowed, and finally stopped.

    * * *

French had always been one of my favorite classes to teach.  But it
took on a whole new meaning with Sally.

On the day of our first private lesson, I heard the door of the our
new, private schoolhouse open.  Sally entered the small, deserted
classroom, holding her books in front of her chest defensively.  Her
face was a perfect mix of fear, embarrassment, innocence and
excitement.  I savored that look as she stood before me.  I think a
breeze might have knocked her over at that instant.

That look set the fire inside me ablaze like I had never felt it
before.  I was crazy, I knew, to be doing this.  I would probably go
to jail, or worse, but I knew that couldn't turn back.  I wanted it
too much.  I figured that one horny old bastard like myself in ten
trillion got a chance like this.

I was the lucky one who was handed the right combination of
inclination, a partner, and opportunity. There was Sally, the willing
young woman.  A charming, alluring, innocent, trusting, nubile young
woman.  There was the unique set of circumstances that, had I only the
courage to seize them, would allow me the freedom to do whatever I
wanted with her.

She stood before me, shivering with either fear or excitement.  I
nervously licked my lips as she stood before me, head bowed.  I had
opportunity.  I had Sally.  The only question was my inclination.  I
was seizing this opportunity, despite the risks.

Yesterday, Dean Pierce had played the part of stern, dispassionate
disciplinarian.  Pierce had given Sally the most obscene interrogation
I had ever heard in my life.  Poor Sally looked like she wanted to
fall of the face of the earth.

Despite myself, I found Sally's shaking, nearly-tearful embarrassment
incredibly arousing.  Strange, but her humiliation was a most powerful
aphrodisiac.  As Pierce's intimate probings continued, Sally's shame
deepened palpably.  Yet, the young woman had continued to answer,
revealing anything that the Dean asked her to.

As the perverse interview continued, I watched as Sally's heartrending
shame turned slowly to desire.  It was a subtle transformation, but by
the end, there was no way Sally could hide it.  It was this power that
Pierce was wielding, the ability to drive my gorgeous, nubile young
charge from mortification to lust, that made me hunger, even more than
Sally's humiliation.  At one point, I had been forced to excuse myself
to go the men's room to relieve myself of this throbbing need.

But the true revelation had been the "exam" Dean Pierce had given
Sally.  When Pierce had told me that I was to be in charge of this
"special disciplinary curriculum", that Dean Pierce was up to
something.  But, I had quickly agreed, for two reasons. First, because
I thought that she might have suspected about the "art" instruction I
was giving to Sally.  Second, because I thought that perhaps the new
situation might lend itself well to continuing our illicit activities.

I had developed more suspicions about Pierce's true intentions in the
meeting with Sally's parents, but yesterday, watching Allison Pierce
savage Sally's body was perhaps the most shocking thing I had ever
seen in my life.  I had never, even in my wildest imaginings, expected
this.  Dean Pierce had, in effect, handed Sally to me on a plate.

Keeping the facade of a teacher was silly, but it still somehow made
so much sense.  It defined our relationship.  It put me above her,
enabling me to ask what I did of her, and allowing - or requiring -
her to comply.  It was my first taste, my first foggy realization of
what this game was about: power.  I had already learned that lesson
from Dean Pierce.

"Put down your books, Sally," I told her.

Reluctantly, she did, and as she turned back to me, I saw her with a
new eye.  She was my peach.  I drank the sight thirstily, and for the
first time, ever, did not have to look away, or glance at her through
my peripheral vision.  She was mine, and there was nobody here to see
the way I looked at her.  I appraised her, slowly and carefully,
allowing my glance to linger as long as I wanted on her inviting
features.

She looked down at the floor, trembling more noticeably, her cheeks
scarlet.  She was in the spotlight of my ill intentions, and it was
obvious she found the position uncomfortable.  She nervously folded
her hands over her chest, and stood with the heels of her loafers
together.

"Put your hands at your sides, Sally."

She did.  I felt a rush of adrenaline, lust, and power.

"You know why you are here, don't you Sally?"

"Yes, Mr. Howard."

I circled her like a shark, undressing her with my eyes, missing
nothing.  I put on the show our relationship required of me.  I
explained to her that I was in charge of her discipline, and that her
behavior problems would be corrected in the special instruction that I
would give her.

With a quavering voice, she told me that she understood, and that she
wanted very much to make amends.

I went on to explain that these classes would be very different from
anything that she was used to, and that they would be, at times,
extreme.  These extreme measures were dictated by her behavior, and if
she wanted to be restored to the good graces of the Academy, she would
have to learn a new respect for authority.  I told her that her
parents had agreed in full to any punishment that I deemed
appropriate.

Her voice very, very small, she said "I know, and I'm ready,
Mr. Howard."

Standing once again before her, I found three competing urges raging
inside me.  One part of me wished to savor Sally's sweet innocence.  I
wanted to patiently, slowly teach her to make love.  To help her
blossom from a trusting schoolgirl into a sensuous woman by
introducing her to sex, one step at a time.  But, another part of me
wanted to unleash my darker desires on her.  I thirsted to see Sally
humiliated and embarrassed as she had been yesterday; I longed to crush
her innocence with my perversity.  The third part of me was aroused by
the power I held over her.  I longed to dominate her, totally.
Physically, intellectually, emotionally, and most of all, sexually.

This afternoon, the occasion of Sally's first private lesson with me,
was to become one of the most memorable events in my life.

The sexual tension between us was so thick it seemed to fill the
entire room.  But, I somehow managed to control myself, and we started
off very slowly.  After all, I reasoned, now that I was in charge of
her "special studies", we would have every single day to explore.
Besides, I now had a freedom with her that I had only dreamed of.
Freedom to do any little thing that had ever crossed my libidinous
little mind.

So, I began taking the small liberties that I had always daydreamed
of.  Nothing too extreme, yet.  Just enough to feed my perverse
curiosity.  I could tell that it was also just enough to keep Sally
both blushing, and despite herself, titilated.  Humiliating her, even
just mildly, and seeing her become aroused from the very same
circumstances was like a drug to me.  An aphrodisiac so powerful I



ss_7.txt

felt twenty years younger.

By the end of the afternoon, Sally was having a French lesson like
none other, though it would pale in comparison with what would follow.

    * * *

On the third day of Sally's new life, my curiosity got the better of
me, and I slipped away from the office, leaving a note for Linda, my
secretary, that I would return late in the afternoon.

I stole quietly into the old schoolhouse through a service entrance,
and was soon hidden in a janitor's closet, which now served as my
electronic listening post.  In this case, it was actually a viewing
post.  Before I had handed Sally over to Mr. Howard, and given them
the run of the old schoolhouse, I had installed several tiny
surveillance cameras in hidden vantage points.  I was taping every
moment of young Sally's education.

I flipped on the monitor, and was soon absorbed in the scene, in full
motion video and stereo sound, of Mr. Howard "teaching" Sally French.

I immediately found myself reassesing Mr. Howard.  Either he was even
more depraved than I had first thought, or was one of the quickest
studies I had ever met.  He had obviously grasped that Sally was a
submissive, though I doubted that word was in his vocabulary.

On the chalkboard he had outlined a set of punishments, which
apparently increased with the number of incorrect answers she gave.
On the floor, in front of Sally was a yardstick, and she was standing,
rather awkwardly, with her feet on top of the ends of the yardstick,
quite far apart.  She faced the blackboard, and behind her paced Mr.
Howard, with a book in one hand, and a wooden ruler in the other.

As I watched, Sally answered one of his questions incorrectly, and
with unrestrained glee, Mr. Howard exclaimed, "That's ten wrong
answers, Sally!"

Sally's head fell forward, and she shook it slightly, obviously
dreading what was to come next.

She bent over at the waist, and put her hands out onto the blackboard
for support.  Mr. Howard, now standing directly behind her, flipped up
her skirt, revealing her panty-clad bottom.  

"Count them," he ordered, as he raised the wooden ruler.

I left the glowing monitors and returned to work.

When I returned, late in the afternoon, nearly two hours after the
Academy's final bell, I found Sally and Mr. Howard still at it.  The
recording equipment hummed quietly behind me as I watched them.
Judging from both of them, Mr. Howard hadn't given them a break, even
for a moment.  They both looked exhausted, but they both still had all
of their clothes on.

I guessed, however, that Sally wouldn't be sitting down without a
great deal of discomfort this evening, or tomorrow.

"Pull up your skirt, Sally," Mr. Howard said, en Francais.

"No, please, Monseur," she replied, shaking her head.  She was
flushed, and visibly trembling.

"Now!" he said, snapping his fingers and motioning impatiently.

Sally slowly raised her skirt, blushing fiercely.

The old lech leered at her.  Her black thigh-highs contrasted starkly
with the creamy expanse of her thighs, above them.  But Mr. Howard's
gazed was fixed on her now-visible bikini underpants.

Continuing in French, he demanded, "Sally, describe to me, en
Francais, how you feel."

"Well, I am very embarrassed," she began, breathless and haltingly.
Her accent was improving, but it could still stand some work.

"No, no!  Not you." Now appearing quite annoyed, Mr. Howard picked up
the yardstick. "Spread you legs wider, Sally.  Wider!"  Sally quickly
obeyed, splaying her feet apart more and more, until her long legs
were shaking with the strain.  Then, Mr.  Howard, using the yardstick
like a long finger, prodded the damp "v" between Sally's legs,
protected only by thin layer of white cotton.

"Sally, tell me how this feels," he said.  "Your cunt."  The last word
was in English.

    * * *

My life seemed like a strange dream.

Just a little more than a week had gone by since the horrible incident
when I'd been caught in the hall without underwear by Mrs. Buskerman.

Since then, I had done things, said things, and felt things I never
thought I would.  It was as if a switch had been flipped, and suddenly
everything was different.

I seemed different, even to myself, which was the weirdest thing of
all.

I felt different.  I don't know why, but something had changed.

Just a little more than a week ago, I never could have imagined what I
was doing at that moment.

I was sitting in a wooden desk in a classroom, with the late afternoon
sunlight streaming in through the window.  I had just spent the last
two hours being drilled on calculus questions.  So normal.

But that's where the similarity to my normal life ended.  Even as Mr.
Howard explained what I was going to have to do today, I felt the
strangeness settle in.

"I think we need to change tactics," he said.  "Today, instead of
punishments for wrong answers, I'm going to reward you for right
answers."  Then he leaned down, and started whispering in my ear.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?"

I shook my head.

"Never?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"Yes, Mr. Howard," I told him.

"What was it like, when you thought about it?"

Although I was dying with embarrassment, I found myself answering, with
the whole truth, as I had been ever since this whole thing began.  "It
was, well, it was nice.  Kindof warm."

"Today I'm going to teach you to kiss like a woman."

The words didn't even seem real.  I didn't know what to say, or what
to think.

When I got my first right answer, he leaned over, and took my head in
his hands, so gently, and pressed his lips to mine.  They were warm,
and just a bit wet.  He smelled and tasted a bit like coffee.

He kissed me, just like that, on the lips, over and over again, as I
answered each question right.

I was so weird I can't even describe it.  But it was making me feel so
strange.  I guess the truth was that it was giving me that feeling.
You know - that feeling.

Each time he kissed me just a little bit harder and longer.  His lips
were so soft.  I don't know why, but I just opened my mouth, and it
was like an explosion.  I felt the feeling inside me spring to life.
His mouth opened too, and I guess I started kissing him back.  It
lasted a really long time.

When he finally pulled back, I was out of breath, and didn't want him
to stop.  I looked at his mouth, and his lips, and wanted more.

Then, smiling, he said, "That was the beginning of the way a woman
kissed, Sally."

And suddenly, I felt so ashamed and embarrassed I wanted to crawl into
a hole.

But he didn't stop asking me the stupid math questions.  When I
finally got my head together enough to get one right, he started
kissing me right away, hard.  I opened my mouth, and I felt his
tongue!  I felt dizzy.  I put my arms around him, pulling him closer,
and his tongue touched mine again.  It was gross, and yet, I was
melting.  I felt like he'd lit a fire in my body.  I was kissing him
back, more and more, and then I stuck my tongue out a little bit.  It
touched his, and suddenly we were french kissing, our tongues touching
lightly, sending shocks of heat into me.

I don't know how long we went on like this.  It felt like hours, but
at the same time, only minutes.  The sun was going down.

It was time to go.

I felt lightheaded, and so hot.  I was sweating, but the heat was
inside me, deep inside.  "Sally," he told me.  "I have some homework
for you."

"Yes, Mr. Howard," I managed, licking my lips.  They felt numb,
and chapped, but so good.

"Well, one of the lessons you have to learn is the consequences of
your actions."

"Yes, Mr. Howard."  I watched him get up, slowly.  I found myself
looking at his crotch.  There was this big bulge.  It was
unmistakable.  I felt myself getting breathless from the pounding of
my heart.

"Well, let me tell you a story.  Once, when I was at my Aunt's house,
I ate some ice cream when I wasn't supposed to, and I got caught.
That, of course, was the thing I did wrong - getting caught.  My Aunt
told me 'Bill, if you want ice cream, it's ice cream you'll get.'  She
made me eat so much ice cream I wanted to be sick.  But I learned two
lessons.  First, don't get caught.   Second, if you do, make sure it's
a flavor you really like.  Now, Sally, I think it's time that you
started having some ice cream, if you follow me."

I didn't, until he told me what my homework was.

"Stand up, Sally."

I did, and I felt so weak and dizzy, and had to steady myself with one
hand on the desk.

"Now, pull up you skirt with one hand."

I swallowed, feeling my cheeks starting to burn with shame, as they
always did.

"Show me your cunt, Sally."

I felt a sob of humiliation boiling up in my throat, but managed to
swallow it down.

"No, not down.  Just pull your panties to one side," he said.

If I told you my judgment had been clouded by the combination of
being naked and aroused, back when I first met Mr. Howard, and started
this mess, then imagine what I felt now.  After a week of these
lessons, and hours of making out with Mr. Howard, kissing an older man
I hardly knew, I didn't know which way was up.

With a shaking hand, and the weird feeling of an out-of-body
experience, I pulled the moist crotch of my underwear to one side.  I
felt so ashamed, but I was feeling hotter by the second.  I looked
down at the floor, knowing that he somehow knew how much this made
that feeling inside me rage.

The moment dragged on forever, and finally he told me, "Now bunch it
up, and pull it up."

With wooden fingers, I obeyed, twisting the crotch of my underwear,
and then pulling it snug against my mound.  I wasn't enough for him,
though.

"Pull it between your lips, Sally.  High up.  Between your buttocks,
too.  I want it to disappear."

I could hardly believe his words.  I didn't sound like him.  I didn't
feel like me.  The whole scene felt so unreal.  But I did it for him.

"Good," he said, staring at what I'd done.

He walked up close to me, and took my chin in his hand, and kissed me
again.  I felt my knees buckling, but he held me up.

Finally, he pulled away, and said, "Now, Sally, I want you to keep
these like that.  That's your homework.  Don't take them off when you
go to sleep tonight.  I want you to wear them, just like that, until I
see you again tomorrow."

He paused, and then added, "And this time, don't get caught."

"But, Mr. Howard, my parents..." I protested.

    * * *

The instant the idea had occurred to me, I knew I would do it.

The next day, Sally arrived in our classroom right on time, as she
always did.  She was also breathless with anticipation, and, although
I think she was trying to hide it, she was already nervous about me
asking about her "homework".

So, of course, I waited, drawing out her erotic dread.  Instead, I
simply asked her to turn around, and then placed the blindfold over
her eyes.

She gasped when I did, and her hands shot up to feel it, as if to
ascertain that it was real.  Indeed it was.  And, from what Dean
Pierce had told me when she'd given it to me, 100% effective, but also
comfortable.

Which was good, because from the moment I put it over Sally's eyes, I
felt a new rush of power over her, more potent than any yet.  I had
rendered her even more dependent on me.  I had an advantage in our
sexual power struggle that she had no way of matching.  I felt quite
sure that Sally would be spending a great deal of time in this
blindfold.

When I finally asked her about her homework, I could see that the
blindfold, rather than making her feel more secure, as if she were
more anonymous because she couldn't see, it was making her feel even
more vulnerable and helpless.

She told me that she hadn't been caught.

"Good," I said, circling around behind her.  She turned her head,
listening to me walk around her.  I loved it.

I pulled up her skirt in back, and she gasped with surprise.  I gorged
my eyes on my Lolita's perfect ass.  Emerging from between her round,
ample buttocks, a narrow strip of white cloth joined the waistband of
her underwear. She had pulled the waistband high up over her hips,
twisting it up as well.  In effect, she was wearing little more than a
cotton cord, and much to my delight and desire, she had obliged me by
pulling it up most severely.

I suspected is was causing her deadly embarrassment, burning shame, not
a little discomfort, but also guilty, throbbing pleasure.

I dropped her skirt and walked in front of her.  I told her to show me
her "homework".  Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she pulled up her
skirt.  I drank in the lewd sight, my pulse quickening by the second.

Later, long into our afternoon of delight and depravity, Sally told me
that she had to relieve herself.

Nothing could have hammered home the power I now held over sweet
Sally, than the intimate intrusion that I then had the pleasure of
subjecting the unfortunate schoolgirl to.

I led a stumbling, halting young woman by the hand, down the vacant
hall.  She was breathing in short, ragged gasps, and hanging on to my
hand so fiercely it almost hurt.  She pleaded with me to take off the
blindfold and let her go by herself.

I had to guide her every inch of the way.  When we actually got into
the stall, it became the most intimate of degradations.  She had to
hang on to me as I helped her sit down.  I thought she might start to
cry, but quickly silenced her with a long, probing kiss.  I felt her
shame so strongly it was like heat.  In the end, I think she gave me
her trust and dignity, as much as I took them.  I felt like I had
possessed a part of her.

She seemed profoundly affected by it.  It was unmistakable how pliant,
and how aroused she was during the remainder of our "special class".

I knew quite a few things about Sally now, but at that moment, above
all else, I prized the intimate knowledge I had just gained.

    * * *

Reviewing the tapes of the last week or so of Bill and Sally's
lessons, I decided that I didn't like Bill's pace.  Too slow.

Plus, something about the way they had started acting, at least part
of the time, was bothering me.  It was almost tender.

Mr. Howard had been introducing Sally, very slowly, to sex.  First
kissing, then some petting, and then, just as things were beginning to
really heat up, he seemed to back off.  This wasn't good.

I didn't quite understand it, either.  Bill was every bit the horny
old man.  More perverted that I had ever guessed.  I saw it come out,
from time to time, as he "instructed" Sally.  There was a nasty,
depraved side to him, I had no doubt.  But, instead of the twisted old
man that I wanted to see, the one that would turn Sally into my little
blackmail slut, I kept seeing a tender side of him.

I wondered if he was in love.

Which, in and of itself, was fine with me.  As long as it got me to
the point with Sally that I wanted.  I wanted her to be a teenage cock
slut.  The kind that, when faced with the situation I intended to put
her in, would choose to suck and fuck her stepfather, even if he was a
lousy bastard.

I needed to get involved, to direct Bill Howard a bit.  And I knew
just what do do.

It was easier than I thought to sneak into Bill's house.  Simple,
actually.  I waited for him in the hall closet, wearing a black
leather "slavegirl" ensemble.  Just the kind of thing that would
appeal to him.

When he opened the door to the closet, there was a split second when I
thought he'd have a heart attack.  

But then I saw the excitement in his eyes.  I pushed him roughly up
against the wall, and dropped to my knees in front of him, tugging
down his zipper as I did.

He was still so surprised he was literally sputtering.  "I've wanted
this for so long, Bill," I said, looking up at him, flashing my eyes.
"I've wanted you for so long," I breathed, licking my lips.

He didn't exactly put up a big fight.

When he was done, I stood up and kissed him until I could feel him
starting to come back to life.  I pulled away, sucking his tongue as I
did, and stepped back, striking a pose so alluring it instantly
revived Bill's flagging attention.

"Bill, do you want more of this?"

He nodded.  Of course he did.  I was to die for, especially in my
leatherslut outfit, and I knew I had him.

"Do you know what I want, Bill?"

He shook his head, and finally found his tongue.  "No, Dean P -
Allison - I don't."

"I want to see Sally doing what I just did to you."

I saw the shock in his eyes.  But I still had him.

"It makes me so hot, Bill.  I want to watch her do it to you.  Oooh,
Bill, even just thinking about it, look what's it's doing to me."  I
showed him.

Half an hour later, I knew I had gotten my point across to him.  He
was going to play ball.  By my rules.  I had given him quite a show,
promising everything that he saw and more, and left him hanging.
Frustration was a good thing.

    * * *

The gym in the old schoolhouse wasn't exactly my ideal place to
conduct my lessons with Sally, but Allison had insisted on it, and I
wasn't going to refuse.

I had cleaned it up, but only a bit, and it was still cluttered with
old phys-ed equipment, classroom furniture, and other odds and ends
that the Academy was storing.  There was a dusty locker room, with
showers and toilets, where the girls used to change.  There was a
layer of dust on everything, but I cleaned a few things off for our
lesson, my mood souring as I did.  Allison had pointed out that there
were lots of things I could tie Sally down on, which shocked me when
she said it.  But now, as I was finishing up my janitorial duties, I
was getting more and more enamored with the idea.

It appealed to my base, darker desires.

Allison had also given me a leotard, for Sally to wear.  "Her parents
insisted on providing some gym clothing," she'd explained to me. I
hadn't really looked at it, and when Sally arrived for our lesson, I
had just handed it to her, told her to change in the locker room, and
to come out when she was done.

I wasn't expecting what I saw when Sally emerged.

The leotard was at least two sizes too small.  And it was made of the
flimsiest material.  I was practically sheer.

Sally looked mortified.  The garment was obviously all wrong.  I even
doubted that it was intended for use as exercise clothing at all.  But
the effect was disturbingly erotic.  The ridiculously small piece of
clothing accentuated Sally's womanly curves.  It called attention to
Sally's near-nakedness: the curve of her hips, the swell of her
breasts, and her pouty ass.  It shouted "Look at me!" because it hid
nothing.

It was the same effect that an anklet, or a thin gold chain around a
naked woman's waist has.

Sally walked over to me, wincing, and I saw just how small and tight
the leotard was.  The crotch looked painful, yanked upwards into
Sally's furry mound so severely that the fabric looked like it was
stretching.  Sally's face was a mask of embarrassment and shame.

I patted the balance beam, next to me, and said, "Up you go, Sally."
Along with this perfectly lewd piece of clothing, Dean Pierce had
given me a devilish idea.

A few moments later, I was done.  Sally was straddling the balance
beam.  I had arranged it so from her straddling position, Sally's
tiptoes just barely touched the floor.  I had tied three-foot length
of rope to her feet, so she couldn't get off of the beam, and then
lashed her hands together behind her back.  The piece de resistance
was her blindfold.  Sally, her face already scarlet with shame, gave
me a pleading look, filled with dread, as I fit it over her eyes.  She
was helpless, and bound so that she couldn't escape the relentless
pressure of her body pressing her crotch onto the polished oak beam.
She was straddling it in a truly lascivious way, and the sight was
enrapturing.

To enjoy this little lesson even more, I pretended to leave the gym,
making noise like I had closed the door behind me.  Then, I took off
my shoes, and silently snuck back in to watch the show.  I watched as
she tried to adjust to the pressure of the ropes and the unrelenting
grind of her pubis against the beam.  At first she seemed both
frightened, and miffed.  Then, as the pressure grew, she began to
squirm.  She began to rock from side to side, trying to relieve the
force directed solely at her tender, nubile flesh, but to little
avail.  Then, apparently to ease the feeling, she tried scooting
forward on the beam.  This was very difficult, because her feet barely
touched the floor, and to give herself any forward momentum, she had