Teaching Teacher

"No ma'am," Miss Simms said, but in truth she was shamed by the word. Because for all intents and purposes, she was a slave now. Enslaved by Heather.

God, was this how here ancestors felt? To have to say yes miss and no miss. To be told what to say and what to wear, even by some girl nearly ten years her junior? Dear Lord, she should be horrified, yet the thought caused a hot throbbing deep in her loins. What was wrong with her?

"Mother," Heather said. "She wants to do it to make up for the old stuff I'm giving her. "You are just making it awkward. Besides, Rena wants to go into food service when she graduates. It'll be good practice. Come on...just play along. It'll be fun."

"Okay Heather," Mrs. Morgan replied dubiously. Then to Serena: "Young lady, thank you in advance for dinner."

For awhile Miss Simms wondered what sort of dad Heather must have, because the girl's mother was gracious and kind. She wasn't the sort to blackmail a teacher and make her do such perverted things. Perhaps she could befriend the woman and use it as leverage to get free from the tentacles of her daughter.

However, her illusions about Mrs. Morgan were soon dashed, as the woman's true nature quickly became apparent as she served the two women dinner.

"We always serve from the left and pull from the right Rena," Mrs. Morgan said.

"I'm sorry ma'am," Miss Simms said, cursing herself, for she should have known that, before moving on to serve Heather.

"Young lady," Mrs. Morgan said. "You said you wanted to work in food service, didn't you?"

"Yes ma'am," the poor teacher said. But she never said such a thing. Heather had.

"Then do it properly," Mrs, Morgan said. "As I always say, if a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing well."

"Yes ma'am." Miss Simms bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze, and her ankle turned over on its side, putting her in a pose she hadn't been in since her mother used to scold her when she was young.

Then she moved to the left of Mrs. Morgan to pick up the plate.

"Young lady," Mrs. Morgan said. "You serve from the left. Where do you pull from?"

Mrs. Simms felt her cheeks grow hot. God this infuriating woman.

"The right Miss."

"That's correct."

And so the teacher walked all the way around the woman and pulled the plate from the her right, then served it from the left.

"Wonderful." Mrs. Morgan said.

Mrs. Simms felt angry and upset. Both at herself, Heather, and Heather's mom. How had she gotten into this mess? The woman had praised her, but it felt somehow demeaning to be praise for serving a dish correctly. Who the hell cared where a dish was served from other than long dead Emily Post. And by now the poor teacher was to serve Heather, and she moved to serve the plate, but then hesitated. Was she on the girl's right or left? The left. It was okay.

"Very good," Mrs. Morgan praised. "A few more times and you'll have the knack of it I'm sure."

"I need some more drink please." Heather smirked.

"Yes Miss." Miss Simms made sure to take Heather's cup from the right.

"Leave the cup." Mrs. Morgan said. "In the real world, what if you have another customer while you are refilling the cup? Poor Heather would be famished by the time you returned. So what should you do?"

"Get another cup ma'am."

Damn these people, Miss Simms thought as the fixed another cup of drink for Heather. At least Miss Simms's drink was easy enough to fill. The wine bottle remained on the table.

Damn them both. Serve from the left. Pull from the right. So what if she's thirsty for a few seconds? It'd do the little bitch good. It's probably why she turned out the way she did.

And so the dinner went. Replenishing cups. Fetching a fork from beneath the table that Heather 'accidentally' dropped. Getting felt up by Heather while she was bent down to fetch the fork. Pulling plates. Serving ice-cream. Pulling more plates. Going back for spoons. Going back for cookies. It was maddening. It was pissing her off. By God, she was a college graduate.

"Young lady," Mrs. Morgan said. "Dinner was excellent and so was the service. I know you have worked this out with my daughter, but I want to give you something as well."

Mrs. Morgan handed the entrapped teacher a ten dollar bill.

Miss Simms blushed. She felt dirty taking the money, but extended her trembling finger nonetheless.

"Thank you Miss."

"Mo-om" Heather said. "Come on..."

"She probably needs the money honey," Mrs. Morgan lectured her daughter. "You said she was on scholarship. If you can give your classmate clothes, the least I can do is this. Besides, my mind is made up."

And she probably doesn't like to be talked about like she can't hear what you are saying, Miss Simms thought to herself.

"Now you two go slumber party and I'll clean up," Mrs. Morgan said. To Mrs. Simms: "And you young lady. You take a plate of food with you to eat too."

"I'll get it mom," Heather said.

"That is sweet honey," Mrs. Morgan beamed.

But the proud mother didn't see the cold calculating look in her daughter's eye, but Miss Simms heard it in the girl's voice and a shiver went down her spine. Miss Simms followed her student back to her room. She was certain the girl was taking extra care to walk as seductively as possible. Little did the girl know, the effect was lost on her teacher.

At the door, the pretty senior turned around.

"How silly of me Rena," Heather said. "I've forgotten your drink. Be a pet and go fetch it for me."

'Fetch this pet. Fetch that.' Miss Simms thought as she meekly trotted back to the kitchen.' By the time this is over, I'm going to need a drink.'

But she knew she couldn't, for Mrs. Morgan was under the impression she was eighteen instead of twenty-six. She went to the kitchen to make a glass of tea, but once there Mrs. Morgan put her to work drying dishes, while she continued to wash and rinse. One last swallow and Mrs. Morgan's wine was gone.

"Be a dear and finish up," Mrs. Morgan said, leaving the poor teacher to finish up the dishes.

By the time she got back upstairs, she was certain that her dinner would be cold. On a positive note, she would have probably missed out on fifteen minutes of being locked alone in a room with a certain perverted high school senior. The girl couldn't very well get mad, Miss Simms had a good excuse.

However, when Miss Simms opened the door to Heather's room, it was she that was in fora shock.

Miss Simms stood on knees barely able to support her weight, mouth open and aghast. She almost dropped her drink at the sight in front of her.

"Close the door and lock it stupid." Heather said.

Miss Simms did so with trembling fingers. Part of her screamed run...run! But the other part, the more pragmatic, intervened.

"You dinner was getting cold," Heather said. "So I decided to keep it warm for you."

How kind of you, you little bitch, Miss Simms thought to herself. For the sight that had shocked her so, was that Heather was naked on her bed with her legs spread. She hadn't seen the girl naked before, which was startling; but the shocking thing..the horrifying thing, there was her dinner, emptied from the plate, and resting on Heather's naked crotch.

"I got bored, so I've been playing with my nipples till you arrived." Heather's hands roamed over her large smooth breasts, bunching them up, before letting them hang back down with a lurch. Her fingers then tweaked hard nipples, making the high school senior's hips pump in response.

"Dinner is served." Heather said, feeling clever.

"I won't do it." Miss Simms stated. No she wouldnt'. This was taking things entirely too far. The little bitch could send her little blackmail pictures out if she wanted. There might be repercussions, but then Miss Simms would be free. Free from this blackmailing little dyke.

"Oh mo-om," Heather said. "Guess what? My high school history teacher snuck into your house pretending to be a student, hoping to sleep with me tonight and make me do all sorts of perverted things. Oh no mom, please.. don't call the police..or your attorney. Please mom...I - I -care for her."

Miss Simms felt as if a knife had been plunged into her gut. Hearing the girl say it. She was trapped. Stuck. A pawn. A puppet.

"Come here pet," Heather said. "You won't have to eat it all...unless you are hungry. Are you hungry pet?"

"No Miss." Miss Simms said despondently as she shuffled closer to the bed. Dear God, she was going to have to do it.

"Are you sure?" Heather smiled. "There's plenty."

"Yes Miss." The small dark skinned teacher gently sat down on the bed, doing her best to avoid touching her student. She reached down to pick up a shrimp that seemed to be avoiding being in the more disgusting areas of Heather's sex.

"No paws pet," Heather ordered. "Use your mouth."

Oh how she hated this girl. This perverted little dyke. She wouldn't have done this for her boyfriend - even for her first boyfriend. She ate as carefully as she could. Using her lips to touch only food and not student. Her efforts would have been successful had it not been for Heather's hand closing along the back of her head. Fingers caressing her, running through her hair. The touch was tender, so very different from the cruelty she had known the girl to possess. And the touch was intimate. It was the sort of touch she had once given to an old boyfriend that went down on her.

Four bites of food. Four terrible bites later and her duties were complete, and the remainder of the food was returned to the plate.

"Come up here pet," Heather said, patting the bed next to her. "Let's watch some TV. How drunk was my mom before you came up?"

"Pretty drunk," Miss Simms said as she remembered how the woman had staggered from the kitchen.

"We'll give her a few more minutes then."

Miss Simms hoped that at last she would have a break. But Heather had other things on her mind than watching CSI. And it wasn't only what her mind was on, it was what her hands were on.

The poor teacher did her best to ignore her student's advances. The eager fingers touching her breasts, bringing her nipples up to a peak, the hot breath on her neck....oh God...in her ear. The naked body of her student pressed so tightly against her. The heavy breathing. The soft moans...growing louder with every caress. She had to get the girl to be quiet. Lest her mother come in and all hell to break out.

"Please Heath....I mean Miss Morgan...your mother might hear."

"Then take off your top baby."

"I can't..." Miss Simms whimpered. But when she said she couldn't...what she meant was the she wouldn't.

"Take it off..." Heather said with a bit more force and a bit louder as well. But with a laugh in her voice. "Show me those cute little titties....you dirty slut."

"Shhhh..." Miss Simms begged, pressing her fingers to her student's lips to hush the girl. But her student surprised her once again, taking her fingers in her mouth and sucking on them.

"Come on teach, show me those titties."

"Shhhhh." Miss Simms plead uselessly. God, the girl was going to get her arrested...Wouldn't she just please be quiet. Or at the very least, not call her teach. There was only one way to keep the girl silent. "If I...If I do it? Will you be quiet?"

"As a mouse," Heather smiled knowingly.

It wasn't just the top itself; Miss Simms had been in less in the company of another woman. It was the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. That her student was naked. That...that the damned girl was getting to her, despite the fact she wasn't into girl...at all.

"Okay." Miss Simms said, reaching for the bottom of her sweater.

"No," Heather said, stopping her teacher mid motion and patting her lap. "I want you up here...facing me."

Miss Simms had no choice in the matter. She had to give in to this perverted bitch, else she be exposed as some sort of lecher herself. But God...it was as if the girl found every weakness and exploited it. There was a tension in the air, the room...the bed....even Heather...everything seemed so much larger than life, and Serena felt so very very small as she straddled her student. She had figured this position to be sexual, but she never realized the extent until she sat facing her student. The girl was forward and her hands settled on her teacher's bottom, pulling her firmly onto her lap, till Miss Simms could feel the curly down of her student's pubes against her smooth mons.

"Now show me," Heather whispered. "And we can be quiet like this...or we can get as LOUD as you want. How loud do you want to get teach?"

Miss Simms once again began to pull her sweater over her head, and Heather stopped her yet again.

"Slowly..." Heather said. "We have all night."

Miss Simms moved more slowly. Her fingers trembled as she lifted her sweater and looked into her student's eager eyes. Staring into the piercing gaze, Miss Simms knew she was lost that night. The girl was going to have her...sexually, and there was nothing she could do about it, but go along for the ride. And that's what she'd have to do; just let the bitch have her way with her.

Miss Simms trembled at her student's touch as knowing hands moved up and down her back. Kneading her firm backside. Caressing her nipples. Giving them a sharp tweak. Making her gasp with surprise.

"Quiet as mice," Heather chided. "Remember Rena?"

"Yes..." Miss Simms whispered..her voice broken due to the feelings in her loins.

"I can feel that hot little nigger pussy Rena," Heather teased. "It's all wet and squishy. Rub it against mine for me."

"Please...." Miss Simms whimpered. She no longer knew if she meant please no, or please yes, as she worked her hips, drawing her smooth sex over her student's hungry clam. It felt good. It felt really good. How was this happening? Her body's reactions were confusing. What was this tingling in her loins? Was it because this was a girl? Her student? Or was it the same reaction if she were touched by anyone...anything? How was she going to get out of this? Would it be best if she just closed her eyes and imagined someone else?

"Look how small your breasts are compared to mine," Heather said. "Look at 'em I said. God they look so small."

And Miss Simms couldn't help but look. Always so self conscious over this subject, and now having her breasts right there. Right next to another girl . A high school student eight years her junior. It made her feel...her cheeks grew hot as she felt...felt like she were back in high school herself. A butt of the jokes from girls like this. An outsider who was too studious to hang out with the cool black girls and too black to hang out with the white girls. She had one friend...a Vietnamese girl who was afraid to take her home because her parents wouldn't approve.

"Keep those hips moving," Heather ordered the small black woman riding atop her lap. "And tell me ....would you say that your titties are a little smaller than mine...or a lot smaller than mine?"

Miss Simms continued riding her student's crotch. She could hear the tell tell squish of their two sexes grinding against one another. She kept silent, hoping the girl would cease asking such embarrassingly personal questions.

"Still not sure?" Heather teased. "Then here, hold mine up for me. Go on. Give them a nice feel."

Miss Simms couldn't stop herself. Couldn't stop her hands from doing as the girl bid. The ivory skin so pale against her own dark palms. The breasts felt so soft...silky. Yet possessed a heaviness she wouldn't have guessed.

"That's a girl," Heather urged. "Give them a lift and let them go."

Whether it was curiosity or some sick hidden perversion, Miss Simms couldn't help it as she let go of the girls pendulous breasts. Watch them go down with a bounce and then settle back into place. Looking at them now, it was apparent that one was a bit larger than the other, hanging lower and a little more to the side. This was...this was why girls like this were more popular. Why her boyfriends...inevitably broke up with her.

"Now yours," Heather said.

Miss Simms felt her face grow hot.

"I...can't." she admitted.

"Do it anyway." Heather ordered.

"Please...." Miss Simms begged, as her own small hands reached up to cradle her tiny orbs. They ....they covered them. What the girl asked was impossible. But the teacher made a valiant effort. She hiked up those high proud breasts and jerked her hands away and gave them the merest of jiggles.

"So would you say?" Heather purred. "That they are a little bit smaller...or are they a LOT smaller."

She almost said a little. But then she caught herself. The tingling in her loins had grown to a raging inferno. She was close. She was so very close. She was riding this girl...this white perverted little bitch...and she was enjoying it. Her pussy so wet and silky, gliding against another girl.

Miss Simms caught her lower lip between her teeth. She should stop. She was being coerced, but not being made to do this. She was...she was...

"A lot smaller." Miss Simms admitted. But why? Why had she said it? Why was she even more turned on than ever after admitting such a humiliating detail. Why were her hips moving, rubbing her hungry loins against her student's.

"They are aren't they?" Heather teased, and seeing how her teacher reacted...seeing how the woman had lost herself in her passions, she pressed on. "Go on. You can touch mine again. Go on little girl. Touch them. Touch a real woman's breasts."

Seeing the hunger...the almost reverence in her teacher's eyes, Heather knew she had found a little crack. A dark place in the woman's id. A place to exploit.

"Kiss them. Suck them. Worship them. See how big they are? Don't you adore them?"

And Miss Simms did. She couldn't help herself. She wasn't gay. She wasn't. Yet why...why was she doing this? Why did it feel so good?

"Why do I waste my time with you?" Heather asked. "When I could have my pick of girls?"

I wish you would. Miss Simms thought. But then the thought began to fester. Wasn't she good enough? She had done everything the girl had asked. Every embarrassing thing. She couldn't help the size of her bosoms. She couldn't help...

Oh God, if she couldn't keep this girl...how could she keep anyone else? She couldn't. She felt her body surrender. Her orgasm riding. Heather would use her up just like everyone else. Then she would leave.

"But you have something those other girls can't compete with don't you Rena?" Heather asked.

However, Miss Simms had no idea what she had those other girls didn't. If she did she wanted to know what it was.

They were younger. They were prettier. They were more shapely. Oh dear Lord, a digit was worming its way into her nether region. No one had ever done that to her.

"Do you know what that is Rena?" Heather asked.

"No Miss Morgan," the young teacher replied. And this time the title rolled off her tongue. It felt natural. It felt right.

"Because you are my little pet nigger, arent' you?" Heather said, her voice thick with lust.

Miss Simms shook her head violently, but she didn't utter a word, lest her voice betray her. Sweat was running in a cascade down her back. And her sex, her sex was a veritable river.

"Don't be shy," Heather said. "I want to hear you say it."

The poor teacher shook her head again. She couldn't say such a thing, she couldn't. That word...it had so much baggage. It made her cringe even to hear people of her own race to say it. My niggah. Didn't they know what they were saying? My slave. That's what it amounted to. A person who will do whatever asked, no matter if it was wrong or right. No matter how embarrassing. No matter how humiliating.

Didn't the girl know what she was asking? Didn't the girl know that Miss Simms would be turning her back on all the trials her forebears had to bear? She couldn't. She must never.