Caught, Taught, Tamed & Trained

Caught, Taught, Tamed Trained by Lance Edwards A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication Copyright © 2006, All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications www.pinkflamingo.com Cover Image © Copyright Ludovic Goubet www.ludovicgoubet.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com 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-b***h. 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-b***h 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 b***h just intimidated him so f*****g 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-b***h 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-b***h 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-b***h 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, s**t, 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 p***s 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 p***s indeed an emphatic statement about this bizarre situation. But then just as he rose from pulling off his last sock, Super-b***h 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 p***s 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-b***h 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-b***h’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 s**t!” 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-b***h 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-b***h 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: s*x with the Mistress.” Once again Sam couldn’t keep his eyes on the floor. Despite the painful lesson just beaten into him, something in Mistress’ voice simply forced him to raise his head. He looked, and his jaw dropped open in shock. Horrified, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Luckily Mistress was currently too occupied to notice this disobedience. Unlucky, however (to say the least), was the reason for her distraction. Super-b***h was in the process of snapping a snug leather harness tightly about her bare groin. Jutting from the front of this otherwise quite sexy-looking studded three-strap contraption was Sam’s worst nightmare: a long, flesh-colored, eerily life-like p***s. Sam had heard of strap-on dildos before; indeed, once he’d come across a story in a skin magazine that affected him so powerfully that he’d thrown it away in shame, unable to deal with the forbidden yearnings it had stirred up in him. But now it seemed that darkly compelling fantasy was fast on its way to becoming an all too terrible reality.