Becoming The Alpha Male Ch 06

As Mom and I dragged our bodies from bed the next morning we found breakfast waiting and Dad clad in pink lingerie. We got ourselves to work and school, were reinvigorated by our evening work out and, after a good fuck, lay in bed contemplating the conquest of Deborah Havre. A little background information, we decided, would be useful.

Grandad provided me with the name of an investigator. Grandad had been treating me with new found respect over the last several months. Did he have some inkling of the changes in my household? The dealerships employed Russell Accounting, the firm where Billy, Ms. Havre's husband, worked. I instructed Dad to make some discreet inquiries about him.

By Thursday we had the information we wanted. Ms. Havre grew up in an upscale mid-western suburb, where she lived through her parents messy public divorce. Money had been scarce after that and in a community which prized conspicuous consumption, she was unable to compete. In high school and college she compensated by becoming everybody's best friend, the girl to whom the other girls brought their problems. She learned to empathize with and mold herself to the needs of those around her.

During high school and her first few years at college she had been unattractive; heavy and indifferent to her hair, clothes, and make-up. After her junior year in college a sorority friend invited her to California for the summer to work for her dad's company. They pay was good, the work easy, and the friend stylish and a fitness fanatic. Under the influence of this woman Deborah returned for her senior year a slim, trim, well-dressed knock-out.

She immediately caught the eye of William, called Billy, Havre, the president of one of the college's prominent fraternities. He was a big man on campus. She had gone from listening to other girls describe their boyfriend problems to dating one of the school's most desirable men. When he proposed she was ecstatic.

Billy's post-college life had not gotten off to a good start. Dad's sources indicated his job was in trouble. He was still seen as a party boy and the firm's clients did not take him seriously. He was also drinking too much. Ms. Harve had thought she had found a strong and successful man who would take care of her. He turned out to be a light-weight.

Mom and I, at times consulting with Sarah and Patricia, spent the next days planing strategy. Deborah wanted a strong men she could take care of. Although unhappy, however, she was too weak, too much a people-pleaser, to cheat. She would have to be taken, to be dragged over that boundary. I knew the man for the job.

* * * *

On Monday there was a fifteen exercise math assignment due. I approached Ms. Havre after class. My eyes boring in on her, I said "I didn't turn in the assignment."

She took the blame. "Was there a problem with it?"

I sucked her in with faint reassurance. "I assume it was fine. I had some trouble with the final two problems. Rather than turn in second rate work I decided to work them with you after class. Deborah glanced at her watch. "I told the class I couldn't stay late this week because of family car troubles. I need to catch a ride home."

"I'll drive you home."

"I think there is a rule about students and teachers riding alone together."

With my best exasperated look, I said, "Afraid you'll get a reputation as a bad girl? Don't worry, I won't tell. Call your ride and tell her to leave without you."

She paused and gave a short nervous laugh. When I didn't back down, her voice tone dropping, she said, "Okay." Although her body language was reluctant, Deborah did as instructed and texted her ride.

She and I began to work through the problems. I had gone over both of them with Sarah and Lauren, who had armed me with enough information to confound Ms. Havre and then, eventually, show her the answers. I was, for the moment, the teacher, she the student. When we were done she thanked me.

"Since there is that no-fraternization rule, go to the green door by the parking lot side of the gym. None of the school's cameras show that area. I can pick you up there without anyone knowing."

"I can call my husband. I don't want to be any trouble."

My tone dismissive, I said, "Don't worry about him. See you in five minutes." I left the room, leaving no time for objection.

She was waiting for me. She had fixed her make-up and combed her hair. I opened the car door. She got in.

She looked around. "Nice car."

"It's Mom's convertible."

She gave me her address. When we reached the intersection at which I would turn right towards her condominium, however, I turned left. Ms. Havre started to correct me.

"Ms. Havre, it's a gorgeous day, I've got Mom's convertible, an opportunity rarely bestowed, and a beautiful woman in it. I gonna explore the country north of town. I'm not going to waste the chance to cruise in a great car, on a lovely day, with a sexy lady."

Although initially tense, Deborah quickly loosened up. This opportunity to put her cares behind her was to good to pass up. We chatted, she was receptive to my compliments and the flask I handed her. She turned her head to the sun, enjoying its warmth on her face. We had been driving for half-an-hour. It was time to make the conversation more personal. "Enjoying the ride?"

She paused, and then, "Yes, I am. It's nice to get away from it all."

I reached over, ostensibly to straighten her hair, and ran a finger along her neck. Then I lay my hand on her arm. She looked down. She knew she shouldn't let me touch her like that, but she liked the way it felt and it seemed safe, I was focused on my driving. She did nothing.

"Ms. Havre, I've wondered about that. Last year you were always so upbeat in class. This year you sometimes seem sad. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is," she paused, rolling the word around in her mind, "fine."

"That was not a convincing answer."

"You don't want to hear about my problems."

I pushed the role reversal. "You're always listening to everyone else's problems. Somebody should listen to you."

And now, the next step, telling her how she felt, "And, in any case, you know you want to tell me. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

She started to talk, at first haltingly, then more freely. I sped down some hilly roads, emphasizing the feeling of freedom, and exploited the rural areas adjoining our community, removing her from familiar sights. Still, she was not going to tell me, her student, about an indifferent husband. I needed something I could interpret as a confession.

She finally gave it to me.

"Billy goes out drinking after work. He doesn't come home until late and then he's too drunk to be much company."

I turned back towards town.

"You're kidding me, he has a woman like you at home and he'd rather me in a bar?"

"Yeah, he doesn't seem as interested in me as used to be."

"If you were waiting for me at home after work, I don't think I'd be hanging with the dudes. Hell, I'd tie you to the bed in the morning so no time would be wasted when I got home. Shit, look at you. A man with a woman like you should take you every night, all night."

She looked at me and started fiddling with her hair, internalizing the image of being tied to her bed, of being ravished by a man so insatiable for her, so in lust, that he couldn't get enough; a man who would always make sure he had his way with her. She shifted in her seat. She was distracted, her mind balanced between discomfort and fascination with her thoughts. Then she remembered she should object. "Thank you, but I'm not sure you should be talking to me like that."

"Hell, I know I shouldn't. What is about to happen shouldn't either, but it will. I'm going to slip my right hand down your skirt. You will tell me not to, but you will slide your legs apart anyway."

I reached over, placed my hand on her leg, and reached under her skirt, pulling the hem of her panties aside.

Deborah protested. "You can't do this. You've got to stop."

"You're right, I shouldn't do it, but I certainly can do it. I want to do it. You want me to do it. Everyone thinks you're sweet and innocent. But I know the truth. I know what you're really like, I know about your dirty, naughty thoughts. But you're right. Tell me not to do it; tell me to stop. It's important that you not give in easily, it's important that you try to maintain appropriate boundaries. In fact, it turns you on more to know I'm doing the forbidden despite your effort to stop me."

My index finger found her vagina. It was wet.

"But you will surrender. It's futile to resist. Tell me to stop."

"Stop."

I ran my index finger along the length of her labia. It moistened and quivered, surrendering to my touch.

"Didn't work, try it again."

This time, her voice weaker, the words drawn out, "Please, stop."

I didn't. "You were born to please a man. Your beauty didn't come naturally, I know how hard you worked at it, and then you gave it to a man who failed you. You want to offer it again, but you're not strong enough. You're not strong enough to break the rules that say a wife is loyal to her husband or a teacher can't submit to her student, but I'm strong enough."

By now her vaginal flow was intense and I had two fingers pumping in and out of her cunt. She was issuing soft groans and when my thumb found her clitoris, she jumped.

"Tell me to stop again."

Her voice soft, laden with lust and need: "Please stop." She closed her eyes and moaned.

We pulled into the parking lot behind her condominium complex. When I hit a traffic bump her eyes popped open; she saw where she was. This was not a safe place; it was a dangerous place. Half consciously, she started humping her hips into my fingers. I pulled into a spot at the back of the lot.

"You said stop, but I don't believe you and you don't believe you. We both know how good it feels to submit, to let me take control. A man who knows what to do with a beautiful woman, that's what you want. You want to be fucked all night long by a man who's stronger than you. A man who will use your body to please himself. To him you're just nothing but something to fuck and relieve the burning need inside his cock. Think about it, think about how he takes you, he cares only about himself, and it makes you crazy with lust."

Deborah's eyes were shut and his mouth ajar, breathing in short gasps. "Unnh, unnnnnh. Uuunnnnhhhhh."

"A man who never asks what you like or what you want, who fucks you like he just got out of prison and you're the first piece of ass he's seen. He's not just fucking your body, he's found the core of your being, making you let go of all the inhibitions, finding the part of you that is pure lust, that has no boundaries. The part that's a whore, that's a slut, that just wants to be fucked."

Deborah's pussy was contracting around my fingers. "Unnnhhh, uunhhnnnnhhhhh. Uuuuuunnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh."

"The kind of man who doesn't wait for the bedroom, who fucks you against the door. Who pins you to the wall and enters you. He doesn't wait for you to undress, he rips the clothes from your body. He's not interested in foreplay, he licks your face, claws at your tits, treats you like a piece of meat, and knows your cunt is ready. Your body is covered in sweat and drool, your sole purpose is to get him off."

Debbie pressed her hands against the seat, rocking her cunt against my pistoning fingers . She was panting and moaning and spit ran from the corner of her mouth. She was going to explode soon. Her vagina contracted around my finger; her eyes rolled back in her head. I had succeeded beyond expectations. She was ready to cum. It was time to reinforce my message.

"You want to come don't you? Try begging, beg me to stop Then when you know you've done your best, that you're powerless, then you can come. Beg me to leave your slutty pussy alone."

I increased the pressure on her clitoris. Her body shaking with need, she said, "Stop, please, please stop. Please, please, I beg you, pleaseeee...., I'm not a bad girl, I'm a good girl, I really am. Shit, no, feels so good, no unnnhhhhh, uuunnnnnhhhhhh, FUCK, FUCK, OH MY GOD, FUCK. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, OHHHHHHHH, COMMMMMING, PLEASE GOD! COMMMMINNNNGGGGGG!!!!"

She jerked like a fish out of water, pouring juice on my hand. I expertly brought her to a series of follow-up orgasms until, finally, she could come no more. She was leaning back, eyes closed, a hand laying across her exposed cunt, her breathing slow and deep. I held my hand to her mouth. She knew what I wanted. She cleaned it with her tongue.

Still mired in a post-orgasmic haze, the ability to resist gone, I instructed her. "You've tried to be a good girl, but its no use. Now you've begun a transformation, you're going to my bad little girl. Tomorrow wear the short black skirt you wore last Tuesday. Did you have on 2 ½ inch pumps that day?"

Although she was having trouble focusing, but after a few seconds, nodded her head.

"Tomorrow wear three inch heels. Let's see how those look."

I retrieved a bag from the backseat. "You will also wear these."

She looked inside the bag, the joy cascading through her body still interfering with her ability to focus.

"They're garters and stockings. My girls wear garters and stockings."

She looked at me, her eyes shining. She nodded.

"Get to school early, unlock your classroom door, leave a copy of the key on your desk, and go to the teachers' lounge. When you return to your classroom you'll find my instructions."

She listened, but was still thinking about sex. She looked at my crotch and then at me. Raising an eyebrow, her hand rubbing my thigh, she asked, "Do you want me to?"

"No, you've not proven your worth."

She took the shopping bag and, legs wobbly, got out of the car.

* * * *

I shared my success with Mom during our evening work-out. Afterwards we celebrated with a vigorous fuck. Mom then summoned Dad to the bedroom. He was wearing a red teddy and four inch heels. Dad had lost about fifteen pounds and, as the result of his daily work-outs, was developing some musculature. His daily dose of estrogen had caused his penis to shrink and there was definite feminization of the hips and breasts.

"Slave."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Your inquiry of Russell Accounting was useful. We have a reward for you."

Mom flipped on the television. There appeared Dad's girlfriend; the voices indicated the recording was made by the same person who had made the first recording. Mom turned up the sound.

"He hadn't been around for awhile. He says his wife was suspicious and keeping an eye on him. God, have you seen her lately? Damn she looks good. I can't figure what she sees in him. Well, in any case, she went out-of-town last weekend and we got together. He's different. He was never particularly manly, but now he's closer to a best girl-friend than a lover. But what's amazing is his pussy eating. Over the weekend he didn't show any interest in coming himself, but was eager to eat me and he's great at it! In the years we've been together he never made me come; but suddenly he was doing it three or four times a day. I'm not sure what his wife's done to him, but I'm all for it."

Mom switched off the recording. Dad beamed. "Thank you Mistress."

Dad left to clean the kitchen and Mom and I started planning for the next day. Assuming she didn't call in sick, Deborah would make a bid for independence. It would be a plea for reasonableness, not an assertion of power. It would be in a public place; she would not want to face me in private. It was, in short, a prime opportunity to assert my dominance. Before that confrontation, however, I would launch a pre-emptive strike, subverting her status as teacher.

* * * *

When I arrived in school the next morning I found her classroom unlocked and a key waiting for me in an envelope. I pocketed it and left the following instructions:

Tell the class its performance on the final two questions on last week's homework was poor, that you and I discussed them after class, and then worked them on the board. Invite me up to do so again. While in front of the class display no reaction to what I do.

Deborah, like most of the teachers, went to the teachers' lounge after the first period. I positioned myself outside her classroom and approached her from behind.

"Ms. Favre."

Startled, she stopped and turned around. She was flustered; her lips pressed together; she was not prepared to confront me first thing in the morning.

"Yes, Mr. Nicholas."

"You dressed as instructed. You look good." Half consciously, a grin spread across her face. She nodded. "Thank you."

I kept my gaze locked on her. She futilely tried to hold my stare, but kept looking away. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, afraid of what I would say, thinking it would be about the evening before.

It was not. "The assignment I did not hand in Monday. I checked the work. It was correct. Enter an 'A' in your grade book."

She laughed, nervous. "Well, I mean, it's just that...."

Her voice broke off. I didn't help her; my stare was unyielding. She fidgeted and then extended her arms towards me, palms up, trying to find the words to go on. And then, when she did, as she began to speak, I interrupted her.

"It's just that you're not supposed to. Is that it?"

"Well..., yes."

"Sweet girl, I, not you, determine what you should do. And, in any case, as you learned yesterday, I'm much more interested in what you're not supposed to do."

Her voice was halting. "About that, I need to talk to you," she stumbled momentarily, and then quickly added, "but not in the classroom."

"Excellent, you're acknowledging you're too weak to face me in private. You already understand I'm in charge. Soon the desire to serve me will consume you. There is brown reading table on the left side of the library, towards the back of the atrium. It's big enough for two. I'll be waiting at lunch."

* * * *

The table was in the corner of the room and out of anyone's sight line. People would see a teacher talking to a student, but no one would have reason to stare. It also had sides; no one could see under it.

I was reviewing notes on my computer when Deborah approached. I pulled a chair out for her and sat across the table. She was nervous, already fussing with her hair and hands, looking away. She didn't want to confront me. She would try to blame herself. I would let her.

"Randy, yesterday was my fault. I shouldn't have let it happen."

"You're such a pretty girl, but a little slow. You had nothing to do with it. Yesterday happened because I wanted it to happen. I brought you off because I wanted to and, if you're honest with yourself, you'll acknowledge that you wanted it. Are you trying to say you should have said no to me?"

She hesitated, and then, "Yes, I mean, I should have stopped you."

"But the problem is that you didn't want to say no, you didn't want me to stop. Ms. Havre, you're designed to serve a man. What you married doesn't fit the bill. He doesn't know what you are and he's a clear sign you don't understand what you are or what you need. I do. It doesn't matter if you say no to me. I will still have you. You can say no all you want, but we both know you wouldn't mean it and, even if you did, it would make no difference, I will still have you."

She was a bit stunned. This was not going as planned. I shifted my position.

"Last night, after I left, I know you masturbated while fantasizing about sucking my cock, opening your legs to me, feeling by fat dick in your sweet twat. I have a question: did you do all this while your husband was awake or did you wait for him to go to sleep?"

"Don't talk like that here."

"Was it before he went to sleep?"

"It's none of your business.

"My sexy teacher is jerking off dreaming of my big dick, and it's none of my business? You can do better than that; you're supposed to be smart. Answer my question."