November 20, 2000
"Teenage Fantasies"
When I was a teenager, I fantasized about my teachers.
Like many schools, I suppose, we had a senior slave day. In an attempt to be
more PC, I think they call it servant rather than slave now. Anyway, I used to
fantasize about being purchased by a teacher and then put to more interesting
use than cleaning out supply closets or washing blackboards.
One of my fantasies was that my junior high English teacher would purchase me.
She had a large closet in her room and, for an amusement, she would use it to
imprison me. She would make me strip and then she would open the door to the
closet. There would be nothing in it except for a chair with its back to the
door. She would order me into the closet and command me to kneel on the chair.
She would then cuff my wrists to the bar that went across the closet. One wrist
on either end of the bar so that my arms were spread apart. She would then
shackle my ankles as I knelt on the chair and. She then padlocked a heavy chain
to the shackles and locked the other end around the same bar to which my wrists
and ankles were chained. Next, she put a soft leather collar tightly around my
throat. She attached a leash to the back of it and put it over the bar above my
head, pulling it taut so that my neck had to strain upward. She secured it with
a small padlock. Then she tested the chains to make sure they were secure and,
smiling at me, she pulled away the chair. Can you see my position? I'm hanging
by my wrists, my legs still pulled up into the kneeling position even though I
have nothing on which to kneel. The leash is pulling the collar upward. It is
extremely difficult for me to breathe unless I either pull myself up by my
wrists or push my ankles downward to force myself slightly upward. She's done
this with sufficient care that I won't die, but I will suffer. My muscles will
ache as I strain to breathe. She caresses my chest, my sides... She runs her
hands down the muscles in my arms which are trembling with the strain. The last
step is to stuff my underwear in my mouth as a gag and secure it with tape. She
starts to close the door but then an idea strikes her. She undoes the scarf
around her neck and ties it lightly over my face like a bandanna. My nostrils
are filled with the scent of her perfume.
"So you'll remember whose you are," she tells me with a smile.
"Have a good weekend," she says and then closes and locks the door.