Chapter 6 - Slut Training 101

The very next day, my training had begun. When I woke up that morning and had gone about my usual routine at school, I had no idea the sort of month that laid before me, the trials and rewards that my body would be experiencing in just a few short weeks. Mr. Poln had promised to turn me into the perfect slut; an oath that, I admit, I didn't take seriously when I first heard it. I had dismissed it as simple dirty talk, a filthy little promise to make his eighteen year old pet moist and to give himself a feeling of power and authority. However, as I learned over the course of the next few weeks, Mr. Poln was not a man that promised things without weight, nor was he a man that wielded authority without convictions.

Week one had been easy, relatively speaking. At first, I likened it to the antics of playful teenagers, doing silly, stupid things to each other's bodies to delight their hormones with the thrill of possibly getting caught. On the very first day of what Mr. Poln had officially decreed my Slut Training, he gave to me a small toy to wear on me when he demanded it. It was a small vibrator, barely the size of my thumb, that came fitted in a velcro pouch that was able to stick on the inside of my panties. The morning he gave it to me, Mr. Poln had locked the door to his classroom, pulled up my pleated skirt, and personally fitted the small, wireless toy against the inside of my clothing. He made sure that went my panties closed the tiny toy would press against my hood, and after making sure the toy was snug and secure he stroked me through the thin fabric of my panties, promising to give me proper treatment later in the day.

Though I was horribly naive for a woman of my age, even I knew that the toy likely had some remote control function, so I was naturally expecting it throughout the entire day. I went through first period Advanced Calculus, second period Ancient Prose, and third period French V with the press of that static toy, constantly against my hood, but never once making so much as a buzz. It was impossible to ignore, yet also not truly a hinderance, my dominant teacher's version of "Does this bother you? I'm not touching you." I remember sitting at lunch in the cafeteria, at the table I typically at alone, wondering when the toy would finally move. Throughout the past few hours I had grown obsessed with it; that small buzzer nuzzled against my hood, hiding underneath the school's required skirt. During my French class I tried to think of all the ways I could say "sexual frustration" in languages other than English, only to find out that what I was taught in my various linguistic courses didn't properly prepare a young woman for my situation. There was, sadly, no "German for Schoolgirl Sluts."

After lunch came more frustration as I was drawn into gym class, and then art, and then my student council meeting. I had failed my bid for student council president that year, though I had been put in charge of the treasury. It was a task I didn't mind, though at the time it sat sourly with me because I remember hearing one of the other members say "She's probably good with numbers, they all are."

Yes, I'm Asian. And yes, I'm good at math. Excellent at it, really. But I'm good at other things, too, though it's sometimes hard to think of things I'm skilled at that my teacher hadn't taught me in those personal lessons. Regardless, that day I sat frustrated in the meeting, clutching with white knuckles a stack of papers that summarized, in detail, the expenses and profits of the most recent school dance. I had prepared a speech about how the cost of bringing in extra security to check the cars for drug users and fornicators was only barely covered by the profits of selling candy and soda, and had outlined a solution I was rather proud of. I had worked days on it, and was so very ready to give my speech...but as I sat there my mind was obsessed with that toy.

That damned, tiny toy sitting against my clit.

Was the battery broken? Was the range on whatever remote control Mr. Poln possessed not enough to reach me in other classrooms? Did he use it when I was going to the restroom, and my panties had been pulled aside? What terrible luck! I had gone almost the entire day preparing myself for it, bracing my knees and knowing that at any moment the pleasures of the vibrating toy would rocket through my entire body. Like tensing a muscle when you know you're about to be punched, it was a difficult stance to maintain. I was exhausted from the day, from every lesson and every activity, simply because I had been terrified to flinch.

"All right, Kim has a presentation about the school dance's costs." The student council advisor spoke up; sitting from behind her desk. She was a stern looking woman that only barely kept us in order, she did nothing to stop the students from talking over each other and usually only found herself involved if we were about to do something ill-advised for the school's publicity. As I nodded to her and started the long, cautious march to the front of the room, I could hear two of the boys from my student council class chatting casually to each other.

The boys never really paid attention to the politics or the economics. They were mostly in the council because they were jocks or stupid class clowns, and saw the job as a dodge from actual work. However, that day I found their words astonishingly relevant to my situation.

"Hey man, look at this thing I found in the hall." One of them was holding something small, and the same lilac color as the toy that had been torturing my hood the entire day. The words that slipped from his stupid jock lips chilled me to the bone, save for a deep, hidden fire that was slowly smoldering. "Looks like a remote or some shit."

"For someone's car lock or something?" One of them asked, and I took a deep, steadying breath as I continued to advance to the podium.

"Nah, probably some freshman brought a toy in or something." As he casually started to play with it, his finger must have slid the controls on the toy to its highest setting, and my world nearly went white.

Thankfully, the velcro pouch on the toy muzzled the sound, so the entire classroom couldn't hear as the dormant, teasing bit of plastic suddenly sprung to life like it hadn't that entire day. After so much preparation and bracing, I couldn't possibly have imagined just how potent the toy's effect could be. Goosebumps immediately sprung to my fingers and I nearly dropped my proposal, by teeth biting down on my bottom lip and color instantly draining from my face. My pussy felt like it had suddenly awakened after a long rest, hungry for the pleasures I was becoming increasingly addicted to. By some divine miracle I was able to walk to the podium, placing down my report and holding my hands on the side of the cheap wooden stand. The vibration by this point was rocketing up and down, from maximum setting to minimum, and I could see in the back of the class the jock was casually switching it back and forth from idleness as he gave my proposal half of his attention. To him, it was a gesture no more important than nibbling the end of a pen, or tapping a tune onto his desk with a finger. It was nothing to him; in that moment he held my fate in his hands and didn't realize it.

I had already begun to sweat; though it wasn't unusual since I typically didn't handle public speaking very well. I stood there, trying to brace my knees, squeezing my thighs together in the hopes that it would hold the device still. Sadly, it was an utter failure, and I could do little more than endure the stimulation to my clit as my eyes poured over a sea of my student council peers; few of whom I respected and none of whom I liked.

When that thought sunk in, something awakened in me. The fear broke into a rush of arousal, and the toy at my clit, controlled by that oaf in the back was no longer a knife at my throat but my teacher's helping hand. Was this part of Slut Training 101? Embracing your arousal, embracing your sexuality? Probably not. It was much more likely that Mr. Poln threw the toy into the hall for the random glee of letting some other student torture me, but I found a strength in that moment. I was wet; gloriously so, and my cheeks were likely red as I parted my lips and cleared my throat, preparing to give my speech.

Like the salivating dog begging for a treat, I ran my tongue across my braces.

"The cost of hiring extra security for the school dance simply isn't a reasonable solution. We need to pressure the faculty to volunteer their time, perhaps by offering inceti--"

Well, I won't bore you with the details of my speech. It didn't go well, as none of them truly did, one of the secrets of student council is that nothing you do has even the slightest impact on the school. It just looks good on college applications.

What I will tell you about; however, is how I got off during it. My voice was rising and falling as I spoke, and I was presenting my point as I always did, which basically means I was talking over the heads of half of them. The jock in the back was continuing to toy with the device, having no clue that every flip of the switch sent sudden, violent vibrations against the hood of my clit. While I spoke I could feel my pussy practically drooling, my panties soaked from the constant vibrations, but it was a pleasure I gladly rode out through my speech. I gazed out over the faces of the jocks and the popular boys; whom I tended to disrespect yet still found them sexually appealing. I would've said cute, but since Mr. Poln had made me his personal slut I no longer saw boys in terms of "I'd like him to hold my hand," instead opting for "I'd let him cum inside me." I let my eyes travel to the girls, mostly rich girls and a token Russian exchange student, all of them dressed in the same ridiculous outfit that I was in. The standard white dress shirt, some of them opting for the tight blue blazer across their chest. Dark pleated skirt, knee-high white socks, and black dress shoes. Seeing them there made me realize how I must look; just as ridiculous but with the additional bane of almond eyes, glasses, and the glint of metal whenever I opened my mouth loud enough to bare my teeth. They wore their schoolgirl outfits knowing full well what it did to the teenage boys and the older male teachers, but they had no idea. They had no idea what a slut truly was.

Whereas I had been specially chosen for the course. The honor student in me preened, as I took a stance that spread my legs a little, allowing me to enjoy the ride. As I continued to speak my hips rolled back and forth, to my audience it would seem like the bored swaying of a nervous girl giving a speech, but in my mind I was grinding against my teacher's lap, riding Mr. Poln's shaft with the eager delight I had been trained to do. As I rode him my eyes finally flickered over to the student council advisor, and I pleaded part of my case while looking in her direction, but I was truly just envisioning bending over Mr. Poln's desk and letting him fuck me as hard and as long as he liked.

I came when the jock turned the dial up to its max setting and left it there, putting it aside to pull out his cell phone and thumb through it. If only he knew the show he was missing as the toy danced in its velcro sheath, quivering against my hood and making my pussy tremble from delight. When my climax came I stuttered in my speech, my cheeks going red and a line of sweat coming from my brow. It was a long, awkward moment for sure, but it was nothing that couldn't be attributed to the shy Asian girl that could barely talk to people one on one, let alone to an entire crowd. I could feel my body react with a squirt; but thankfully it was a small one. What my panties didn't collect I could feel rolling against the inside of my thighs, slithering down my bare legs as the only public reveal of what I had done. The toy at my hood buzzed on; it continued to hum long after my climax, to the point of discomfort. For those reasons I quickly ended my presentation and made my way back to the back of the room, pausing only to tell the jock that I saw a freshman using the remote earlier, and that I knew who to give it back to. He gave it up without effort, and I soon sat in the back with the device turned off, simply...glowing.

"Smell something?" One of the jocks in front of me asked, likely picking up scent of my thighs coated in the scent of my arousal.

I beamed, and my tongue danced over my braces. I couldn't wait to see Mr. Poln after school.

--- That night, Mr. Poln had granted my wish to be bent over his desk and taken like the slut I was in training to be. He had reacted with amusement when I showed him the recovered remote, and he rewarded me by pushing me to my ass, making me sit on the cold, hard tile with my head pressed back against the side of his desk. He fucked my mouth while I sat with splayed legs, my skirt pulled up and a hand down the front of my panties, feverishly fingering myself to my second orgasm of the day. After he had fucked my head to the side of his desk enough that my face was a mess of spit and precum, he triumphantly pulled me up, braced one of my knees up on the side of the desk, and fucked me until my nails scratched lines in the wood of his desk, and I was filled once again with my middle-aged teacher's cream.

He sent me home that night with the promise that there would be more to come the next day, and the day after, every day until my training was to be complete. He didn't disappoint. The first week, as I mentioned earlier, was nearly tame by comparison of what came after. On that first week Mr. Poln made me wear the vibrator almost every day, each day giving me no idea of when the shocks might come. Once was during his class while he spoke, while another was when I was trying to eat lunch, and I could see him smirking in his confident, dominant fashion from across the room. On that Friday he gave the remote to me, and told me that I could enjoy it as much as I liked throughout the day.

...what he failed to tell me was that the battery was almost dead. It failed on me during my second period, and I had to go through the entire day unfulfilled. When I met up with him after school that day, Mr. Poln laid flat on his desk and made me ride him wearing nothing but my kneesocks and glasses. I practically lost my mind on his desk that night, riding and grinding my teacher, forcing out all the sexual torment and frustration he had subjected to me throughout the past week. When he came, it was deep and warm, and he let me rest naked atop his chest for a few moments while I caught my breath and relished the feel of my teacher's cum slowly seeping out of my gaping pussy.

There hadn't been a day that week that Mr. Poln didn't fuck me, nor was there a day that he had even contemplated pulling out. By that point I was on the pill, but I can't say that I would've stopped him from dumping his seed inside of me even if I wasn't. In just that short week, I had already grown addicted to Mr. Poln cumming inside of me. The warmth, the gooey sensation of being filled, the delightful expression on my teacher's face when he was able to pump his eighteen year old student to the brim...there was far too much that I loved about that moment to be healthy. Though that Friday, as I laid naked atop him, it dawned on me that I hadn't been allowed to taste his cum that entire week.

That simple wouldn't stand, and to Mr. Poln's surprise his pet acted of her own volition, rolling off of his body and moving to service his cock. Though it was marked with his cum and my own juices, I diligently worked him back to full length, parting my lips to take him into my now well-trained mouth. After a few moments of hard work, I was treated to a mouthful of my teacher's cream, which I sloshed around with my tongue, letting it coat my braces before I eagerly swallowed it down. As if I was dieting and sneaking a candy bar, it was a mouthful I relished right down to the moment its flavor vanished from my tongue.

The weekends were quickly becoming a thing of scorn to me. My meetings with Mr. Poln were far too risky to undertake on a weekend; besides, we both had responsibilities that needed to be attended to. While I was utterly addicted to my teacher's cock I had not yet lost my sanity; and I was still determined in pulling down excellent grades for my future college plans. As a result, my weekends were spent in studious isolation, hours dedicated to pouring over my homework followed by breaks long enough to get off with my fingers. I'd either lay in bed and picture Mr. Poln, or if it was late enough I'd sneak online, looking up videos of older men and depraved, submissive younger women. The look in their eyes when they'd be fucked and claimed, the utter presence of absolute submission they gave...I envied them, and strived to be Mr. Poln what they were to the men in the videos.

I had begun taking notes of things I wanted Mr. Poln to do to me, but they were strictly for my fantasies when I masturbated. I wouldn't of dared propose Mr. Poln do anything to me; he clearly had the matter of my corruption well in hand. Besides, everyone loves surprises.

When Monday came, I rushed to Mr. Poln's office so that I could speak with him before classes started. The bus arrived early enough to afford me a brief fifteen minutes to dawdle before getting to my first period class, and I could think of no better way to use those minutes than to find out what the week's training would be dedicated to. I stumbled into class to find my handsome, older lover sitting behind his desk, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee as casually as could be.

"Kimberly." Came his stern greeting; and my cheeks flushed at it. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but in one simple word I could hear him promise delights that were still undiscovered, the promise of him continuing to systematically break down my sexuality and rebuild it around his throbbing cock. I paused at the edge of his desk and took a breath, nodding my head in greeting but waiting for him to lower his newspaper before speaking. He let me wait; clearly finishing the paragraph he was working on and taking a sip of coffee before responding. I could do little more than squirm, and wonder to myself what news story could possibly be so important that a man would keep his eighteen year old fucktoy waiting. By the time he had lowered his newspaper I was nearly grinding against the edge of the desk, burning with impatience, ready and willing to drop to my knees and suck him off right then and there had he demanded it.

"Kimberly, you're reading ahead in class." Mr. Poln arched a brow, regarding me as I rocked back and forth on my heels. I probably looked quite the sight; shoulder length black hair framing my face, my Asian features caught in a perpetual state of arousal and excitement. I still didn't wear any lipstick, but around Mr. Poln my cheeks were almost constantly rosy anyway.

"What do you mean, Mr. Poln?" I asked, and tried my best to tilt my head in an adorable way, as if I could somehow seduce the man that controlled when I was wet. He just regarded me with his typical stoic expression, as undaunted by my puppy dog eyes as he was by the principal's threats last week.

"You're reading ahead." He repeated, his voiced hinted at mild irritation. "It's good when we're in history class and you already know all the terms of a surrender treaty before a war even begins, but for Slut Training 101…" He smirked a little, and gave me a look that was nothing short of predatory. "Working ahead can ruin my lesson plan."

Ruining a lesson plan? Not being a good student?! Whether it was history or whoring, my deep-seated desire to be a good student trumped nearly any concern of self-preservation. I quickly straightened my back and let my hands go to my sides, looking at Mr. Poln with concern knitting my brow. After clearing my throat I looked at Mr. Poln, a little nervousness as I picked my measured, careful words.

"Mr. Poln, could you...clarify?" I didn't want to say that I was lost, that I had no idea what he was talking about. I thought I had done a fine job the week before, taking his cock and his cream and his torment, and becoming the better slut for it. The idea that I had somehow messed up frightened me a little, and I tried to maintain myself as my teacher continued.

"Kimberly, last week was supposed to teach you patience." Mr. Poln casually spoke, and took another sip of his coffee. He let the flavor swirl around, and licked his lips with a satisfied sigh that wasn't unlike when I would devour his cum. "Unfortunately, you've jumped straight ahead to being desperate to get fucked. It's not a bad trait to have...in fact, it's something I insist you have. But if you don't learn to be patient, bad things will happen."

"...you mean I'll end up getting us caught?" A look of fear overtook my features, and I trembled a little inside. Nothing could end our affair faster than the fear of discovery, and for the briefest of moments I was afraid of Mr. Poln ending it. My teacher; however, just shook his head and offered me a brief, kind smile, a reassurance that our sordid relationship could continue.

"Of course not. You're impatient, but you're not an idiot, and neither am I." He quirked a brow, leaning back in his chair. "We don't send filthy text messages to each other, we do things once the school is empty, and even if a faculty member did find out you're one blowjob away from getting the principal on our side." My cheeks flushed at that; briefly remembering my teacher's large cock, and the brutal way he had fucked my throat and left me coughing and gagging. It was a shameful memory, but one that wasn't entirely...unpleasant.

"No, Kimberly, we won't get caught," Mr. Poln continued. "But if you don't learn patience you're going to...let's just say, not appreciate things like you should. If Christmas comes every day, suddenly you find yourself hard pressed to wake up early and see what's been left under the tree."

I gave a little nod as Mr. Poln spoke, and I chewed my bottom lip, curiously wondering where this line of discussion was going. When he spoke again, my color drained and I went stark white, my mouth dropping open from mere shock.

"And so, we're not fucking at all this week. You're not to come see me after school at all."

If there had been more than five minutes left before first period, I would have argued. I would have screamed. I would have begged, I would of cried, and I would have promised he could do anything to my body that he possibly wanted.

In short, I would've done everything that would have proven his point.

Knowing I didn't have time for the childish route, I tried to collect myself with a deep breath, finally squeaking out in a submissive, quiet voice.

"W...When can we...when can we do it again…?"

I gave him my best puppy dog eyes, which I knew he was immune to, though this time it seemed like Mr. Poln was ready to show mercy to me. He opened up a folder and pulled out a small piece of paper, a quick glance at it showed me that it was a permission slip for a field trip; supposedly an overnight stay in the city to visit a museum and learn about history. It was clearly labelled that it was for advanced students only, and the scheduled date was this upcoming Saturday.

"You forgot to tell your parents about the trip until now." Mr. Poln advised, and picked his newspaper back up. He opened it casually and started to read, his face disappearing behind the wall of black and white. "You're to be at the school with your things Saturday morning, and won't be home until Sunday afternoon."

I swallowed, my eyes wide as I process it all. A week without Mr. Poln's cock was...a terrifying prospect. For an eighteen year old woman that was just realizing the joy of sex, the pleasure that getting fucked could bring her? It felt like the end of the world, but...only for a few days.

I couldn't help but ask; my throat was dry and I could already feel my hands go clammy from the rush of nervousness, but I simply had to ask.

"What happens...Saturday night?" I squeaked, sounding excited, scared, and curious.

"Christmas morning." Was all the reply I received from behind his newspaper.

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End of Chapter 6.

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