TEACHER’S PET
“It says here you’re a senior.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Seventeen years old.”
“Just turned eighteen.”
“Ma’am.”
“I’m sorry. Just turned eighteen, ma’am.”
Silence from Super-bitch. She continued to study his transcript, her grade book.
Sam sat across from her and sweated. He had friends who would relish this
after-school conference with Ms Phillips. The most notorious English teacher at West Side
High, she was in her late twenties and almost unbelievably hot. Tall and slim, she was
nevertheless tremendously stacked, with huge breasts. Contrastingly, she had such an
incredibly tight waist and bulbous, muscular ass that many suspected her of wearing
girdles to accentuate these. In any case, she also habitually wore daringly slit skirts
and very high heels: showing off long, elegant legs that were the envy of every
cheerleader for miles around.
Her face was gorgeous if a bit too angular, her pale blue eyes bright but cool
behind a pair of quintessential horn-rimmed teacher’s glasses. She even favored a silver
chain to hang these from, and although her platinum hair was rumored to be waist-length,
she always wore it up, in a variety of elegant yet severe styles that conveyed her
always-stern personality perfectly. It was this (plus her general incisive viciousness)
that had earned her the name of Super-bitch among the students (and much of the faculty).
And although there were many males around so enamored of her beauty that they were willing
to risk her daunting company, Sam was not numbered among them. At least, not this
afternoon.
He was failing her creative writing class, and had cheated on his last assignment.
Desperately needing to pass in order to keep his sports eligibility, he’d almost died this
afternoon, when rather than return his paper along with the rest of the class, she’d
instead given him a note ordering him to stay after school. Now he was missing football
practice, and without a doubt he’d much rather have been running sprints up and down the
stadium steps, or getting his head handed to him by the defensive line. Hot as she was,
this haughty bitch just intimidated him so fucking much…and if he was busted here…
Ms Phillips made him sweat for five long minutes. Finally she looked up when he
shifted uncomfortably. “What?”
“Nothing, ma’am. It’s just…I’m missing football practice, and I’m worried about what
the coach will say.”
Her brow drew down. “Boy, you better start worrying what I have to say. You might
never play sports again, at least not at this school. You’ve committed plagiarism. That’s
grounds for expulsion right there. I’m still trying to decide whether to merely fail your
ass or have you kicked out of school entirely.”
Sam’s panicked stomach lurched. Before he knew it, he was begging. “Please don’t do
that! Oh my God, ma’am, Ms Phillips, please! I’ll redo the assignment, twice if I have to,
anything! Sports is all I have going for me. If I get failed or expelled, my life is as
good as over!”
“Sports are all you have going for you,” Super-bitch snottily corrected him.
Deliberately she studied him from head to toe, cataloguing more than just his desperation.
Her eyes were coldly speculative. At last she spoke.
“I might give you one last chance. I run a very private, informal program for
incorrigible cases like yours. It’s devoted to training discipline into all facets of a
wayward boy’s life.
“If ever someone needed to learn a little discipline, it’s definitely you. Now I
warn you,” her tone sharpened, as Sam began to sag in relief, “that this is a very
unconventional program. Both its demands and its rewards can be quite extreme. But if you
measure up to all of my expectations, if you pass all of my private tests, I will not only
overlook this obvious case of plagiarism, but I will give you a passing grade in creative
writing.”
“So what’s it going to be, boy? Private discipline training, or expulsion for
plagiarism?”
Super-bitch favored Sam with another long, smoking-ice look. Optionless, he squirmed
in his chair. Desperate to escape expulsion, both madly turned-on and profoundly unsettled
by the unspoken implications in Ms Phillips’ words and manner, he hesitated for just a
second, and then unsteadily agreed to whatever she had in mind.
“Discipline training, ma’am. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to pass.”
“That’s good. Very good.” Her cold smile sharpened even further. “In that case,
let’s begin. There’s no time like the present, is there? Stand up boy!”
“Yes ma’am.” Sam stood at attention immediately. Super-bitch stood up herself, moved
slowly around her desk and went to the room’s door. She closed it, locked it, drew the
blinds, and then returned to stand behind him. “Don’t turn around! Don’t even move, or
you’re expelled!” she ordered sharply, as Sam stirred uncomfortably.
He froze immediately. Soon came the noise of chairs being moved around, and then the
sound of zippers and clothes rustling. Holy, shit, it sounded like she was undressing! No
way! A million juvenile fantasies suddenly swirled around Sam’s adolescent head. Could
this really be happening?
Moments later the clicking of Ms Phillip’s high heels approached him from behind,
and the fluttering in Sam’s belly increased exponentially. He jumped when she touched him,
running her fingers lightly over his hair. She felt his head, neck and shoulders, then ran
her hands pretty much all over him, pinching and prodding his well-toned body critically.
At last she arrived at the bulge in his pants, feeling and then tightly squeezing his
erection. Her words were cold, almost angry.
“Your penis is hard. You see? That’s your problem right there. No discipline
whatsoever. I will instill this in you, beginning immediately. Now get your clothes off!”
Overwhelming disbelief stunned Sam as he slowly stripped out of his clothes, his
penis indeed an emphatic statement about this bizarre situation. But then just as he rose
from pulling off his last sock, Super-bitch stepped back around in front of him, and that
upright organ pulsed even harder.
She had indeed removed her skirt and top, and now she wore only a tight black
corset, sheer nylon stockings and her stiletto-heeled shoes. Still her hair was up and
severe, her glasses in place and a pen behind her ear, and her face was set in a cold
sneer. Sam had only a second to goggle at her incredibly gorgeous, gigantic and perfectly
symmetrical breasts, and at her elegantly shaved and trimmed groin, before she suddenly
slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Eyes on the floor, boy! You look no higher than my ankles, ever! Unless I order it
otherwise. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. To not look at what you’ve always dreamed of when suddenly given the chance,
that is discipline! The beginning of it anyway. But I can see that you need a lot more.
Your pitiful little penis is still pointing straight up in the air. We must do something
about that immediately. Come over here to this chair!”
Sam obeyed, standing as directed behind an ordinary classroom chair. Super-bitch
positioned his feet right outside the two back legs; then produced a wide roll of masking
tape. Quickly she taped each ankle to the bottom of each chair leg, winding the roll
around and around until finally only a knife or pair of scissors would be able to free
him. Then she stood, grabbed Sam’s erection and pushed it painfully down. Against its
natural upright curve she bent it back between his legs, then pressed his body tightly
against the back of the chair. Then she repeatedly wound the tape around both the chair
back and Sam’s waist, securing him back-bent like that, leaving only his upper body free.
Free, but for how long? Sam wondered uneasily as Ms Phillips went to her desk
drawer, unlocked it and began rummaging around. Then sure enough, she rose with a pair of
shiny steel handcuffs. Quickly Sam cast his eyes to the ground, but not quickly enough.
The glorious sight of Super-bitch’s jigging breasts was followed immediately by her
viciously hissing voice.
“So! Raising your eyes already! I knew you needed discipline! Oh, I’m going to enjoy
this, boy! The first of so many sorely needed lessons!”
“But…Ms Phillips…ma’am…”
“Silence!” she snapped back. “Boys in training speak only when spoken to!” She
reached the chair, grabbed him by the hair and promptly shoved Sam face down over the back
and seat, bending him all the way over and finally cuffing his hands together and around
the low crossbar connecting the two front legs: trapping him in that uncomfortable,
utterly incapacitating position. Then she went to the blackboard and picked up her
pointer, a four foot-long, one centimeter-thick stick of strong, limber graphite. Bowing
it slightly between her fists, she stepped deliberately over to Sam’s naked, up-thrust
rear.
“Lesson Number One: never raise your gaze above the ankles of your mistress. You
always belong on the floor beneath her feet, in thought if not in actual deed. Perhaps
this will help you to remember, you insubordinate, undisciplined little shit!” Viciously
she slashed the thin limber pointer across Sam’s naked ass, again and again and again.
Sam bit his lip as she caned him, struggling not to scream or cry, and wondering how
he was going to explain the livid welts he was getting to the guys in the locker room.
This worry gained new urgency as Super-bitch continued to lay down both the ass-flaying
pointer strokes and the laws that now governed his existence.
“Lesson Number Two! Never speak without being spoken to! And never ever speak about
the Mistress! Not to anyone, ever! It would surely get around, then the boy would be
expelled, and the Mistress could lose her job! Then she’d have to hunt down and kill the
boy, wouldn’t she? Yes she would! But first she’d commit all kinds of bloody castrating
torture on him! So from this point on you keep those slutty lips, closed, little boy, no
matter how much you might want to talk or scream! Only that way will we both get what we
want. Which is more and more and more of this!”
Mistress continued to whale away at him, striping the undersides of Sam’s thighs as
well as his ass, and before long he was sobbing and blubbering like a baby, but still not
even dreaming of screaming, or of ever telling anyone the truth about this.
That truth was just too abysmally embarrassing and demeaning – especially in light
of the state of his back-bent erection. That pounding bar of blood-filled muscle was just
as hard and painfully needy as ever, and despite his comprehensive misery, Sam still found
himself paradoxically, incredibly turned on.
Bowing before this gorgeous half-naked female authority figure suddenly seemed
somehow both agonizing and appropriate, both as unendurable as nightmare and as necessary
as life. He both needed it to stop and he wanted it to go on forever and ever. And indeed
perhaps a hundred or more vicious strokes passed before Mistress Super-bitch was finally
satisfied, and decided to move them on up to the next level of training.
The pointer clattered down. Mistress’ voice was coldly amused.
“Good. Very good so far. Not one single scream. We’re learning discipline now,
aren’t we? But soon you’re really going to want to scream. And you’d damn well better not,
boy. You don’t want us to be interrupted in the middle of this lesson, I guarantee it.”
She stepped back over to her desk, rummaging once again in its capacious bottom
drawer. “Do you think your poor little ass hurts now, boy? Well that’s nothing like it’s
going to hurt in a minute. It’s time for Lesson Number Three: Sex with the Mistress.”
| 
