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The School Mistress

The School Mistress

Erotic fiction by Michele London

I should have realized from the beginning that there was something different about Ms. Randal. She carried herself differently, she held her shoulders back with the poise that one usually only sees in dancers or models, and when she walked the undulation of her hips was graceful, feminine, but with a confident sway that most women were unconsciously afraid to assume.

She kept her hair pulled back in a conservative twist, baring the slender length of her neck and the two petite pearl-drop earrings she always wore. Unlike the other teachers, most of whom wore slacks and polo shirts and the occasional blazer, she was always polished in a skirt suit or dress, nothing too fancy, but decidedly above the accepted standard of things at Claremont High.

I was mesmerized by her. In the teacher’s lounge, more than one of the other female teachers were caught up in snickering amongst themselves, picking apart her formal dress and manners. I picked at my lunch and tried to stare at her without being discovered, absolutely entranced by her serene, demure presence. I felt bad for her, sitting alone.

Most of the subs that came and went over the course of a school year were embraced on at least a one-day stand basis – accepted into the outer rings of the inner circle as another brave soul facing a classroom they had little if any knowledge of by the old regulars who had to deal with these kids every day, heaped with advice and well wishes, and then fondly waved off at the end. But not her. Apart from the necessities, the other teachers left her alone. She didn’t seem to mind it, but as the lunch hour wore on I couldn’t help watching her, happily involved in her food and the book she was reading.

I threw my sandwich wrapper in the trash and took my apple and water bottle to the empty chair next to her.
    “Hi,” I said.
Her eyelids fluttered up from the page, and she smiled at me.
    “What are you reading?”
    “Lady Chatterly’s Lover.”
I raised an eyebrow.
    “Oh? How risque!”

She smiled politely in response to my weak attempt.
    “I like the classics,” she said, closing the book into her lap. “What do you read?”
    “Oh, tenth grade essays, mostly.” Another tittering laugh on my part, and a kind smile on hers.
    “You must do something in your spare time. What do you enjoy? What turns you on? What makes you tick?”

I flushed at the sudden intense attention, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
    “Me? Well, I like to paint. I’ve been thinking of taking a trip to Carmel over the summer to do some seascapes. But not much else, really. I’m sort of boring, I guess.”

The bell ending lunch rang out over our heads, and chairs scraped back against the lounge floor as the other teachers rose to return to their classrooms.
    “Back to history,” I said, trying to laugh again. “I’m Mina, by the way.”
She took the hand I offered and shook it firmly despite the petal softness of her skin.
    “Nice to meet you.”

When she walked away, I realized I was nervous, as if I were the new one and she the benevolent professional. I took a sip of my water and headed back to my class.

It was nearly four o’clock when I saw her again. I was finally tucking away the loose papers in my desk, tidying up as best I could before calling it a day. The start and stop chorus of the glee club practicing drifted down the hall and through my open door, mixing with the grunts and thuds of football practice taking place outside. When she said my name, I jumped.

    “Oh! Hi, hello, Ms. Randal. Can I help?”
    “I wanted to say thank you. For being so nice to me today at lunch. I hope it didn’t cost you anything with your peers.”
I waved her away.
     “Oh please, don’t be silly. I was glad to do it.”

She came in from the doorway, heels clicking a slow rhythm on the linoleum, a precision in her movements that made me shiver.

    “I run a little salon, downtown. I’d like you to be my guest there, if you like.” She handed me a business card, simple white card stock with the word Rose on the front, and a downtown address on the back. “Come tonight. Eight o’clock. I’ve made you an appointment.”
    “That’s so nice of you,” I said, turning the card over between my fingers. “An appointment for what?”
She smiled and shrugged one shoulder.
    “Whatever you like. Unless, of course, you have other plans?”

I didn’t, but I hated to sound so dull.
     “I was just cancelled on, actually, so, I’m free.”
    “Wonderful. Ask for me, when you arrive.”
I smiled after her as she left, not realizing until several moments later that I still didn’t know her first name.

My night progressed otherwise in its usual way, to the grocery store for dinner, a quiet glass of wine at my kitchen counter, and reading a chapter of a novel. At six I turned on the shower and stepped under the beating spray. I wondered if I should wash my hair, but decided to twist it back instead -- most salons did the washing for you.

I found a comfortable pair of jeans and a sunny yellow cardigan, and left at seven thirty to make my way downtown. I walked past the entrance twice before finally figuring out I was in the right place. The address on the back of the card was on the border of the industrial district, just as the offices and shops begin to give way to warehouses and factories. Not at all where I’d have expected a salon to take up residence. It was the second time that I should have realized something was odd about Ms. Randal, but did not.

No bell chimed when I pushed through the door, just a rush of warm air and my own footfalls on the concrete. In the center of the small entryway there was a desk and a lamp. The receptionist looked up from her book and waited for me to speak.

    “Hi, I’m, my name’s Mina. I’m here for, well, I’m a guest of Ms. Randal’s? She told me to ask for her.” The receptionist nodded.
    “Yes, of course. There are changing rooms just to your left. You’ll find robes hanging in the armoire. You can leave your things there, as well. You’re the only guest tonight; they’ll be perfectly safe there.”
    “Thank you,” I said, turning to find the rooms she had pointed to.

As I stripped off my carefully chosen outfit and slipped on one of the black silk robes I found in the wardrobe, I felt some of the tension of the school week melt away merely in anticipation of a nice, relaxing massage. I’d thought I was in for a nice pedicure or a haircut; a massage was like a gift from the gods.

Lacking any instructions to the contrary, I went out the only other door from the small changing area, ready to have my cares caressed away. The room I entered was painted entirely in black. A four-poster bed, braced with cross-beams at the corners, took up the center of the room, dressed in sheets of red silk and black velvet. A full length mirror cut a sharp contrast into the glossy black of one wall. Though a lamp burned on the bedside table, the room was otherwise in shadow.

I took a step back, heart pounding with the sudden fear that I’d ventured too far, when the soft voice of Ms. Randal caught me.
    “Mina. You came. I’m so glad.”
    “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure where to go, I -”

But when I turned and saw her, I stopped. She was dressed entirely in leather, the black material stretched as tightly over her curves as if it were her own skin. She wore a laced bustier that pushed her breasts up into mounds of pillowy flesh, fishnet stockings, and boots that reached up past her knees. Her hair was twisted back in the chignon I’d seen earlier that day; it was the only thing about her I recognized.
    “What is this place?” I said, forcing myself not to stare at her chest. She stroked my cheek with a gloved hand.
    “My salon.”

I was having trouble breathing, and felt naked in the thin robe.
    “Oh,” I said, lacking anything better.
    “Now,” she said, taking a step closer to me so that I was forced to move backwards. “Is there a word that has any particular meaning for you? It can be anything, anything at all.”

Heat was rising to my face as she advanced on me, stirring a feeling I both wanted and feared and making it difficult to think. I closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping it would clear away the fog.
    “Um, I don’t know...Chatterley?” She smiled.
    “All right. That is your safe word. Do you understand?”

Without understanding how or why, I nodded my head, yes. Her lips were painted a perfect shade of red, and I was desperate for them to kiss me.
    “Since this is your first time, I’ll not punish you for failing to address me in the proper way. But in the future, you will call me Mistress, is that understood?”
I nodded again.
    “Yes, Mistress.”

She slid her hands beneath the edges of the robe and pushed it off my shoulders. It fell into a black pool at my feet.
    “Hold out your hands.”

Shivering, I obeyed. At once, leather cuffs were strapped around my wrists, and a long cord of braided leather raised my arms up until my shoulders pressed against my ears and my breasts thrust forward, exposed and prickling with goosebumps. She walked around behind me, heels clicking with the same potent precision I’d heard earlier that day. Her fingers brushed against my back for a moment, and then my bra had sprung free, and the cups lifted to reveal the points of my hardened nipples. Her gloved hands came around from behind, cupping me and rolling my nipples between her fingers.

I let my eyes close, pushing away the guilt that loomed at the idea of actually enjoying this. Before I had the chance to, the pleasure ended, and a sharp pain took its place. She had my nipples pinched between her fingers and was pulling them, sending sparks of fiery pain through my stomach. I cried out, throwing my head back, but as soon as she had begun she released them again, leaving a dull, delicious ache behind her.

I dipped my chin to my chest and tried to catch my breath.
    “Lesson number 2,” she said. “Thank your mistress when she punishes you.”
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “What was that?” she asked, taking my nipple between her fingers again.
    “Ah! Thank you, mistress!”

Her hands ran down the line of my stomach, dipping under the elastic of my modest, paisley-print panties, to press into the wet folds of my sex.

    “Mm, so hot and wet already, my little school teacher? How scandalous.”
She took my bead between her fingers and squeezed, and I moaned.
    “Do you want me to punish you, Mina?”

Tremors of anticipation fluttered through my belly. I did want her too, wanted her to use me and punish me in whatever ways she deemed best, and I’d never felt something like that before. I’d never been with a woman before, either, and I had to admit that the perfume of her soft skin and the curves of her stunning body were turning me on just as much as the command she took so easily.

    “Yes, Mistress,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, and she squeezed again, harder, in response, smiling at the strangled moan it elicited from my throat.

She went to the bedside table, and returned a moment later with two small black objects, held together by a silver chain. She plucked my nipples between her fingertips until they were taut and straining, and then secured one of the tight little clamps around each one. The pressure sent a spark of electricity to my groin, and I could feel new moisture seeping out between my legs. The tiny silver chain hung between my breasts, swaying back and forth as I moved.

A second, longer chain, she attached to the center of the first. The silver egg that dangled from the end pulled on the clamps and made them squeeze me tighter. Ms. Randal tucked the egg into my panties, nestling it up against my clit.

    “Because you’ve been such a good student, and learned so well on your first day, you get to have a little treat. Would you like that?”
    “Yes, Mistress.”

She flicked a button, and the egg started vibrating with a jolt. I strained against my bonds and pressed my legs together, all fear and pride lost in the insistent sensation. She increased the speed, tugging on the chain to make the clamps bounce and swatting at my breasts with her gloved hands.

My breathing was already rapid and shallow. I wanted her, I wanted her so badly I was wild, bucking against the vibrator and pushing out my chest even further to beg her to touch me again.

She gave me several sharp, stinging raps on my backside, and the pain was enough to destroy me. My orgasm crested over me with a power I’d never been able to achieve on my own and I screamed, thanking her as she’d just taught me to do and practically weeping with the release.

It was a moment before she turned off the egg, and my whole body shook with the continued stimulation. She gave me a few more slaps, reddening my skin with the force of her delicate hand, and tugged on the clamps until I thought I would burst. Then, one by one, she removed each of her instruments, until my body was my own again, red and raw and throbbing. She lowered my arms and took off the cuffs, and helped me back into my clothes again.

As I buttoned my cardigan with shaking fingers, she smoothed the hair off my cheek and tilted my chin back to look at her.

    “That was your first lesson. When you come again, I won’t be so kind to you. Do you understand?”
I nodded, meek and awed.
    “Yes, Mistress.”

She leaned in and covered my mouth with hers, flicking her tongue in between my lips for just a moment.
    “Good. Now go. Rest. Come again tomorrow night.”

Copyright ScarletGirl.com

Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.

If you like this bit of erotica, and would like to see more, please let us know.
In the meantime, for 10% off the items of your choice from ScarletGirl.com, just enter code "MISTRESS" into the Coupon Section at checkout.

This article was added to our catalog on Wednesday 29 May, 2013.

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