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submissivefeminist:

Is this worth passing notes in class, girl?

“Well?” The tap of the ruler against the tops of her thighs. “Is it?”

The ruler was such a joke. He kept it on his desk in a jar of pencils, and everyone could see that the numbers were faded to the point of illegibility. What was he going to measure anyway? He was a fucking English teacher.

He was also fucking hot, crazy, movie-star hot, with a taste in dress shirts and a cruel wit that maintained the rapt attention of every girl in his class. There were rumors, too, about things he’d done with past students after they’d turned 18. Nobody could prove anything–certainly none of the office aides had been able to find a written complaint–but everybody knew somebody whose cousin used to go here, and she said that her friend…

“Answer me.”

The ruler tapped a little harder, the flat on her skin making a sharp sound as she jerked in the cuffs. Brienne tried again to swallow, unused to the gag, and shook her head no.

He’d humiliated her in front of the class when he caught the note going from her hand to Maddy’s, made her apologize to them from the front of the room, then leaned over and murmured that she’d need to come see him after school. She had expected a dressing down. Rumors aside, she hadn’t really expected to be dragged to a windowless supply room, wordlessly blindfolded, cuffed, gagged and bent over, his fingers undoing the top few snaps of her blouse without touching her skin.

She knew she was really in trouble when she heard the jingle of the collar he’d taken from her bookbag.

“Is this yours, Brienne?”

She hesitated. The ruler on her thighs was not gentle this time.

She gasped, nodded, shook her head, nodded again. (She’d borrowed it–well, it was a gag gift she’d given Maddy, then taken back–but how was she supposed to explain that with her mouth wedged open?)

The leather of the collar against her neck: he began to buckle it into place and her knees almost buckled too. He’d still barely even touched her, but every nerve in her body was on alert, straining for the slightest sensation; the brush of his thumb against the sensitive skin of her throat made her pulse jump.

“There are a number of things you’ve done that require attention,” he said, running his fingers over her collarbone to just brush the upper skin of her chest. “First, the note. Second, carrying sexually deviant paraphernalia in a bag intended for textbooks. Third, failing to speak up for yourself when a teacher displays absolutely inappropriate behavior toward you.”

The ruler was back, this time on its edge, sliding up between her thighs to press sharply against her; Brienne made a helpless noise and went up on her toes, but he followed her, pushing, forcing her to feel the damp patch on her white panties. She could feel the flush in her cheeks and neck; she twisted her wrists against the steel and arched, trying to give her shoulders some relief.

“You’ll be working with me in a series of extracurricular sessions to make sure you’re prepared for graduation. Each Tuesday, you’ll meet me here after school, in uniform, prepared to be attentive, quiet, and obedient. You will bring this,” he tugged at the ring of the collar, “as a reminder of your transgressions. Do you understand?”

The ruler left. His fingers replaced it. Brienne moaned, humiliatingly, involuntarily grinding herself against them for the brief second before he took the pressure away.

He jerked her underwear down, grabbed her hair to hold her, and then there it was, the cold flat of the ruler pressed against her cheeks.

“Do you,” he said, “understand?”

Brienne tried to nod, and wondered if he understood she’d had to pass that damn note forty-eight times.

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randomkinkyness:

I wonder two things:

– how did she end up like that?

– what’s next?

Brienne crossed and recrossed her legs, trying not to let her nerves show. She still had a chance of getting out of this with her pride intact–it wasn’t like she was wearing any less than a bathing suit, really. She wouldn’t usually have a makeshift collar around her throat while lounging beside the pool, but that was just for decoration.

Of course it was.

He wasn’t a perfect card shark, she was certain, despite the fact that somehow most all the chips had ended up on his side of the table. She’d definitely held her own at the beginning, which was why he was bare-chested where he sat across from her, utterly at ease. She crossed her legs again. Dammit, was that her tell?

He dealt her card, his card, hers, his. He had an eight showing; she had a king. She peeked at the other and her heart skipped a beat: a ten. She had this one in the bag! She smiled a bit and sat back, tugging her skirt down a little. “Stay,” she said.

“Are you sure about that, Brienne?” he said.

“Come on,” she laughed, “I want to see how you win this one.”

“Easy,” he said. “You hit.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because,” he said, standing and walking to the side of the table to lean on it, “you’re wearing something of mine.”

She could feel the pulse in her throat where it met the tight strip of silk. “Mr. Jacobs–”

“Call me Sir, Brienne,” he said quietly.

His hand found the thin blade of the tie where it dangled down her back, and tugged it slightly. Brienne whole body responded to that; heat grew in her cheeks, her chest, between her legs. She bit her lip.

He held up the deck and slid the top card up a bit. “Now. What were you going to do this hand, girl?”

“Hit, Sir,” she whispered, her legs trembling against each other, hoping he’d make her lose the skirt next.