The Seduction of Mr. Sandhouse

From the time I was a little girl, I always believed that the men around me were put on the earth for the sole purpose of serving my needs. No man could look me in the eye without blushing or immediately glancing away. However, I did not take advantage of this gift until my senior year of high school. 
     It was a bright Monday afternoon, and the school day was almost over. I was wearing a short black skirt with a classy slit on the left side and a cropped black blouse that showed off a portion of my flat tummy. My feet were comfortable in a pair of open-toe five-inch heels, black, to match the color of my compromising outfit. I stood a tantalizing six feet one and made my way easily to my last-period math class. I had been fantasizing about my math teacher for the past several months and was trying desperately to work up the nerve to address the situation. 
     I sat through the boring math lecture, not really hearing a word, plotting the delicate seduction of Mr. Sandhouse. I failed to notice the passage of time and was jolted by the ringing of the dismissal bell. My classmates hurriedly filtered out of the room, leaving me alone with the preoccupied Mr. Sandhouse. Realizing that this was my chance, I quickly put away my books. I took a deep breath, unfastened the top two buttons of my blouse, and then approached with the silky grace of a black cat. 
     Mr. Sandhouse looked up and nervously adjusted his glasses. He swallowed hard, and I could see slight trickles of perspiration begin to build on his upper lip.
     "N-N-Natalia," he stuttered, "can I help you with something?" 
     His shyness excited me. This middle-aged figure of authority could not bear to meet my gaze. He was coming undone. I could feel the wet spot beginning to form on my lace panties as the upcoming sequence of events flashed through my mind. "Put down your pen, Michael!" I said sternly. I had never before addressed a teacher by his first name. I felt a sudden rush of power and confidence. 
     Stunned and increasingly nervous, Michael allowed the pen to slip from his fingers. He turned his chair to face me and attempted to speak. Immediately, I pressed my forefinger against his mouth, dragging my long burgundy nail across his bottom lip, hushing his weak tantrum. I continued to run my finger around the perimeter of his face. Michael closed his eyes and puckered his lips, pursuing my hand with his kiss. He flinched, and groaned in pain when I delivered a harsh open-handed slap across his cheek. As he recovered from the punishment, Michael rashly reached out his arms and began to slide his hands underneath my skirt. Once again, I delivered the thundering blow, knocking the wire-rimmed glasses from his face.
     Shaking, Michael pushed himself from the chair and dropped to his knees. His face streamed with sweat; the shame burned with a fierce flame on his cheeks. Sobbing, he blurted out, "I'm so sorry, Ms. Natalia. Please . . . I never meant for this to happen . . . Th-this could cost me my job—"
     The third attack erupted from my hand with no warning, and Michael gasped as the hot sting penetrated his already raw flesh. A malicious smile crept across my face as I noticed the bulge in my teacher's trousers swell, stretching his tight dress pants to the limit. He looked up at me with the pretension of a young child begging for his mother's forgiveness. When I stared right back into his eyes, Michael immediately faltered, bowing his head. Gently, I caressed his hair and slid my fingers underneath his chin. Michael shivered, and the bulge swelled even more. He closed his eyes and inhaled my essence, allowing the intoxicating natural aphrodisiac to overpower all his senses. He smiled and said, "Do as you will, Mistress."
     My panties were soaked beyond all recognition. I had been waiting my entire life to hear those words drop from the lips of a man. My body tingled in response to the ring of surrender in Michael's voice, but I knew that in order to keep the upper hand, I could not reveal my pleasure to him.
     I commanded Michael to undress. I blindfolded him with his tie and restrained his hands with his belt. Satisfied with my work, I sat behind my teacher's desk and observed him on his knees, nude and bound, eagerly awaiting my instructions. I could no longer resist my urges. Slowly I slid my hand to the rim of my panties. Pulling aside the wet lining, I began to run my nail along the slit of my sex, pushing down harder with each rhythmic motion. I shuddered as my nail caught the hard little knot at the top of my womanhood, releasing a stream of nectar that dripped slowly down my tan thigh.
     Michael knelt silently by my side, lost in the darkness of his blindfold. I stood close to him and lifted my skirt, placing my leg on his shoulder. Without a moment's hesitation, Michael began his feast. With his teeth, he pushed aside the thin layer of cloth dividing his mouth from my sex. He slipped his tongue inside of me with an enthralling starvation, tasting and savoring my wetness. My body was consumed with mounting pleasure as I attempted to muffle my screams, which soon subsided into satisfied sighs. When I could no longer withstand the sensual indulgence, I pushed him away. Michael let out a moan of disappointment, and then cried out at the sting of my palm against his face. In a sultry voice, I whispered, "Greed will not be tolerated, Michael. Be thankful for the gift you received today." He replied, "Yes, Mistress." 
     I composed myself and freed Michael's hands. Standing back, I studied my slave once again. My most sacred fantasy had finally been realized, here in this true temple of higher learning. "In one hour, you may remove your blindfold and leave," I instructed as I walked out. "See ya in class tomorrow, Mr. Sandhouse."
 
 




- Home - Press - Visit Reviews - Sexual Personae - Misdeeds - Tidings - Schedule - Links -