Standing in the playground waiting for my daughter to burst through the school door, my thoughts of how fast the years were passing were broken by a familiar figure walking towards the entrance to the large hall, adjacent to the main block. I turned away, hoping she didn't catch me staring, but my curiousness over her brought my eyes back, resting on her curvaceous figure. I swallowed in her beauty. I wasn't even sure it was her beauty that captivated me, but there was something about Miss Pittuck, the headmistress, that made her creep into my darkest fantasies in the dead of night.
I could feel the lips of my pussy swelling, overlapping the sides of my moistening thong. My tits felt even more restricted in my bra as my breathing drastically changed. It was as if she had virtually stepped out of last night's fantasy, minus a couple of 'the tools of the trade'. Her breasts bounced evenly as she strutted across the playground. Her black knee-high skirt was slit up the side and god, her black tights, oh shit, could they be stockings, were flirting with my eyes and mind. My gaze descended further and finally stopped at her shoes. They were about three inches high and she walked so confidently in them. I stared blankly at her, not noticing that she had stopped. All my mind was thinking was what the hell was above that slit in her skirt. Were they tights? Were they stockings? In my fantasies she was always in stockings. If she was wearing them now I imagine that the soft lacy tops would be just a breath away from the top of that slit.
Suddenly I was brought out of my reverie by her authoritative voice. "Is there something wrong, Ms Leoni?" She was smiling, a cocky grin that broadened with every passing millisecond. I couldn't answer. I stood there, flushed, sweaty and uncomfortable. "You're looking flushed dear, maybe you should come with me. You look like you could do with sitting down." She held her arm out and I began to walk towards her.
She waited until I was at her side and she took the lead then began walking. I was rendered speechless, withdrawing into myself and feeling myself fall. Although she was nineteen years my senior I could barely keep up with her, my knees were weak and all I could see in front of me were those legs, encased in nylon. Fuck, what the hell had come over me. Within the last six months I had stooped to a deliciously new low. I was in a depraved new world, where fantasy and reality were becoming blurred.
I no longer look at women and wonder how the hell they stand upright in those heels, now all I think about is how much I would love to get on my knees and worship their shoes. I no longer like the term, tights. I love the word stockings or nylons. Again, to drop to the floor and run my fingers and my tongue over the material and ascend to that treasured place would give me so much pleasure. Knickers aren't knickers anymore. They are panties, a word so much sexier than knickers. Shoes or boots with heels are just known as heels.
I know I should be ashamed of my perverse behaviour, but I'm not. I thrive on it. I love the pleasure and the intensity that I get from such depravity. I love the feeling that I worship a woman from across the ocean. An anonymous woman, who I assume, is American or Canadian, the "z" instead of the "s" in a lot of her words is a telltale sign. She tells me what she's wearing everyday, what colour and style her panties are and what, if I had the chance would I like to do with them. As the weeks then months passed, one thing led to another and now I crave to do dirty and depraved acts, from wanting to look up women's skirts to wanting to lick the crutch of their panties and doing other disgusting things.
My Mistress from afar fuelled my desire to want and need these feelings I possess, almost subconsciously training me and manipulating my mind. I told her about the school headmistress and how I had come to fantasise about her. I felt no shame as I thought of lying beneath her as she straddled me and degraded me. Her heels, nylons and short skirts with slits riding up the thigh were all it took to make me rush home and ask for permission to masturbate before bedtime. It was a question that I knew the answer to, but I always asked in hope! And here I was, feeling the exact same way as I do when I go into submission with my Mistress.
We were now in Miss Pittuck's office and she sternly told me to sit. I sat in the hard leather chair near the large bookcase. Her office was big, nearly the size of one of the classrooms. She sat behind a large wooden desk and opened up the bottom drawer and pulled out two glasses and a decanter, half filled with whiskey. As she poured the drinks she spoke to her secretary through the intercom system, telling her to go and find my daughter and allow her to help out in the after school crèche.
She walked over to me and handed me the glass of whiskey. "Drink this, you'll feel better!" I took the glass from her and sipped a small amount of the copper coloured liquid. She stood at close range in front of me. I hesitantly took another sip as Miss Pittuck spoke to me. "Are you going to tell me what happened in the playground, young lady?"
My heart skipped a beat as she spoke to me in that way. Why do teachers always make you feel inferior? I trembled and the glass slipped from my hand. It appeared to fall in slow motion as it headed towards the floor, but luckily the soft, deep pile carpet cushioned its fall. I leant down and tried to retrieve the glass but from the angle I was at, I couldn't. I slipped off the leather chair and was practically on my knees. Miss Pittuck never stepped back and I was up close to her legs. I glanced at her heels and licked my lips. I wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her heels and stroke her nylon covered legs. Oh, god what was I thinking. To touch the material that sat closely on her shapely legs would send me to a place I had only felt in the comfort of my own home, under instruction from my Mistress overseas.
I pulled myself from thinking of these thoughts and I grabbed at the glass. My other hand fell upon the arm of the chair and I began to lift myself back onto it. Then I heard the words that sent my insides into disarray. "I think you look better on the floor, don't you?"
I looked up at her, hoping that she was mildly teasing me. She knew I was uncomfortable already. Silence still prevailed in me. I just rose to my feet and she still didn't move an inch. We were now facing each other, although not face to face, she was a good three or four inches taller than me. "Undo your blouse, just the top two buttons!" It wasn't a request where I could say yes or no. It was an order. As my fingers fumbled with the buttons her eyes widened and she smiled. "Good girl, I like to know that you do as I ask!" I looked at her with confusion and gasped as reality struck in the pit of my stomach.
"Oh god… no!" My senses were all over the place. I slumped myself in the leather chair, trying to establish normality in my breathing. I fingered the thin black necklace that hung around my neck. My trembling fingers stroked the large sterling silver letter "M" that sat above my cleavage. Never in a million years did I think that my darkest thoughts would ever become a reality. And here she was, standing dominantly over me. How long had she known I was the one? I stuttered as I spoke. "How… how long have you known?"
"A while, a couple of months. You know, you should really be careful what you tell people. Why do you think I stand in the corridor, inconspicuously looking out into the playground? I'm watching you look for me. I love the way your eyes follow me. They burn into me. I feel you. And I can only imagine what goes on between your thighs each afternoon and of course at night after you've read my mails that I send to you!"
"Fucking hell, I don't believe this!" I became flustered. I stood up, attempting to stand my ground. My fingers raked through my hair, strands of it stuck to my clammy palm. "I've told you things, confessed to you! You know… everything. You know what I've done to please you. Shit, shit…" I couldn't speak anymore. She carefully placed her hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me down onto the chair. My resistance withered as her touch soothed me.
