PET TEACHER: BECOMING A TEEN STUDENT’S SUBMISSIVE
I have taught for over 13 years. I have had many boys check me out; some flirt with me and some definitely get a wicked erection peering surreptitiously at my stocking-covered legs. Now don’t think I am all self-centered and vain; I am not, I accept I am a solid seven. That said, my greatest sexual asset is my legs, which are a perfect 10.
I teach grade 12 English and started second semester with the class, if not from Hell, then from its suburbs. I had 30 students, most of whom were not what you would call English students, or indeed students at all. They had a surplus of attitude and a serious hate on for school. So after four days of getting nowhere, I decided to try a simple concept, let them help decide what we should learn. Curriculum is irrelevant with such a group, so I reckoned I would just try to improve some simple skills. But to do that, I would have to get them to think it was their idea. Therefore, at the beginning of class on Friday, the last class of the day, I asked them a simple question, “What would you like to do in this class?”
I waited for a few minutes and then took in the responses from the 19 of 28 physically present, who had decided to honour me with their presence on a Friday afternoon. I rewarded their presence by showing a Simpsons episode. As the episode played, I read the comments from the class. The first one said, ‘Nothing,’ as did the second. The third suggested ‘watching movies’ while the fourth actually suggested we read the whole Twilight series. The fifth said, ‘nothing’, while the sixth responded, “Isn’t that yer job.” I was getting frustrated, but not surprised, as I read through these negative responses. Finally, the seventh response approached decency: it said, ‘Learn more about social issues’, while the eighth suggested we ‘Only read—don’t answer no stupid questions,’ which I thought was a good idea. I began to have a glimmer of hope as I read the last two and the following few. Suggestions included: ‘Being allowed to write their own stories, instead of poetry reading rap lyrics, research interesting people like Justin Bieber, and more of thye same. And then it happened…
I read a sentence so absurd and obscene that gasped, loud enough to be heard.
I stared at the sentence for almost three minutes, oblivious to the Simpsonian buffoonery going on around me
I rubbed my eyes, but the words were still definitely there.
I looked up at my class, wondering who wrote such a sentence.
I instantly knew the answer.
Julie Wilkinson. She was looking right at me, the only one not watching the Simpsons episode. As we made eye contact, a devious smile, spread across her cute face. Julie was a rather quiet student, who clearly resented school and most teachers. She was polite to me, I think because I attempted to get to know her and the others, instead of judging based on past marks and reputation, which could hardly have been worse. Was she a genius, no; was she as stupid as other teachers told me she was, no. She was just a girl who had not had the caring support she needed. I thought she was one I could rely on to get this class going, one I could maybe save from living her life as a waitress at Denny’s. Yet, that all changed with one sentence.
Her answer to my simple question what she wanted to do in this class: ‘Have you between my legs begging to eat my pussy, my pet teacher.’
I looked away and back to the paper. I couldn’t explain it, but my panties were getting wet. I would be lying if I said I never thought about a student. I often went to bed employing one of my toys, or just using my fingers, fantasizing about being seduced by a cute student. All these fantasies usually involved being blackmailed to submit or being forced to please. The real me would never do such a thing, but the fantasy me got dominated on a regular basis. Just the night before this incident, as my husband, a great man, who is an incredible lover, and a caring husband and father, fucked me; I came not thinking of him, but rather of being dominated by a group of cheerleaders. Although I knew what she did was incredibly wrong and inappropriate, a part of me also got damp as I momentarily dreamed that her forward suggestion had become a reality.
The bell saved me, or so I thought. As soon as the bell rang, the class emptied quicker than a keg at a college frat party, except Julie. She sat at her desk, her legs spread apart, her thigh high stockings, easily viewable; although the top of her desk prevented me from seeing her treasure. She then stood up and walked to my desk. I nervously watched her walk towards me. She looked at me and said, “Mrs. Walker, what is your Yahoo name?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“It is a simple question,” she said with a tone that implied I was stupid. The same tone, I was sure, that many teachers had given her.
“It’s private,” I answered.
She smiled at me slightly as she said, again using a condescending tone, “I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked for you’re Yahoo name.”
I looked at her, stunned.
“Now, Mrs. Walker,” she demanded.
I have no idea why, but I answered in a guarded whisper, “nylon_lover69.”
“Are you serious?” she said with a smirk.
“Yes,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
“This is going to be easier than I thought,” she said, as she began to leave. “By the way, Mrs. Walker,” her condescending tone back, “I expect you online tonight at 9 p.m.”
I looked at her, bewildered, but said nothing as I watched my student leave. After she was gone, my pussy was on fire and I rubbed myself to an incredibly quick orgasm, right at my desk. As soon as my orgasm hit me, I immediately felt fine. I recovered my senses, and decided that I would ignore Julie’s rather obnoxious command. I went from turned on to pissed off, in the matter of an orgasm. As soon as I started thinking clearly with my head and not my pussy, I was furious. How dare she challenge me like that?
Five hours later, as I thought more about it, I realized she never forced me in any way and she sure as hell didn’t make me masturbate after she left. As I considered this, I put my kids to bed and watched my husband leave to play his usual Friday late night hockey game. I looked at the clock…it was twenty to nine.
I’d like to think I went onto Yahoo to just check my e-mail and so forth, but as nine rolled around, I kept checking for requests for adds. At five after nine, I thought to myself, ‘this is silly’ and was about to log off. But I didn’t. For the second time today, I was thinking with my hormones and not my mind. I waited and waited.
At ten after nine, as I was wavering for a second time to log off, when a new friend request popped up. The name was ‘Teen Mistress’, I obediently, and with an odd eagerness, added her at once.
I waited, desperately waiting for her to type something.
I had the anticipation of a teen girl waiting to be asked out.
TeenMistress: Hi, teach.
Nylon_lover69: Hi Julie.
TeenMistress: How r u?
Nylon_lover69: Good, u?
TeenMistress: All right. Just getting ready to go out to a party.
TeenMistress: I just wanted to see if you would obey my command…and you did.
Nylon_lover69: No, I didn’t.
TeenMistress: Why r u online?
Nylon_lover69: I am often online at night.
TeenMistress: If you say so, Mrs. Walker.
Nylon_lover69: Why did you write that?
TeenMistress: Write what?
Nylon_lover69: That you wanted me between your legs?
TeenMistress: Because I do.
TeenMistress: I never lie. EVER.
TeenMistress: So, be honest, did my answer turn u on?
Nylon_lover69: I can’t answer that.
TeenMistress: Why not?
Nylon_lover69: I’m you’re teacher.
Nylon_lover69: I have legal responsibilities.
TeenMistress: Ok, if u were not my teacher?
Nylon_lover69: I plead the 5th.
TeenMistress: I’ll take that as a yes. Anyways, I got to go. See u on Monday my pet teacher.
Before I even had a chance to respond, she logged out. I sat back and attempted to process what had just occurred. I was flabbergasted; stunned; horny. I leaned back on my chair and masturbated myself to an orgasm as I fantasized about Julie dominating me. As soon as I came to another explosive orgasm, my senses returned again and I was ashamed. I had to find a way to control these desires, but I wasn’t sure I could.
After a routine weekend, Friday seemed a lifetime away, and I’d almost convinced myself that it had never happened. I continued to live in this state of denial throughout the day, until the last period of the day.
Perhaps I should also explain here that I have had relations with many women in my life. College was a very fun time and I had a couple of friends with whom I still played occasionally. I was quite submissive by nature, to both my husband and my female lovers. I had a hard time saying no to any command, However, I have always kept my personal life and my work life completely separate. With Julie, the temptation was there to combine the two.
I knew I was in trouble when she walked in my class dressed in a plaid skirt and knee high socks. The smile on her face spoke volumes. I had seen that smile before, on women who had used me as their personal plaything. My pussy began to get damp as my mind desperately tried to control the potentially dangerous situation.
She sat at the very front of class, as she had every day since the semester started, and continually stared at me as I attempted a lesson on lyrics as poetry. I played a few YouTube clips of music lyrics, followed by a rather productive conversation about how today’s music speaks for the current youth generation. The whole time, I felt a pair of eyes watching my every move. Each time I glanced at Julie, I got the same response; the same smile that told me she had plans for me. My face was flushed, and when the bell rang I braced myself for the inevitable assault.
But much to my surprise, she got up and left class, without a word. As I sat down at my desk, I began to wonder what was going on. Was she simply playing mind games with me? As I got up to leave, I pondered which was greater: my relief or my disappointment?
That night, just before bed I logged on to my computer and saw two e-mails.
To: Jasmine Walker
I clicked on the link and read a sexually overpowering story about a student who dominated her teacher. I played with myself to an orgasm as I read about the complete submission of this teacher. I bookmarked it for future reading and clicked on the other e-mail.
To: Jasmine Walker
My Pet Teacher
Consider the following questions…
1. Were you disappointed when I did not come onto you today?
2. Did you get wet when you first saw me?
3. Did you read the story I requested you to?
4. If you read the story I suggested, which I am assuming you did, did you cum thinking about the fantasy?
5. Are u wet reading this now?
If the answer is yes to these questions, then you must understand it is futile to resist me. You want me. You want to please me. You won’t be complete until you do.
A simple task for tomorrow…wear stockings and not pantyhose.
I finished reading the second e-mail, my hand on my pussy, and rubbed myself to a second orgasm. I then logged out, cursed my weakness, and went and marked small assignments from one of my other classes, trying not to think about Julie.
I don’t know why I obeyed. I always wear skirts or dresses to work. I usually wear pantyhose, although I own quite a few pairs of stockings, as my husband liked easy access to my pussy. I put on a black garter, the matching black stockings, a long black skirt, and a red blouse. The day flew by, as they always do, and soon it was the last class of the day.
Julie came dressed in a ridiculously short sundress that clearly displayed she was wearing thigh high stockings. Like yesterday, her eyes bore into me throughout the class, as I discussed what makes a poem. I read a few simplistic ones and finally had the class write their own poems. I walked around the room, trying to assist and keep them on task. When I finally got to Julie, she asked me to read her poem. I nervously took it and read her poem.
I ALWAYS get what I want
And what I want is my own pet teacher
A pretty pet to please me
A sexy pet to please me
A pet on all fours
A pet ALWAYS willing to do more
For her Master
My pet teacher is ready to submit
Even if she…hasn’t accepted it yet…
I finished the last line and handed her back the paper. She smiled at me and asked, “Like the poem, Mrs. Walker?”
“It has a very clear message and tone,” I answered, avoiding eye contact.
“Yes, that it does,” she almost purred.
I walked away before anything else could happen. I helped a couple of other students, my even as my pussy juices tried to break through my thin panties. The bell rang, and this time Julie did not leave.
She waited until the whole class had dispersed. She walked up to me and said, “Mrs. Walker, that skirt is way too long for me to know that you obeyed my request.” She was inches from me as she asked, “Did you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“I do,” she said, knowingly, “You desperately want to be my pet teacher, don’t you?”
“No,” I said, unconvincingly.
“Really,” she said, a tone of disbelief in her voice. Moving too fast for me to stop her, she lifted up my skirt and touched my extremely wet panties. Just as quickly, she removed her hand. “Why are your panties so wet, Mrs. Walker?”
I said nothing.
“I think,” she teased, “they are wet from you thinking of being my pet teacher. Am I right?”
“No,” I said, weakly.
“Really?” she asked. “You can honestly say you have not fantasized being between my legs, licking my young ripe pussy. Did you know I turned 18 just two weeks ago?”
I tried to keep control of the situation. I almost begged, “Please Julie, this has got to stop.”
She shrugged and replied, “OK, whatever you say, Mrs. Walker.” Abruptly, she then turned and walked out of my class.