After reading Jadis Liddell’s inspiring post about cock-sucking skills, my mind started working in a kinky direction (no change there then) and I envisioned cock-sucking lessons with a stern Mistress. Obviously, at that point I had to kick off my knickers and grab a big flexible silicone dildo to properly explore the scenario in my mind. After two – one leisurely and one frenzied – orgasms, I’d honed the scene to my liking. This is the result.
I’m a terrible show-off and teacher’s pet. I just have to be top of the class, otherwise I feel….cheated. Sitting here with my fellow-students at these desks, I can feel that familiar driving need to excel, setting my jaw and squaring my shoulders. We are not here to learn History or Maths or Physics. We are here to hone our oral skills. And I’m not talking about a debating club.
We sit still and in silence, waiting for our teacher. The seven of us are no longer strangers; we have swapped names and stories over introductory cups of tea. No-one here knows how competitive I am, how much I need recognition and reward. I hope I don’t embarrass myself.
The door is briskly pushed open and she enters; all black PVC and killer heels. Long dark hair swinging at her back and crimson lips quirked in an anticipatory smile. She reaches the front desk. The smile disappears.
“You are here” she begins in clear, ringing tones “because you want to learn the skills of a successful courtesan. I am your teacher and you will address me as ‘Mistress’. I do not tolerate disobedience, disrespect or inattention. Any such behaviours will be punished. If you cannot comply with my rules, now is your chance to leave.” She points to the door. We sit, watchful and silent. Am I the only one who feels a pricking of desire in response to this show of authority? Can she see submissive awe in my – or others’ – gaze? If so; she gives no sign.
“Good. Let’s begin.” She points with the riding crop she’s carrying at Sasha, the girl to my immediate left. “You. Go to the cupboard and distribute the equipment”
Sasha rises and I try to suppress a pang of jealousy. Why didn’t Mistress pick me?
The equipment turns out to be an assortment of silicone dildos. One in particular catches my eye – it’s large, at least nine inches long, ribbed and very chunky. What better way to impress than to take on the largest, most challenging option? But I’m not entirely confident I can manage it. Fear of failure wars briefly with arrogance until I receive my dildo. Not the biggest one. I’m half-disappointed, half-relieved. Part of me secretly hopes whichever girl who gets that large mock-cock, splutters and gags on it, surrenders and asks for a more manageable option. I wouldn’t. I’d rather choke than concede the red rosette.
It goes to Becks. She looks appalled for a moment, and quickly stifles a nervous titter. Our Mistress smiles kindly at her. “Don’t worry” she says “we’ll take it slowly”.
My allocation is a respectable seven inches or so, modelled to look and feel as realistic as possible, right down to the slightly comical fake balls at the bottom of the shaft. I can work with this.
Mistress talks us through the anatomy of the penis, points out particularly sensitive zones, and watches as we all practice handling and stroking our dildos. She seems satisfied, but has taken no particular notice of me so far.
We move on to tongue work. Now is my chance, I’ve been told many times that I’m good at this. I lap the dildo from base to head, using long, firm, slow strokes then flickering gently over the glans. I close my eyes and play it for real, imagining the grunts of satisfaction, the groans of abandonment from my disembodied lover. Curling my tongue sideways around the head and rubbing slow circles against the stiff synthetic frenulum, I am lost in the moment. I want to feel its hardness fill my mouth and so I purse my lips over the tip then plunge my head down as far as I can, taking it deep into the back of my throat then drawing back slowly, teasing with my tongue as I go.
I realise there is silence. Open my eyes. Everyone is staring at me.
Mistress has one elegant eyebrow raised. “What do we have here?” she drawls, swaying over to my desk “A show-off? Or a desperate little slut?”
My cheeks flame. I am both, of course but I don’t know which answer is the right one. She holds up her hand halfway through my stuttering apology.
“You’re a little ahead of yourself there” she says, and I try not to smirk at the pun.
I can’t work out whether I’m in for trouble or a treat. I can feel the eyes of the other girls on me; are they hoping to see me punished? I would be, in their position. Perhaps they are nicer people than I.
“Stand up” orders Mistress. “Go to the front of the room.”
I obey, wondering whether my knees are visibly trembling – or my hardened nipples can be seen under my jersey top.
“Get on your knees” she says, and although I still don’t know whether this is praise or punishment, I follow instructions promptly.
“Gather round” says Mistress to the others, and comes to the front desk to stand over me.
“Since I evidently have such an advanced class here, let’s move on to the next part of the lesson” she announces and I wince at the sarcasm in her voice. No gold stars here then.
She takes something from the desk drawer and buckles it around her hips. It’s a harness. With an enormous strap-on dildo attached. Bigger and twice as intimidating as the one Becks has been wrapping her lips around for the last fifteen minutes.
Mistress smiles down at me cruelly. “Let’s see your skills in action again, shall we?” She nudges my lips with the tip of the monster. “Take it from the top”
I lick and suck at the sides of the shaft, top to bottom, over the tip, around the base. Looking up, I catch her eyes, darkened and intent on my bobbing head. “Don’t stop” she husks. “Open your mouth”.
She thrusts the huge dildo into my mouth and slides her hands into my hair, holding on firmly to stop me pulling away. I’m being fucked by this glorious, dominant woman as aggressively as any man has ever taken me – no, more so.
There is quiet in the room, only our hard breathing and the wet sounds of my mouth being used. From the corner of my eye, I see the others leaning forward, fascinated. Are they shocked? Aroused? Enjoying their witness of the lesson I am being taught?
My jaw begins to ache, but something stubborn and proud in me won’t ask for mercy. Mistress can see this in the furrowing of my brow and the tilting of my neck as I try to find a comfortable position to continue.
“As deep as you can now” she says, and I swallow, feeling the now-warm silicone slip to the back of my throat. Still I push my head forward, clenching my stomach against the gag reflex, until my face is pressed against the straps of the harness and her PVC dress.
“That’s enough” she says, withdrawing. “On your feet”.
She doesn’t sound impressed, only firm. I scramble gracelessly to a standing position and wait, wet-lipped and breathing heavily.
“You do that very well”. Her tone is soft but her eyes are piercing. “However, I don’t like showing off, and you my dear, are a little too smug about your prowess. So here is your punishment.”
“Go over to the wall and stand facing it with your hands behind your head until I release you”. I’m stung by her criticism, all the more so because I know it is deserved. The only thing that keeps me from dissolving into flaming resentment is the warmth of submissive desire that lingers alongside my overworked jaw muscles and sore knees.
I stand there, silent and still as she shows the rest of the class deep-throating techniques. There is much spluttering and the occasional retch. I smirk quietly to myself, no longer resenting the words of praise she doles out so sparingly to the others.
The class is dismissed. I am left alone with her, still in my punishment pose. My arms are numb.
She moves close behind me, reaches up to my shoulders and turns me around. Indicates with a tilt of the head that I can put my arms down. Draws the riding crop gently across my cheek.
“So, my dear. You like to show off do you?”.
Humbled, I nod.
“And I sense you like to be reined in as well”. There is amusement in her tone. I nod again.
“Well now. Perhaps someone should take you firmly in hand. Teach you a little humility. Would you like that?”
“Yes Mistress”, I whisper “I would like that very much”
She runs her hands lightly over me, assessing, inspecting.
“H’mm. I think I would like that too.” She hands me a slip of paper. “Here is my number. Here are my terms. If you are interested in discussing a more…..intimate learning programme, then call me tomorrow.”
My eyes are shining, my body quivering. Private tuition! Teacher’s pet! She pinches my lower lip softly. “Until tomorrow then”.
She leaves in that confident sashaying walk. I gaze after her, incredulous and elated.
The paper says her name is Mistress Ella. I am going to call her. I want – so much – to be her best pupil ever.