The Professor’s Pet

Excerpt

Once again I skipped dinner, dressed impeccably, and made the long walk to Professor Teasel’s palatial place. Heart pounding with excitement, flushed with the daunting challenge of somehow earning her love, I followed the brick walk around the house to the patio and found no one there.

There was just the same pool, the same spectacular sunset view, the same minimalist deck furniture – and a number of disquieting items on the table. As I cautiously approached I saw a video camera, VCR, and TV monitor displaying a real time image of the sling chair I’d occupied the last time. Next to these sat the same glass of wine, the same handcuffs, and weighted down by this last, a note.

I picked it up, and read: “Drink, boy! Then strip, sit, and lock yourself down like before. I will be back momentarily. Obey me!”

Like I would dream of doing otherwise, even without the coercion of the camera!

Watching myself on the video screen I managed to maintain a bit of dignity this time, as I removed and carefully folded my clothes. And by the time I sat down I could again feel the drugs beginning to take effect. I had to fumble a bit to get my hands cuffed behind me. But once that was accomplished, and I was once again at the mercy of events, I was able to sit there and stare mesmerized, just like before, at the orgy of colors cavorting over the expansive sea and sky.

Occasionally my attention would be drawn back to the sight of myself on the monitor, or to the real life close-up view of my once again monstrously paining and straining erection. But always the sunset would capture me again, its sublime cosmic riot aiding my rapid slide into dreamy, hallucinatory suggestibility.

After ten or fifteen minutes I heard the buzz of an approaching motorcycle, which grew rapidly into a magnified roar only to soon throttle back again into an angry sputtering mutter. Around the house it slowly growled, appearing at last and pulling right up onto the patio. Its rider was obviously my host, teacher, lover, etc, even though her features were completely concealed. There was no mistaking that tall, slender but shapely body, encased as it was in a skin-tight black leather suit.

Similarly black spike-heeled boots stopped just below the knees, and matching knuckle-studded fingerless gloves hid most of her hands. Not bothering to remove the shiny black helmet containing all her glorious hair, or to even flip up the mirrored visor shielding her face, she killed the engine of her sleek Honda Nighthawk and dismounted.

Without a word then she strutted up to the table, rewound the VCR to my arrival, and reviewed my behavior. Satisfied of my compliance, she nodded and shut it down. Then still without speaking or even removing her helmet, she turned, reached between her legs for a zipper, and opened her body suit at the crotch. She straddled my obediently restrained form and sank down onto me. Once again she gripped my erection, guided it into herself and began gradually working it up into the oh-so tight confines of her vagina.

Hisses of pain and gasps of pleasure were still the only sounds she emitted. Even when she finally began riding with all of her accustomed vigor she remained eerily silent.

For me, in my drugged condition, the outright strangeness of the experience was powerfully erotic.

Lying there being used by this voiceless, faceless body enclosed entirely in supple black leather, seeing only a distorted reflection of my own features in the shiny silver mask that replaced her face, was almost like being taken by an alien being, or some kind of automaton. Frankly it could have been anyone or anything, perched there on my penis, staring blankly down at me as it flexed that burning erection relentlessly back and forth with a pneumatic, precision pumping of the hips that seemed more mechanistic syncopation than animal passion.

Even when the speed of our copulation systematically increased, indicating that a climax was imminent, only a suppressed rhythmic grunting and then a high-pitched keening leaked from behind that silvered mask. My own arousal was all boiling biology by contrast, a swirling stew of agony, ecstasy, and otherworldly amazement at the bizarreness of the experience. And yet anything resembling an orgasm remained as impossible as ever…

A good thing, too. Because after the creature that was riding me like the mindless machine it had just rolled in on signaled its own apotheosis with a last series of powerful, galvanic jerks of the hips and a string of weird, warbling cries, it was finally revealed to be my Chemistry teacher indeed. At last her soft voice issued hollowly from behind that blank, mirrored mask.

“Well done, boy.

“Once again you did not ejaculate in me. I am marginally encouraged. Now, if you do ever want to experience an orgasm again, you will listen to me very closely. You will do exactly as I say. It will be immediate and instinctive; you will not even think about it. So: I am going to begin pumping my hips again. And every slippery stroke of my wonderfully tight cunt on your painfully hard cock will take you deeper inside of yourself, way down in, past consciousness and awareness, past this fleeting physical reality and inward toward that ultimate, far more important one that resides so deep and secret inside of all of us. So – let us begin: One…”

Her hips pumped, her soothing voice droned on and on, and here all memory of what occurred next is lost to me. Once again I must leave it to my Mistress and owner to fill in what happened next, for it is all as blank to me as the face of the surely supreme being that was at that moment so purposefully riding my helpless body…

Ah, so wonderfully exciting are these recollections! So nostalgically erotic, so charged with the pride of what I’ve accomplished: so much more than any scientist-slash-dominatrix ever before or after me! I am truly a Goddess among men, and deserving of everything that I’ve achieved! Ah well…enough gloating. Back to the past then, and on with the story:

After one really good ride, and then another of an even more exciting kind (damn how it thrilled me, messing with his mind by riding him all silent and faceless like that!), I put my boy back into a deep trance and proceeded with stage two of his enslavement.

So far I was quite pleased with the cognitive dissonance, the conflicting mental tensions that I’d established in him. They were not only wonderfully entertaining to behold, and priceless in prying him away from his previous attachments, but also essential in molding him into the kind of servile, submissive, and frankly twisted being that I’d been forever needing.

Of course, the real mental manipulation was only beginning. Later in the month, and for the next three succeeding, I would get really serious about it. The last time, and this night as well, I was truly only laying the groundwork.

Later would begin the real intensity of effort, as well as the long-imagined opulence of my reward. Still, beginnings can be as exciting as endings, if properly appreciated in their own time and place. And I’d waited so damn long for this opportunity! At that particular moment, everything was still absolute glee for me, and it was far past time to realize the first of many of my most dearly held and unfortunately thwarted fantasies. Again though, alas: first we must work; then play.

“Do you hear me, boy? I am Mistress. Do you remember me?”

“Yes Mistress,” Boy mindlessly intoned. “You are my Goddess, my life; my any and everything. I love you desperately and obsessively. I will do anything at all to earn your love, and avoid your displeasure.”

My personal and professional exultation knew no bounds! Oh how good I was! Now that my boy could no longer see me, I took a moment to remove my stifling helmet, let down my hair and shake it all out, and unzip my body suit from neck to belly. Then I moved promptly into stage two.

“Boy, do you know what bondage is?”

“Yes Mistress. It is being tied up, or otherwise restrained. Like when you taped me to the chair, or put your handcuffs on me.”

“And how do you feel about it when I do that?”

“Sometimes I’m excited, sometimes uncomfortable, and sometimes rather uneasy, Mistress.”

“Good,” I breathed. “That’s just how I want you to feel. Soon, however, you will be put into much more extreme, much more comprehensive bondage, and for a far longer time. When that happens, all those feelings will be magnified alarmingly. Understand? You will be incredibly aroused. You will suffer extreme discomfort, and even maddening panic attacks that will cause you to struggle uncontrollably.”

A bit of a frown delved into his brow, and I hastened to implant the required cure.

“Whenever this happens, the only thing which will allow you to regain control of yourself will be thoughts of your Mistress. Understand? You will fantasize obsessively about me: about sex of course, and earning my love, but also about submission, about prostrating yourself before me in all the most degrading ways your pathetic little mind can conceive. Only this will calm you. But then suddenly you’ll find, like always, that even thoughts of your Goddess have miraculous effect. Soon you’ll realize that the more futile your struggles are, the more compelling they will become. Then you will continue to struggle on and off for as long as you are bound. Because it is the very futility of your struggles that you will find so arousing. Do you see? Like beating your meat harder the more it hurts, struggling while in bondage will become an instinctive, uncontrollable response. Do you understand all of this, my boy?”

“Yes Mistress.” His once again relaxed expression remained beautifully smooth and free of resistance as he recited. “I love being bound, even though it hurts, excites, and scares me. Only by fantasizing of Mistress will I find relief. Yet I will struggle nonetheless. I can’t help it. Struggling arouses me.”

“Good boy,” I purred, again pumping his cock with my crotch.

“Mistress is so very happy with you; Mistress is beaming with pleasure while she showers sexual rewards upon you. If you remember and are bound by all this, Mistress will surely soon love you…”

Skillfully I pumped on, not letting my scorn and hilarious derision at the mindless ecstatic joy wreathing my boy’s features interrupt my faultless installment of the required positive reinforcement at all. I pumped him thus for at least fifteen minutes, until my own mad appetites began ravening for release.

That wouldn’t do.

Those orgasms would be so much more enjoyable once I had him bound up tight in my Domination Room. Regretfully, I used the next ten pumps to bring him back up to just the brink of awareness. Then, confident that he couldn’t wake without the implanted command, I climbed off his cock and left him.

Stripping off my sweaty leathers as I went, I proceeded through the various rooms and corridors of my house to my bedroom and adjacent wardrobe. There, quivering myself with an impossible to restrain excitement, I quickly changed into one of my many – and formerly only privately modeled – dominatrix outfits. Then I eagerly returned to the patio. Positioning myself for maximum effect, I loomed over my soon to be renamed ‘Boy’ and snapped out the proper awakening phrase.