Teaching Carol, Ch.9

The incident in her classroom seemed to remove a lot of boundaries for Carol as a submissive, and she no longer fought the impulse when it came. In fact, she became very creative herself.

Not long after that episode she called and asked me to come over, and when I arrived I found an envelope with my name on it taped to the door, and inside the envelope was a small key. There was no answer to my knock—but when I entered I found her kneeling on the floor, wearing only a pair of bright yellow panties printed with blue ducks with orange beaks and feet… and she had gotten some handcuffs and used them to bind her hands behind her back. She said nothing when I came in—just opened her mouth as wide as she could.

The classroom itself became a favorite playground for some of her fantasies. As an assistant teacher she had a key to the school and could get in anytime. One afternoon I found a note under my door, which read: “Carol is being kept after school for being a nasty little girl.” And when I arrived at her classroom I found her standing in the corner with her face to the wall, hands behind her head, as if she had been stood there for punishment. Not only that, but she had dressed herself as a little girl: shiny black shoes and lacey white ankle socks, a short, pouffy pink dress and matching barrettes in her hair.

And when she heard me enter she bent over, still keeping her back to me, and pulled her dress up over her hips, revealing a pair of equally pink panties, covered with rows of white frills. Then she reached down, grasped her ankles and was still.

She had written on the blackboard: “Carol has been very naughty and needs to be spanked,”—a pair of dashes followed this and underneath was written, “and then fucked in the ass.”

There was heavy wooden ruler and a jar of Vaseline sitting in the middle of her otherwise empty desk.

I had taken to bringing my camera with me whenever I met with Carol, and recorded all of these details: Carol bent over, holding her ankles; the writing on the blackboard; the ruler and jar on the desk.

Then I had her stand and face me and, while I recorded the whole process, take off her dress (she wore no bra) and then in just her shoes, socks and panties crawl up to the front of the room to fetch the ruler and crawl around the room several times holding it in her mouth. When I had enough pictures I took the ruler from her and allowed her to lie across my lap. I held the camera as high as I could in my left hand to get shots of her in that position, gave her a few whacks with the ruler just to warm her up—trying to time shooting a picture with the ruler’s impact on her behind. Then I put down both camera and ruler, lifted her left leg and spun her so that the top of her head was on the floor between my feet and her legs were spread on either side of me. She rested her head on her arms while I used both hands to spank her: right cheek… whack! Left cheek… whack! Right cheek, left cheek… She thrashed around and cried out and begged me to stop, her feet, still in their shiny shoes and ankle socks, waving around in the air.

When I thought she’d had enough I picked up the camera again and took a shot of her from that angle. Then I reached over for the Vaseline and got a large glob of it on my thumb, which I slipped under her panties and between her now-tender cheeks. I began to massage and lubricate her there, gradually working my thumb further and further up her passage. She squirmed and moaned and made little whimpering noises while I did it—I took a close-up shot of my hand inside her panties, then pulled them down far enough to show what I was doing and took another. But when I put the camera down again, slid my free hand between her legs and began caressing her through the crotch of her panties she began to writhe so spasmodically that it looked like she was trying to swim off my lap.

“Oh god—do it now! Please… please do it now,” she begged. But when I merely continued what I was doing she realized what I wanted her to do and cried out, “Oh! Oh god… fuck my asshole! Pull down my panties… and put your cock up my ass!” Then, when I only continued, she screamed, “PLEASE! PLEASE PULL DOWN MY PANTIES AND FUCK MY ASSHOLE!”

I could hardly resist such a genteel invitation, so I helped her to stand up then stood up myself and took pictures while I allowed her to kneel and pull down my pants and underwear, and as she worked frantically to lubricate my cock, first with her mouth, then with a coating of Vaseline, moaning as she did so. When I was ready I pulled her to her feet and roughly bent her over her desk. I took a few quick shots, yanked her panties down to her thighs and took a few more, then got rid of the camera, grabbed her by the hips and entered her, pushing my cock into her rear passage so hard, and penetrating so deeply, that her feet were lifted off the floor and she had to support herself on her hands and forearms as she arched her back and cried out loud.

To an outsider it would have seemed almost as if she were jumping up and down as my thrusts lifted her off her feet again and again. Her cries came faster and faster until they became a continuous wail that rose like a siren, her mouth hanging open—then suddenly cut off with a screamed, “AH!” –pain, pleasure and revelation combined.

For a long time afterward she remained silent, staring down as if entranced at the blotter on her desk. Looking over her shoulder I saw several dark patches on it, and I realized they had been made by drool from her mouth. And when I withdrew my cock from her behind she quickly turned and sat on the blotter, holding her buttocks apart, allowing my semen to drip out of her to join the other stains there. I got a picture of her doing that, then she had me take one of her standing in front of her desk—still wearing her shiny black shoes and lacey socks, ruffled pink panties half-way down her thighs—and holding up the blotter, glistening with various stains, like an award.