“Undress,” Peter said over his shoulder as he drew the blinds on his spectacular view of the Strathburne Prep School lacrosse field and the woods beyond, a sea of vibrant green. Liz had always begrudged him the view from his classroom. Hers looked out over a parking lot. Apparently the department felt Romantic English lit trumped the Modern American novel.
“This is preposterous, Peter,” Liz snapped as she shrugged off her unbuttoned blouse and draped it over his desk chair. “It’s a tired and tiresome cliche.”
“It’s a cliche because it never gets tiresome,” Peter smiled. “The bra.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “‘The bra, please.’”
“You know better than that,” he replied, shaking his head, his expression neutral. Peter had a deadly poker face, and Liz had lost more than money to him on several occasions. “The bra. Now.”
Her nostrils flared slightly at the subtle change in his tone and she could feel the moist spot between her legs getting more damp. He’d discover that soon enough and then there’d be no stopping the smug bastard.
A moment’s hesitation as footsteps raced down the hall outside Peter’s classroom and receded – the last of the students in the building on this Friday afternoon — then Liz reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, then deposited it atop her blouse. “Seriously, though. Caroline Milford? How insecure do you have to be to seek validation in the mindless adoration of a child?”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”
“Hardly.” Her contempt was palpable.
“She failed your class, didn’t she?”
“Barely squeaked by, but I made her work for it. I assume she’s doing better in yours,” she smirked.
“Much.” He came around behind his desk, admiring her breasts, smallish but nicely shaped, her nipples dusky and pert and telling, and then opened the bottom drawer. “She’s not a child. You weren’t a child at seventeen. God knows Iwasn’t. Skirt.”
“Seventeen-year-olds may have cunts like women, but they have running mouths like little girls.” She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, depositing it with the rest of her ensemble. “Especially Caroline Milford. I guarantee you the little tramp has already told three of her girlfriends about your pathetic Nabokovian moment and it’ll be all over the school in a week. You think you can do this sort of thing with impunity?” She shook her head again ruefully, then glanced down at her black pumps. “Shoes?”
“You know I want you to keep your shoes on. You’re stalling,” he smiled. “Panties.”
Liz groaned inwardly as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her silk panties and pulled them off her hips, feeling the fabric tug as it parted from her drenched cunt. Why she responded to Peter, and so urgently, was a mystery that baffled and shamed her until she wanted to scream. He was hardly her type at all, and she found his arrogance loathsome. And yet she kept coming back to him, and he would speak to her like this, and even now, as she stepped out of her soaked panties and waited for him to discover her shame and crow about it, she could feel a trickle of wetness making its way down her inner right thigh.
“She’s beautiful, she’s enthusiastic, and she thoroughly enjoyed herself. As far as I’m concerned she can tell whomever she likes. It won’t make its way to the headmaster or the committee,” he shrugged, pulling a neatly coiled length of white rope from the desk drawer and laying it on the desktop, and then another. He actually keeps them in his desk, she thought, incredulous. Unlocked!
“You seem awfully sure about that,” she said, smoothly removing her panties to the desk chair. But not smoothly enough. Peter caught her wrist and plucked the silk from her fingers.
“I’m very sure. We have… an arrangement. She’s not telling anyone,” he murmured, rolling the fabric between his fingers, a grin blossoming on his face. “And you don’t disapprove that much, do you?”
Liz could feel her cheeks grow hot and a fresh hot gush between her legs. She tried hard to look him in the eye. “You’re a disgrace to this school and to our profession. You’re disgusting,” she hissed with all the venom she could muster, but she heard her voice crack on the last word, betraying her bravado.
“Nice try. A for effort,” he said through that damnable smirk of his. “But you’re done talking now.” One hand reached out to the back of her cascade of dark hair and closed into a fist, yanking back. Liz made a tiny sound in her throat as her lips parted and admitted the fingers shoving her sodden panties into her mouth. As the silk filled her mouth she could taste her own juices, and a fresh wave of self-loathing filled her and sent her hips rolling. She groaned, muffled by her panties and the rolled handkerchief he pulled between her lips, holding them in place.
Knotting the gag behind her head, Peter said softly, “You’re absolutely right. I am disgusting. I am a disgrace.” He shook out the first coil of rope and yanked her wrists behind her back, wrapping them and tying off the knot with accomplished dexterity. “And yet you keep coming back to me. Strip when I say ‘strip.’ Bend over when I say ‘bend over.’ Get wet the moment I touch you.” And suddenly his hand slid between her legs, pressing against her drenched and dripping cunt. She cried out into her gag as her knees buckled. “You want to claim the high moral ground here, but I suspect that just under that surface of elevated propriety and intellectual superiority you’re a little seventeen-year-old tramp yourself, aren’t you?”
Two fingers began to work slowly but roughly between the lips of her cunt and she let out a muffled moan and nodded yes. YES! Her hips rolled and tried to meet his hand, force his fingers deeper inside her. She pulled against the unyielding bonds on her wrists and whimpered as her body betrayed her again and again.
Suddenly Peter pulled his hand away. “Over the desk, legs spread.” Liz moved, trembling, to obey, positioning herself at the side of the desk and bending forward, lengthwise across the desktop, her breasts pressing against the oak, her ass and cunt exposed to the air. She fought to control her breathing and her hands twisted futilely behind her.
“There is actually very little difference between them and us,” Peter said as he shook out the second length of cord and crouched to tie her left ankle to the leg of the desk. “Yes, we’re older and we have our degrees and our responsibilities and our power, but deep down, at our core, we participate in this seething pit of sexual tension every bit as much as our students do.” Tying off her left ankle, he brought the slack end over to wrap around her right as she squirmed helplessly above him. “They fuck each other, we fuck each other. They’re attracted to us, we’re attracted to them.”
Having secured her ankles, he stood up and ran a hand over her rolling bottom. “They play their games,” he murmured, drew back and smacked her ass, making her cry out into her wadded panties. “And we play ours.” He drew back and delivered several more smacks on her tender skin, each more vicious than the last. Then he shifted position and brought his hand down hard on her pussy, wringing a muffled scream from her throat. Liz could feel it burning, feel her cunt hot and swollen and needy. She thrashed in her bonds, dry-fucking the edge of the desk, whimpering and groaning plaintively for his cock, his hand, for God’s sake, anything!
The last thing she expected, however, was for Peter to walk away. To go to the classroom door, beyond which was the rest of the school. Her eyes widened as he unlocked the door, and she began to plead with him through the gag, as he opened it, admitting Caroline Milford. The girl stood there in the school uniform that looked like tailored high fashion on her, her blonde mane framing a face with all the arrogance of a teenager born to beauty, and with a very bright and knowing pair of sea-green eyes took in every inch of Liz’s bound, naked, and trembling body.
“Like I told you, we have an arrangement,” he said as he closed and locked the door behind her. “They play their games, but sometimes — sometimes — they get to play ours, too.” He unbuckled his belt and slid it free from its loops, then he doubled it and handed it to Caroline, smiling. “She loves it when you whip her pussy. Make it hurt.”
Liz shook her head frantically, bucked against her unyielding bonds, and mewed like a frightened kitten into her gag as Caroline stepped forward, a wicked smile on her lips.
Last Updated on 2 years by pseudonymous