My First Day of Class Turned Me Into His Slave

My name is Noelia, I’m twenty-one years old, and I’m writing this by strict order of my master, Don Teodoro. He is sixty-six and was the man who decided, almost two years ago, that my life and my body belonged to him completely. He wants me to detail my thoughts and, above all, what he does to me every time he uses me, so that you can read me and correct me. He says my submission process is still incomplete and that he needs your gaze to polish me.

I’m ashamed, because I’m shy by nature. I shrink at the thought that you’re going to know exactly what my lord asks of me and how I must accept it without protest. He sums it up in one sentence: I must be grateful for whatever he decides for me. He has demanded total honesty, without softening anything. I find it hard to write without beating around the bush, but I’ll try, even if I feel exposed doing it.

Yesterday I failed him again.

During the Protocol exam, Don Teodoro assigned me my usual task. I don’t keep up with the others, so my role is to serve: hand out the exams, collect the finished exercises. I moved between the desks with my head bowed. Some classmates raised their hand just to make me come closer; others whispered a “thank you, maid” loaded with pity and superiority. According to protocol, I must answer in a thread of a voice: “you’re welcome, sir.”

Then Bruno, the class bully, let his pencil fall and ordered me with an arrogant gesture to pick it up. I felt the weight of every gaze as I slowly bent down. He gave a low laugh and murmured, “good girl.” My hand trembled so much that, when I tried to give it back, the pencil slipped and fell onto his crotch. As I bent down again, I saw his trousers tightening.

I froze. Instinctively I looked for my master’s gaze. He held my eyes with a cold smile and declared, “What are you waiting for? Hand it over and stop bothering us.” With my fingertips, barely brushing Bruno’s thigh, I gave it to him without lifting my eyes, while the classroom filled with stifled laughter.

When it was over, Don Teodoro called me aside. “You still don’t know how to accept your role without fucking it up,” he told me. He punished me all afternoon: locked in my room, no phone, the computer disconnected from the network, just so I could write this. He said he wasn’t harsher because, at least, I didn’t make a scene that interrupted the exam.

I know I’m being trained to understand that my body no longer belongs to me. The only response allowed from me, no matter what he does to me, is a lowered gaze and a “thank you, master.” So you can get to know me, I need to explain how I ended up here.

***

I was born in a village near Valencia, marked by my father’s death and my mother’s endless parade of partners. That instability forced me to grow up on guard. I was terrified of becoming her reflection, especially because, from a very young age, I had to endure the dirty looks men fixed on me.

I finished secondary school with a disastrous record and my future offered no way out. Luckily, my mother heard about aid for people who had failed at school: a place in a prestigious center to study a Mid-level Degree in Ceremonial and Protocol. It was an expensive place she could never have afforded on her salary as a receptionist.

In the year before the entrance exam, my body changed. The men in the neighborhood began to look at me differently. My mother saw it as a gift: “being desired is power, daughter; learn to use it.” I stood at five foot seven, slender. My hips rounded into a curve that felt чужой, not mine; my breasts became firm, with nipples pointing upward as if begging for attention. It was a body that still felt strange to me.

Even so, as a person I’m a bit slow. Reading gives me a headache and I shut down if I have to think too much. Don Teodoro always repeats it to me: “your only usefulness is to open yourself and receive.” When I hear that, I lower my eyes and nod, and even if I don’t like it, I know he’s right.

A month before the exam I accepted that I wasn’t prepared. My mother suggested I record a presentation video in which I barely said my name and posed under her guidance. My master says that in that video he saw my soul: that of someone who lets herself be shaped.

The day came. I did terribly on the exam; I didn’t understand the questions. When they gave us the aptitude test I was glad, because all you had to do was mark crosses. But soon strange questions appeared: whether I was a virgin, whether I liked only men, whether I was indecisive. With trembling pulse I confessed my virginity and my inability to decide. I thought honesty would earn me points, not suspecting that mine was not the standard aptitude test.

That same afternoon they called my mother: I was suitable. I was left frozen, not understanding how they had decided so quickly if I had done so badly.

***

The first day of class is where it all began. My mother dressed me in a black synthetic silk dress with very thin straps and a pronounced neckline. My back was bare and a strip of transparent mesh revealed my stomach. The skirt was so short I could feel the air brushing my private parts. She forbade me to wear a bra: “let those nipples show properly.” She painted my lips red and put me in ten-centimeter heels that made me look like a little crystal figurine.

In the street, the crude catcalls of some construction workers awoke a strange vanity in me. When I arrived at the center, surrounded by perfect families, I felt how my presence broke the harmony. I felt out of place and, at the same time, flattered.

I sat down quickly at a desk, crossing my legs carefully so the skirt wouldn’t ride up. Then I noticed the mistake: I was wearing white cotton panties with a cartoon bunny and a pink bow. The other girls were dressed modestly. I stood out too much, and I comforted myself by thinking that if no one saw those childish panties, everything would be fine.

Suddenly, the murmur cut off dead. Shoes made the parquet floor vibrate; the vibration climbed up the desk legs until it settled in my chest. I looked up and there he was. Our eyes met for the first time. Instinctively I pressed my thighs together and leaned over the desk, wanting to make myself invisible. His eyes, mature and calm, fixed on me with an authority that left me breathless.

He was sixty-four then, extremely tall, with a belly straining the buttons of his military-green shirt and a white beard. He moved with absolute calm, as if the whole space belonged to him. In front of him I felt tiny, with the dress too short and the heels that suddenly seemed ridiculous.

He stopped right in front of my desk. “In this center not all of you start from the same place,” he said in an almost mocking tone. “There are special cases that have needed an extra push. I hope you’ll take care of her... though I doubt you boys could have failed to notice her.”

A few giggles ran through the classroom. The message was clear: he was publicly marking me as an object of desire. I felt insulted and terrified, branded as an outcast from the very first minute.

When the siren sounded, I waited to be the last one out. I didn’t want to cross paths with anyone. I held my jacket tight against my chest and walked toward the door with my head down. I thought the day would end there. I was wrong.

“Excuse me, girl,” his deep voice hit me in the back. “Close the door and come here.”

I obeyed without hesitation. I closed it and approached. He stood up and positioned himself in front of me. Even in heels, my head barely reached below his chin. He swept me with a slow glance that made me feel naked. Then, with that cold half-smile, he lowered his voice until it became intimate.

“Listen carefully, Noelia, because I’m going to change the way you look at yourself in the mirror.”

He paused, savoring my confusion. Then he let the truth out: my own mother had gone to see him and had offered herself at any price as long as he accepted me. He had rejected her because she didn’t have the “essence” he was looking for, but she had insisted, begging him for a chance for me. She told him I needed someone to knock “those little feminism birds” out of my head, that she trusted his judgment, and that at my nineteen years of age I would know how to repay him in my own way.

“She sold you, Noelia,” he summed up with a cruel smile. “I didn’t want her to pay for the place with her body, so she offered yours.”

He locked the door and drew the curtains, leaving us in a darkness broken only by the desk lamp. He came closer until his mere presence cornered me against the desk. Without touching me, he began to dissect me.

“Look at you, all empowered in that little dress and those heels. You’re not fooling me. We both know what’s underneath: a girl who presses her thighs together every time a real man looks at her. I can see it in the way you lower your eyes, as if waiting for someone to decide for you. You got a zero on the exam, and on the aptitude test I prepared just for you what I already suspected was confirmed.”

Tears were falling uncontrollably. His words struck like punches: the certainty with which he described every gesture of mine, the truth that beneath the dress I felt small and insecure.

He snatched the jacket I was clutching to my chest and threw it to the floor, in front of his shoes. He leaned into my ear.

“Don’t get any ideas. You’re still nothing to anyone. Before I use you, you’ll have to earn the right. Your beauty isn’t enough for me.”

Suddenly, his huge hand clamped around my head and forced me down onto my knees, onto my own jacket. The skirt rode up, exposing the edge of my panties. With the tip of his shoe he hooked the fabric and moved it aside slowly.

“Well, well,” he let out a dry laugh. “Outwardly you’re dressed like a woman, but underneath you’re wearing little cartoons. Really?”

In a reflex, I brought my trembling hands to the hem of my skirt, trying to cover myself. He wouldn’t allow it. He grabbed my hair and forced my head up, making me look at him. He spat between my breasts, and because of my neckline that wetness slid freely down my skin, crossed my stomach, and disappeared beneath the edge of the dress.

“Now you have something of mine. Thank me.”

With a broken voice and tears falling, I said what he wanted to hear: “Thank you, master.”

“Good. Time to work. Unbutton my fly.”

I saw the fabric of his trousers stretching over a huge bulge. I froze. I wanted to beg or back away, but my body refused to obey my brain.

“Oh, Noelia, what a disappointment. You have a beautiful wrapping, but you’re worth nothing if you can’t understand a simple order. Since I see this isn’t on purpose, I’ll be patient: even a basic animal like you can learn if it has a good teacher.”

He didn’t seem desperate to possess me. He took his time, and that calm unsettled me more than any burst of violence. He took my chin.

“Listen carefully and look down here.”

The snap of his button broke the silence. Before I could avert my eyes, he clamped my wrist and shoved my hand behind the elastic of his briefs, forcing me to close my fist around his member, a heavy, throbbing flesh that reminded me what kind of man was doing all this to me.

“This is your first lesson, and you’ll have to memorize it. Eyes closed. Open your mouth until your jaw can’t give any further and stick out your tongue as a sign of offering. Don’t close it without my permission. Understood, bitch? Don’t speak.”

I obeyed mechanically, my muscles trembling. I stretched out my tongue, forced my jaw, and offered him my mouth. I expected the impact of his sex, but it didn’t come. After a few seconds, I felt a hot stream entering directly into my mouth at a steady pressure. The heat burned my tongue. He covered my nose, cutting off my breath, and I had no choice but to swallow. The metallic, salty taste clung to me while he let out a sigh of relief. I understood then, and inside I screamed: “he’s pissed in me.” I didn’t say it. I stayed silent, consenting, petrified with terror.

“The truth is you don’t deserve the honor of having my cock in your mouth,” he said contemptuously. “But for pissing on you I did consider you fit. Where better than the urinal closest at hand? This is my second gift. Thank me.”

At that moment I thought about my future, about the life I had always dreamed of: a degree, making my own way. I felt that if I said “thank you” because an old man had pissed in my mouth, that Noelia would disappear forever. In a thread of voice, I managed to say:

“I don’t want... that’s very ugly!”

My comment was childish in the face of such humiliation. I expected a slap, but he looked at me with a dry laugh and clapped three times.

“You’re a special case. Most resist a little; they need to be broken bit by bit. You don’t. You give yourself completely from the very first minute. But fine, if you think it’s ‘very ugly,’ you should have said so sooner. We’ll stop here, you’ll study, and you’ll pass on your own. Though we both know that’s going to be difficult.”

“I still laugh at your exam. You defined ‘public opinion’ as ‘when a company gets famous and everybody sends it likes.’ You’re lovely, yes, but you have no brains. Without me, you’ll sink on your own. You’re free; you can leave whenever you want.”

I froze. Would there really be no consequences? My brain told me leaving was the sensible thing, but the ideas tripped over each other. Suddenly, my own voice betrayed me.

“I’m sorry, Don Teodoro. I won’t disobey again. Thank you for your gift,” I replied with my head bowed, begging for forgiveness.

He came close again and, slap, he landed a dry blow across my breasts. The impact made my silk top give way and one strap snapped, leaving one breast exposed. He ran his cold eyes over my bare breast, but said nothing.

“The slap is for the earlier disobedience. I only punish those who are submissive by choice. Do you understand?”

I answered yes without really understanding. A few seconds later I felt movement in my stomach: the awareness of having his urine inside me, reminding me that my body was no longer mine.

“This is a school and you’ve come to learn. Your evaluations will depend solely on your servitude to me. Now, without covering your chest, stand up and go to the board.”

I got to my feet, trembling. He pressed my cheek against the cold board and my bare breast rested on the ledge.

“Face against it. Hands behind your back. Not one word.”

I felt his thick fingers sliding my panties aside. He tapped my ankles twice with his shoe; I understood that I was supposed to spread my legs. I was left bent forward, my ass raised at his disposal. I thought he was preparing to sodomize me, but I was wrong. The cold tip of something enormous pressed against my opening and began to force its way in with a slowness that was pure torture. My body yielded little by little, until a final shove tore a sharp, deep pain from me. I managed not to scream and kept my hands still against the wall, where he’d ordered them, despite the fire running through me.

“Bear it, Noelia. It’ll pass soon, as soon as you take this,” he said, offering me a painkiller. “Now look at yourself. You’ve got something of my property inside you. Remember that you are nothing more than an object, just like that toy. You’re both mine.”

Only when he gave me permission did I dare look back: it was a black plastic phallus, with highly realistic testicles pressed against me. He fixed my panties back in place with a hard smack on my ass.

“Take the mop from the cabinet and clean up the traces of urine you couldn’t swallow. I want to see how you handle yourself. Not a word until I authorize it.”

I swallowed the pill without knowing what it was. I went to the cabinet in silence. While I mopped with my chest bare, I felt the painkiller ease the pressure of the phallus inside me. He watched me with a smug smile.

“You’re completely incompetent with a simple mop. You’re useless even for cleaning.”

When he decided it was enough, he came to my ear.

“You will not take the toy out under any circumstances. You’ll sleep with it, piss with it. Tomorrow you’ll receive me the same way. Don’t eat anything today or tomorrow; that way you’ll be clean inside. Understood, bitch?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered automatically. I felt he would detect any lie. He smiled and finally allowed me to cover my chest and lower my dress, but not before one final question.

“Are you really so pathetic that you haven’t noticed how much you’re leaking? Touch yourself and see what a cunt you are.”

I obeyed, trembling. When I brushed my sex I discovered, to my amazement, that I was soaked. It wasn’t his urine, but my own vagina dripping with desire in response to his cruelty. I withdrew my shining fingers before his low laugh, not knowing where to look.

I left there dazed, recovering my sensual way of walking despite the invasion inside me. The toy settled itself with every step. I pretended to be outraged by that degrading treatment, and I was. But it was also true that it had been the first time I’d come; I had never managed it by touching myself alone. Already on that first day I began to understand it: being Don Teodoro’s submissive might be my new purpose. I had not yet lost my virginity to him, but I was beginning to understand that, when it happened, it would be the greatest honor someone like me could hope for.

To be continued...