Rachel's Music Lesson Part 2 of 2 - Sex Stories

Rachel's Music Lesson Part 2 of 2

They are weak bonds, those that pull together the many features that make a man. Lose hold of those bonds, and the norms that protect us from the many surrounding dangers in society fly away in opposite directions. And so Rachel had loosened my bonds and I stood, and loosened my belt.

‘Mr. Richards, what… what are you doing.’

The practice of training that the teaching profession had developed in the modern world had overwhelmingly moved away from the technique of physical punishment, but every teacher without exception is drawn toward it at some point in their career, when confronted by an obstreperous child. And it was in my current madness that the notion of ignoring this practical method of control seemed anachronistic. I gave no answer to the large chested trollop who had tormented my afternoon, but glared aggressively at her.

‘You can’t Mr. Richards, I’ll, I’ll tell Mummy!’

I pulled on the buckle and the leather curled around my waist and left the loops of my trousers with a loud smack, causing the girl to start and slide herself away on the unworn leather of the stool.

‘Your mother is as filthy a whore as you, you little pussy!’ The words left me easily, for truth flows when the passions are roused. ‘Not a “little girl” or a “young woman”’, I continued, ‘but a pussy, and a big pair of fucking tits!’

‘Mr. Richards!’ the girl slid from the dual stool and now stood, cornered by the piano, the bay window and the wall. Anyone in the garden at leisure, or ...

... working in the post rain sunshine, would now have been party to my immediate, ruinous actions. ‘why are you saying such things, please don’t!’

‘A pussy that needs a proper fucking cock!’ I informed her. She looked down at the location of this aforementioned organ and stopped, stunned. The tip had escaped the waistband of my strained underpants and as I was now beltless, my trousers gave enough of an opening to make the rolling skin at the top visible to her. It stunned her rigid.

‘Many times this afternoon I have told you to stop telling your filthy tales Rachel Barton, and have you?’ I reached out to the flimsy line of buttons that attempted to constrain her cushion like breasts and diverted my attention to those signifiers of femininity, running my fingers underneath and around their lovely round form an over her expensively procured garment. ‘No, you have not.’ I growled as I began to unbutton the half fastened blouse.

‘But, Mr. Richards, I’m really sorry, really sorry!’

I was not only endowed with a reproductive organ of a quite incredible size; nature had also found it within her powers to also provide me with an active metabolism, with which any prospective adipose tissue would be carved away. It might be that the two gifts were interconnected, but it left me with a fine, muscular physique, one that raised eyebrows from females of all ages. And as I undid one button after another, Rachel’s face began to flush with a desire I did not expect, and with which I ...