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Back in the 1960s and 70s a French artist by the name of Joseph Farrel created a sizeable
number of BDSM drawings. He felt that the drawings were works in themselves and that
people should make up their own stories to go with them. Later the drawings were published
with short vignettes by Robert Merodack and others. Joseph Farrel is sadly now dead and
much of his work is out of print.
For my own amusement I have written my own short stories to accompany some of the
drawings. Here is one of them. Let me know what you think.
THE EDUCATOR RE-EDUCATED
Helen Turner was highly appreciated for her teaching skills at Mathematics. However
she was often excessively strict with the boys on the older courses, even though many of them
secretly fancied her and favoured her classes with much more attention than those of other
teachers.
Moreover, Helen hoped to marry one of her colleagues, Vincent Crawford. She agreed
to become his mistress. Vincent was extremely demanding took complete advantage of this
situation but he also took care not to promise anything in exchange for her obvious and
manifest favours.
“We'll talk about it later,” he answered every time she mentioned marriage. And he
would immediately add, “In the meantime, do this, do that...”
Helen agreed to do and to suffer everything he asked of her. Vincent was fascinated
and interested to see just how servile he could force her to be. She turned out to be more
submissive than he could ever have imagined, much more submissive...
One day, Helen slapped the face of a sixteen-year-old boy, Peter, who excelled in
General Science, taught by her evermore-demanding lover. Peter came and complained to
Vincent who devised a thoroughly appropriate plan. The next day, after classes, he brought
Helen into the nearby woods. He forced her to take off her skimpy underwear but keep on her
dress. Next, ordering her to bend over, he took a small whip out of his pocket, gave her
backside a vigorous beating with it, and then roughly shoved the rounded handle far up into her
anus. She wept quite a bit, squirmed an awful lot, but managed not to utter a word of
complaint. Then he made her stand up and had her walk around with him for some time in this
condition. Blushing, she obeyed though her gait was somewhat strained both by the object in
her back passage and by the rubbing of the cloth over her very tender behind.
Suddenly, around a curve in the path they encountered, as if by accident, Peter and two
of his friends from the rugby team. She understood immediately the trap she was in and burst
into tears. However, to Vincent’s surprise, she made no attempt to escape her fate.
“Hello, Miss Turner!,” chorused the boys.
“Oh look my dear; it’s Peter, with David and Jon. Hello lads, we’re just out for an
afternoon stroll, it’s such a lovely day. Would you care to come along? I’m sure Helen won’t
mind if you join us for our walk.”
“Why not, Sir. But I can’t help noticing that Miss Turner is walking a bit funny today.
Are you all right, Miss? Is there something we could help you with?”
“Well dearest, I think you had better show the boys the reason. Just to further their
education, so to speak!”
While she sobbed and pleaded, she was forced to roll up her dress and display her
abject humiliation to the three amused teenagers.
Peter whistled as he saw the whip protruding from between his weeping teacher’s
flaming buttocks. It was hard to tell what made her bottom redder, its beating or Helen’s
blushing. He kept to his role in the game though.
“Miss Turner, what a very lovely arse you’ve got. I think it’s even better than we all
imagined it. But it does seem awfully sore today. Is it always red and striped like that?”
“It is more often than not these days, boys. I’ve had to take Miss Turner’s further
education in hand. I like to think of it as re-education. But since you’re free this afternoon
perhaps you could be so kind as to help your teacher with another remedial lesson. Believe
me: she needs lots of personal tuition. If you are firm with her you will find she responds to
even the toughest lessons. Be as severe as you like!”
Vincent produced a second, much larger whip from his coat pocket. He made the
sobbing Helen first kiss and then lick the lashes until they glistened with her saliva. Then he
handed the instrument over to a grinning Peter.
“My recommendation is that you lads each start by giving her face a good slap. I am
sure that will make her more co-operative and respectful in your future classes. Next I think it
would be appropriate if you three took turns beating the hell out of her arse. Then, Peter, if you
and your mates fancy it, you can have your teacher up the back way. You can be sure that
she'll enjoy that part of the lesson... She’s a real slut when it comes to anal sex. Aren’t you
Helen?”
“Y… Y… Yerrs,” managed the distraught teacher.
“Yes what, my dear?”
“Y… Yes, I’m a slut for anal sex… Oh God…”
“There you go lads, she’s gagging for it. Slap her first for being a disrespectful slut.”
Much later that sunny afternoon, Vincent led a completely distraught Helen from the
park. She now walked even more peculiarly than before, her backside positively rolling
beneath the fabric. This was not too surprising, because after each slapping her face
violently, her pupils had whipped her backside with exceptional enthusiasm until it glowed
like a brazier of hot coals. Next the lads had enjoyed the game of repeatedly fucking her
arsehole, each of them cumming twice in her agonised bowels. They had finished by
pushing, at Vincent’s suggestion, the larger sized whip handle between her still glowing,
flaming buttocks and high up into her rectum. This hadn’t been too difficult as their three
pricks had by then thoroughly loosened the way and their mingled sperm greased the
insertion for the rough leather tool. Peter and his two friends had been amazed to discover
that all this abuse actually made their teacher climax. Sobbing, hiccupping, begging and
cumming: all at the same time. As a final humiliation Vincent forced her to kneel in the grass
and suck the boy’s cocks spotlessly clean before they left.
That terrible afternoon’s experience broke what little resistance the poor teacher had
been willing to show to her stern lover and over the following months under Vincent’s close
personal direction Helen became better and better acquainted with a steadily increasing
number of her students. Her master began with the bigger, rougher boys and then added in
one or two of the more vicious girls.
Everyone in the school soon noticed that Miss Turner nowadays never sat down in
school any more. She walked to and from work, taught standing up, ate standing up and even
stood in staff meetings. The only time she sat down was when Vincent Crawford told her to
and then it seemed to cause her the most exquisite discomfort. Everyone tried to guess the
reason. Later on all became clear as, at Vincent’s orders, Helen’s skirts became shorter and
shorter till the tassels showed below the hem of her skirt.
It was clear that for months the poor teacher had been walking around with the greased
whip handle in her anus all day, every day. Initially Vincent used the smaller-handled whip for
this duty, but soon he changed to the bigger one. It amused him to know that when he ordered
her to sit next to him at lunch or in a staff meeting that the awful look on her face showed she
could feel every millimetre of the fourteen inch braided handle in her arsehole.
By the summer term the poor teacher wore only the shortest of miniskirts whose hems
were way above the tops of her stockings. Whenever she bent over (which she did frequently
as Vincent barked at her, “Touch your toes, bitch!”) one could actually see the end of the whip
handle sticking out her now thoroughly trained anus. Her tops by this stage were just thin
spandex tubes with the words ‘whore’, ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ in bright lettering.
If Vincent felt that his plaything had not been cooperative enough in degrading herself
utterly he would follow her into her classroom at the beginning of a lesson. He would tug down
her tube top so her breasts were revealed and then facing her to the blackboard he would
make her grip her well spread ankles. This way she would be looking back at her pupils
through her opened legs. Vincent would first flip her tiny skirt up onto her back so that every
student had a perfect view of the whip sticking out of her arsehole. Then he would grip the
thing and fuck her rectum with it until she had an orgasm, knowing that climaxing in front of the
class was the worst ordeal for Helen. Next he would pull the whip free, give her backside a few
hard lashes with it before ramming the handle back in. Finally he would leave her to teach the
lesson in this position, often fixing a bulldog clip to each nipple before departing. Trying to keep
a semblance of order while her breasts dangled and she looked through whip tassels was
impossible. Humiliating chaos would ensue as the students set about abusing her. The
students knew the rules: humiliating their teacher was allowed and indeed recommended.
Touching her and fondling her was fine, having sex with her was not, unless specifically given
permission to do so by Mr Crawford.
To minimise the abuse poor Helen spent her time behaving as much as possible like
the completely degraded slut she now was. She accepted the catcalls and insults from her
classes with a fixed smile, let herself be groped continuously and cooperated with student
suggestions like “Time to show us your tits, Miss Turner” or “Why don’t you have a wank now,
Miss?” The students quickly figured out that the worse the degradation the greater her
reluctant excitement and the more certain the humiliating orgasm would be.
By this stage, as well as being carnally acquainted with almost every boy in the sixth
form and quite a few of the more daring girls, Helen Turner had become the official staffroom
fuck-toy. Teachers were, of course, exempt from the ‘no sex’ rule, with the proviso that all such
intercourse had to take place in the staffroom or other private space so as not to disrupt the
schooling.
At the school’s summer fundraising fete a special tent was set up in the corner of the
grounds with the sign outside: ‘Miss Turner’s Special Tuition’. Here parents could, for a
substantial donation to school funds, act out whatever fantasies they wanted with the Sixth
Form’s obedient Maths teacher. It turned out to be the top earner of the afternoon and was so
popular that the headmaster was forced to keep it going long into the evening. As the students
cleared away the rest of the fair, the sounds of grunts and groans could be heard coming from
the tent, punctuated occasionally by a squeal of pain, sobbing plea for mercy or desperate
climax from their abused teacher.
Miss Turner quit her job at the end of the school year in order to become Mrs Crawford
at a grotesquely obscene wedding ceremony attended by all of the staff and most of the older
children in the school. The very public ‘wedding night’ actually went on for three appalling,
humiliating but terribly exciting days and included as highlights:
•
A greeting line that was really more of a groping line with the arriving
guests invited to scoop her breasts out of her low cut dress and then to tug at Helen’s
nipples or to stick their hands through slits in her dress to finger her crotch.
•
Everyone writing obscene recollections of Helen’s last year as a teacher
in the wedding book.
•
Parody wedding photographs: each of these pictures involved the well-
dressed guests and the nearly-naked bride, with the latter fancifully bound or held and
with one or more exotic objects sticking out of her cunt, mouth or anus:
•
The bride and groom: a traditional pose with Vincent in full morning suit
while next to him stood Helen in just high heels, stockings, whalebone
waist cinch, a lace choker, her veil and the bridal bouquet.
•
The bride and the six bridesmaids (all sixth-form girls): the young women
held their teacher up with her legs wide spread and the bouquet shoved
deeply into her vagina.
•
The bride and the groom’s friends,
•
The bride and the school staff,
•
The bride and the rugby team, etc..
•
Repeated champagne enemas leaving Helen woozy and her anus
incredibly sensitised. A freshly opened bottle would be shaken with a thumb over the
opening before being firmly inserted past the bride’s anal sphincter. A quick fucking
with the neck was followed by removal leading to a fountain of foaming wine erupting
several feet into a basin.
•
Helen spread-eagled on a table with four elasticised clips holding her
labia wide open so all the guests could take turns eating wedding cake from her gaping
vagina. This was so popular that her cunt had to be packed full a dozen times. Though
traditionally cake is eaten with a fork in this case the diners were instructed to use
spoons!
•
A first dance where she danced naked apart from her veil and very high
heels while Vincent of course was still in his fine suit. His dance was restrained,
Helen’s was choreographed to be blatantly pornographic.
•
An afternoon session where the blushing bride was introduced to all her
students’ pet dogs in a canine orgy.
•
A trip to the emergency department at the local hospital to have a milk
bottle removed from her rectum. Poor Helen had to tell the doctors she had no idea
how it had got up there.
Helen has known much worse humiliations and stimulations since this time and still she
has never once complained or tried to escape her fate. At the start of the new school year
Vincent instituted a reward scheme for his science students. Each fortnight the three best
performing pupils are invited home to abuse and experiment on his wife, their former teacher.
Outrageous scientific investigations are now performed on the humiliated, but still submissive,
woman. Like all proper science experiments meticulous records are kept including
measurements, photographs and video recordings. Class discussion groups discuss and
formulate the latest projects and monitor Helen’s progress with graphs and statistics:
•
How much horse semen (ordered from the vet) can she swallow before
vomiting?
•
How often can she orgasm in an afternoon while fucking herself or being fucked
with a banana/a courgette/a vibrator?
•
How many strokes of a riding crop across her breasts/arse/cunt before she
faints?
•
How much hot/cold water can her bowels take?
•
Can she climax while being fucked in the arse/cunt/mouth by a Great Dane/a
Rottweiler/an Alsatian?
•
Will her vagina accept an entire cucumber/aubergine/hand?
•
Can she suck off two boys at once?
•
How many pins can be stuck in her breasts?
•
What is the biggest size of dildo that she can impale herself on, anally/vaginally,
willingly/unwillingly?
A giant bulletin board in the main corridor exhibits the latest data and analysis for all to
see, liberally illustrated with numerous full colour photographs. Vincent’s favourite of these is a
large A3 sized print of his nude wife on her back with her ankles doubled up round her ears
looking straight at the camera above her spread crotch as she holds her labia apart to show a
stream of sperm oozing from her vagina. An exceptionally thick cucumber sticks out of her
anus and a fierce-looking clip is crushing her clitoris. What makes the image perfect is the look
on Helen’s face that shows she has clearly just had an overwhelmingly intense orgasm.
The staff room is often packed out as Helen’s former colleagues review a video of her
latest scientific achievements.
Vincent has, of course, agreed to the headmaster’s request that Mrs Crawford be
available for further school fundraising efforts, starting with a fundraising weekend in the
country with several of the better-off parents.
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