It was a mundane Wednesday for me. The teacher was being short and indifferent as usual, worse than a woman on an emotional rollercoaster while having pre-menstrual symptoms. I was still healing from my wounds from the previous encounter with the notorious nine tails flogger used to break my bad habits of arriving late or not turning in assignments on time. I never responded back to my teacher, shocked and deceived by one so beautiful, one who could scar the heart of a gullible woman such as myself.

His shirt was a white button down shirt and he wore baggy jeans that day. The sandals displaying his beautiful feet I desperately wanted to kiss matched the ensemble. I was punctual today, yet he noticed nothing. I was attempting to participate with class discussions, yet he overlooked me. Perhaps the teacher was bored of me, found another pupil to spark his interests and embrace the demons he so desperately hid behind the façade of “Teacher of the year.”

I was not going to worry about him. I had a coffee date with my friend, Ely, who I have been attempting to make time for. Ely was a nice gentleman. He was a decorated veteran who served the navy for nine years, beautiful chocolate man who decided to attend school for his medical career beginning with his pre-med studies. After class period was over, I tried to capture a glance from the teacher and meet his eyes. No response. Damn him! I told myself I would forget the events that had transpired the previous week.

Ely and I were at the Starbucks café on campus rummaging through notes for his class, talking about why we could not have social outlets on campus other than cafeteria drinks and coffee shops. We laughed. He was quite the charmer amusing me. He was enjoying my company. No weird scenarios, no flogging, just simple conversation. He enjoyed that I was in black converse tennis shoes, my Social Distortion shirt, and ponytail. He liked the fact I was not in the normal getup.

Two hours had passed, and Ely was still chatting about biology. I was intrigued. I was smiling. However, the faint and all too familiar smell of Perry Ellis lingered in the air. I was aroused by such a smell. My clit was pulsating in my jeans. Excellent choice I had made that morning to wear some underwear to school. When I ignored the scent, Ely’s face looked pale as the voice of the teacher exclaimed, “Lyric, I am attempting to work on Midterm grades today. I noticed an “I” for incomplete. When will you turn in your assignment? Your assignment is now one week late.”

Holy fuck! The nerve of my teacher approaching me outside of class hours trying to talk to a nice man I am having a soy latte with. Ugh! I acknowledged my teacher with a nod. The teacher was calm, spoke with stern words. He disappeared among the crowd of students polluting the air with their yells and conversation which bore very little relevancy.

It was getting late; Ely had a late Microbiology class he had to go to. I was walking to the car; I was rummaging through my purse for my car keys. My cellphone was on silent. I had at least nine missed calls and eight text messages from the teacher, aka Mr. Wonderful. I still could not find my keys. I was wondering if I had left them at the café or Ely must have taken them by accident. Wrong…the teacher was at the hood of my car dangling my keys. I really had admiration for my teacher, but he had crossed the line grabbing my possessions without my consent. I had not yielded to him as a slave, so what the hell was his problem anyway? He was married; I was not an object of his affection if he ignored me as if I was diagnosed with the plague. I was livid!

“Wipe that look off your face. You have some nerve going out with a man without consulting your teacher first. You are mine. You are my possession. My blood curdles to have the image of you and him kissing in public. You smell like him. Your cigarettes, your foam of the latte drink he had wiped from your lips. Those are my lips. You are my Lyric,” the teacher said with a smooth tone.

“So I cannot have a say in anything? You can gallop to and fro around the campus. Stalking is illegal in all fifty states. I am flattered, but in distress with you stealing my keys for your cause. Go home to your wife! Go love her! It’s apparent I cannot be your slave or property when it is out of your own convenience. I have had better Masters, who were amateurs, treated their slaves with better dignity.

You lack the courage of your convictions, teacher, so suffice to the boring life or do something about it!”

I walked into my car, trying to lock the door. He jumped in the driver’s seat before I could. He kissed me. That was the best thing I'd had all day. My body was in withdrawals. He was my drug. He was my teacher. He had handcuffed me to the door, and then blindfolded me. I was instructed not to ask questions. It was dark with the sounds of the road accompanying my ears.

He uttered no syllables, he whispered no sounds. Again, the bumpy road and the heavy breathing accompanied me. I was sweating, soaking my underwear, clenching my teeth. My car was fairly new. I had air conditioning, yet he kept the windows slightly cracked in the car. I was carried over his shoulders to a dwelling.

The dwelling smelled of maple syrup. When I was forced to sit on a chair, I had palms down on my lap. I was instructed to count 1 through 10, backwards. When the countdown starts, it is his world. I am just an object in it. The blindfold was like a veil falling from my eyes. I had seen a cabin. I was out in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to panic. I was so turned on though. I was told to undress. I had to have my palms implanted on the table. I was bent over, naked. I was told I deserved to be punished. I was displayed as a toy for Master. I was nothing in his world, but an object. I felt so helpless. I was told to repeat, “You are my Master, I am your object,” each time the riding crop hit my ass.

I wanted to fall on my knees. However, I did not want to disappoint Master. I lost count of the times the riding crop hit my ass. I thought I was about to lose consciousness when he stopped. I did not realize I had blacked out when I was touched with soft strokes of the bath sponge cradling my face. The hot bath water smelled of jasmine. My teacher was calm. He showed no emotion while bathing me with soft strokes.

“You passed out when I stopped. I have underestimated my little pet. You took every lashing with such poise and gracefulness. You are still my apt pupil. I had to wash out the stench of that man touching you. I want my Lyric to be clean. You no longer have an incomplete grade. You were breathtaking.”

I uttered, “Thank you, Master,” to the teacher.

An uncomfortable feeling set in my stomach. I was telling myself he wouldn't ever fall in love with me. He won’t ever meet my parents at Thanksgiving dinner. I was just an object, and nothing more. He won’t ever divorce his wife. He won’t ever take me to his school functions. He won’t ever be mine, completely. My heart ached more than any lashing I'd had from the riding crop. Nine tailed floggers couldn’t match the pain I was hiding. I loved my teacher. I was fond of his bronzed skin, his eyes, and his beautiful words.

Thereafter, I was placed on the bed of my teacher, and he tended to my wounds. He said they were ribbons of valor, trophies, he had added, to show what I had done to deserve Master’s attention. I nodded, and then slept. I woke up the next morning. There was no teacher. No riding crop on my side. I looked outside the window, and I saw my car in the driveway. The keys were on the desk where my palms where placed the night before near a note. I was hesitant to read the note. I looked for the teacher. He was out of sight. I was worried. After getting out of the shower, I had the courage to read the note.

“You have earned an A. I am proud of you my pet. Enclosed with this note is a piece of dark scarlet lace, a nice collar, you will wear at all times to know you are mine. You are my pet; you have yielded to me, Lyric. I will love you as my pet; I will keep you in mind. I will bathe and clothe my pet. When applying this collar on your neck, this is considered an honor. You will be mine until you decide to dissever your ties to your Master….P.S….You are mine. You will cease to see that man you had coffee with.”

I smiled and jumped for joy. I immediately put on the scarlet piece of lace, his collar, around my neck. I headed out of the cabin. Inside my car, there were directions to get back to school and the riding crop. I cannot wait to see my teacher, my love, my master again. I long for his touch and soft hands. In a sense, I feel my teacher wants to love too. Just as I love him dearly.