Teaching Carol, Ch. 9

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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! almanbahis 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. Unable to wait any longer I 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 almanbahis yeni giriş 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. And even though the stains became almost invisible when dry she took the blotter when we left When we got back to her room she took a marker and circled the stained areas on the blotter, then thumbtacked it to the inside of her closet door. The panties she’d worn on other occasions were no longer hanging there, and she told me that she had run out of room so she’d gone out and bought the largest scrapbook she could find and transferred them to that. She showed it to me: each pair of panties was now fastened—and she had sewed them in by hand—to a page of black paper and had a small white label below them, giving the date and a short summary, such as, “9/17/04 (My room): ‘Miss Santiago’ punished for stealing—Forced to crawl down the hallway and back in these, then to suck Jonathan’s cock in front of my doorway—He came on my face” or “9/26/04 (Jonathan’s room): Tied up, forced to lick out Jonathan’s nasty underwear, electric toothbrush in my pussy. Bent over a chair, made to wet these and then fucked in the ass.’ She had even gone back and added the white cotton panties she’d been wearing during our first encounter. She’d put them on the very first page, along with a label, which read, “9/16/04 (Near the reservoir): Jonathan pulled these down and licked me – I rubbed his cock with them and let him come in my mouth.” The later entries were followed by printouts of the pictures I’d taken of her. Which gave me an idea. I gave her the camera and told her to keep it with her at all times—without telling her why. Then in the next few days I started sending instructions by email. For example: “This morning at 10:45 you’ll pretend to drop a pencil behind your desk. When you get down to look for it I want you to put your hand between your legs and rub yourself for at least 30 seconds. Use the camera to document it.” And when I’d get back to my room in the late afternoon the pictures would be in my email. On the occasion mentioned above there was only a single shot, apparently taken from under her desk. It was shaky and badly composed because of being taken with the camera held out in front of her in one hand. It was taken from inside the recessed area beneath the desk and showed Carol crouched down behind it. Her eyes were just visible below the upper edge, and she appeared to be looking anxiously at the camera as if to make sure it was pointed properly. Her skirt was hitched up nearly to her waist, her knees were wide apart and her right hand was pressing against the crotch of her panties. Another day I left the following message: almanbahis giriş “Wear the vibrator over your panties today. Carry the control in your purse and turn it on between all of your classes and all through your lunch break. At the end of the day go into the bathroom and take off the vibrator. Then take off your panties and lick out the crotch. Then put your panties in your mouth and walk home. Make eye contact with at least three people and smile at them.” The pictures I received later that day began with a series taken in a stall in the bathroom. The first was taken from as far away as she could reach with her arm—which meant she had to straddle the toilet to take it—showing her holding up her dress to expose the vibrator. The second was a close-up, without the vibrator, showing just her panties—purple with huge red and yellow polka dots—and the wet stain in the crotch. Next was a shot of the same panties, but down around her knees, followed by a more distant shot of the same thing, showing herself still holding up her dress. Then a series of close-up shots of her face, showing her looking straight into the camera with her tongue out as she licked the crotch of her panties, inside and out. A shot of her with the panties stuffed into her open mouth. Several shots of people outside, mostly looking at the camera with a puzzled expression. And a final shot of her back in her room, smiling and holding up the panties, wrinkled and damp from being in her mouth. She would send requests to me as well: “I’ll be under our usual table in the dining hall at 1:00. Banana pudding for dessert today—I want to lick it off your cock.” Or: “I have to go to the library tonight. Please come and make me rub you with my panties.” She had of course long since gone through all the ‘little-girl’ panties’ I’d had her buy, since she usually only wore them for me once before adding them to her scrapbook. I’d told her she could go back to wearing regular underwear if she wanted to but she’d decided she liked them—liked the combination of innocence and sexual submission. She’d bought more on her own, and often would email me pictures of others she’d found on the internet or scanned from catalogues, asking for my approval before buying them, accompanied by little notes like, “Would you like to see these when you make me take off my clothes for you?” or, “How do you think these would look in my mouth?” Or “Anyone who’d wear these deserves to be spanked, don’t you think?” or “I’d love to rub your cock with these and then lick your come out of them.” Of course now that she was taking birth control pills she often found reasons to have me inside her. “Miss Santiago’ was brought back for an encore more than once, with the difference that after the usual preliminaries instead of crawling down the hall she was forced to strip naked and either straddle my cock as I sat in her chair or bend over her desk and be taken from behind. But there were often new and sometimes unexpected discoveries to be made as our erotic obsession with each other deepened. For example, the night she had me meet her at the bus stop outside her dormitory.

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