Teacher Is Mistaken Ch. 16

(Please note, the previous chapter needs to be read to make sense of this one.)

Conclusion

Roger was driving to a family friends home, in his father's car. Hollie sat quietly next to him. She had a lot to think about. Yesterday morning she had been preparing to escape Roger, and nearly succeeded. Unexpectedly she found him at home, where they had played at being master and slave. It had become more than a game over the weeks, until she was deeply immersed in the role.

It had affected her thinking so much, as soon as she saw him, an overwhelming compulsion had her prostrate at his feet. She just couldn't help submitting to him, as his pathetic slave girl.

Hollie was deep in thought, over the latest shock he had landed her with.

She had been a professional teacher, building a career and a life, yet this young man had stolen everything away. Without asking he had submitted her resignation, terminated the lease on the apartment, and put her belongings in storage. More than that, he had moulded her self-image, making her dependent upon him. This young boy now owned her as a slave. She was his sex pet, to be toyed with, and humiliated in his sordid games.

Knowing how thoroughly ensnared in his games she had become, was frightening. His latest announcement put her mind in a whirl of anguish. He had decided to marry her! At first she thought it to be just a passing whim. He didn't ask her, it was an order; she was to marry him!

Nathanial, the man they were visiting, had married a slave, and that is where Roger got the idea. Rather than a romantic gesture, it showed how determined he was to keep her enslaved. A part of her, the weak person that needed to be humiliated, wanted it. At a wedding she could declare to the world she belonged to him. It was very worrying, realising she was being coerced into submitting so completely.

"Come in," Nathanial gruffly spoke. Settled into the leather chair behind his desk, he scowled at Roger and Hollie. She was squatting at Roger's feet, as a slave should. He dismissed her as being too lowly for consideration, and focused his attention on Roger, waiting for an explanation.

Roger had phoned Nathanial to give an outline of what happened. He wasn't looking forward to the encounter, but it had to be faced. His slave had been abused while staying in this man's home, and she had exacted a terrible vengeance upon his wife and daughter. On top of that, they didn't know where the two women had been sent. There was nothing he could do, except recount everything Hollie had told him.

"Well!" Nathanial stolidly commented. He pursed his lips, and made a spire of his fingertips. As a diplomat he was used to hiding his emotions, and examining situations dispassionately, though this rocked him to the core.

"I know the two best pony-girl trainers, so it won't take long to establish where my wife and daughter are. After what you have recounted, it seems I can hardly admonish you for having an unruly slave. I seem to have overestimated my daughters ability as a mistress. I shall put that down to an indulgent fathers mistake," Nathanial sighed.

"It's almost a just retribution, almost. Angela will learn some discipline, which has obviously been lacking. I still find it shocking to find my wife and daughter have been sent for pony-girl training. You know how sever such training is? Not much harm could come to them in just a couple of days, though I'm sure they are suffering," he mused.

He was angry at his wife, which was who he meant by, 'a just retribution', rather than his daughter. Angela wasn't to blame for letting two of her young friends take her mother. Rachael was experienced enough to handle the situation, and avoid what happened. It would have been terribly humiliating for her to be fucked by two young boys, in front of her daughter. All the more so, that she knew their mothers so well.

Nathanial guessed she would have enjoyed every minute of her humiliation, and could imagine how excited she had become. He had been too lax at home, while concentrating on his political work. It would do them both good to receive a few days hard discipline.

Roger was glad Nathanial was taking it so well. His father would have hit the roof, then him. As a diplomat the man was used to hiding his feelings. Did that mean he was seething inside, ready to wreak havoc with Hollie and him?

"There is a problem. These training establishments are expensive. To ask for them back now, would mean incurring a cancellation fee, which I don't have. I certainly don't have the full training cost for two pony-girls," he scowled at Roger.

Was this a ploy to get him to admit what had happened to his father? Roger hated that idea more than being here, before this powerful man. He knew the house well, having visited parties and official functions with his parents. It was decorated in the height of fashion, and the man lived well. Perhaps that was it, he lived too well.

"You can imagine the difficult position this puts me in. The sale of one fully trained pony-girl would more than pay for the training of both. How could I possibly let my daughter be sold in a specialist auction. It doesn't bare thinking about. My wife, as you now know is a slave, and could be legitimately sold in an auction. We have been married for a long time, so that too would be unbearable," he stated.

Roger could see the facade cracking. Nathanial was talking about his family, trying to remain professional, though feelings were too overpowering to hide. Roger was sensible enough to keep quiet, letting him talk it through, wondering what he had in mind.

"When fully trained a pony-girl is absolutely obedient to her master. My wife in the hands of a rival political faction, or a foreign diplomat, could be used against me. My ability to negotiate would be compromised," he said.

The voice wavered and he wrung his hands, revealing the simple logic covered deep emotions. Roger felt sorry for him, deepening his guilt, despite not being a part of the plot.

He imagined the man being entertained by a rich foreigner, where his wife and daughter were trotted out, as part of the entertainment. As obedient pony-girls they would submit to their owners whims, ready to perform the direst perversions. Their owner might offer them to another guest, to use and abuse, just to push Nathanial into line with what he wanted.

"My father could help," Roger blurted out.

Nathanial looked at him, as though surprised at seeing him there. He straightened himself up, pulling himself together.

Eventually Nathanial agreed. Roger's father was in Europe, in control of the London office of an American bank. He was also an old family friend. Roger promised to soften him up, by admitting it was his slave who got them into this mess. He left Roger in his study, to talk privately with his father.

***

Nathanial took Hollie to the kitchen, and introduced her to Rachael. "This is my temporary kitchen slave. Look after slave Cindy, slave Fanny," he ordered.

"Yes, Master," Rachael respectfully responded, with a curtsy.

She wore an apron and nothing else, besides a slave collar. It was bad enough being buggered by a colleague of her husband, now this young slut was a witness to her demeaning position. It had always been a discreet and carefully arranged game, with strict rules. Having others involved was breaking the most important of them, yet there was nothing she could do about it.

For the last six months she had resisted the sordid urge for humiliation. The dreadful need had built up, until she couldn't resist it. So she had arranged for two weeks of game play, with an approved stranger, while her husband was away. instead she had ended up here with someone she knew, which was a dreadful turn of events. It was certainly humiliating, far beyond anything envisioned.

Recognising the derisory look at the way she was dressed, Hollie retaliated, by pointing out the obvious. "At least I'm wearing clothes," Hollie simply stated.

Rachael looked down at herself, having forgotten her nakedness. "Point taken," she smiled, in resignation. She was wondering who this young girl was.

"You're not a permanent slave then," Hollie replied to the woman's look of curiosity. It was a stupid thing to say, that just emerged from her lips.

"What do you mean?" Rachael queried.

"Your collar, it can be removed," Cindy said, with a shrug, as though it was of little importance.

Rachael looked her over again, finally examining the slave collar. "I see what you mean. It's locked, permanently?" Rachael asked, with a crook of an eyebrow.

"It could be unlocked, but there's no key. No chance of getting one either," Hollie sighed.

"How do you explain it away? I mean, when you go home, and at college," she asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

"I used to work but not anymore. I live with my master, as a permanent slave" Hollie explained.

"Oh! You're fully committed then. I only play at it," Rachael said, with a nervous chuckle. "What did you do before becoming a slave?" she asked.

Hollie hesitated admitting anything of a previous life. "I was a teacher," Hollie weakly smiled back. It seemed such a long time ago. It felt as though she'd always been subject to master, and the idea of having a previous life seemed like just a slave's dream.

Rachael reappraised the young woman. She was dressed like a young airhead slut, in a ridiculously short skirt, and what she imagined was called a boob tube. She spoke well, not sounding like a stupid girl at all.

Rachael couldn't resist questioning her. The young woman relaxed as they chatted, especially when they laughed over each other's exploits. She also found out why the young woman knew where everything was in the kitchen.

"Both of them! His wife and daughter being trained as pony-girls. Oh, hell! I wish I'd been there when Nathanial found out!" she laughed. "My god, the man is a cold fish," she mused. "He buggers me without a thank you. Oh shit! I shouldn't have said that," Rachael exclaimed, with a troubled look.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything. It's been a relief for me to share things. Does it hurt?" Hollie couldn't help asking. "I've been prepared for it, but not done anything," she added, on seeing the hurt look on the woman's face.

"It's not that. It's just that, well, he knows who I am. I attend official functions with my husband, and Nathanial's a colleague. Every time we meet, I'll have to make small talk at parties, knowing how he's used me. It will be dreadfully uncomfortable," she suddenly burst out laughing.

"Not as uncomfortable as being buggered," she gasped, between guffaws.

"It's not something I would recommend, but it works, if you get excited from humiliation," Rachael reassured Hollie.

From the secrets they shared it was obvious the young woman thrived on humiliation. It was the reason Cindy submitted to becoming a slave, and why Rachael played at it.

"So what's troubling you?" Rachael asked, while they made another coffee.

"The whole slavery thing really. No. It's. He, my master, wants to marry me," Hollie revealed.

"Isn't that a good thing? Oh! He isn't giving you a choice? Do you think it will work? How old is he? Are you on the pill?" Rachael fired questions at her.

"I see. At eighteen he's a bit young, just an irresponsible youth. You can't trust him to make the right decisions, or look after you properly. From what you told me, he puts you in dangerous situations.," Rachael mused.

"What if he decides to get you pregnant? I can see why you're worried. You're a mature, professional woman. You can't let a boy take over your life," she firmly stated.

"I already have," Hollie regretfully replied.

On the drive home Hollie pondered over Rachael's advice, yet it seemed impossible to escape him. He was a young man, not a boy, even if he had been her student. He had certainly mastered her, by using her weaknesses, to overcome a better judgement.

Rachael had said it was never too late. She had to try and escape his influence. After all, she could always play a game with someone for a weekend, if the need overtook her. She furtively pressed the list of contacts Rachael had given her, and hidden in the skimpy top.

***

Angela looked at her mother and shuddered, knowing she too was dressed so lewdly. As pony-girls in training they didn't have the luxury of a mirror, when getting dressed. There was no choice of what to wear either as the stable boys took instructions from the master trainer. So there they were in the stable, ready for another session in the arena.

From head to toe she was constricted in black leather, so tight, if felt as though it had been painted on. It was difficult to move in the stiff new leather. They said she would learn to prance and trot, as an obedient pony-girl must, and they meant it.

The one piece suit covered her entire body, except for the essential, private parts. Her breasts were on show, and there was a split between her legs. As it took so long to get out of the dreadful getup, she had to perch over a drain to pee and defecate. The whole exhibition, before the stable boys, was infuriatingly demeaning.

They weren't boys either, they were men with whips. If she didn't jump to a command, they would freely use the stinging whips to great effect. As both women had found out, from the moment they arrived.

Pleading attempts to explain there had been a mistake weren't tolerated. Now they wore metal bits in their mouths, it was difficult to say anything at all. They were allowed to whiny, with different sounds for a given code. When needing to pee, she had to make a long braying noise. When thirsty a short horsey snort was made.

Angela tried to move her hand to wipe the saliva from her mouth. A stab of pain, from cramp, was a reminder that both arms were strapped securely behind her back. It was infuriating not being able to even clean her own mouth. She could feel the spit building up, ready to slobber over her chin.

It wasn't a consolation that the pain was receding, as they had promised. They had told her she wouldn't need to use them again, until they were eventually permanently fixed in position. It was terrifying to think she would lose the use of her arms, because they were strapped up all the time.

Yesterday, their first day, she had shaken her head, spraying the guy with spittle. He had calmly bent her over, and secured her to a rail in the paddock. He whipped her ass, which she bitterly felt through the leather. As he said, she wouldn't try that again.

The suit was designed with stiff inserts, to pull her cheeks apart, showing off her asshole and lips. She knew this from following her mother out to the arena. The thin leather was stretched over the globes of her bottom, making it vulnerable to the trainers whip.

When she refused to co-operate the lash flashed between her legs, stinging her soft flesh, sensitising it to the slightest touch. After that shock she behaved herself, trying her hardest to perform as demanded. Her mother learnt from Angela's mistakes, readily submitting to the indignity of pony-girl training, to win praises for her achievements.

Secured to a rail in the stable by a tether, she waited to be led out to the practice ground. A tall woman trotted past with knees strutting high, in a perfect prance, obviously well on the way through the training regime. She wore an identical outfit, only with embellishments. Angela couldn't bear to look at her. It was a dreadful thought, that they too could be in such a pitiful state, if they weren't out of here soon.

Why in hell hadn't her father sent for them? She consoled herself with the thought that he wasn't due home until today. She pushed out of her mind that he might not know where they had been sent. It was too unbearable to contemplate being here for one more day.

She looked at the guy fiddling with her mother, wondering what new torture they had dreamed up for them. The guy stood back to check on his handiwork. Angela cringed at the latest indignity. She wanted to shout at the bastard, but had learnt well enough to keep quiet. She snorted like a pony instead, careful not to spray spit over him.

He stood in front of her, and smiled. The self assuredness of these fiends was so very infuriating. The calmness of their approach told her they were confident the two of them would submit. It was either obey, or be punished, so there was little choice.

He gripped a nipple, and pushed a metal loop over it. He tightened it, making the nipple swell, so it wouldn't fall off. He attached a small bell to the loop. He flicked it to ring it, and chuckled. Angela stamped a foot, the only emotional outburst allowed. When the other bell was attached, the first nipple was already grossly engorged, hurting just a little.

"It will hurt more when taken off, so be prepared," he advised.

Angela stamped a foot again. Their damned matter of fact attitude was maddening. Everything they did and said, was shown to be right, and effective. It was wearing her resistance down.

"It will be a long practice session today, so you'll need a good breakfast," the guy informed her.

From experience she knew this was not a sign of kindness. He led her mother to a stall. Angela watched him tether her by the reigns, dangling from the bit in her mouth. Unable to see into the stall she worried what humiliation had been designed for them. They always applied the torture to her mother first, as a part of the plan, designed to intimidate her.

In the next stall she found a penis shaped dildo protruding from the wall. With her reins secured to a hook, she was unable to pull away. It was an inch from her mouth. The guy loosened the bit, letting it dangle around her neck. He held the whip up to her face, as a warning not to speak.

"You will have to take the phallus fully into your mouth, to feed. Once you press your lips to the ring, food will spray into your mouth," he explained.

She was amazed when he left her to it. Surely there was some trick to this. She kissed the end of it and pulled back, leaving her saliva on it. That was all she was prepared to do. She watched the end of it change colour, where she had touched it. Damn them! They would know how far she had drawn it into her mouth.

In resignation she pushed forward, sucking as much of it into her mouth as possible. The hunger pains in her tummy growled at her, forcing her onto the damn thing. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, and then it was just some oat meal.

She growled back at her tummy and the damn dildo. There was no escaping the damn thing, pointing directly at her parted lips. She took a deep breath and plunged forward, sucking it in. She choked when it touched the back of her throat. Examining it she could see the colour change was nearly complete.

"Fuck!" she whispered. She was going to have to swallow the damn thing. A few tries had her choking and retching. She couldn't hear her mother having any difficulty at all. She obviously had experience with the real thing. She pushed forward slowly, inch by inch. With the damn thing in the back of her throat, she tried to relax, with deep drafts of air. Eventually she gained the courage to swallow it. A brief kiss of her lips on to the metal ring it was stuck through was all she could manage.

It was then she realised what he had meant. A spray of liquid was injected down her throat. The demands of her stomach couldn't be resisted. Again and again she pushed the dildo down her throat to receive a feed. Tears ran down her cheeks, from the knowledge she was teaching herself to deep throat a cock.

Every time it spurted thick mushy nutrient down her throat, she imagined a cock spurting its cum into her belly. Pulling back for air, she saw the so called food dribble out its eye, and it even looked like sperm.