Any comments (welcomed) to kittyh55@hotmail.com with `Harte' in the message head.
Julian Harte is a lecturer at a provincial University in England who has been taken over by Maria, one of his students, and exposed to a series of increasingly humiliating exposures before Maria's lesbian lover Sam, Mrs Bowen owner of a second-hand ladies clothes shop, and the rugby club under John Roberts who also owns a sub-student called Andy.
TRAINING THE PROF
Part 19
Julian showered and showered to cleanse his body from the excesses of the day. With a sigh he put on his pink panties and went to bed.
He woke with a start. He glanced at his bedside clock-radio. It was 2.35 am. What had woken him? He strained to listen. The house was silent. Then he heard it. The front-door bell was ringing. With a sigh he got up, pulled on a skimpy robe and went downstairs.
He peered through the spy-hole. Nothing. The bell rang again. Cautiously he peered through the spy-hole once more. It was Roberts. With a sinking heart Julian opened the door.
'Hi big-boy' the lad called, pushing past him into the hall. He was drunk, very drunk. He stank of beer and sweat; his t-shirt was stained, his jeans dirty. 'Gotta crash big-boy. Been to a do at the uni. Fuckin knackered. Need to crash' and as if to prove it he collapsed on the hall carpet.
Julian shut the door before, half lifting half dragging him, conveyed him into the sitting-room and rolled him onto the sofa. The lad farted and opened his eyes.
'Come here big-boy, I wanna feel your cock.' And with that he thrust his hand up Julian's shorty robe. 'Mmmm, still wearing your sissy panties I see.' He squeezed Julian's bollocks hard.
Julian moved back out of the reach of his tormentor.
'Where you going big-boy? Just remember I got those pics of you and andy pansy. So fuckin get back here or else.'
There was nothing Julian could do but obey.
Once more Roberts felt his tutor's cock and balls, squeezing them hard, watching for the tale-tale signs of the man's erection. It came soon enough.
'You are dirty little cock-sucking perv aren't you.' 'Yes sir' responded a despondent yet excited Julian. 'Say it then.' 'I am a dirty little cock-sucking perv.'
The lad farted again. 'When you last suck a cock, wanker?' 'Tonight sir' Julian admitted. 'Whose?' 'A stranger. A dirty old man in a public toilet.' 'Why?' 'Maria made me.' 'Miss Maria you mean.' 'Yes sir, sorry. Miss Maria.' 'Did his cock stink?' 'Yes.' 'And you sucked him off?' 'Yes.' 'You dirty fucker!'
The lad sat up and stared at the man cringing before him. His cock part-stiffened. 'Take your robe off!'
Julian obeyed.
'I need a piss, big-boy. Now! So if you don't want your carpet soaked you had better fetch me a bowl or piss-pot quick.'
Julian took one look at the arrogant youngster and then fled to fetch him a bowl from the kitchen sink. He returned to find Roberts, cock out, pissing over his robe and the carpet in front of him. Julian rushed forward and placed the bowl under him. The stream of piss splattered into the bowl as the lad completed emptying his bladder. With a sigh of relief he shook the last few drops from his rod.
'Clean me up big-boy. No, with your mouth you fuckin perv.'
Julian obeyed. Then he picked up the soaking robe and carried it and the steaming bowl into the kitchen where he chucked the dripping robe onto the floor and emptied the bowl down the sink. He poured a bowl of clean water and took a clean cloth before returning to the sitting-room to try and clean up his soaking carpet.
The lad watched with amused contempt whilst Julian tried to save his carpet. With a stir of his lithe body he curled up onto the sofa and fell asleep.
Julian stared down at him. The lad hadn't bothered to do up his zip; his cock lay like a curled snake outside his jeans, his face beatific in its repose. Should he go to his bed? He daren't. He sat in the arm chair opposite and fell into a fitful sleep.
Julian woke early but not early enough. His unwelcome visitor had gone. With a sigh of relief Julian went into the kitchen to make a coffee. Back in the sitting-room, he inspected the carpet; at least that wasn't permanently stained.
It was more than an hour later that he went up to his bedroom to dress only to discover that Roberts had not left! There he was stretched out, still-clothed under the duvet. He was snoring quietly, his drunkard's face still flushed from the previous night's excesses. Was Julian never to be free of the lout? And what should he do? Waken him, or leave him there to sleep it off? He opted for the latter. Quietly he gathered his clothes and left the sleeping youth.
The morning passed slowly. Every hour or so Julian went up to inspect his "guest". Each time he found him in the same state.
It was passed mid-day when the youth emerged just as Julian was washing out his panties in the kitchen sink.
'Hey big-boy, where's my coffee?' he asked as he slapped Julian playfully on the bum. 'Come on cock-sucker, hurry up; I am late for the pub!'
Julian hastened to obey, anything to get rid of him.
The lad sprawled at the kitchen table, his legs wide apart, his zip still undone from the night before.
'Guess what big-boy, I've got a morning woody' and he pulled out his cock which quickly rose to its priapic limits. 'Well don't just stand there looking at it, get down here and suck me off.'
Julian knelt, before him, staring at the youth's pride and joy. 'Suck it, bitch!' He did.
With a sigh of relief the lad exploded into his tutor's mouth. 'That's better' he murmured. 'You're almost as good a cock-sucker as andy pandy.'
At last Robert's left with a mock wave of thanks. With a sigh of relief Julian closed the front door; at last he was free, his home safe once more. But for how long?
The next week nothing! Maria was too busy schooling her new cunt- slave to bother with a mere sub-male, and Roberts made do with Andrew. Each day Julian checked his email. Each evening he waited for a call. Silence. And to his own astonishment, he felt bereft. Had She forgotten him? Did Roberts not want his cock sucked? What was happening to Andrew? In the end it was Mrs Bowen who rang him up on Friday evening.
At first he didn't recognise her when she called and asked for Dr Harte until she asked after "his lady" Maria.
'I haven't heard from her' he responded, his cock stiffening despite his immediate misgivings.
'That is probably because she has got better things to do than deal with you, cunt-licker.'
'Yes Miss.'
'That means you are free tomorrow.'
'Sorry, but I don't know.'
'Yes you do. You are just trying to pretend you aren't free to serve at the shop.' There was a pause whilst she let the message sink in and then she added. 'I expect you at nine-thirty on the dot, and don't be late, wanker.' And with that she hung up.
What should he do? In the end he decided to email his Mistress and ask her permission.
When he got home from the pub, he checked his email. A message from Maria! With trembling hands he opened her message.
"I am too busy to deal with u this w/e, slut; Sam is so much more interesting and satisfying than u can ever be! So yes u will go and serve Mrs B. And make sure u r dressed rt. Pink trakkies, pink top, white bra and the white panties with pink flowers, white socks and trainers. u will do exactly as required by Her. I hope I have made myself clear!"
She had!
Getting ready for his day at the shop was awful. The clothes Maria had insisted he wear were so faggy, so effeminate. What if his neighbours saw? He felt (and was) so vulnerable. Somehow he had lost control, and all thanks to Maria.
He checked his watch; it was exactly 9.30. He pushed open the door and went in. Mrs Bowen greeted him with a leer.
'So you came' she mocked.
'Yes Miss. Maria said I had to.'
'And very right too. We women can't have you hanging around doing nothing when there is work to do.' She paused to grope him. 'And you had better control that' she commanded, as she felt him rise. 'We don't want an accident in your panties, do we!'
She felt his bum. Yes that was good; she would cane him later, make the slut realise who was Mistress. But for now she set him to sweep the floor then polish it on his hands and knees. That way she could keep and eye on his shapely bum. Yes, she loved his bum, so ripe for the cane!
It was so embarrassing. There he was on hands and knees polishing the wooden shop-floor, his pink-clad buttocks poised upwards for common view. It took over an hour. And all the time shoppers, mainly older ladies, came and left. Most ignored him, but not all. One even asked him if he was available to do her place.
With relief he finished his task and reported back to Mrs Bowen. She gave him a cursory nod.
'What should I do now, Miss?'
'Ring this number' she ordered. 'You remember the old lady? The one who asked if you were free? Well I have told her she can have you for two hours at 5 pounds an hour. So ring her and see when she wants you.'
Julian took the number, scribbled on a scrap of paper, and picked up the phone on Mrs Bowen's counter. The phone rang and rang.
'No answer Miss' Julian reported.
'Try her in half an hour, wimp. Meanwhile you can sort the bras and panties.'
They were at the back of the shop in two huge boxes. Julian went over. How to do it? He had no table to lay then out. He decided to start on the bras, sorting them first into sizes and then into colours, piling the bras on top of other garments laid out for customers to peruse. Mrs Bowen came over and gave him some plastic hangers to display the bras and soon all were hanging sized and sorted on a rail. Julian surveyed his work with satisfaction, pleased that at least he had done that correctly.
Did he really feel that? Yes. Fuck he thought, I am becoming more and more ... More what? More sub! And his cock stiffened
He checked his watch. The thirty minutes were up. He went back to the counter and rang the lady's number again. This time she was in and before he knew what was happening he was on his way to her place with strict instructions to return by two at the latest.
He was greeted with a smirk. 'Come in dearie.'
He entered a gloomy hallway before being led into the kitchen at the back of the house. She sat him down opposite her at the kitchen table.
'How long have you been working at the shop, dearie?' she asked.
'I don't work there. I just help out from to time to time' Julian prevaricated.
'So you are not a cleaning-lady then.'
'No.' He blushed.
'So why have you come to clean for me?'
'Mrs Bowen thought it would help you out' he lied.
'Mrs Bowen?'
'The lady who owns the shop.'
'And you do whatever she tells to do, do you dearie?' He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 'Does that include wearing a bra?' This time he really did blush. How had she noticed that? 'Don't worry dearie, I wont tell anyone' and she grinned. 'Well, I had better get my money's worth out of you' and set him on scrubbing the kitchen floor, solely so she could enjoy the sight of his bum bobbing up and down as he scrubbed and then wiped the tiles.
Task completed Julian rose and stood awaiting her next instructions. She kept him waiting, enjoying his embarrassment. She beckined him closer.
'Are you wearing panties?'
'Yes Miss.'
She reached out and ran a hand over his bulge. 'Show me' she commanded.
With trembling hands Julian lowered his pink joggers revealing his white panties with pink flowers beneath. The lady sighed with satisfaction. 'Did you choose those she asked?'
'No, Miss.'
'Who did then?'
'My mistress.'
Is that Mrs Bowen?'
'No.'
And she made him explain about Maria. By the end, Julian was blushing the colour of his joggers. And all the while the old lady fixed him with a steely eye of contempt.
'Can you guess your next task?' she asked when he had finished.
'No Miss.'
'Come to my bedroom and I will show you.'
And that was how Julian came to receive a fierce hair-brush spanking before he was allowed to redress and dust and polish all the furniture in the lady's bedroom.
Later Julian checked his watch. The two hours were up. With apologies he explained he had to return to the shop. With a whimsical smile the lady went to her purse. Julian waited to be paid. What a fool he was, for the lady announced in no uncertain terms that he had to pay her for the privilege. Anything to get away! He pulled out a ten pound note and paid her before fleeing back to the shop.