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Message-ID: <38437asstr$1032819005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "NormDePloom" <SeeMySig@InMessage.com>
From: "NormDePloom" <SeeMySig@InMessage.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 23 Sep 2002 20:06:32 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} "Extra Credit" (MF, spank, humil, con)
Date: Mon, 23 Sep 2002 18:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you don't like sex stories, don't read it.
If you are below the arbitrary age set for your area,
don't read it.
If for any reason it is illegal for you to read this
story, don't read it.

Find my stories here-
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/normdeploom/

Copyright (C) 2002 Norm DePloom.  ALL Rights Reserved
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit
without the written permission of the author.  This
story may be freely distributed with this notice
attached.  The author may be contacted at 'MyStores at
normdeploom dot com'

All the characters and events in this story are
fictional; any resemblance to real people or events is
entirely coincidental.

Extra Credit
By
Norm DePloom

Attempting to lift the paper without letting any of
the other students see what Mr. Wilson had written on
it, Margaret looked once more at the big red F with a
circle around it and read once more the note.  "See me
after class." It said.  "Shit," she said softly under
her breath.  Christ almighty, she thought putting the
paper back, face down, on the desk, I can't afford
this.  Margaret began calculating what it would do to
her grade point average if that grade stood.  Margaret
approached Mr. Wilson's desk as the rest of the
students left the classroom.

"It says you want to see me," Margaret said, affecting
what she hoped would be just the right mixture of
injured innocence and contrite remorse.  Mr. Wilson
looked at her for a long and, for her, very
uncomfortable minute before he spoke.

"You are aware," Mr. Wilson said leaning back in his
chair, "aren't you, that plagiarism is a serious
offense."  Mr. Wilson's expectant silence made it
obvious that he did not consider it to be a rhetorical
question.

"I...I..." Margaret stammered after opening and
closing her mouth silently several times, "I..."

"Don't embarrass either one of use by trying to deny
it," Mr. Wilson cut off her response as he got up from
his chair and walked around the desk, "I can use a
search engine as well as the next person."  Mr. Wilson
leaned against the front edge of his desk facing the
opposite direction and almost touching Margaret.
"School policy calls for students guilty of plagiarism
to be expelled."  Margaret looked at Mr. Wilson with
disbelief.  He couldn't, she thought, oh god he just
couldn't.  "Do you know how hard it would be to get
admitted to another good school if you were thrown out
of this one for this?"  Mr. Wilson shook his head
sadly.  "I'd hate to see that happen."  The student
and the teacher stood in silence for a few moments.
Tears began to well up in the student's eyes.  A
chocked "Please," was all she could manage.  Mr.
Wilson held up his hand to stop her from saying
anything more.

"You've been an excellent student," he continued, "and
I'd hate to see this ruin your academic career."
Margaret looked at her teacher with hopeful eyes as
she wiped a tear from her cheek.  "I can't, however,
let this go with no punishment at all."  Margaret
nodded her head in agreement.  "It just wouldn't be
fare to the other students."  Mr. Wilson continued.
The two stood in silence again for a moment before the
teacher continued.  "You are such a good student," Mr.
Wilson spoke almost like he was talking to himself,
"that I know you wouldn't have done this if your work
load had not been so heavy."  Margaret nodded her head
in agreement.  "So asking you to do it over again
would just add to your already unbearable load."
Again Margaret nodded her head, liking the direction
his speech was taking.  "And leaving the failing grade
on a paper of this importance would be almost as hard
on you as kicking you out of school."  Margaret
continued to nod her head and look contrite.  Mr.
Wilson was silent, apparently in deep thought for an
uncomfortably long time.  Margaret was busy trying to
come up with a punishment she could suggest, one that
would be harsh enough to satisfy Mr. Wilson's need for
justice, but lenient enough to allow her to keep her
GPA in the stratosphere.

"This was a very childish thing to do, Margaret."
Margaret nodded her head, emphatically agreeing with
her teacher's conclusion. "And," Mr. Wilson continued,
"perhaps we should use a child's punishment."
Margaret stopped nodding in agreement and just looked
confused.  "My father always believed that there was
nothing better than a good spanking to take care of
childish misbehavior."  Margaret looked at her teacher
with her mouth hanging open in disbelief, but her mind
was already calculating the pros and cons of this
seemingly bizarre suggestion.  Sure, it would hurt,
she thought, but the physical pain would be temporary
compared to the devastating effect this indiscretion
could have on her life.  Later Margaret would admit
that her thought processes were somewhat clouded by
the totally unexpected thrill that ran through her
body when she thought about being spanked by Mr.
Wilson.

"Yes," Mr. Wilson said looking into his student's
face, "I think a spanking would be just the thing."

"OK," Margaret answered, hanging her head.  She could
feel her face turning red.  She watched as he leaned
over and retrieved a heavy wood ruler from his desk
drawer then stepped over and, picking up a straight-
backed wood chair, moved it into position in front of
the desk.

"Go lock the door." He ordered as he sat in the chair.
Margaret walked the length of the room and locked the
door with a bit of trepidation.  What, she silently
asked herself, have I gotten myself into?  The only
thing keeping her from dashing out the door instead of
locking it was her desire to do whatever was needed to
keep from having to pay the consequences for a
terribly bad decision she had made late one night.
Copying large sections of a rather obscure paper she
had found on the subject had seemed to be the best way
to get her work finished on that late night, or rather
early morning when she had been so tired that not even
repeated ingestion of quad-lattes seemed to make a
dent in her exhaustion.  If the pain and private
humiliation of being spanked like a child was all her
lapse in good judgment cost her, then Margaret was
willing to count herself lucky. When Margaret turned
to walk back across the room after rotating the knob
that secured the door against casual intruders, the
sight of Mr. Wilson setting in the straight backed
wood chair, waiting with ruler in hand for her to
approach him sent a chill of fear and an unexpected
rush of excitement simultaneously down her spine.  The
hairs on back of her neck stood at attention as she
approached the waiting disciplinarian.  Whether they
were standing up in unheeded warning, or in
unanticipated thrill, Margaret could not say.
Perhaps, as she would later admit, the two were the
same.

"Lay across my legs."  Mr. Wilson spoke in a
practiced, no nonsense allowed, authoritarian voice
after Margaret came to a hesitant stop in front of
him.  Swallowing hard, and feeling her face turning
crimson, Margaret obeyed her teacher and carefully
laid herself across his lap with her toes on the floor
on his right side, her knees bent, and her arms
touching the floor on his left side.  Holding his
student firmly by the waist, Mr. Wilson pulled her
skirt up then, before she could register a protest, he
worked Margaret's panties off her butt and halfway
down her thighs.  Her protest dying in a barely
audible whimper, Margaret hung her head between her
arms in total humiliation.  She knew Mr. Wilson was
staring at her naked fanny.  She could feel the
evidence of his reaction pushing against her stomach.

Margaret's body jerked when she felt his warm hand on
her bare skin.  She would have protested if it hadn't
been removed just as quickly and replaced by the first
swat of her upturned butt, which landed on her right
cheek.  The intensity of the pain caught Margaret by
surprise, as did the volume of her outcry.  Being as
anxious as her punisher to avoid discovery in this
humiliating position, Margaret turned her head to the
side and clamped her teeth down on the collar of her
white blouse.  The blows continued, alternating from
cheek to cheek, and Margaret realized that she had not
negotiated how many times Mr. Wilson could spank her
before she had made herself totally vulnerable to his
desires.  Her fanny cheeks now burned even hotter than
the ones on her face, and just when Margaret was
positive she could stand it no longer.  Just as she
was releasing the cloth from her mouth to beg Mr.
Wilson for mercy, Margaret noticed that the hot,
burning sensation in her buttocks seemed to be
flowing, expanding to include her genitals.  Margaret
could feel herself becoming moist.  Not just moist,
she admitted, wet.  Dripping wet she thought.
Margaret had never had a problem getting wet and
excited when she touched herself, but had never met a
male who could ignite this kind of excitement in her.

Now each blow of the ruler seemed to send a shock wave
of excitement between her legs, and the image of Mr.
Wilson watching as her butt cheeks clenched and
unclenched in response to this excitement only seemed
to add to her thrill.  So intensely was Margaret
concentrating on the strange feelings of heat and
pleasure, feelings that made the pain seem like
something far away, something that was really
happening to another person, that the orgasm caught
Margaret by surprise.

"Oh God," was the only intelligible thing she said as
her body spasmed again and again.  Margaret's
awareness shrank until the only things in her universe
were the rhythmic slap of the ruler against her fanny,
each one driving the intensity of her orgasm to a new
peek; the burning, aching to be touched feeling in her
vagina, which seemed to be exacerbated rather than
satiated by the intense orgasmic sensations she was
experiencing; and the hard lump pushing into her
stomach, the mute evidence of Mr. Wilson's excitement.

Margaret almost wept when the ruler stopped raining
pain filled blows on her abused fanny.  Relief and
disappointment mixed almost equally.  Margaret hung
limply over her teacher's lap, too exhausted to pick
her self up.  She felt Mr. Wilson's hand once again on
her naked buttocks, this time it felt cool against her
red burning skin.  Margaret smiled at the gentle
touch, a touch that, she realized, seemed to be
igniting a fire of a not totally different nature than
the conflagration caused by the blows from the heavy
wood ruler.  Margaret moaned softly and moved her hips
gently against the hand.  Yes, she thought, as his
fingers moved between her butt cheeks, lightly
brushing first her anal entry, then the bottom third
of her wet swollen vaginal lips.

"Up you go."  Mr. Wilson said, removing his hand from
his student's backside.  After helping Margaret to her
feet Mr. Wilson walked to the door and, without
looking back, unlocked it and left, leaving Margaret
feeling confused, embarrassed and humiliated.
Standing in front of the desk rubbing her tender fanny
with both hands, her panties visible just below her
skirt, were still around her knees.  Tears flowing
from her eyes, Margaret pulled her panties back up her
thighs and carefully over her butt.  The feel of the
cloth between her legs ignited new feelings of
excitement as Margaret left the room to walk the four
blocks to her home.  In spite of the humiliation she
had felt at the beginning and end of her ordeal,
easily the worst humiliation of her life, Margaret's
thoughts were occupied with the duration and intensity
of the orgasm she had just experienced.  An orgasm
that was, like the humiliation, the most intense she
had ever experienced.  Mostly her thoughts returned
again and again to the feeling, the sudden, shocking
rush of excitement that had been caused by Mr.
Wilson's fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of
her anal sphincter and vagina.  Margaret knew, without
question, that if Mr. Wilson had pushed her legs apart
she would have gladly allowed him to take any liberty
he pleased with her overly excited body.

"Why didn't he?"  She asked out loud then, blushing,
looked around to make sure no one had heard her.  Once
home, and securely locked away from interruption in
her room, Margaret removed her clothes then, standing
with her back to the mirror, looked over her shoulder
at her bright red fanny.  That, she thought as she
rubbed her cheeks gently, is going to be tender for a
few days.  Walking across the room Margaret laid down
on her left side on her bed.  Keeping her legs
together she bent her knees, bringing her legs up
toward her chest until her body and her legs formed a
right angle.  Using her right hand Margaret gently
caressed her hot, burning backside, pushing her finger
tips between her fanny cheeks, trying to recapture the
exciting thrill of Mr. Wilson's fingers touching her.
Although she was unsuccessful at recreating the
feelings generated by the touch of her teacher's
fingers, Margaret did begin to excite herself.
Bringing her knees closer to her chest, Margaret
lifted her right knee, rotating her leg on the twin
pivots of her hip and her foot, until her thighs were
opened enough to allow her hands access to her
genitals.  Using her left hand held flat with her
fingers together, Margaret rubbed gentle little
circles over her sensitive, engorged clitoris.
Reaching further back, between her legs from behind,
Margaret gently moved the tip of her finger up and
down her wet swollen folds of flesh.  Picking up
lubricating moisture on her fingertip Margaret gently
rubbed it onto her anal opening, causing little
twitches of excitement, then moved her finger back to
pick up more of her abundant fluid.  Margaret repeated
this several times, then slowly worked the tip of her
finger, only to the first joint, into her easily
excited rear opening.

With one fingertip teasing her anal sphincter and four
fingers applying just the right pressure on and around
her clitoris, Margaret worked her way through two
relatively gentle 'postscript' orgasms then drifted
off to sleep with her fingers still teasing her body.
While asleep Margaret dreamed of un-admitted desires.
Desires to be taken and used in ways she could barely
imagine.  Secret longings for forced entries and
savage thrustings.  And now, dreams of ever more
violent spankings taking her to unimagined heights of
pain and pleasure.  Two hours later Margaret awoke and
gave herself two more orgasms before getting dressed
and venturing out for some dinner.

Margaret would not see Mr. Wilson again for two days
and, before the end of the first day, Margaret was
aware that she was well on her way to setting a new
personal best for the number of self-induced orgasms
in a twenty-four hour period.  Her fanny was very
tender and Margaret could not move without being
reminded of the spanking and the life altering orgasm
it had induced.  Every time she was reminded of that
event she felt the irresistible urge to induce another
orgasm and would end up anyplace where she could get
even a modicum of privacy, be it in a stall in the
closest women's rest room, or locked securely in her
bedroom.  It got so bad that, for the first time in
her life, Margaret quit wearing panties, both to ease
the pressure on her sore fanny and to ease access to
the parts of her body that she was rapidly becoming
obsessive compulsive about touching.

Being in a state of constant sexual excitement
Margaret seemed to attract members of the male sex
like she never had before.  She turned down three
offers of dinner and a movie during her eternal two-
day wait until her next class with Mr. Wilson.  Up
until that time she had never met a male who really
turned her on and it, somehow, seemed to her that she
would be unfaithful if she allowed another male to
benefit from the sexual awakening that had been
triggered by Mr. Wilson.

On the morning of the day of her next class with "HIM"
as she had come to think of Mr. Wilson, Margaret woke
from a fitful night of disturbing dreams, dreams of
unusually explicit and almost brutal nature.  She
awoke tired, excited and more than a little scared.
While not admitting that receiving another spanking
from HIM was even a consideration, Margaret refused to
relieve the almost unbearable tension by touching
herself.  She put on panties for the first time since
that fateful afternoon knowing, without knowing how,
that the act of pulling down her panties was an
integral part of what she continued to deny she
wanted.  As the day wore on and as THE class
approached Margaret's sexual tension became more and
more unbearable.  Several times she went into the
restroom and locked herself in a stall fully intending
to relieve her self.  On each occasion she could not
bring herself to lessen the anticipation with witch
she was approaching HIS class and left the stall still
keyed up and on the brink.  Whether she was on the
brink of a massive orgasm, or a total nervous
breakdown Margaret couldn't say and by the time the
class started she was no longer sure there was a
difference.  Margaret could not believe how calm and
cool Mr. Wilson looked and acted, almost as if the
events of two days previous had never occurred.  There
were no meaningful looks; he paid no more attention to
her than to other students.  If anything she felt like
he was looking right through her, that she had
suddenly become invisible.  By the end of class the
last two days seemed to Margaret to have been nothing
more than a schoolgirl crush, a silly schoolgirl crush
on a teacher to whom she apparently meant less than
nothing.  Margaret almost collapsed on her desk,
overwhelmed by feelings of humiliation far worse than
what she had felt after the spanking.  Worse also
because she had brought it on herself.  God, she
thought as the class was being dismissed, I should
have known when he left without taking advantage of me
that he really had no desire for me.  Margaret held
her burning face in her hands and fought back tears
until everyone else had left the room, then she
collected her books and headed for the door.

What a difference two days could make.  Unlike THAT
afternoon, Margaret walked home from class on this day
feeling almost suicidal, trying not to think about all
of the fantasies about HIM she had indulged in while
she had played with herself like a little girl.  When
she arrived home Margaret pulled the mail from its box
by the door and looked through it with obvious
disinterest.  Finding a plain white envelope with her
name typed on it Margaret carried it up to her room
and locked the door before her Herculean effort to
control her emotions failed and she collapsed onto her
bed sobbing uncontrollably.  It took about twenty
minutes for the wave of weeping to complete its
course.  Sniffing and wiping her eyes Margaret ripped
open the envelope.  Inside she found a single sheet of
paper with a type written message.

"You have been punished for you error in judgment,"
Margaret read, not really understanding what the note
was saying; "now you must make up the grade with some
extra credit work."  Below the message was an address
then the words "Eight o'clock tonight."  Margaret
looked at both sides of the paper and read the
unsigned message three more times before the full
impact of the words hit her.  Being whipped from
elation to despair and back again can take a lot out
of a girl.  Margaret lay down on her bed intending to
rest for a few minutes, she had no intention of going
to sleep.  She woke with a start from a very graphic
dream concerning ropes, knots, pieces of equipment the
use of which she could not even begin to guess, and
her being on public display naked and spread for all
to see.

"Oh shit."  She yelled, springing from the bed and
grabbing her purse, after she saw the time.  "I'm
late."  Margaret screamed to nobody, everybody and
anybody as she dashed through the house and out the
front door.  Ten minutes later and three minutes late,
still in the same clothes she had been wearing all
day, now rumpled from her unexpected nap, she was
ringing the doorbell beside the front door of the
address in the typewritten note.

"Oh god," she said softly as she tried to make last
minute repairs to her sleep-mussed hair, "don't ignore
me because I'm late."  It had never occurred to
Margaret to doubt that the type written message had
come from HIM, until she heard the knob turning on the
door.  The wave of intense panic that accompanied her
realization that she really had no idea who was
opening the door kept her frozen in her place as the
door opened and it was replaced with equally intense
relief.

"You're late."  Mr. Wilson announced, standing in the
doorway.  To Margaret's ears he managed to make it
sound like the moral equivalent of being a serial baby
raper and murderer.  "Why should I let you in if you
don't have even the common decency to be on time?"
Margaret hung her head in shame.  In truth she could
think of no reason that he should let her in, other
than the growing panic she felt thinking that he would
shut the door leaving her out in the cold dark night.

"Please?"  Was all she could manage to say as she
stared at the ground afraid to look at him.  Mr.
Wilson stepped back from the door, indicating that his
student should enter.

"Set on the couch," Mr. Wilson ordered.  He poured two
glasses of wine and handed one of them to Margaret.
Her hands were trembling so badly that she almost
spilled the beverage before she could get it to her
lips.  Her first sip of the dark liquid sent a wave of
calming warmth through Margaret's over wrought body.
This calming effect did nothing however to lessen the
firestorm of lust ranging inside her.  After two days
of compulsive masturbation Margaret was rapidly
approaching the twenty-four hour mark without touching
herself.  Margaret sipped her wine and blushed as Mr.
Wilson sipped his and watched her with a gaze that she
was sure could penetrate to her very soul and read her
every thought.

"I'm going to make you a proposition," Mr. Wilson
said, finally speaking after finishing the last of his
wine and setting the glass down on the table beside
his chair.  Margaret was keyed up to such an extent
that hearing the word 'proposition' sent a thrill
through her body much like that felt by an adolescent
male hearing a 'dirty' word for the first time.  The
image of a well known cartoon character saying,
"Heehee, he said proposition," relieved more of her
remaining nervousness, allowing her to relax a bit
more and, almost, brought a smile to her face.

"After I present my offer," Mr. Wilson leaned forward
as he spoke, "you can either accept it, or reject it,
but there will be no negotiation."  Mr. Wilson paused
briefly to let Margaret consider what he had just
said, then continued.  "If you reject my offer you may
finish your drink then return to your room and we will
both pretend that this never happened."  How, Margaret
wondered, how could I ever pretend that none of this
ever happened?

"From now, until you graduate, all of your non-class
time will be spent as my slave."  The word 'slave'
made Margaret's body jerk, an effect that was not lost
on Mr. Wilson.  "I will give you only these
assurances," Mr. Wilson continued speaking in a slow,
serious tone of voice, "you will be allowed plenty of
time to study.  In fact I will insist that you
maintain the highest GPA, anything less would reflect
badly on me.  I will not do anything to you, or force
you to do anything that would endanger your health.  I
will not take pictures of you or allow anyone else to
take pictures of you, or do anything that would
endanger your future.  I will not force you to do
anything that would disfigure you in any way.  Beyond
that I only promise that you will be used in ways, and
experience things, that you have yet to even imagine."
His speech finished, Mr. Wilson sat back to patiently
wait for his student's reply.  Margaret sat with a
blank, but slightly bemused look on her face.
Memories of the strange dreams she'd been having the
last two days flooded over her, dreams of being
possessed, dreams of some irresistible will
controlling every part of her body and her life.  It
seemed to Margaret that the spanking of two days
before had ignited some pent up reserve of lust within
her body that had, apparently, been smoldering just
below her consciousness for years just waiting for the
right trigger to set it burning.  Her manic, obsessive
masturbation over the last two days proved that it
had, indeed, been ignited.  The memories of those
dreams, the thoughts of what it would mean to be this
man's slave, the urgent demands of her newly
invigorated libido, all combined and expressed
themselves as an overwhelming desire to push her hand
between her thighs and rub her clitoris, not stopping
until she fell asleep exhausted and with a wrist that
was too sore to move.  Margaret's libidoness fire was
further fueled by the outright terror she felt at the
prospect of giving that much power to another person.
What finally settled the issue for Margaret was her
total inability to imagine herself not becoming her
teacher's slave.

"Yes."  Margaret spoke her acceptance softly, sounding
like she was afraid that to speak to loudly might wake
her out of a dream from witch she did not want to be
awakened.

"Stand in front of me." Mr. Wilson ordered as he sat
forward again and placed his elbows on his knees.
Margaret wasn't sure what to expect, maybe some form
of official 'Do you agree to be my slave?' question or
statement.

"Pull your panties down to your knees and hold your
skirt up around your waist."  Margaret was shocked,
and secretly titillated by her teacher's first order.
Her face, as it often would over the next few days,
glowed red with the warmth of embarrassment while her
lower stomach, extending down between her legs, burned
with the heat of sexual stimulation.  With trembling
hands, and feeling like a naughty schoolgirl putting
her self on display for the boys on the playground,
Margaret did as her teacher instructed.  Both the heat
in her face and in her groin increased as she stood
there allowing Mr. Wilson to look at a part of her
body she had never allowed a man to look at before.
For a long moment her only reward was the site of a
tent forming in Mr. Wilson's trousers.

"What did you do after you were spanked?"  Still
holding her skirt up with both hands, and with her
panties still around her knees, Margaret began the
recitation of her activities over the last couple of
days.  Interrupted only by questions and requests for
more details, she told Mr. Wilson about each
masturbatory session for which she had a clear memory,
including details of where she was, which stall in
which restroom, what fingers she used to stimulate
herself, how wet she became, how many other people
came and went from the restroom while she was
masturbating and how good the orgasm was.  Margaret's
voice grew husky with lust as she continued the
detailed account of her obsessive sexual behavior,
ending with a description of her wearing panties for
the first time in two days, the devastating effect of
his treatment of her in class, the ecstasy of
receiving his type written note and the wild sexual
dreams she had every time she went to sleep.  At Mr.
Wilson's request Margaret continued, giving him the
complete disappointing history of both times she had
engaged in sex with a male.  By the time Margaret was
done with her story, her body ached to be touched; she
was in almost physical pain with her need.

"Bend your knees, just a bit," Margaret's teacher
instructed her when her tale was finished, "and spread
your legs just a bit."  To Margaret Mr. Wilson's left
hand, when he placed it on her naked hip, felt hot
enough to burn her bare skin.  She watched in what
seemed to be torturous slow motion as he reached out
and placed his right hand on the inside of her left
thigh, just above her panties.  The hand seemed to
take forever to move up her leg until the edge of his
hand came into contact with her wet, engorged labia
and his thumb came to rest on her over-sensitive
clitoris.  Margaret's whole body jerked several times
while his hand was in contact with her hot vaginal
flesh, and a low desperate moan escaped from deep in
her throat when Mr. Wilson immediately began moving
his hand back down caressing her right inner thigh
with the backs of his fingers.  Having just briefly
touched Margaret's obviously needy body, Mr. Wilson
sat back in his chair, making no effort to hide the
bulge in the front of his trousers.

"Turn around and let me see your rear," Mr. Wilson
instructed.  Margaret did as she was told, and jumped
slightly when she felt both of his hands gently
caressing her fanny cheeks.  "Looks like these are
going to be tender for a few days," he observed, "turn
back around."  Mr. Wilson watched her thoughtfully for
a few moments after she was facing him again, still
with her panties pulled down and her skirt held up.
Once again Margaret felt as if he was looking deeply
into her soul.  "You needed it so badly you were
willing to get spanked again with your butt still that
sore?"

"Yes," she answered in a choked voice as she dropped
her eyes, unable to match his gaze.

"Last time you were spanked as punishment, from now on
you will receive spankings as rewards when you have
done an outstanding job of pleasing me," Mr., Wilson
paused then suddenly grinned at her in a way that
Margaret thought made him look like a mischievous
little boy, "or when I feel like doing it for my own
enjoyment.  Now, take off your clothes."  Mr. Wilson's
voice was, also, taking on a husky timbre do to the
lust building in his body.

Margaret trembled uncontrollably as she released her
death grip on the bottom of her skirt and unfastened
the buttons on her blouse then let it drop to the
floor, to be followed by her panties, skirt, bra and
shoes.  Whatever embarrassment Margaret might have
felt, standing naked in front of a fully dressed man,
was over whelmed by the pure, raw lust burning ever
more intensely inside her.  Once uncovered, her
already erect nipples crinkled even more in the cool
air.

"Follow me," Mr. Wilson ordered as he stood up and
walked from the room.  Margaret followed her teacher
down a hallway and into what was, obviously, the
master bedroom, then he turned and faced her.

"Remove my shirt from my body," he ordered then waited
patiently while Margaret unbuttoned his shirt with
unsure fingers then, pulling his shirt tail from the
waist band of his trouser and leaned closer to him as
she pulled the shirt down his arms.  Margaret felt
overwhelmed by the heat and smell of his body, as her
face became buried in his chest hair, she felt the
hard protrusion under the cloth of his trousers bump
against her naked belly just above her pubic hair.

"Now place it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom,"
Mr. Wilson instructed, indicating the direction of the
bathroom with a nod oh his head.  Margaret walked to
the indicated door, opened it, entered the bathroom,
deposited the shirt in the wicker hamper then, re-
closing the door, walked, naked, back across the room
to where Mr. Wilson had seated himself in a chair.

"Kneel and untie my shoes then remove them."  Margaret
listened intently to her teacher's instructions,
correctly assuming that dressing and undressing Mr.
Wilson would be part of her daily routine for the
foreseeable future.  Getting down on both knees
Margaret carefully untied then loosened the lace on
each of his shoes before lifting his feet one at a
time and removing the shoes.

..
"Tuck the laces inside the shoes," Mr. Wilson ordered,
enjoying the sight of his new slave kneeling naked in
front of him, "and put the shoes side by side with the
other shoes in the closet."  Margaret stood up and, on
her way to the closet pondered if she should bend from
the waist, with her legs slightly spread, giving her
teacher a better show, or to kneel as she placed the
shoes in the closet.  She decided that kneeling would
show more respect for Mr. Wilson and that if he wanted
something different her would let her know.  Margaret
slid open the closet door then, getting down on her
knees, she carefully placed the pair of shoes in the
gap in the line of shoes on the closet floor.  She
made sure they were lined up with the rest of the
shoes, then stood up and slid the closet door shut
before turning and walking back across the room to
stand in front of Mr. Wilson.  As she crossed the room
Margaret realized that much of the enjoyment her
teacher derived from this ritual was the opportunity
to watch her naked body as she walked away and back
toward him, as well as when she got down and knelt
respectfully in front of him.

"Kneel," Mr. Wilson ordered again, "and remove my
socks."  Margaret knelt and gently lifted first his
right foot, then his left foot.  As she removed each
sock she made sure the sock was right side out and not
bunched up in a ball.

"Place the socks in the laundry hamper."  Margaret
rose to her feet in one fluid motion; she believed
that there could not possibly be anything more erotic
than to serve the man for whom she had just become a
slave.  As she had done with Mr. Wilson's shirt,
Margaret carried the socks into the bathroom and,
after placing them in the hamper and replacing the
lid, returned to the bedroom closing the bathroom door
behind her.

"Kneel," Mr. Wilson ordered one more time, "kiss the
top of each of my feet and thank me for the privilege
of being my slave."  Margaret did as she was told, the
aching need which had been building inside her all day
made her feel like she was on the verge of exploding
as she got down on her knees and, leaning forward
kissed the top of Mr. Wilson's right foot then,
looking up at him said, "Thank you for the privilege
of being your slave.  After repeating the process with
his left foot Margaret sat back on her heels and
waited for his next instructions.  When Mr. Roberts
stood up the bulge tenting the front of his pants
pointed directly at Margaret's face.

"Unbuckle my belt.  Unzip the fly," Mr. Wilson
continued after his student was finished unbuckling
the belt, "unhook the trousers and remove them."  As
Margaret reached for the zipper and the hook holding
Mr. Wilson's trousers closed, and holding the cause of
the bulge captive, she briefly wondered if he was a
boxer man or a jockey man.  As Mr. Wilson's trouser
slid down his legs Margaret discovered that he was
neither, he was a no underwear at all man.  For some
reason, totally beyond her ability to explain, this
struck Margaret as being incredibly sexual.  The image
of Mr. Wilson standing in front of the class,
lecturing, with nothing between him and the students
except the single thin layer of trouser material, sent
a thrill of a most perverse nature through her already
overly excited body.

"Line up leg seams," Mr. Wilson instructed after
stepping out of the trousers, "then hang them in the
closet with the empty pants hanger."  Margaret found
herself almost bumping Mr. Wilson's engorged penis
with her face while she assisted in removing his
trousers.  She avoided touching him because she felt
she should wait until she was instructed to do so, and
because she was a bit afraid.  Margaret had never felt
the overwhelming desire and obsession for a man that
she had been feeling for Mr. Wilson for the last two
days, and she feared what affect the realization of
that desire and obsession might have on her.

"That pair of pants," Mr. Wilson continued his
instructions as Margaret lined up the leg seems while
walking to the closet, "have only been worn once.  I
wear each pair twice, and twice only, before the go
back to the cleaners.  You will be expected to know
when you remove my trousers each evening whether they
are to be hung back up to be worn again or folded and
added to the ones being sent to the cleaners.
Margaret hung up the pants as instructed, closed the
closet door, then walked back across the bedroom to
stand, naked, in front of the now naked Mr. Wilson.
Mr. Wilson, reaching forward with booth hands, cupped
Margaret's breasts and began to gently massage each of
her nipples between a thumb and finger like twin
tuning knobs on a radio.  He continued this until he
was rewarded with a deep moan of pleasure from his new
slave.

"Kneel."  He ordered releasing Margaret's hard
nipples.  Kneeling was beginning to seem, to Margaret,
to be the most natural position for her.  Sinking to
her knees, Margaret found herself staring at the slit
at the end of the helmet shaped head of Mr. Wilson's
erect penis, not more than an inch in front of her
face.

"You've never had a man in your mouth have you?"  Mr.
Wilson asked, knowing the answer to the question.

"No."  Margaret answered not taking her eyes off Mr.
Wilson's hard member.

"Hold the base of it with your hand," Mr. Wilson
instructed his pupil, "then take it into your mouth
using your tongue and lips."  Margaret grasped the
warm firm/soft shaft as she had been instructed and,
leaning forward slightly, opened her mouth to receive
its head between her lips.  "That's good," her teacher
encouraged her as he stroked Margaret's hair with both
hands, feeling her whole body trembling with her
overwhelming need to be touched and taken.  "Swirl
your tongue over the head," his instructions continued
as Mr. Wilson held himself just inside her warm wet
lips.  Margaret was rewarded with a deep guttural moan
from Mr. Wilson when she followed his directions.

"I'm going to cum soon," Mr. Wilson warned his
student, "I've been waiting for this for two days
also."  Margaret heard her teacher moan again as he
pushed himself deeper into her mouth.  "When I do,
continue to hold me in your mouth and swallow until I
quite jerking and begin to soften again."  Margaret
moved her hand further down on the Mr. Wilson's shaft
so she could take more of him into her mouth.  "Don't
worry," Mr. Wilson assured his kneeling, naked slave,
perhaps sensing the concern engendered by her bodies
overpowering need, "I'll still be able to satisfy
you."  Mr. Wilson watched as he sank once more into
Margaret's reddening face and began to jerk as he
deposited his cum into her mouth for the first time.
As Mr. Wilson softened, and slipped from Margaret's
glistening cum and saliva covered lips, she looked up
at her teacher and waited for his approval with a shy
embarrassed smile.  Mr. Wilson sat back down in his
chair and, for the moment enjoyed the sight of his new
slave after her first experience giving oral sex to a
man.  Margaret, setting back on her heels with her
hands resting palm down on her thighs dropped her gaze
to the floor as Mr. Wilson watched her.

"Masturbate for me."  Margaret's body jerked when she
heard the command.  "Pleasure yourself just like you
did after I spanked you."  Mr. Wilson heard the
combination whimper and moan that escaped from
Margaret as she lay down on the floor, her head facing
away from Mr. Wilson so he could get the best view,
and arranged her body as she had on that afternoon.
Then, wanting desperately to be touched by HIS hands
not her own, Margaret began to massage her clitoral
area and tease her anus with just the tip of her
finger, as she had only done before when locked away
in her room and totally assured of privacy.  The
denied passion building up over the last several
hours, the experience of serving this man as his naked
slave and the heat of his gaze on her private parts
drove Margaret into a rapidly escalating orgasm that
quickly rivaled that which she had experienced when
Mr. Wilson had taken her over his knees, pulled down
her panties and spanked her naked fanny.  From the
time of her very first masturbation session Margaret
had been perfecting the silent orgasm.  With her
teacher watching Margaret reached the point where she
clamped her thighs down on her hand, lunged back and
forth with her hips in violent sexual motions and
obviously concluded a terrific orgasm without making
more than a barely audible sound.

"That was very nice, I'm sure," Mr. Wilson's
dismissive tone crushed Margaret's after-orgasm glow,
"but we'll have to work on the difference between
masturbating for your own enjoyment and masturbating
for my enjoyment."

"Yes, ah..." Margaret said, unclear how to finish the
statement, as she got back up on her knees trying to
fight back tears.

"I don't need to have my ego massaged by being called
'Master'," Mr. Wilson took Margaret's hands and pulled
her to her feet and toward him as he spoke, "so you
can address me as Mr. Wilson when appropriate, and as
'Sir' when appropriate."

"Yes sir."

"Now," Mr. Wilson continued seemingly ignoring her
response, "stand with one leg on each side of my lap."
Margaret stood as instructed.  Leaning forward Mr.
Wilson sucked Margaret's right nipple into his mouth,
then slipped his and between her open thighs.  Placing
her hands on Mr. Wilson's shoulders, Margaret leaned
her head back and moaned loudly as her nipple
responded to Mr. Wilson's hot wet mouth and her vagina
to his probing fingers.  Mr. Wilson released
Margaret's right nipple and began to suck on her left
nipple as he pushed his finger deeper into her and let
his thumb play back and forth over her clitoris.

"Oh God," Margaret cried loudly as she bent her knees
giving her instructor greater access to her genitals.
"Oh no," she whimpered almost immediately after, when
he pulled his hand out from between her legs.

"Lower yourself."  Margaret lowered her body then
hesitated when she felt the head of Mr. Wilson's hard
shaft pushing against her opening.  Mr. Wilson placed
his hands on her hips and slowly pushed her further
down into his lap, filling her as she stretched to
accommodate him.

"Set still," Mr. Wilson instructed, once she was
setting snuggly on top of him with his penis buried
securely in her vagina.

"Yes, Sir." Margaret answered the difficulty of the
order reflected in her voice.  With his left arm
holding her firmly on top of him, Mr. Wilson reached
around behind his student and slowly pushed his well-
lubricated fingertip into her anus.

"Oh my god."  Margaret moaned, the finger sinking into
her rear causing her vaginal muscles to spasm against
Mr. Wilson's hard shaft.  Grabbing a handful of
Margaret's hair, Mr. Wilson brought his slave's lips
to his and tasted remnants of his cum as he pushed his
tongue deeply into her mouth.  Overcome with her need,
and the multiple penetrations of her body Mr. Wilson's
slave began to move her body riding up and down on
both his finger and his erect penis.  Mr. Wilson kept
all three of her orifices filled until, after she
experienced another powerful orgasm, he jerked inside
her then, releasing his grip on her hair, he let their
mouths part and his finger slip slowly from her body.

"Now," Mr. Wilson spoke softly into Margaret's ear,
"you need to get up," He gently encouraged his new
Slave to stand, "get a warm washcloth and a towel from
the bathroom and then wash me."  As she walked across
the bedroom on wobbly, trembling legs, the naked slave
felt beyond a doubt that she had made the right
choice.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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