College Bound – hot for teacher (M/F) consensual

[CleveKnots1969]

“College Bound – hot for teacher”

My first posted story since 2004 (see archives) and one of many Ill be posting here over the next few weeks

****************Preface:*******************

Having reached an age where it feels not only natural but necessary to set down the experiences of my youth, I’ve decided to test my writing skills once more and gather a handful of fond memories into a series of tales. Before I begin, it seems only fair to offer the reader a glimpse of what awaits within.

These pages hold moments that shaped me—some small, some significant, all softened by the passage of time. They are not meant as history or instruction, but simply as stories. In this collection, those stories lean toward adult themes and explore elements of consensual bondage as I experienced them in my younger years. While some details have been embellished for color or pacing, the core events, the personalities involved, and—most importantly—the mutual willingness of every participant remain true to life. Names and locations have been changed to protect privacy.

Each tale centers on a consensual power exchange scenario. There was never any real force, coercion, or deception involved; any sense of danger existed only within the boundaries of role play, something I trust will be evident as the stories unfold. The dynamics portrayed generally reflect a male dominant, female submissive framework, occasionally involving more than one partner, and are written from a heterosexual perspective.

My storytelling tends to be expansive—some might say long winded—but for me, the build up is as essential as the resolution. These narratives are intended for mature adults only. If you are under eighteen, please set this aside and go enjoy the world beyond your screen. If you are between eighteen and twenty five, you may find more value in creating your own stories than in reading mine.
With that, we begin.

My stories generally fall into one of three timelines: my college years, my young adulthood after college, and my early maturity, for lack of a better description. Interestingly enough, it’s that later slice of life that produced some of the most memorable moments.

This story is from my college years. It is actually three different instances rolled into one for the sake of clarity and time. This is a true tale in its basic content; it just took a bit longer to play out than I have presented in this short telling. I hope you enjoy.

*******************
College Bound

Some twenty years ago, I was a student at a small Northeast college, spending my parents’ hard earned money on a general education, going to classes in between parties and bar crawls. I was an average student at best, and had an average number of friends, a modest number of girlfriends, and fortunately, met several females who were willing to let me bind and gag them during our sexual romps.

One of my more memorable experiences was with my junior-year public speaking teacher, Ms. Cane, whom I had for three one-hour blocks during the week, and who did her best to develop the creative writing skills of the twenty students in her class.

Ms. Cane’s class was one that I rarely missed, nor did any of my college buddies. Not that we were anxious to get a good grade or to improve our chances of being hired by a sales firm, but because Ms. Cane was one of those teachers who was good-looking, knew it, and liked to flirt mercilessly with her male students.

Standing about 5'8" tall with dark hair that held just a tint of red, she was in good shape, with a fantastic set of legs, a tight waist, and a large set of breasts that were usually accented by rather tight and low-cut blouses that were a favorite of the male class members. Her real name was Amy Cane, but most of the students referred to her away from class as “Candy Cane.”

At the time, Ms. Cane was in her early thirties, had a bubbly personality, and tried to engage her students at a peer-to-peer level rather than a strict teacher–student relationship. She had previously been a drama coach for a high school and a local playhouse, but as she put it, “Local acting doesn’t pay the bills.”

This semester, Ms. Cane’s assignment was for each of us to develop a story. Every two weeks, we had to turn in several chapters of the story as it progressed. Once the chapters were turned in, they were graded, and she offered suggestions as to how to improve for the next several chapters. She had been clear that each set turned in was to be about one-eighth of our overall grade for the class, and the last chapter, combined with the final product, would be the last two eighths. So each time we turned in our chapters, it could potentially reflect an entire letter grade for the class. No tests, no makeups, no extra credit. Write or die.

I had excelled in the first six chapters, in my humble opinion, and the grades had reflected it. I was creating a classic hero private-eye vs. villain drama, complete with a client who became our hero’s love interest, set in late ’80s Brooklyn and a noir tone to all of the descriptions throughout.

I had nailed the first two-thirds of this story, with suspense, some action, a steady build to the drama, and had excelled at really providing fluid and colorful descriptions of the scenes and characters. I had been very proud of my work. The work to date, that is. Today, Monday, I turned in a subpar chapter, and I knew it.

I had let my love of bondage seep into the work this weekend and realized it just before turning it in. Instead of letting the card play, I chickened out, cut out a large section of the chapter, and just quickly filled it in with some bland descriptions of the events. I did have the time to change it and decided that a B grade would have to suffice for the year rather than tip my hand when it came to that particular passion.

It was a shame, really, since I think the writing had been some of my best work.,. Yes, maybe I got a little sexually descriptive, and the depiction of the bound and gagged heroine had been, well, very detailed, but it had been a masterpiece. The other factor was that Ms. Cane was the muse for the heroine in the story. Yeah, the names were different, the character wore librarian glasses while Ms. Cane did not, and they had different career paths, but for me, it was obvious, and I guessed it would not take much for anyone reading it to eventually make the same conclusion. So, a bound and gagged female who is sexually suggestive of the professor and was clearly my fantasy version would not be acceptable in a college class.

That Friday, Ms. Cane handed back the projects to each student, with the newest chapters added with the grade. All that is, except for me. She passed my table and handed back the projects to the students to the right and left of me, looked at me with a disappointed look, but continued on. I spent the next thirty minutes of the class in a haze—did I not turn in my work, was she so pissed at my work that she had trashed the entire project? What the hell was going on?

When class ended, Ms. Cane reminded the class that the last set of chapters was due in one week, and then we would have only one more week to make any general corrections, spelling, and grammatical changes that it might take to submit a final project. She dismissed the class, but when I started to walk out, she asked if I could stay behind to speak with her for a moment. Once all the other students had left, I turned and walked to her desk, where she had taken a seat.

Ms. Cane was wearing a form-fitting white blouse made of a thin, silky material that allowed the observer to make out the edges of a white bra underneath. The blouse itself was open three buttons and strained against the fullness of her bosom. A thigh-hugging royal blue skirt gave the looker a fair amount of leg and thigh to admire, and on this day, she had on a set of sheer black stockings and black flats to round off the outfit. Her full, well-groomed hair flowed nicely along the sides of her head and ran just past her shoulders, bouncing softly off the collar of her shirt.

When I walked up to her desk, she looked up at me with a full smile, and her eyes—an emerald green—looked up at me and seemed to sparkle. “What happened with your last chapters?” she asked. “Your story was progressing fantastically. I found myself looking forward to each of your new chapters, and you handed in this mess.” She had been flipping through my project, which had been sitting under a stack of papers on her desk.

I found myself inadvertently allowing my eyes to drift down to her cleavage. I caught myself a bit too late, for when I looked back up at her face, it was obvious that she had been watching where my eyes had been lingering. However, instead of chastising me, Ms. Cane gave a smile, and appeared to shift slightly in her seat so that not only did my view down her blouse improve, but her skirt hiked slightly more up her legs. not surprisingly, I found my thoughts drifting away from the conversation.

I was brought back to reality when Ms Cane had to say my name three or four times just to get me to snap back into our conversation.

What happened? she asked again.

I don’t know, I think I was having a hard time concentrating anf got a kind of writers block. I replied

“Your first 20 pages were just fine, then you got to the section where your leading lady was captured by the antagonist and suddenly you were writing like it was a weather report. Up until that point I could see, even feel, every detail—the weather, the mood, even the fragrance of the streets. The characters have been described to the smallest detail and their feelings, their very souls, were on display each and every minute. Then all of a sudden, ‘See Jane run, see Dick run after Jane’… What happened?”

“Well, I was just having a hard time for some reason and just froze up. I’m sorry.”

“I know you can do better, so I’m going to let you work on it this weekend and turn it in to me Monday, but you still need to complete the other chapters by next Friday. Do you think that will be a problem?”

“Thank you,” I guessed. “I know I can make it work. Most of the guys in my frat are headed to the football game out of town, so I should be able to concentrate.”

“That’s right, you live in a frat house,” she said with a smile. “You know, I have an old couch I am about to get rid of. Frat guys are always looking for new couches, aren’t they?”

“Oh, we sure are,” I replied, imagining what a hero I would look like if I managed to score a new-to-us couch for the house.

“I tell you what—get ahold of a pickup truck or something similar and swing by my house this afternoon and grab the couch. We can discuss your project some more and see if we can get your head on straight and get you back on track.” As she was picking up her books and purse, she provided her address and asked if I could be there by 4 p.m.

I told her that I would do my best, and she paused, turned toward me from the far side of the desk, and, placing both hands on the desk, leaned forward so far that I could see far enough down her shirt that I made out the frilly edges and front clasp of her bra. In a whisper, she added, “If you try hard enough, I’m sure you could make these chapters even more captivating than the first several. I’m counting on it.”

With that, she stood, straightened out her blouse and skirt, took her books in her arms, and walked out of the classroom with a stride that accented the swing of her hips. Just before exiting the door, she turned back and pursed her lips. “See you later,” and was gone.

The next two hours consisted of me reassuring myself that I had been mistaken—there was no way that Ms. “Candy” Cane had actually been coming on to me. Wishful thinking, I said to myself.

Still, my mind could not stop thinking of Ms. Cane for the rest of the day. Thank God I didn’t have any tests, and when 3:30 approached, I ran to the frat house and begged one of the brothers if I could borrow his pickup for the afternoon. He agreed, and I spent the next twenty minutes showering, changing clothes about three times, and checking my breath, teeth, and any other areas of grooming. Even if there was one one-millionth of a chance, I thought to myself, I have to be prepared.

I also didn’t know what to bring. I was only 20, so wine was out, and flowers seemed inappropriate. I settled on an old Hawthorne novel I had been gifted a few years back. Having settled for jeans and a dark polo, I grabbed the keys and headed over to the address Ms. Cane had provided.

When I pulled into the drive, Ms. Cane opened her front door and waved. She had changed into jeans and a blue oxford, still with the top three buttons undone, and the shirt hugged her curves nicely. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked very natural. I exited the truck and handed her the novel, which now had a bow stuck on it.

“A housewarming gift, as well as a thank‑you in advance for the couch,” I said.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said. “This is wonderful.”
She entered the house, and I followed.

I found that this two‑story cape was nicely decorated, with a formal entry, a stairway leading up to what were likely two or three bedrooms, and a hall leading to the kitchen, dining room, and living room. There in the living room was a sectional couch with the pillows already stacked by the door. A portion of the couch had been pulled away from the wall, as if Ms. Cane had started to move it toward the door.

“Wow, that’s a hell of a couch. Do you think you and I can move it to the truck?” I asked.

“I think so,” she replied. “The feet are on sliders, and I didn’t have much trouble separating the sections. But first, let’s talk about your book.”

I gulped.

“No, really,” she continued. “I just want to see if we can get your brain back into gear. Sit, and we’ll talk.”

She sat on one corner of the moved sectional, and I took up a space on another section that was now facing her.

She folded one leg beneath her, settling in like she had all the time in the world. I could feel my pulse in my throat. The couch section I’d chosen suddenly felt too small, too exposed.

“So,” she said, tapping the book lightly with her finger, “tell me what you were trying to do with this.”

I blinked. “With… the book?”

“With the story,” she corrected gently. “You’ve got talent, but you keep hiding behind jokes and detours. I want to know what you were really aiming for.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. My brain felt like it had been unplugged and rebooted without warning.

She smiled — not unkindly, but with that teacher’s look that said she expected an answer eventually. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not grading you.”

I exhaled slowly. “I guess… I wanted to write something honest. Something that didn’t feel fake. But I also wanted my readers to really be into the moment — to feel it. To feel what our hero feels, what the heroine feels, and the fear my villain can bring to them both.” “That’s a good start,” she said, leaning back. “Honesty is harder than people think.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall. The couch between us felt like neutral ground — a place where she wasn’t my neighbor, and I wasn’t just the guy with the truck, but two people trying to figure out what came next.

“OK,” she said. “So let’s paint a picture. Where did you leave off before you went blank?”

“Well,” I said with a slight stammer, “Beth, the heroine, had just been captured by our villain — who I haven’t actually named yet in the book. He grabs her, and then I was planning on the scene going to black and bringing the readers into the room when Beth wakes up.”

“Sounds good.” Ms. Cane was now reading from a copy of my work. “In the paper you turned in, you simply said, ‘Kate found herself tied to a chair with her mouth covered with cloth. She looked around and found herself in her own house, and a bomb had been placed on the table next to her.’”

She lowered the pages and gave me a look.

“That, I must say… is terrible. No dramatic lead‑in, no colorful description. I can’t even feel the tension.”

She tapped the paper with her finger. “I need you to be able to picture it first. Then you can write about it and describe it to the reader. Is the villain already gone? Where? When? Was our victim unconscious? Is she still groggy? How did she get there?”

Well, I thought, suddenly nervous about my answers. I figured I would lead in with the villain taking a bag or blindfold off of Beth, and she blinks and takes in the room. He’s still tying her, so she can’t try to get loose just yet, and her only recourse is to take in as much information as she can.

“OK, good,” Ms. Cane said. “Now—how is she tied up? Describe it to me.”

I gulped. Twice, actually. My throat was getting dry.

“Well… she’s tied to a chair, I guess. Her hands are tied behind her, and she has a bandanna over her mouth so she can’t yell out.”

“Boring,” Ms. Cane said. “More. We need more description.”

“I know. Um… how is Beth dressed?”

“Well,” I said, “I think she would be in a skirt, and probably a sweater.”

“What kind of skirt? What kind of sweater?”

“Wow. OK. Well… probably a black, shorter skirt, and a cashmere sweater. Maybe light blue.”

“OK. Form‑fitting, I assume? Maybe a V‑neck? I noticed your heroine is, well… rather well‑endowed. And boots, not heels, I assume. How is her hair done up?”

Now I knew my face was getting red. I could feel it. I started stammering and wished I could just calm down.

Ms. Cane must have sensed this. She smiled and stood. “Let’s take a break for a second. Why don’t you grab a beer from the fridge? I need to excuse myself for a minute.”

I let out a sigh as she sauntered off. I found myself watching her figure as she walked toward the hall, and I could hear her climbing the stairs.

I walked into the kitchen, wondering if she really meant for me to have a beer. The hell with it, I thought, and opened the fridge to find several IPAs on the shelf. I opened one and took a long pull.

I looked around the kitchen. A nice table with medium‑sized wooden chairs, an area rug over wooden floors, photos of parents—I assumed—and maybe some siblings and cousins. No sign of any current love interest, husband, or perhaps girlfriend evident.

I found myself subconsciously teetering one of the chairs back and forth, testing its strength.

I peered out the windows. Her nearest neighbor was about twenty‑five yards away, separated by a six‑foot block wall. Ms. Cane lived on a cul‑de‑sac with a backyard that faced a small park, and neighbors on either side. The yard had a small pool, what looked like artificial grass, and some lawn and pool furniture.

I was on my third pull from the beer when I heard Ms. Cane call out, “I’ll be there in just a second! I need to grab something from the garage. Open a beer for me, please!”

Garage? I wondered. What would she need from there? Maybe a cart for the couch?

Oh well, I thought, and opened a beer for her. I finished mine and decided to open a second, since the first hadn’t lasted long.

A few moments later, I heard Ms. Cane walk into the kitchen behind me. I turned to see her carrying a paper bag that was half‑filled with something. She set it down and grabbed the beer, taking a long drink.

I, meanwhile, was standing there with my mouth open. She had changed her clothing — significantly.

Ms. Amy “Candy” Cane was now wearing a light yellow, very form-fitting sweater that looked like fine cashmere. The neckline was a deep “V” that displayed a significant amount of cleavage, and her jeans had been replaced with a black skirt that stopped just above her knees, with a zipper running down one side. Black boots came halfway up her calves, and her hair was now loose around her shoulders, the ponytail clearly brushed out.

I suspected she had even touched up her lipstick, because when she smiled at my stunned expression, her teeth looked even whiter than before.

“Does this help you form the picture in your mind?” she asked.

Uh, yeah, I said, taking another sip of beer. Ill say.

Ms. Cane looked down at herself and then back up at me with a sly smile.

“OK,” she said. “Now, our villain is still present. He pulls a bag off her head, and she finds herself tied to a chair. What kind of chair?”

I pointed to the wooden kitchen chair I had been testing moments earlier. “Like that one, I suppose.”

“How is she tied, then? Like this?” She placed her hands behind her and leaned forward on the chair.

“No. Her hands would be tied behind the chair so she can’t just run off.”

“Are her feet tied too?”

“I suppose so. Though he’d probably still be in the middle of tying her while she’s looking around the room. Then the tension can build as she realizes that with each moment, her chance to break free gets further and further away.”

“OK. Now, how about this ‘bomb’? How did that just get there?”

“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “he probably doesn’t actually have a bomb. But he makes it look like the house will burn or explode — something like that.”

““Now that’s good,” she said. “Let’s work toward that.”

Ms. Cane paused. I waited. The silence was defining.

“Well,” she said, “are you going to show me how she was tied or not?”

I shook my head slightly, as if I hadn’t heard her correctly.

She sat back in the chair, brought her arms behind the backrest, and crossed her wrists. “Like this?” she asked.

“Uh… yeah,” I stammered. “Something like that.”

“OK. Look in that paper bag and then show me what you mean.”

I walked slowly over to the bag and peered inside. To my disbelief, there were several lengths of white cotton rope. Possibly the kind used for a laundry line, though these seemed a bit too thick for that.

I slowly reached in and grabbed a loop of rope. Walking over to where my gorgeous teacher was sitting in a chair with her hands crossed behind her back, I bent over behind her and began to loosely wrap rope around her wrists.

How is that supposed to stop her from escaping? She asked, tie it for real, like she would be tied in your novel, so you can get the readers to feel her fear.

I suddenly felt a burst of confidence flow over me. Butterflies left my stomach, and a grin came over my face. I pulled her hands together and placed them wrist to wrist. Then I started to wrap the rope around both, making five or six wraps in a tight band. Then I looped it between the wrists twice and knotted it tightly. With the loose end, I pulled slightly down so it could be lashed to the crossbar at the legs of the chair.

Ms. Cane let out a small gasp as her posture shifted, her back arching slightly with her arms drawn behind the chair and down. “Now that’s tight,” she said, nodding in approval. “Good. Good.”

I watched as she tested the ropes and admired the stretch of the sweater over her breasts. I thought I could even detect a growing bump of a nipple starting to appear.

“Now, you said he tied her legs too, let's get to it.”

I did not need to be asked twice; that was for sure. Grabbing another length, I knelt in front of her. Wrapping it around her ankles over the boots. I kept my head down but found myself peering up toward her skirt's hem, admiring the smoothness of her thighs, and lingered on where they disappeared under the leather. Like her hands, her feet were pulled toward the crossbar and secured.

Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip as she tested both her ankles and her wrists, finding them very secure.

“I can see how your Beth character would be troubled. But you mentioned the tension builds as he continues restraining her — each moment making her chances to escape feel further and further away. How else would he tie her?”

Gone was my trepidation and nervousness. I was no longer stammering or shaking at the knees. Instead, I felt a well of strength and confidence rise in me. I knew I was finally in control of the moment, and she was simply helping me work through it.

“Oh, he would tie her legs further, then lash her body to the chair. That would leave her completely helpless.” I said forcefully.

I took another length of rope and wrapped it around her thighs, pushing up her skirt slightly so the rope was pressed against her skin and not the leather. My fingers ran slightly up her leg under the skirt, and though I was nowhere near anything private, it felt very warm, and I thought Ms Cane took in a short breath when I did, but don’t say anything to dissuade me.

When her upper legs were tightly tied together, I reached down for yet another section of line. I was contemplating how to run rope above and below her ample chest without being too obvious about my growing lust, when Ms Cane uttered some of the more beautiful words I had heard that year.

“You said that Beth was gagged too didn’t you? How did he gag her?”

I don’t know, I said, some of my nerves building again, I suppose he just used a handkerchief and tied it over her mouth so she could not yell for help.

“Hmm”, she said as if in deep thought I don’t have a handkerchief, but if you open that closet right over there, nodding to a closet door near the hall, there is a box with cloths and rags I made from some old towels and sheets Ive replaced. See if there is something that would work in there.

I skipped over toward the closet, quickly found a box of assorted cloths and ripped sheets, and selected several that seemed appropriate. Still not wanting to seem too aggressive, I took one white strip of sheet, folded it several times so it formed a four‑inch‑wide band, and held it up in front of her.

“This may work,” I said, as if I had no idea how someone should be gagged.

“Alright,” she said, “but before you take away my chance to critique you, tell me the plan. How does your villain escape, and how does the heroine get rescued… or does she die?”

“No, of course she gets rescued. The villain sets a trigger so the house will catch on fire, but just before that happens — after Beth struggles and realizes she’s helpless — our hero bursts in and saves her. She tries to warn him about the impending explosion, but he’s too focused on freeing her to notice. It’s only when she finally gets his attention that he realizes the gas on the stove is on, and there’s a timer counting down to a spark that could set everything off.”

Fantastic, she said. OK, so continue lashing me to the chair, make it tight, I mean inescapable, use the cloth to gag me, I mean Beth, so I can't call for help or warn the hero, and then you play the hero and burst in, stopping the explosion and saving everyone.

“If you are sure” , I said, already approaching with the folded white cloth.

“Absolutely” she said with a smile and a bit of a wink?

Leaning her head slightly forward as I approached from behind. I pulled the cloth over her mouth in a tight detective gag and tied it off behind her neck. Ms Cane stretched her neck and slowly moved her head back and forth, feeling the cloth against her lips. It looked perfect; the outline of her lips could barely be seen through the folds, and the cloth ran from just under her nose to just above her chin. Exquisite.

AS I was tying the gag, I got a nice view down her sweater and spent a few moments admiring that while I adjusted the cloth. Her breasts appeared to be very firm, and now there were definitely two indentations in her sweater that were from hard nipples pushing though was appeard to be a light purple bra. The cleavage was such that I could see down between both breasts to a clasp of her brazier below them, and the curve of her chest looked like two very ripe cantaloupes filling out her sweater.

I leaned down into the paper bag for more rope when I heard a muffled..

“excuse me”

I looked up, Ms Cane was speaking, albeit muffled, to me through the detective gag.

“Excuse me, there is no way this is going to stop her from calling for help or alerting the hero.”

I let the rope go and started untying the gag, chagrined, sure that she was going to suggest the heroin is either knocked out or to go back to the drawing board.

When I removed it from her face, she said matter-of-factly: “ That’s ridiculous, I don’t know how many movies or TV shows I have seen with someone wearing a gag like that, there is no way that’s effective. “

“I think they do it for aesthetics and knowing the audience would not know otherwise.”

“Aesthetics,” Ms Cane repeated, “I didn’t think of that, yes I can see the appeal over say a bunch of tape. Do you think they consider that the gag should look good on the victim ?”

“If you ask me, they rarely take into consideration the reality of someone who is tied up, never mind gagged. Most times, they have a few loops of string and a short strip of tape, which is not real at all. “

Oh, well, how would you gag a heroin so that she really can't yell for help?” Ms Cane asked, with a slight smile on her face.

I was charged with confidence again. I could tell that Ms Cane was enjoying herself, maybe even “into” it, and she was definitely flirting with me or at least letting me get a good look at her, and she clearly liked that. Time to go for broke.

“Well, I think that to really be silenced, you would have a cloth in your mouth and another holding it in so you could not spit it out. Tape works too, but again, only if there is something in the mouth so you could not use your tongue to loosen the tape.

Gone was my pretense that I was simply trying to build a memory for a story. Gone was any reference to Beth, the fictional heroine. Now the damsel in distress was Amy, Amy “Candy” Cane. And in that moment, I felt as though I was stepping into both roles at once: the one who created the danger and the one who would resolve it. Whether or not she intended the same, I couldn’t quite tell, but the energy between us had undeniably shifted.

Well, do whatever it takes for you to make it so I can't yell for help or tell you what to do…or not to do.. and finish lashing me to this chair so it's inescapable. Then let me try to break free, and you can leave as the villain and retrain as the hero.

I quickly grabbed a smaller piece of cloth, a bit larger than a mans hankerchief, and made of what looked to be a light blue terry cloth sheet. Then, a second length of white sheet, about the same length as the original cloth, I had placed over her mouth.

I stood directly behind her, and she opened her mouth to accept the first cloth. Tucking it between her lips, I let her adjust it in her mouth while I made a square knot in the middle of the second cloth and then placed that knot between her teeth and pulled the ends tightly around to the back of her neck. I made the first cross-over tie and pulled it tight into a nice square knot, letting the ends fall down toward her shoulders.

Ms Cane stretched her neck again, gritted against the cleve gag, and bit down on the knot. “Mmmphhhtter …..mmffch bmmmffter” she said in a much muffled and hushed tone.

“Much better?” I repeated softly toward her ear,

she nodded.

This should make it better yet. I took the original folded cloth and placed it over the cleve. This new detective gag still went from nose to chin, but now held in both the knotted cleve and the packing behind that.

Her muffled sounds were now down to a slight murmur. And she looked up and back at me. As I applied that last gag, I thought I had felt her upper arms purposely brush back against my thighs and the front of my jeans. I may have been imagining it, but my libido did not care, and I felt heat growing in my groin and felt myself harden.

I was now staring at her heaving chest and could not care that she was watching me do so.

I bent and grabbed one last long section of rope. Folding it in half, I reached around Ms Cane and ran two loops under her breasts and back around the back of the chair, pulling her against the back. Using an upward lash, the loops pulled nicely under her chest, and then the second set was run over the top of them. Back around to the back, I looped the rope around the uprights of the chair back and the two loops on either side of her body. This made a tight harness that amplified her breasts and pulled her tightly to the chair.

Ms Cane seemed to gasp, then looked down at her predicament. From her vantage, and mine, her sweater had been pulled tight against her, and now not only the outline of her nipples fully visible, but the bra itself was pressed so that it strained against the sweater.

Ms Cane seemed to be lost in the moment, her mummphs had become almost a purr and I could see that she was rubbing her legs together, or at least trying. She flexed against the chair, testing the bonds, but found that they were inescapable.

I walked around in front of her, it was clear that she was enjoying the situation she found herself in, Her eyes were closed, and the murmurs escaping the gag were definitely not in protest. I took in the sight of her, eyes closed while she enjoyed the moment, a tight cloth covering her lips, arms and legs bound, sweat beading down her heaving chest.. it was an awesome sight

Without even thinking, and certainly without any fear, I reached down and adjusted the ropes running below her chest, making them even and tightly together. This caused my hand to press against her chest, and I could feel the firmness; it was all I could do to stop from taking a handful or mauling them with my mouth. I suspect my hard-on was becoming evident as I noticed Ms Cane noticing.

Without any protest, she looked up into my eyes and I thought I could see a glint in those eyes.

Catching myself and coming back to reality, I told Ms Cane that I, the villain was going to turn on the gas and set a timer which would detonate and she would be burned alive.

At this, she tried to protest in mock horror, but the gag was so effective that the sound was negligible.

Waking to the kitchen across from her, I pretended to mess with the burners and then twisted a timer on the stove. I stood for a few moments and took a mental picture of this beautifully brunette in the chair.

Bound tightly, hands behind, ropes circling her chest and legs, Ms Cane was helpless and gaged tighly. Her thin sweater had been pressed tightly enough so that both nipples were visibly making impressions, and the “V” neck had been pulled so that her cleavage was on full display even when standing across from her. I noticed that her skirt had hiked up halfway up her thighs, leaving one's imagination to what lay just underneath.

I walked toward the front door and pretended to exit, letting it click shut behind me. Then I circled back quietly, wanting to see how my “damsel” would play the moment on her own. Ms. Cane certainly committed to the exercise — shifting in the chair, testing her limits, calling out in a muffled voice that was more performance than panic. The gags successfully stopped all by the lightest protests from being heard.

I waited a few minutes, letting the tension build in my imagination, then strode back to the front door and threw it open with a dramatic flourish. Fully in my role now, I called out, “Beth! Are you in here, Beth?”

Ms Cane was in her role as Beth, making excited utterances and trying to motion to the kitchen, I ignored those attempts to notify me of the “danger” Instead I began to untie Beth, purposely leaving the gag and arms along, first untying her legs and then starting on the harness, doing so I blatantly let my hands brush against her chest.

“Beth” continues to try to defeat the gag, raising her level of utterances and motioning frantically with her head. Finally, I looked over to the kitchen and pretended to see the bomb making matrerials. I swiftly walked over and shut off the timer.

Walking back and standing in front of Ms Cane I began to unsecure the ropes around her torso, leaving only her hands still tied and the gags in her mouth.

I decided to remove the gags first. Reaching around the back, I was face to face with her as I took the detective gag off first, then slowly the cleve with the knot. This was soaked . I set it on her lap and then pulled out the stuffing.

Ms Cane stretched her mouth once the gag was removed. I had moved around to the back and was unlashing her wrist rope from the chair when she spoke, and for the second time that day, my heart nearly stopped.

“Wait.. wait..”

I stood and leaned closer to her.

“How would Beth thank our hero after he risked everything to save her?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“She would kiss him, wouldn’t she? Or he would kiss her.”

“I… suppose so,” I said softly.

“And how would he kiss her?” she asked, her voice trailing off as she looked directly into my eyes.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us shifted — not quite part of the exercise anymore, not quite outside it either. I moved a little closer, and she didn’t pull away. Her eyes drifted shut, her breath catching just slightly, as if she were waiting to see what I would do next.

With out another word, I slowly brought my face toward hers. When I was just inches from her, she slowly closed her eyes and opened her lips. My mouth met hers. That turned into a prolonged kiss, then tongues, then my hands started to roam down her sweater as I stood, leaning over her from behind.

First my hands went over the sweater,I could feel he pressing against it, One hand went into the V neck and over, then under the bra. The other went down her side and began to raise the sweater up and over her breasts. Soon they stood out, encased by a frilly bra that was clearly more for visual effect than for support, and I found it unsnapped from in front. With just a little fumbling, I managed to unlock the bra, and her breasts burst forth.
I was impressed at how little sag there was and how firm they were under my grasp. Her nipples were small, dark, and very hard. I rolled them between my fingers, and our mouths continued to explore each other.

Her bound wrists managed to find their way to my crotch, at first, they rubbed me from the outside, but she managed to unzip and place some fingers inside my fly, grabbing at my member with her still bound hands and softly rubbing it up and down.

Reluctantly, I started to move toward the front of her, still kissing but breaking from her grasp as I feared the excitement that had built may make my cum right there.

I broke from her kiss and started to kneel in front of her.

Ms Cane, as I then started to call her “Amy” was gasping and trying to catch her breath, and my right hand wandered under her skirt to find what was likely a matching set of panties to her bra. Hooking a finger under those, I felt her wet and started to slide my finger into her.

“wait, wait wait,” she cried out

I stopped everything immediately.

“Oh god, im sorry I got carried away..I …”

“No, that’s not it” she said

“Oh..your hands, I haven’t untied your hands yet”..and I started to get up.

“No, not that either, leave them tied,… I …I… want them tied.”

“I want you to take me, helpless, to do whatever you want and to have me do whatever it is you want. Gag me again, tie me, whatever you want and however you want. “

“Your sure”, I asked.

“Ive never been more sure, now gag me before I come to my senses.”

OK, but if at any time you want a break or to stop, just snap your fingers.

I don’t think that’s gonna happen, now shut up and fuck me.

“Language,” I said with a smile. I knelt back down and, with both hands, I pulled her panties down her legs. Sure enough, they were the same light purple as the bra and made of the same light fabric. I bunched them up in one hand while I leaned forward and gave Amy another deep kiss. As we broke the kiss, I pushed the bunched up panties in her mouth, then grabbed the still wet cleve gag and tied it tightly between her teeth.

Then I unzipped the skirt and pulled it from beneath her. Amy had a nice landing path of pubic hair that led my mouth right down to her warm, moist womanhood. As I licked and kissed, Amr writhed in the seat, her hands still bound behind them. I spent the next 5 minutes making letters, inserting fingers and lightly blowing Amy into ecstasy.

When she appeared on the verge of climax, I pulled back,

I softly pulled her from the chair, allowing her arms to come over the back but still keeping them secured behind her. I walked Amy toward the living room, and when we got into that room, I led her to her knees. I unbuckled my pants, dropped the jeans, stepping out of them, and then took off my briefs and shirt, standing in front of her, erect.

Obediently, she knelt and leaned her head forward so that I could pull the gag from between her lips. She waited till I removed the panties from between her teeth and then took my manhood in her mouth. Ms Amy Cane has obviously had some experience with fellatio because she used he lips and mouth in a manner that almost brought me to my knees. Impressive, especially considering that she was still bound. Back and forth and swirling me in her mouth I started to feel my own climax coming on.

Wanting to wait so that we could finish together, I pulled back and then led her to her feet. I turned her away from me and returned the knotted cleve between her teeth. With one hand on her ample chest and another reaching between her legs I got her juices moving again, she was grabbing my dick with her hands and playing a soft game of tug.

Grabbing a long length of cloth that I had brought from the kitchen, I made a second cleve over the first, this one with long trailing ends that reached all the way down her back. The original detective gag became a blindfold, and once these were in place, I bent her over face-first on the section of the couch that was closest to the hallway. Her rear un the air and her legs were barely able to touch the floor. She was pushed face-first on the back of the couch as I entered her from behind. |

|Holding the ends of the new cleve I rode her like a stallion, her hands tightly tied behind, her hands making fists with each thrust. She moaned loudly in to her gags , the excitement mounting for both of us.

In and out push and pull, my breathing quicker and harder. Her moans are mounting in terms of level and pitch.

Suddenly I came. Together we spasmed into climax and I collapsed on to her.

After regaining my breath, I removed myself from her and stood, She, still blindfolded, gagged and tied, remained in place but was panting as hard as I was.

I was about to untie her hands when I thought better of it, Instead, I pulled her on to s section of the couch seats and left her face down there. I walked quickly into the kitchen and retrieved a length of the rope that was left there.

Returning to the living room, I grabbed her ankles and tied them together, and then leashed the end to her wrists, making a hog-tie. One I accomplished hit I leaned over and kissed her on the head. She stretched her head as if to see me.

Im going to leave you here for the moment while I get dressed and move this couch out to the truck, you earned the rest. She moaned in mock protest but did not snap her fingers or make any other sounds that could have indicated displeasure.

That’s where she remained for the next 20 minutes while I dressed and loaded all by the one section of the couch that she was lying on into the back of the truck. I was amused to find that when I walked up to the front door, I could see her hog-tied naked on the couch. I watched for a moment as her lips stretched around the gag and her head strained against the blindfold. Otherwise the remained still in her bondage, waiting my return.

Once I did return, I unbound her legs and removed the blindfold, then I untied her wrists.

Ms Cane stood in front of me, naked, large breasts firm as even, and the rest of her tight body perfectly tanned and toned. Once she had rubbed the circulation into her wrists, only then did she slowly remove the gag from between her lips.

I didn’t know what to expect once she was able to speak again. I certainly didn’t expect what came out.

“Well, that should help you add some color to your assignment. Now make sure you get it finished this weekend, because it’s due first thing Monday. And the next set of chapters is due next Friday. Don’t forget.”

She walked slowly and confidently into the kitchen, gathering her clothing as she went.

“Now, if next weekend you have more writer’s block,” she added with a small wink, “perhaps we can try to engage your mind again.”

She turned toward the hall and started up the stairs.

I watched her until she disappeared from view. Shaking my head — still trying to process everything — I went back to the living room, grabbed the last section of the couch, loaded it onto the truck, and drove off, honking once as I left.

As you can imagine, I aced that semester and had two more tutoring sessions with Ms (Amy) Cane before the summer break

[boundjoker]

That was a fantastic read, some great details when the bondage kicked off. I have two teachers I would have loved to even get tied and gagged to a chair never mind the rest.

[cellofello]

Very enjoyable story. One continuity error - there are two places where the teacher's name is Ms. Adams rather than Ms. Cane.

[calebtras]

Nicely written, build-up, story arc, descriptions.

[uemndlr]

Yes, she did a great job teaching you how to write!

[TightsBound]

Fantastic story! Expertly written, with great pacing and descriptions that brought me into the scene. You clearly learned a thing or two from that class Looking forward to reading more of your work!

[CleveKnots1969]

Very enjoyable story. One continuity error - there are two places where the teacher's name is Ms. Adams rather than Ms. Cane.

Thanks for the heads up...fixed. I guess that was a Freudian slip of sorts. the names have been changed to protect the innocent