(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)
Chapter 21
You need to know
You want to come so bad.
He... he said I could... all I have to do is let go...
Pussy squeezing around his finger, body vibrating with denied pleasure, the words
please let me come, Mr. Peterson
start to bubble in your chest. Something in your teacher's eyes stops you. That dark, burning intensity is still there, but there's also something more. Something warm, something open, something inviting. Like he wants you to follow him toward a new understanding of yourself.
What will be waiting for you, if you can make it there?
With your body still straining for that orgasm, you force yourself to speak before it's too late. "
Mnnah!
Please, Mr. Peterson, I need to know. T-teach me."
Mr. Peterson smiles at you and clicks the vibrators off. Warm relief floods through you. Pleasure still buzzes inside your body, eager for release, but that desperate edge is gone now. "I am very proud of you, Miss Murray. You demonstrated remarkable discipline, and you continue to show an admirable commitment to your education." He slowly pulls his finger from inside you. "Now, tell me you need my strong male guidance."
There is an absence inside you. A place where you should be feeling anger, a void where a snappy comeback should be. From that emptiness come the words "I need your strong male guidance, Mr. Peterson." Your voice has a slight tremble to it, not of uncertainty, but of fear. Even though your submission feels... good, you're still terrified by how unfamiliar it is. You've never imagined being in a place like this, and that uncertainty has you desperate for something solid to hold on to.
Something like Mr. Peterson.
Your teacher's smile widens, and he walks over to the hearth. He flips a switch, and the wide fireplace fills with bright yellow flames. He removes his sweater and tosses it aside. As he turns to face you, cock still standing proud, fire dancing behind him, you're captivated by the sight. His nudity makes him seem somehow more powerful, like he's unleashed something inside himself. Overwhelmed by his display of sheer dominance, you feel your knees grow weak and your breaths grow short.
"Come now, Miss Murray. It's time I show you what this has all been leading to. Have a seat beside me, and I will teach you in the only way I know you can understand."
Please, Mr. Peterson, I'm yours. Just show me what I need.
You obey his command and sit at the desk chair beside the hearth. You look up at him, hands in your lap, and you can't help but be reminded of how all this started. It feels like a lifetime ago. Sitting at your desk, just like always. Talking back to Mr. Peterson, just like always. But then, there was steel in his voice, stopping your breath. There was a switch in his hand, marking the creamy skin of your arms with the evidence of his discipline. There was the juice in your panties, giving the lie to your pathetic attempts at denying what was happening to you.
"You remember, don't you, Miss Murray? You remember how this all began. Who was responsible for us taking this journey together." He takes a step towards you, and your body grows warmer. "Give me your arms, Miss Murray."
You extend your arms out to him, palms up. The welts from the switch are still just visible in the firelight. Taking a deep breath, you remember how you felt then. Angry, shocked, afraid... and excited. There was something you were discovering inside you, something you never even knew you were missing before that moment.
Mr. Peterson reaches out and gently touches you where the marks are still visible. Kneading your flesh, softly dragging his nails across the welts, reminding you of how it was him who changed your body like this. "Why are there marks on your arms, Miss Murray?"
Because you gave them to me.
You know he wants more than the obvious answer. He's taught you better than that. "I... I needed to be punished, Mr. Peterson. I needed to be taught discipline."
"And why was that, Miss Murray?" His hands continue to gently touch you.
You close your eyes, looking inward, allowing his words and his touch to guide you. "Because... my lack of respect for your authority was... was keeping me from learning." You open your eyes as your heart beats wildly in your chest, and see that Mr. Peterson is smiling. You can't believe those words just came out of your mouth, but you know they're true. That void, that emptiness where your sense of self used to be is growing. You can't remember ever being so afraid.
"Very good, Miss Murray. You are beginning to understand." He pulls his hands away from your arms. "Now clasp your hands behind your head and spread your legs."
You obey, your mind again going back to that first tutoring session. This position had been embarrassing enough when you had your t-shirt and panties on. In this revealing outfit, you should be feeling utterly humiliated. Instead, you feel a thrill at displaying your body for Mr. Peterson, in the clothes he gave you. Your ass clenches around the plug that bears his initial, and the feeling is... comforting.
Mr. Peterson gets down on one knee, putting his face level with yours. He reaches out, softly stroking your inner thighs. The gentle touch is nothing like the sharp impact of the crop he struck you with that day. Somehow, that distinction just makes the memory of that orgasmic punishment even more vivid.
"What happened next, Miss Murray? What did you do after receiving my discipline?"
"I opened myself to you, Mr. Peterson." You remember how strange it felt, then, to be telling your history teacher intimate details of your sex life. If you only knew what else you would give him, barely a day later.
He pushes his hands forward until they're not quite touching your pussy. "And what did you learn in the process, Miss Murray?" He taps his fingers against your slick outer lips.
Your whole body shudders. "I learned..." you take a deep breath, the intensity of the memory causing your denied orgasm to flare inside you. "I learned that I find pleasure in pain, Mr. Peterson." Your eyes are locked on his, unable to escape the dark fire that drew you in that day.
Mr. Peterson stands, bringing his hard cock level with your face. Your eyes follow his, but the masculine scent of his precum dominates your mind. You're grateful for the discipline he taught you, because your mind and body both long for you to reach forward and taste him. Your tongue rebels against your self-control and licks your lips, but you manage to hold his gaze.
Your teacher gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging your inner struggle. "Stand for me, Miss Murray." You obey, trying to ignore how close his cock is now to your dripping pussy. "Now tell me what choice you made after this discovery."
What other choice could you have made? "I chose the advanced tutoring, Mr. Peterson." After how far he had pushed you in just one afternoon, you had to find out where else he could take you. "I chose to commit to my... my education."
Instead of nodding, or smiling, he turns and takes a few steps away from you. Anxiety grips you, and you can feel yourself falling into that void inside.
Why? Why do I care so much?
What happened to me?
"And what did you do, after I agreed to share that commitment? After I opened my home to you?"
Tears prick your eyes, and color rises in your cheeks. "I... I disrespected you again, Mr. Peterson. I'm sorry, Iā"
"Come now, Miss Murray." Even facing away from you, his sharp tone cracks at you like a whip. "You know it was more than that."
You start to tremble. The shame of your past actions, the memory of the punishment he gave you, him facing away from you now, all come together to crush you. Push you deeper into that yawning void of self-doubt. "I...
hic
...I..." you struggle to find the words, barely understanding what it is you're trying to say. "I put myself above you, Mr. Peterson. I acted like my own... my own assumptions, my own emotions... were more important than... what you had to teach me."
He turns to face you, and again you allow the fire in his eyes to consume you. It feels so right. "I'm happy to see you've been paying attention, Miss Murray." He takes a step toward you. "You're getting very close now."
Without warning, he lifts you up, again demonstrating that surprising strength. He strides across the room with you in his arms, your heart bursting with joy at his touch, at his control. He lays you down on the sofa, just like you were yesterday, except this time it's his hands spreading your legs.
What is happening to me? Why do I feel like... like a pathetic little girl in a love story?
You look up at him, breathless, longing for him to pull you out of the pit you're still falling into.
