Current Affairs Assignment
Ladies, and I use that term lightly:
Your assignment is simple. Create a list of five public figures you would like to have you tie you up and have their way with you and five you wouldn't let come anywhere near you. Write a brief paragraph for each discussing why you've made that selection.
"Duh, because he's totally hot" is not a satisfactory answer.
The five you choose who can't come near you must be people who are actually considered attractive by other people.
Something Ted Wouldn’t Put In His Diary
The morning after, when his head felt like there was a steel band laying a tribute to Led Zeppelin in an echo chamber, Ted would blame Miss Gonzales. It was her fault. That witch, that scarlet senorita, that svelte young angel with horns hidden in the mop of delectable black hair that cascaded down to her shoulders, it was due to her. Filled with rage, he still sighed that he adored her shoulders, the shade of her light brown skin and the contrast with any clothes she wore. Ted stretched out a yawn, rolled onto his back, winced, and let his mind return to what he could remember of the previous night.
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The headmaster had asked him to bring Miss Gonzales a margarita-making kit. Being a man of simple tastes, Ted had never made any drink more complicated than a pint of Guinness with a straw, so he had to ask some of the students how to construct this so-called margarita.
"You need salt and lime," said Jennyfer.
"And some Triple Sec," added Julie-Truly.
"Don't forget the tequila," smiled Suchaminx.
"And you'll need some fresh ginger, clean glasses, preferably two, and a cocktail shaker," said Chattel, putting unnecessary emphasis on the ‘cock’ of cocktail. “But you can use a blender.”
"And you’ll need some Aslutsay," grinned Seababy.
"What's Aslutsay?" Ted asked.
"She says 'Hi Mr Stoat, can I have a margarita, please?'" blushed Cariad, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Damned girls, thought Ted. He almost wore his hand out giving Cariad a spanking after that one, a public one, knickers down around her ankles while the other girls watched on enviously.
Then it was off to the shops to pick up the ingredients. As the rather cute checkout girl smiled at him in a very obedient way, he reflected that it was strange how the spankings don't seem to make the girls any better behaved. He wondered aloud how often the checkout girl got spanked, who merely blushed and giggled nervously as she dropped his change on the floor.
Such a girl always put a spring in Ted’s step, and it was a cheery, happy, horny Ted that knocked on Miss Gonzales' door, confidently walking in without waiting for an answer. She was practicing her backhand, and an old red blazer on a coatstand was getting a thorough caning. Ted avoided being prodded by her backswing, and told her to sit down. She did so, a light flush appearing in her cheeks.
She was wearing her usual crisp white blouse, a knee-length black skirt that had a dangerous slash down the side, and bare legs down to a pair of calf-length black boots. Ted approved. He had not seen her with those boots before, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. The way her soft brown skin contrasted with the white blouse was astonishing, and he almost grabbed hold of her hair there and then for a deep and rough forced blowjob. Fortunately, Ted was a man who was able to control himself.
"You appear to be drooling," cooed Miss Gonzales. "You must be looking forward to these margaritas."
"Something like that," Ted replied.
"You got everything you need?" she oozed.
"I have everything you could possibly desire," smiled Ted, who then turned away from her. He didn't want to get into an innuendo-war, because the more time he spent exchanging double-entendres, the less time she would be sucking his cock. He pulled a three-pound bag of salt from the bag and banged it on her desk.
"Umm. You just need a touch of salt around the rim of the glass, Mr Stoat," she said with a grin that turned into a smile, which mutated into a guffaw. "We're adding a dash of flavour to a small shot-glass drink, not gritting the nearest motorway."
Ted scowled at her, knowing that he would get his revenge.
"Take off your blouse and get on all fours on the desk," he said quietly.
"Why?" she said defiantly, already reaching for the first button automatically before stopping herself.
"I want to test the tequila."
Strangely, although this was quite true, it seemed to satisfy Miss Gonzales, so she removed her blouse without taking her eyes away from his, and then crawled up onto her desk. He placed a hand in the small of her back, and she arched obediently. She seemed to have a fondness for black this day – her bra was shiny black PVC, matching her boots. A delicate squeak from underneath her skirt seemed to suggest that she was wearing similar panties.
"Stay like that. Don't move."
"Yes, Mister Stoat," she replied.
He pulled out the tequila from the bag, unscrewed the top, and poured a little into the hollow of her back. She hummed appreciatively, but did not move. He leaned in, and lapped the strong tequila like a thirsty dog, getting a delicate aftertaste that was purely Miss Gonzales.
"Any good?" she asked rhetorically, as he sucked some of the stickiness from her skin, a hand resting on her backside.
"You can put your blouse back on," he declared. "This tequila is dashed good stuff."
Miss Gonzales undraped herself from the desk to stand with her chest three inches away from Ted’s, but made no sign that she was going to put any clothes back on. In fact, to Ted’s surprise, she reached into the waistband of her skirt, and removed it with a flourish, hurling it to the corner of the room as she looked deep into his eyes. Ted looked over at it, as it hit the coatstand and toppled it over with a smash.
“You… er… knocked over the coatstand there,” he said weakly. There was something about the woman that was different. She held up a single finger to her lips, looking at him as he stared at the fingertip, and then she bent the finger as if to point at the chair.
Without realizing what he was doing, Ted instinctively sat down. He looked up at Miss Gonzales, taking in the beauty of her posture. She stood bolt upright, but not in a ‘standing to attention’ way, this was more like a ‘making sure you know I’m confident’ way. The outfit helped the impression. Ted took several deep breaths as his eyes drifted over the tight black bra that pushed up her breasts, matched by a pair of discreet panties, normal and practical except for the material. The PVC reflected harsh light at him, making Miss Gonzales seem even more imposing.
Finally, for the first time in minutes, she spoke. “I never drink a margarita fully clothed,” she purred.
Ted found words from his dry throat. “I-I’ll follow that tradition,” he said. “I’ll never drink a margarita while you’re fully clothed. This I vow.”
Miss Gonzales broke into a smirk. “You’re a funny man, Ted. You will be fun tonight.”
She turned, and felt his eyes watch her pert bottom as she strode over to his bag. She pulled out everything else he had bought – the Triple Sec, the lime, the blender, the glasses, and paused for a second before taking out the ginger. She smiled to herself.
Ted watched as Miss Gonzales dutifully made the margarita, slicing the lime while her brow furrowed cutely in concentration, before running a slice around the rim of each glass, as though she was softly running a finger around her lips. Next, she sprinkled some salt onto a leather folder, and forced the glasses onto it, face down.
“You need to make sure you have a salty rim,” she winked, pouring generous measures of the spirits into the blender, before turning it on for five (not four, not six) carefully counted seconds.
She took the cocktail to the edge of the desk, sitting down on the desk before pouring a measure of the mixture into each glass.
“Bottoms up,” she said, after handing Ted a glass.
Then it happened. Ted took a sip of his margarita, and without a moment’s pause, Miss Gonzales picked up her ruler and rapped him hard on the knuckles.
“Do not sip a margarita!” she glared.
“N-no,” replied Ted, downing his drink in one. His heart fluttered, he felt nervous, but the margarita was delicious. “P-please, Miss Gonzales, may I have another?”
Miss Gonzales downed her own drink, took Ted’s empty glass, and then swiftly poured two more shots. “Of course you may,” she cooed. She looked down at him as he emptied the next glass, and the one after that.
“My my, you’re a thirsty one tonight,” she told him after his eighth shot in as many minutes. “Good job you weren’t planning on getting erect tonight.”
In his half-drunken haze, Ted blinked at her, before getting her into focus, smiling weakly as he saw the light in her eyes. “I can get erect, if I have to.”
Miss Gonzales slipped off the desk, and picked up her cane. “Then do it.”
Ted liked a challenge, so got to his feet, unzipped his trousers, and took out a rather impressive half-erect penis. Miss Gonzales’ eyes widened as she looked at his hand grasp it, and begin to rub up and down the shaft.
“Strip off, Tedward, I want to see you naked.”
“I can’t, not with my hands full, can I?”
Miss Gonzales had a novel solution. She stepped in front of him, and cupped his testicles with her left hand, her French-cut fingernails tickling the soft skin. Her right hand peeled Ted’s fingers away from his manhood, and replaced them, gently moving up and down.
Ted shrugged, oblivious to the power she had, and began to unbutton his shirt, kicking off his shoes at the same time. She dug a thumbnail gently into the top of his cock, and the nails of her first and second fingers pushed into the underside. Ted gasped, and quickly unbuttoned his slacks, pushing them down as the pressure – and his firmness – increased.
“Okay,” he snapped when fully undressed. “I can take over now.”
“Hands on your head,” she said, with a firmness in her voice that he had never heard from her before. His hands duly snapped to the top of his head, interlacing the fingers.
“What now?” he asked.
She took her hands away from him, put her hands behind her own back, and kissed him tenderly on the chest, planting her lips on the rough shag-pile of chest-hair, before finding a nipple. Ted purred, his eyes closing, his cock now fully hard, the margaritas relaxing him.
And then she bit him.
“Yooooow!” he yelped, starting to step back before realizing she wasn’t going to let go. Her teeth clenched harder on his left nipple, she twisted her head to look up at him, and smiled malevolently. Only when his hands left his head did the smile stop.
“Ngeep nose nhands nere,” she snarled.
“Y-yes, ma’am,” replied Ted, putting his hands back on his head.
Satisfied she was fully in control – and more importantly, that Ted knew it too – she released her grip on him and stepped away from him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and said quietly. “Keep your hands on your head. Place your cock on the desk.”
Ted bowed his head, and shuffled forwards. The desk was the perfect height for him, and there was no crouch or stretch as he placed his shaft flat on the desk. It curled up at the end, and he worried for a moment that this might be punished. He idly remembered the times that Miss Gonzales had placed her tender lips around the head, and wondered if this was the same woman before him now. He twitched at the memory.
WHACK!
“OWWWW!” grunted Ted, as he looked down in disbelief. Miss Gonzales had rapped the head of his cock hard with a two-foot ruler. “What was that for, you little cunt?”
WHACK!
“The first stroke,” explained Miss Gonzales, “was because your cock moved off the desk. The second was because this evening, I do not appreciate being called a ‘cunt’. And this…”
She brought the ruler down again, and Ted shuddered in anticipation… but the stroke did not hit him. Instead, it slapped the desk two inches in front of the sore head.
“… is because I’m an evil bitch. If you had a bigger cock, that would have hurt. Shame you got just a little tiddler, eh? But,” she sighed with a little disappointment in her voice, “you DID move your cock again.”
WHACK!
“NYAHHH!” yelped Ted.
“Take the pitcher of margaritas,” ordered Miss Gonzales, scraping her fingernails across Ted’s rear, “and pour us a glass each. Do not spill a drop, and keep your pathetic cock on the desk. Understand?”
“Yes,” gasped Ted.
THWACK!
Ted jerked forwards as he felt the full force of her cane hit him square on the buttocks. “AAAAAAGH!”
“Yes, what?” asked Miss Gonzales.
“Y-yes, MA’AM,” stressed Ted.
THWACK!
“No need to shout,” purred Miss Gonzales as a tear left the edge of Ted’s eye. She leaned forwards, licked it from his cheek, then stepped back and cocked her arm again. THWACK!
“P-please, no more,” Ted whimpered.
She picked up the ruler and whacked the tip of his cock again, pointing out that it moved again. It was harder and redder than Miss Gonzales had ever seen it.
“I-I… my cock always twitches when I want to cum,” explained Ted as he handed her a margarita, before downing his own.
“Then masturbate. But ask me when you want to cum.”
Ted nodded, and gingerly moved his left hand to grab his cock. He was tempted to reach out to Miss Gonzales, hovering well within stroking distance, but chose not to. It did not take long. “Please, ma’am, may I cum?”
“No. Hands on your head.”
His cock felt like it was about to burst, but she turned her back on him, and walked around to her desk.
“I NEED to cum,” he said, knowing she was out of reach.
“Hit yourself with the ruler,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m not walking around there. You definitely don’t want to get me angry. So hit your little cock with the ruler.”
Ted picked up the ruler, placed his cock back on the desk, and then WHAPPED himself as hard as he could. He knew it wasn’t hard enough, and didn’t even wait for Miss Gonzales to comment, before WHAM!
“Yooooow!” he yelped.
“Good. Now masturbate again. Do not cum.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This went on for a few minutes, but Miss Gonzales kept herself busy. She talked to him, describing what she was doing.
“I don’t know where you got your information,” she began, “but ginger is not part of a margarita. I think you must have asked one of the girls about it. You should know never to trust a horny little slut. No, you may not cum. Hit yourself harder. [“Ooow!”] Don’t whimper, you weak-willed piece of shit. I suspect that the girls knew of something I quite like to do. What you do is carve a finger of ginger into the shape of a smooth plug. Make sure you leave a little handle at the bottom so you can pull it out. No, you may not cum. I’ve made two, because I love these little bastards.”
Miss Gonzales peeled down her PVC panties, ignoring Ted’s widening eyes as she pulled out a sturdy butt-plug. She took the smaller of the two sticks of ginger, and placed the head of it inside her, before pushing the rest of it in with the heel of her hand. She peeled up her panties again, and picked up the other stick, her eyes already widening with the rush as the ginger rubbed against her insides.
“Your turn,” she smiled, approaching Ted.
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Ted looked at the alarm clock. He had been trying to get back to sleep for two hours, but still couldn’t manage it. He had never had a hangover as bad as that, his whole body ached, but that was not what kept him awake. His mind raced with the thought of what he would do to her, next time he was in control.
Ted's Diary - The Meal with Miss Gonzales
July 1st
Well, diary, I decided to take the bull by the horns, particularly after the unpleasantness of the previous week. I took Miss Gonzales out to a fancy schmantzy restaurant.
"L'Herpès de la Prostituée," it was called. Oh yes. They had napkins and everything. I wore a comfortable shirt and slacks – for slacks are always comfortable – and she wore her usual sparkling outfit. White blouse, starched to the point of rigidity, with the top four buttons undone. Beneath the waist, she wore an above knee-length skirt that showed off her lickable knees and sumptuous calves. On this day, she covered her legs with slutty fishnet stockings, snaking down to black toeless stilettos. She was, in a word, delectable. Just by walking in the door on my arm, she had made me the most envied man in the restaurant.
It seemed that she got the better of me last time, because she made the first move. For that reason, and that reason alone, I didn’t want to hang around this time. The eager, lucky waiter handed Miss Gonzales a menu, which I took from her before she could open it. "I'll be ordering for Miss Gonzales," I told him.
Miss Gonzales appeared to appreciate my opening gambit, and put her hands close together, flat on the table, thumbs touching, as if to give her consent her consent. I smiled at her, and turned to the waiter. "She will have the gazpacho soup. I would like the Chicken Marengo, please. She will have a white wine; I’ll have a pint of Guinness with a straw. Thank you."
"A wise choice, sir," said the waiter, and shimmered away.
"So what now, sir?" asked Miss Gonzales, biting her bottom lip. I leaned across the table, and took her little hands in mine. I placed them carefully, flat on the table, about a foot apart.
"You are not going to move your hands from there," I said, after a moment’s pause.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I don't want you to."
"Oh," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Okay."
Her chest heaved a little, though that may have been my imagination. What I can say for certain is that when I rubbed my leg against hers, she closed her eyes as she realised that she could not slap me away. She parted them a little, and I kicked off my right shoe, letting my socked toes spider up past her knee, and onto the inside of her left thigh.
"Nice weather," she said between gulps. I looked down and noticed the tips of her fingers were white with the pressure of keeping them in place.
My foot went on, and I wiggled my second and third toes through her panties, but across her pussy lips. She jumped, but her hands stayed in position. She mouthed the words "you bastard" at me, which proved I was doing the right thing. If she called me a twat then I would know she was enjoying it.
I moved my big toe so that it pressed upon her clit, and then made my leg shudder, as though I was stretching it first thing in the morning. Miss Gonzales gave a horrified smile, her back arched, and she leaned herself forwards, pressing her cunt against my foot.
I leaned across the table as much as I could. "You need to ask me."
"Ask you what, you evil twat?"
"You need to ask me to cum."
"Noooo," she mewed. "If I do that, you'll just say 'no'."
I pretended that I was offended. "Moi? Do something like that? I might say 'yes'. Try me, when you have to. It’ll be a while before my leg gets tired."
She pursed her lips and glared at me, which spurred me onwards. My toes wriggled and my ankle twisted and my knee and hip jiggled, never letting her get a second's respite. She spasmed a few times, jumping off her seat once or twice, squeaked and purred constantly, elbows lifting a little, but the hands stayed firmly on the table.
She looked down at her empty plate. "C-can I cum?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waiter approaching our table. He wasn't quite close enough, so I politely asked her to repeat herself.
"Oooo, you cloth-eared git, please can I cum?" she asked, a little louder. The waiter was just out of earshot of this, but he would hear my answer.
"No," I said, and withdrew my foot before the waiter asked if my chair was comfortable.
"You goddamn fucking swine," she hissed, looking straight at me, ignoring the poor waiter. He left the soup and the chicken on our plates, and fled.
I put my shoe back on, and smiled sweetly. "What's wrong, honey blossom? Careful you don't make a scene. Have a taste of your soup, it might calm you down."
Miss Gonzales shuddered for a moment. She opened her mouth, as if to say that she didn't have a spoon, and then her expression changed to one of defiance. She raised an eyebrow, smiled sweetly, and stood up, keeping her hands on the table. She bent over, and jutted out a tongue, to lap at the soup. I almost applauded at her bravery. She knew that the entire restaurant would be looking at her: half of them had been since she walked in the door, of course. If I hadn’t been with her, I would have done the same.
“Sit down for a moment, please,” I said quietly. She did so, but only after she kissed the napkin that was beside her plate, leaving a soupy pout upon it.
I stood up, walked around to her, and quickly undid the next two buttons on her blouse. The first button was not important, but the second was just below the underside of her bosom – if she leaned forwards now, I would get a dramatic eyeful, and she may just pop out completely.
“Enjoy your meal,” I smiled.
Miss Gonzales snarled at me in an exceptionally cute way. "You really know how to get a girl going, you know that?"
"I try," I replied, wearing my best angelic smile.
She sighed, stood again, and leaned over to taste some more of the soup. I must admit, diary, I was not subtle. When I saw the cleavage that emerged, I chirped a hearty "oh my" and went on to suggest to her how I would like to suck and bite on those glorious nipples..
She ignored me as best she could, she had been told to put her hands on the table, and that is what she was doing. She hadn't been asked to participate in rude conversations. Even so, the flush that came to her cheeks was quite delightful.
"Your drinks, sir," said the waiter, who had crept up out of nowhere. He peered with more than a little curiosity at my partner, and asked me if anything was wrong. "If madam has two broken wrists, I'm sure I could feed her," he said helpfully.
Miss Gonzales sat back down, just in time to see me beam with delight. "You know, sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Derek," said the waiter.
"You know, Derek, I have a confession. Miss Gonzales could use her spoon if she wanted to, but she's choosing not to. No need to ask why. No, the spoon’s not dirty, but Miss Gonzales certainly is. You should see what that girl can do with a clean spoon, it’d make your eyes water. But if you have time, I think she would appreciate being spoon-fed by a waiter such as yourself. I'll make it worth your while."
Miss Gonzales blinked at me, as Derek reached for her spoon.
"Come on, Marie," I urged. "Open wide. Let the choo-choo train get into the station."
Derek, bless him, got into the spirit of the occasion, but preferred the idea of a plane to a train. "NeeeEEEeoooowwww!" he said, as the spoon he was holding did an elegant series of banks and turns. At the last moment, Miss Gonzales closed her mouth, and a little soup splashed onto her cleavage.
"Can you mop that up, please Derek? I do apologise, I think Miss Gonzales knows she is a naughty little girl, don't you?"
My smile broadened, and I nodded at my partner to speak.
"Yes," she said with gritted teeth, "I'm a naughty little girl."
"She seems like it," said Derek, taking a napkin and professionally dabbing the soup-stained skin. He looked, and he touched, but he wasn’t inappropriate. "NeeeeEEEooooowwww!"
This time, Miss Gonzales opened her mouth, and the plane landed inside. More planes followed over the next few minutes: her tongue was quite the busy airport runway. I noticed that she took a deep, suggestive breath each time she sucked the spoon clean, never taking her eyes from me for a second.
"I need to go to the toilet," she said, as the bowl was emptied. She wiggled the fingers on the table.
"Shall I bring madam a larger bowl?" asked Derek.
"No, it's ok," I said to Derek. "Thank you very much, you've been most helpful."
He shuffled away, slightly stooped over, with a tenner in his top pocket. Miss Gonzales had this effect on people, usually men, but occasionally women too. There was one big-breasted Canadian woman who was quite taken with her, and some of the girls at Slothlands seem to appreciate her charms too.
"I wasn't joking,” she said as I enjoyed my reverie, “I really need to go to the toilet. And I'm not going here."
Be fair to the girl, she had her limits. Whilst I would like to make her piss herself right there in the restaurant, it wouldn't be seemly. In any case, it was time for my big gesture: I pulled out a small box, about the size of a ring.
"You're p-proposing?" she asked.
"No, no," I said. "As the old saying goes, 'Why buy the cow, when you can fuck Miss Gonzales for free?' No." I opened the box. "This is what you must wear if I let you go to the little girls' room."
She peered into the box. She seemed to know instantly what it was, but couldn't stop herself from saying. "Is that a clit clamp?"
She kept her hands on the table while I held it up for her to look at - it was like a small pair of metal tweezers, topped by a bee-sized black plastic nubbin.
"Well spotted. But this one vibrates, hence the big blob on the top. You'll need to take off your panties, of course, unless you want it your underwear rubbing against the clamp.”
"Yes, sir. No, sir,” she said, taking the clamp, and walking away, blushing.
I smiled, pulled out the remote control from my jacket pocket, and got it ready. She returned after a moment, walking slightly strangely, sitting carefully on her seat, and putting her hands on the table. She looked at me with a shaky smile on her face, and there was a little less arrogance in those dark brown eyes.
“Are you ok?” I asked, half-seriously. If she was genuinely having a bad time, I would have stopped myself from what I was about to do. Fortunately, her sarcastic reply doubled my resolve.
“Am I ok, you ask? Well, maybe if someone clamped your fucking clit, you might know wha-ah-uhhhhhhhYAAAAAAAAAA!”
I pulled out the small remote control box and placed it on the table, between her hands, daring her to move to take it.
“You. Are. So. Fucking. Dead,” she winced.
“Quite an intense vibration, don’t you think?” I said. “I tried it on my nipple, yes I did, and it stung quite vividly. Goodness knows what you must be going through. Would you like me to turn it off?”
She nodded her head vigorously. The entire restaurant was looking closely at her, not knowing whether she was aroused or in severe pain. Only she knew what the balance was. My guess was that it was about even. I picked up the box, and turned it off. She shook it off, wiggling in her chair.
“I need to go to the little boy’s room,” I said. “Please excuse me.”
I stood, waited for her to snort a derisive comment about me being a little boy, and then I pressed the other button on the box.
“Yoooow!!” she yelped, getting to her feet and jumping six inches in the air in one elegant movement. I pocketed the box, and smiled smugly to myself as I headed to the toilet.
Derek was waiting outside when I got out. “Umm. Is she your slave?”
“No, she’s her own, independent woman, part one. She just humours my desires now and then, and I reciprocate.”
“C-can I join in?”
“That depends. Would you be willing to have her hit your cock with a ruler?”
“No,” said Derek after a moment’s thought.
I pulled out the box, pointed in the direction of Miss Gonzales, who was sitting innocently at her table, and Derek and I watched her leap up again, swear loudly, then swear quietly at the people on neighbouring tables. “Well, I’m sorry. Because I think I love this woman, and it’s only the fact that I am willing to let her hit my manhood with sticks that gives me the right to fill her clit with a few milli-volts.”
“You should get a job writing greetings cards. ‘Love is…’. That sort of thing.”
“You hit the nail on the head there,” I said, wondering if I would get a nail on my head next time Miss Gonzales became feisty.
The end.
Application for Your School
Dear HeadMaster Ed:
I am writing you to apply for entrance to you school. I realize that I will be coming into the second term of the school but I hope that will not be a problem.
I was, until recently, attending Miss Ivana Humpalots Instituon for (Wayward) Girls. Due to a series of cir cum stances beyond my control, for example being found in the linen closets with the gym teacher who was tied up at the time.. busy man that he is. I mean how that is my fault? I found I needed to attend a new school. Your name was referred to me via the bathroom wall at The Gilded Ostrich.
I have very high marks as I am willing to do whatever it takes to maintain them. Extra curricular activities are also something I excel at. Some of my favorite subjects are Oral, Arts and Crafts such as knot work, Medieval studies (famous dungeons ect), and Shop appreciation (we learned a lot about keeping small vibrating motors running). I will send on transcripts as soon as I have time to (change my marks) obtain them from the school.
One other thing which I hope we can work out is the matter of tuition. At my last institution I helped cover the cost of my tuition by tying down some of the richer girls and forcing them to hand over their lunch money. I also helped in the library. I liked the library but I found the uniform with its short skirt a little hampering to do some of my work. I was frequently asked to climb up the ladder to get down or reshelf the books. I also found, that for some reason some of the male faculty just couldn’t decide which books they wanted. I would frequently get sent back up and down the ladder while they waited at the bottom because they kept changing their mind.
I hope to hear from you soon and if you hear any reports of me eating chocolate and mixing martinis in my room, I wish to state now it is entirely unfounded.
Best Regards
Widget.
Why Men Are Better Than Vibrators
I've known Miss Gonzales for four weeks, and we've been fucking for the last three.
Ah, I do apologise, I think I've missed a bit of the backstory there, but I got your attention, didn't I? I'll go back a few steps. My name is Ted, Ted Stoat if you must, and I'm a youngish 35 year-old caretaker at a girls' college called Slothlands. Don't worry, it's not that kind of story; I don't go near the inmates, not even the Minxiest of them, even though they are all over eighteen and delectable. It's a teacher who is the key to this saucy tale.
Miss Gonzales joined the staff four weeks ago, a fresh-faced, brown-eyed, taut-bodied, 28 year old teacher of Current Affairs and General Studies, and it was lust at first sight. Right from the start, she showed that she was a kinky soul, and although I prefer to be the strong man, it was pleasant submitting to her occasionally over a margarita or two. Or, more accurately, under a margarita or five. That girl has a thing about tequila. The last time she was feisty was yesterday, when she'd shown me her two favourite vibrators in the staff room, and taunted me, bragging that "Men can't always keep up with women, can they? These plastic heroes wouldn't get soft, drunk, headaches, or cum in their pants."
As much as I enjoyed submitting to her, I found that dominating her was much more satisfying, and I felt it was about time I made it official, hopefully involving a significant romantic gesture. I got the impression that Miss Gonzales would appreciate a gesture. With that in mind, I'd 'borrowed' the vibrators from her bag when she wasn't looking, knowing they would be key to any gesturing that I'd be doing.
After cracking open a walnut with the larger one, and using the smaller one to stir my tea, I paused for thought. I really didn't know why she needed all those toys, surely any red-blooded man or... umm... whatever-coloured-blood woman would pounce on this woman if she clicked her fingers or hitched up her skirt. This made me think - how could I prove to her that she didn't need such a toy?
I bribed Ed, the headmaster, to tell me her home address. Initially, he said that under no circumstances could he tell me such confidential information, but when I said that I'd check to see if she had any latex underwear, he soon complied.
I turned up at her place at about six in the evening. Yes, it was a little early, but there was more chance of her being in her work clothes. It had been a hot, sticky day, and the thought of unpeeling her saturated see-through blouse was too tempting to resist.
"Oh," she said, when she answered. I handed her a bunch of flowers that Olive the florist had assured me would get into the boudoir of any young lady. Joy of joys, she was still dressed in her tight black skirt and damp white blouse that gave her a phenomenal hourglass shape. She was even wearing her strappy new fuck-me shoes, and her thick-rimmed glasses.
"Number one," I said. "A vibrator cannot give someone flowers."
She hadn't shut the door in my face, so I stepped inside, closing it behind me. She still seemed unprepared, poor thing, so I wrapped my hand around her waist and sharply pulled her to me, making sure I didn't squish the flowers. When she was close enough, with her breasts digging into my ribcage, I cupped her chin, pointed her mouth upwards, and planted a delicate kiss upon her lips.
"Number two. You can kiss a vibrator if you want to, but it won't kiss back."
"Mmmm," she purred, closing her eyes seductively and perching herself on tip-toe for another kiss. I held the back of her head steady this time, running my fingers through her jet-black hair as I pressed my lips against hers. She had such a soft, delicate pair of lips, unbelievable when you consider the docker-blushing language that came from them.
She unpeeled herself from me and led me upstairs by the hand. I thought of a possible reason number three - no vibrator could appreciate the sideways movement of a woman's ass as she walks up the stairs - but chose not to voice it.
"That's the bathroom, there's the bedroom, and this... this is the play room," she said, and I could hear the chiming sunniness in her voice. Inside were several large crates – she’d only moved in a week or two ago and was still unpacking everything - and a king-size bed, with no quilt, no pillows, no headboard, just a bedstead with a firm mattress and a coversheet.
"I've not thought how best to adapt the bed yet. Care to try it out, soldier?"
I did, and I didn't. If I allowed myself to be restrained to the bed, I would have a whale of a time and end up with a sore but satisfied cock, but if I did that, I wouldn't be able to explain the other reasons, or do my gesture.
"No, Miss Gonzales. Why don't you lie down on the bed for me, huh? Face up."
She took a deep breath, slinked onto the mattress like a liquid, still fully clothed and shod, and stretched her arms to the head of the bed in anticipation.
Standing at the foot of the bed, I could see those shoes in a little more detail. "Are these things sturdy?" I asked, nudging her left foot with my knee. The solid jingle from the buckle answered my question, so I asked another. "Do you have any wrist cuffs, and a couple of small padlocks?"
She wriggled excitedly, and pointed to two of the smaller crates, barking at me to dig in and find something that will do. I did so, and was astonished at the array of disgusting things I found. Beads, balls, enema kits, clamps, everything you could think of and more. The gal could open her own little private sex shop, and still have enough to shackle a small village. I assumed and hoped desperately that she would use each and every item on the gals at Slothlands - there were impressive harnesses that would suit Cariad or Seababy perfectly, Julie and Jenny certainly deserved a pair of tight nipple clamps each, and firm leather collars with cuffs tightly attached that would keep Chattel's hands away from trouble. The sight of these cuffs appeared to be a sign that I was in the right area, and sure enough, I found a pair of steel wristbands. Perfect. I tossed them to Miss Gonzales, and looked for padlocks, finding a discreet little pair that would match the wristbands.
"Number three,” I purred, approaching her. “A vibe can't incapacitate you."
I can be rough when it suits me, and Miss Gonzales squeaked as I tugged her right wrist to her right ankle, and padlocked the cuff to the shoe. I repeated the exercise with the other side. She was forced to sit leaning forwards, but was otherwise fairly comfortable. I pulled the smaller vibe out of my pocket, and held it in front of her. She gasped aloud as I nudged her thin legs apart, stroking the vibe against one thigh, and my fingertips against the other thigh.
“Which do you prefer?” I asked, gently tickling the goosebumps, wanting to touch her so softly that she could feel the fingerprints.
“T-the fingertips,” she replied. She bowed her head and her glasses drooped down to the end of her nose. I pushed them back in place, and she smiled uncertainly at me. “That’s number four, isn’t it?” she added.
I beamed brightly, pulled her panties to one side, and carefully slid the vibrator inside her pussy.
"Number five. A vibe can't put itself inside you when you're all tied up like that."
She wiggled her bottom at the first wave of pleasure that the new vibrator brought.
"Truuuuue," she sighed, "but maybe the vibe is controlling you. Counter-number one: the vibe is so tempting for a flaccid half-man like you, ahhhh! It means you've more chance of making the poor gal cum."
The effect of her defiant speech was reduced by the moan of pleasure she gave halfway through. In response to the "half-man" comment, I reached in and turned the vibe's speed up a notch or two. It was so hard to grip, I may have put it on maximum by accident.
"Have you got a spreader bar?" I asked. "I'd quite like to see you in your full glory. Glistening cuntlips, bare thighs, buttcheeks nicely on display."
"You evil fucking bastard!" she snarled, before adding quietly, "There's one in the bottom crate."
Indeed there was. It was a vicious looking thing, too, black metal, studded, non-extendable or shrinkable, and two furry cuffs that had molded themselves to the shape of her ankles over the years. It was only about two feet long, though.
"Is this the biggest one you have?" I asked, looping the first cuff around her ankle, just above the buckle and her hand.
"I could say the same thing about you, sailor," she winked back, as I moved the second leg further apart with a sharp tug, to get the second cuff on.
This woman was almost begging me to angrily slap her, but I wouldn't. I could certainly get angry with Miss Gonzales, the woman was infuriating for twenty hours a day, but I would never hit her when I was angry. I wish the converse was true. I still have the bruise from when she slugged me after I spilt bleach on her cat.
"Miss Gonzales, you came up with a counter-reason before. I can think of another one. It's easier to walk with a vibrator inside you, than with a man inside you. Hell, I'd wager that you could step forward in that spreader bar."
"F-fffuck. Y-you..."
"That's the spirit," I said chirpily, and lifted her from the bed, landing her safely on her shoes, which were really starting to grow on me. I made sure the vibe was inside her, but it was a struggle to see properly, with the skirt getting in the way as she wriggled. "Too many clothes, I think," I declared, and unhooked her skirt from around her waist, folding it and placing it on the edge of the bed. "And those panties just look untidy," I added, sliding my hands into them, and then ripping them apart. Miss Gonzales purred at the sound of the tearing and the feeling of the breaking elastic being snapped around her thighs. Now that she was naked below the waist, I could see that the vibrator was sticking out an inch or so, so I duly shoved it back into her with the heel of my hand. It entered with a silent squish, and a cute squeal, before she went back to the gurgling obscenities.
"I wouldn't have noticed that the vibe wasn't in, if you hadn't been naked down there. That settles it: no more underwear for you without permission, understand?"
She didn't answer; she just squatted, rocking back and forth, careful not to lose her balance. The concentration in her face, the scrunching of her nose, the gentle panting, I took it all in. Then I remembered the question. I tugged her hair back until she was looking straight up at me.
"I-I can s-see up your n-nose," she burbled. That got a twist of her head and warning tug on her hair. "Ow-woo! No more underwear, I got it. Lemme go!"
I let go, took a step back and then crouched next to her. A single tear seeped down her cheek. She had been degraded by me before, but she had never been so submissive or vulnerable.
"Let me ask you again, and see what you say this time. You don't wear underwear unless you clear it with me first. Do you agree?"
"Y-yes," she nodded, hair flopping over her face as her head lolled forwards. There was a moment's silence, broken only by the incessant buzz-buzz of the vibrator.
I walked out of the bedroom, and took four paces down the corridor. I shouted to Miss Gonzales to make sure she could hear me, and then I told her to hobble to me. The angry shout that came from the room explained that there was no fucking way she could walk with her wrists tied to her ankles like that, but there was an excited lilt in her voice, and I could already hear a heavy tinkle and a thud as she moved one foot forwards.
“Number five,” I called, just to see what she said. “A vibrator couldn’t tell you that you’re not allowed to cum until I tell you to.”
“W-what?”
I stood patiently in the hallway as she clunked towards me, a hopeful grin on her face. The vibrator was halfway out of her. It was a phenomenal scene – she was still fully clothed above the waist, but below, I could see the dampness in her pussy from four yards away. I explained why I didn’t want her to cum. I said that it would be good for her if she learned some respect for me, if she gave up control of her life for me. She widened her eyes. My gesture was working, so I added the twist.
“Each time that vibrator drops out of your pussy, you’ll go a week without cumming after today.”
She looked up, and I could sense she was thinking desperately of non-erotic things. Unfortunately, I knew that she had as filthy an imagination as I, and anything can make me hard, from an empty DVD case to a bowl of Coco Pops. Poor thing. It would be fun training her. I unzipped my trousers, and took out my cock, which had been struggling to get free since Miss Gonzales entered the corridor.
“Look at me,” I urged. “Look at your prize.”
She did so, and licked her lips, bouncing heavily from one step to the next like a penguin, but when I stroked my cock and let it twitch at the sight of her, that was when the vibrator slipped out and clunked on the floor. She yelped at it, and cursed aloud, calling herself a stupid little slut.
“Oh dear,” I sighed, picking her up and putting her back two paces, carefully avoiding her mouth as she tried to lick me and bite my manhood. I collected the vibrator and told her to lick it clean, before placing it back into her pussy. It slid in even easier this time, and her muscles almost pushed it out straight away. “That’s a week.”
She was close already, but whimpered defiantly, not giving into temptation. She was still a proud woman, and I knew it would burn her up inside to beg me to cum. I continued to stroke myself. “My goodness, Miss Gonzales, I can’t wait until you get here. I’m going to ram this right down your throat, I’m going to tug every bit of you that I can tug, and slap all the bits I can’t. You’re going to be so goddamn tender after tonight, and that’s going to be when your cum restriction week will start. Oops! You dropped the vibrator again. That’s two weeks now, you poor little cumbitch.”
She was crying now, wholly frustrated and angry with herself. She gulped, held her posture as straight as she could, and penguinned her way to me. A foot from me, she dared to imagine herself as she would be, and opened her mouth. I reached out a hand and held her head steady, guiding her onto me. As soon as she took me in her mouth, she began to sob heavily, and I think they were tears of pride and relief.
“Drop the vibrator. We won’t need it anymore today, will we, Miss Gonzales?”
Two seconds after the instruction, she clenched her muscles and squired the vibrator out of herself, smiling and shaking her head, still heartily sucking me. I grinned, and I was tempted to let her continue, but it was time for the final gesture. I grabbed her hair, and eased her off me. She tried to lean forwards, hungry and desperate for more, but when I lowered her onto her back, she realised that I had something more exciting for her. Her ankles and wrists were in the air, I slithered under the bar, face down upon her.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Gonzales.”
“Says who?”
“Two and a half weeks’ cum restriction. Want to go for more?”
“Counter-reason – a frigging vibrator wouldn’t put me on cum restriction,” she pouted. “YahOWooo!”
I chose that moment to slide myself into her. Without meaning to, she tugged her arms so the bar jammed gently in the small of my back, which made it hard to get a rhythm going. Fortunately, neither of us needed much space. I squeezed her breasts through her blouse as she wiggled under me, and my hips made wet slaps against her ass, and helped me pound into her stretched young pussy.
“P-pplease!” she urged. “I n-need to cum!”
I told her that I wanted her to beg for it. This order made her hips jerk angrily, and I almost lost control.
“I b-beg you, Ted, I have to cum n-now, I c-can’t h-hold it!”
My mouth was at her right ear. “When you say “pots”, you can cum. Understand?”
“W-hat?” she gurgled, head lolling backwards.
“Pots,” I explained. “It stands for ‘Property of Ted Stoat’. Because that’s what I want you to be.”
Her head snapped forwards, and she stared deeply into my eyes. “I am y-yours. I’m pots.”
“Then you may cum,” I said, ejaculating into her pussy, falling forwards and hugging her, elated that I was able to hold on long enough. A second later, her orgasm hit her, and she bucked twice, before beginning to shiver. The bar kept me in place, as though I was on a fairground ride,
“Don’t ever let go,” she said. Her glasses had fallen forwards to the end of her nose again.
“I won’t,” I replied, and nudged her glasses back in place with my chin, before kissing her on the lips.
“And sir?” she grinned, “You’re definitely better than that little vibrator.” She bit her lip, smiled cheekily, and continued, “But I’m not sure if you’re as good as the big vibrator. I’m gonna need more proof...”
The end.
Interlude in the Dorm Room
July 25
Dearest Diary:
I have met the nicest girl here named suchaminx.
I had gone out of my room for a bit to explore and find a quite place to smoke a ciggy and have a chocolate martini. When I returned there was a cute little girl in the dorm giggling and pointing at my bed.
“Hello” I said glancing at the bed and wondering what was so funny “I’m Widget, but all my friends call me Widge.
“Hello yourself” she said. “suchaminx and very nice to meet you.” Followed by more giggling.
I took a closer look at my bed and there was a note stuck to the headboard by one of the hooks on it. Honestly I have never seen so many hooks on furniture in all my life. I even saw some on the chairs. I took the letter down and opened it.
Suchaminx giggled again “I see that our pervy caretaker Ted has left you a note.”
I glanced up at her as I read it and nodded. I handed her the note. “Can he do this?? I mean what insolence is he talking about ? I haven’t even met him yet.” I growled indignantly, while at the same time hiding a little shiver at the thought of being naked and holding that tray.
“He is just the caretaker.” She replied “but he seems to have some disciplinary control over Miss Gonzales.”
“Right” I nodded. Miss Gonzales must have been the teacher I saw over his knee when I got there. “Well this calls for a drink while I think about what to do.”
“That heartless bastard!!” I hollered as I opened up my bag from under my bed. All my vodka.. gone…”that wanker stole all my booze!!!
“My dear Uncle Ernest made that batch in the bathtub the day before I left. We can’t use that bath tub any more because my Aunt Lorelean passed away in it right after we made that batch of brew.”
“One minute she was standing there, the next she took a sip and yelled ”I’m Blind” and fell forward into the tub dead. That. Was. The . last of a very good day for vodka.” I sat down on the edge of the bed sniffling.
This calls for action. “Do you know where Mr. Stoat’s room is?” I asked suchaminx.
“Sure” she said “all though he is most likely to be taking extra exams with Miss Gonzales this time of day.”
“Show me please?’ I asked
So off we went, down several dank hallways to a small room in the back. This is when I discovered his diary. I mean if a book is left in a cubby hole behind a headboard and pad locked shut, I don’t think the owner has any expectation of privacy what so ever.
“That man read my diary” I was indignant. Flipping through the other entries to show suchaminx. “It figures he is related to that pig holding woman” I grumbled. “Just look at what else he gets up too and I still can not believe he took my booze.”
“I think that Ted needs to be taught a lesson” I said looking at suchaminx “ do you think that any of the other girls would be in on this? Meeting in the Dorm room coat closet at 8:00. Bring anyone that might want to help”
“Sounds fun” she said “Count me in and I will see who else can help”
I carefully put the diary back and while I was in there grabbed a bottle of Brandy to take back for tonight’s meeting and then together we headed back to the dorm. I just hope he doesn’t notice it missing until tomorrow.
Did She Bake A Cherry Pie Teddy Boy Teddy Boy?
July 27
Dear Diary:
On second thought maybe it was not such a wise idea to hide the keys to Ted’s cuffs in a pie. I was afraid he might not see the humor in me so kindly delivering him to Miss Gonzales doorway the way I did, so I baked his keys into a cherry pie as a way to make it up to him.
I make awesome pie too. I left it in front of the doorway of the dorm room with a note that said “Eat Me Ted”. I know he must have found it because I heard the most god awful yelling and clanking in the hallway while I was skipping class, I mean off to class followed by an even louder yell of “EAT ME!! she is going to pay!!”
It is so gratifying to know that people like down home baking. Sigh. I am a little concerned about the rumors that have Ted accepting a teaching position here. I don’t believe he is qualified. hmmm
The Secretarial Lesson, Part I - A meaner type of student
Ted’s diary...
I’d had it planned for an age, a carefully laid-out operation, and then she turned up and threw my plans into disarray. My first lesson, a voluntary extra-curricular lesson open to all students, to learn the art of being a secretary. It was arranged with a particular favourite of mine in mind, young Julie Truly, who had left the school after finding a job at a top law firm. The poor gal came to me on her hands and knees, begging for extra tuition – it turned out that there was more to secretarial work than standing at the water cooler, talking about the previous night’s episode of ‘Lost’.
When Julie Truly is on her hands and knees, you cannot resist her. Either that or you look for her contact lens. Ted Stoat's first teaching job would be a lesson for secretaries. Don't look at me like that, diary, you know that Miss Gonzales always said I was good with my fingers.
I turned up to the classroom an hour before the lesson was due to begin, with all the equipment ready. It needed careful testing, these were delicate instruments. I expected the room to be empty so I could set up the electrical apparatus in peace – and I had never known a girl to remain in class a second longer than they had to. But this time, there was an unfamiliar young lady in the room.
She was sitting on top of my desk, wearing something that in no way resembled a school uniform. Her big blue eyes glanced in my direction for a moment, widened, then casually returned to the knife that she was holding. It was a sharp, six inch blade that she was spinning in her hand like a baton, tossing it up and snatching it out of the air, grasping it tightly as she caught it.
“You like knives?” I asked her.
“Sure,” she said. She had a youthful voice that hid a giggle.
“I suppose a fork’s out of the question.”
Those eyes flashed at me again. She smiled: a relief considering her obvious experience with cutlery. I took the chance to look at the rest of her. Her pixie nose flared each time she looked at the knife, her pouting mouth was moist and kissable, her cheekbones were high and sharp. Her skin looked as though she rarely saw the sun, but it added to her prettiness, as did the jet-black hair that straggled down in front of her.
And then there’s the body. I like a good uniform as much as the next man, but when I write down what this gal was wearing, you’ll see that there’s more to arousing clothing than tight uniforms and leather corsets. She wore:
a - tight bootleg t-shirt that showed Princess Leia pleasuring herself with a light sabre, torn off two inches above the navel
- one of those oversized belt things that would look adorable wrapped tightly around her neck
- a short, tight PVC skirt that had a split up the side
- slutty white fishnets
- down to the knee-highs that matched her skirt
Now, I bet you’re picturing her. And I hope that image is getting you as aroused as it was getting me, standing in front of her.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Mina.”
“Meaner than whom?”
“No, no,” she smiled. “I’m Mina.”
“Meaner than whom?”
She was about to repeat her name again, when she realised I was joking, so she poked the knife in my direction. I didn’t make the same joke a third time, so I asked her what the fricking hell she was doing in my classroom.
“Secretarial thing, yeah? I’m here to study. My application form was, um, lost in a dog’s ass.”
“Fine, fine, but you can’t wear... that... to my class,” I said, in as non-threatening a way as I could. “It’ll have to go.”
She did something that almost made me hurl her over a desk and consensually molest her. She hopped off the desk, delicately walked towards me with a confident heel-toe step, her eyes never leaving mine, and then she stopped with her breasts an inch from my stomach. She raised her chin, and in a sweet, angelic voice said “Make me, sir.”
My knees quivered. “Lose the knife first.”
She hurled it into the opposite wall, where it struck a picture of a sheep right between the eyes. I wasn’t aware of what the sheep had done to her; I did not care to ask. She was smiling sweetly with her arms pointed vertically upwards, so I lifted her shirt up over her head, sighing at the young but legal flesh that was revealed. I half-expected to see scars across her body, but there were none.
I stuck out my tongue, and let it drift down her body and I dropped to my knees. I unbuckled the skirt and belt, and put them to one side. She had a thin wisp of hair between her legs, and I could see a small, painful-looking piercing in her clit.
“Yes, it hurt,” she said, before I asked. “It was the best thing I ever did.”
I looked at her boots, then shuddered, remembering the young woman I had left at home. That woman liked her footwear too, I reflected, scrambling to my feet. “I, ah, I think you should take off your own boots, Mina.”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled, bending forwards whilst keeping her legs straight. Ah, the flexibility of the youth. Her eyes had looked at my crotch as she bent over, while mine had mentally ravaged her ass.
“Th-there’s some clothes in that desk over there,” I pointed without using my hands. “A proper secretarial outfit...”
“... for a proper secretary,” she grinned. “Thanks, sir.”
I watched her pad barefoot and naked to her desk, and wondered ‘If this happens before the lesson even begins, what’s going to happen when I actually start teaching? Who else is going to even turn up?’
Ted.
