When the Teacher is the Pet, Part Two

I had a hard time sleeping that night. After my session with Shanda The night before I had slept so much because of how stressed I was. However, that sleep wasn’t caused by the stress so much as an escape from it. Even sleep didn’t give me a leave from the reality of my situation. When I did manage to sleep, my dreams were filled images of Shanda’s juicy little pussy and the spanking she had given me.

Shanda had power over me. Eating out her young pussy was amazing. Humiliating, but I had never cum with any girl or woman the way Shanda made me cum.


I awoke one time that night after a dream I was with another woman. The woman I was with had no identity besides a romantic interest. Perhaps I drew parts of her from women I’ve known throughout the years. I’m no psychologist, though. Just before the dream ended, she began tying me down. I didn’t want her to, but she did it anyway. I fought her, but I was too weak to keep her from tying me up. The dream did that thing where places and people were different without it seeming odd or catching your awareness. I was in college.


I was in the hallway of the dorm I lived in as a freshman. Well, it wasn’t at all the same, but that’s what the location was. I was still tied up. The other woman was younger, suddenly. She was spanking me with her hand, but it hurt. There was a crowd of students watching. They all clapped and told me I was so lucky to be having sex with her. I cried and shouted. None of them helped me. They couldn’t hear my cries for help. They thought I enjoyed it


It was 9 o’clock AM. I slept in. I must have gotten up in a haze and turned off my alarm earlier. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I thought back to Mrs. Talbot the principal almost walking in on me naked. After Shanda had used me, I tried to cry. I don’t know how long I had tried, Managed to get a few tears out. I heard something outside the door. I’m not sure what I heard. Perhaps it wasn’t even a sound, but a presence that I felt. My first reaction was to get my clothes on. The skirt was easy to put on, so was first. It scraped my butt on the way up, but I ignored the pain in my haste. My shirt took more time, but the door wasn’t open until I had gotten it on. It wasn’t entirely straight, but wasn’t so out of place someone looking at me would wonder why.


The principal was talking to me. I missed some of it, being distracted with the pounding of my heart. I was almost caught. Almost caught by someone else, anyhow. she was comforting me, saying how he was sorry that whoever I was waiting for didn’t show up. I didn’t have time to hide that I had been crying. Sort of crying. It was obvious to her something was wrong. She must have assumed the fictitious date had stood me up or otherwise canceled. I told her there was nothing to do about it now, but Mrs . Talbot insisted that I could rely on her if I needed anything. I picked up my briefcase and purse and left, forcing a smile as I said good-bye. It was difficult to do without bending and letting her see down my shirt or up my skirt, but I think I did it. I don’t know. Maybe.


9:30 AM. I was supposed to go to Shanda’s at noon. Her house has caller ID, and so she called me soon after I called her house to leave the message. She told me to wear anything I wanted, and to bring every piece of my underwear I could fit in my briefcase.

What was she going to do with my panties? All of them fit in my briefcase, so what was I going to do without panties? What did she intend? Did she simply want me to know how embarrassing it’d be if someone looked and saw them, or was she up to something? Did she want me to count the pair I’d wear? And why did she want me to bring a hundred dollars? Was she going to demand shush-money as well, now? I wanted to go back to sleep. Perhaps forever.


I only got about fifty minutes. It was almost 10:30. I got up and out of bed. I was still tired and would remain that way all day, given the quality of my sleep. I needed to get ready. Yes, “need”. I’m an English teacher, I know how to use it and what it means. People do many things that they need to but do not want to. I simply had to do something I loathed more than anything else I could think of. I had breakfast first. I was very hungry. That may have added to my poor sleep. I had a breakfast cereal. It was my favorite, but it was cold and bitter. I was cold and bitter. I ate it because I needed to. I supposed my life was going to be a lot like that.


My shower was uneventful. I used cold water. I don’t know why. I think I began hating myself. I had no integrity, no dignity. I could be manipulated, controlled, by someone who was supposed to be a student of mine.. I saw the shaving cream. Of course, I used it. Very little had grown, but I thought it would be safe to both avoid allowing it to poke me today, and this way Shanda would be pleased and, perhaps, not be a total bitch. Something inside my chest melted into sludge as I realized I would have to put effort not only into doing as she said, but attempting to make her happy. The sludge in my chest was mud. I could almost taste it.




I got to her house a few minutes before noon. Her drive-way was empty. She told me her mother wouldn’t actually be home when I got there, and it looked to be true. It depressed me when I heard it, but I half expected it already. I sat in my car a few minutes. I wasn’t going inside until I had to. A good song was on anyhow. It ended, and I shut off my car. I focused. I got my inner strength together, in the middle of my mind. I was here not only to please Shanda, not only to keep my job, career, and life, but also to keep my initiative if I saw the opportunity to end her power over me. I would take every chance I got to do just that. I left my car and approached the door.


There was a post-it on the door;

“Bitch,

Do not knock or use the doorbell. Come in. Whenever you find a note, take it with you.

XOXO – Shanda who must be obeyed.”


She liked notes. I suppose it gave her a sense of power. She could command me to do things without immediately expending her energy. It seemed likely to me, anyhow. I got inside. There were stairs in front of me, and an archway to either side. The right was a kitchen, and the left a living room. There was another post-it on the inside of the door, right on the doorknob.

“Bitch, Strip nude. Leave your clothes, purse, briefcase, and anything else you may have brought, on the welcome mat. Go to the living room (archway immediately on your left) and then enter the door around the corner in the back and close the door. Go down the stairs you see. At the bottom of the stairs, sit on the bottom step, and feel under it for the next note.”


How embarrassing. Nude in a strange house, leaving my things unattended. I did as the note said. My shoes first, then my slacks and nylons. I wasn’t wearing any panties, they were all in my briefcase. I took off my jacket and then my shirt. I folded each one and placed them atop my shoes. I took off my bra and dropped it on the pile. I left my briefcase and purse leaning on the pile and went into the living room. It was difficult to leave my purse there, but I’d be damned if I got punished again. The living room was well furnished. Huge television, leather sofa and chair. A fireplace at the back wall. Plenty of electrical devices sat atop the TV; Stereo, DVD player, game consoles, and some I didn’t recognize. I walked around the coffee table to the back corner, around which I couldn’t see. Though there wasn’t a sound, that only added to my tension. It felt as though someone would walk around the corner suddenly. I imagined them trying to get me, “pervert”, to leave, swinging a broom at me. I rounded the corner and managed a nervous laugh at the imagined sight. I might have enjoyed it if I were chased away by Shanda’s mother. Well, not the chase, but being able to leave. My nudity was at the forefront of my mind as I thought about other people being home.


Silently, I opened the door. Sure enough, I smelled a bit of dust and moister. The door to the basement. I stepped in and it was dark. Some light came in from the small windows you find at the top of the walls of most basements. Or so it appeared. I didn’t actually see the windows, yet. I shut the door. The stairwell was really dark, but I didn’t want to do anything not on the notes just to discover I’ve upset something. And a light might draw attention. To… whoever might have been down there? I didn’t know, but I also didn’t choose to turn on the light. Being naked in someone else’s house makes you suspicious someone might be around the next corner. I was already much colder. I stepped on the wooden steps. They creaked with my weight. Every one of them. If someone was going see me down here, they’d be sure to watch for me on my way, now. The coolness of the basement became coldness as I got to the last step and sat. My feet were cold from touching the cold steps. Now my butt was, too. It actually felt good, though. My butt had long bruises along it, and the cold step felt nice on it.


I was shivering as I reached under the step. I looked around as I felt underneath. It was a typical basement. Dusty, cemented, and full of junk. It wasn’t junk to it’s owners, but there were boxes and mechanical parts of all sorts. I noticed the bottom step had been recently cleaned. There was no dust or dirt on it. I was thankful that Shanda had forethought and didn’t want me to get an infection of some sort, at the very least. I found the note stuck to something under the step;

“Bitch, I don’t know if you can see it, but there’s a camera on the other side of the basement from you. It has a good angle. Spread your legs and place your feet at the edge of the bottom of the steps. Use the dildo this note is attached to on your cunt. As you do, audibly count to two-hundred. Get wet. When you’re done, go back upstairs and bring the dildo. Go to the front door.

XOXO – Shanda”


Oh, great. I did as the note told me. The pink dildo was as dry as I was. The solution I came up with would not only solve the problem, but might even please Shanda. I put the dildo in my mouth. Not long, but it got wet and, I imagined, was sexy. I felt what little was left of my self-respect become a little softer, more pliable. I was numb to it. I didn’t move my hips at all as I moved it to the location of my body it’s meant for. I let the head of the dildo slide up and down my pussy lips, spreading my legs wider. I spit on my own pussy, something I had never done before. I slowly circled the head of the dildo around my pussy and then firmly twisted it inside my cunt.


I became transfixed with the felling of the pink cock moving in and out of my pussy, and occasionally I would let the head circle my stiff clit. The counting took a very long time. I thought about what the video camera might feed to. Would I be recorded for later use, or is it feeding to some web-site on the Internet. Well, my worries were irrelevant, so I tried to focus on the numbers. It took longer than I thought it would take. I began fucking myself harder with the dildo but didn’t want to make myself cum.


Finally, at two-hundred, I took the dildo out even though I could have brought myself to a cunt crushing orgasm Shanda’s note had not mentioned climax.


I walked up the steps. My body was chilled. Even though I had enjoyed the dildo fuck it had not warmed me. I was thankful when I got to the other side of the door. It was warmer. However, I was also closer to actually doing things with Shanda. Though, I supposed, it’d also be over faster. I got to the front door. All my stuff was gone. I was now trapped. Or, more accurately, I was deeper in the trap. In its place was a leather strap with metal things on one end. It was a black, leather collar with the word “bitch” in pink letters on the front. Attached to it was another note.

“Bitch, Put this on. It has your name on it. It’s a gift from me. Once it’s on go up the stairs. Enter the last door on the left. Leave the door wide open, and look on the bed.

XOXO – Shanda who must be obayed”


I put the collar on and it fit well. I noticed a quiet sound coming from up the stairs. It was constant… I took some steps up the stairs and recognized it as running water. A shower? It must have been Shanda. I hoped it’d be Shanda. If it were someone else, I could have been in trouble. Of course it’d be Shanda. I continued up the steps. A fear made each step a little taller. I reached the top of the stairs. The first door on the right is where the noise came from. It was still going. Someone could be heard moving in the rushing water, splashing a little on a different path to the floor of the tub. I kept going to the last door on the left. It was already opened, so I stepped in. I had to resist the impulse to shut the door so it might hide me. I opened it all the way, and it stopped at the wall to the right of it. The bed was against the wall I entered, to the left. The whole room was dark. The brightest colors in the room were merely a small part of larger, darker things. The walls were a dark blue. The bed and it’s blankets were black. In the far corner, beyond the bed, was a computer desk. The screen saver was a slide-show of pictures. Me with Katelyn. My eyes teared up, I looked away and saw a note in the center of the bed.



“Bitch, Throw away the notes in the bin on the other side of the bed. You’ll find a hand-cuff attached at each of the posts of the bed. Put your ankles in the ones at the foot of the bed, and your wrists in the ones at the top of the bed. The last one may be tricky with only the one hand free, but you’d better get it, or you’ll be punished. Have the dildo in your pussy. Do not allow it to fall out.

XOXO – Shanda”


She had copies of the images on her computer. I immediately dashed to the computer and moved the mouse. The screen saver ended. I opened the options for the screen-saver to find the folder’s location. The folder with the pictures of Katelyn and me. I wish I had my purse. There’s a pen and notebook in it specifically for such notes. Instead, I simply remembered it. I read it to myself a few times.


There was nothing more I could do, so I threw away the notes. I got all the hand-cuffs in reach and then considered the situation. What if she was a psycho? She has already proven she’s capable of deceit, and she has hurt me on purpose, because she wanted to. But then, what would happen if I didn’t do this?