My Teacher Put Her Collar on Me and Lost Control

It was a Saturday morning; I don’t remember the exact date. One of those mornings when you cross paths with someone who captures your attention helplessly, without you really knowing why. “Wow, what a beautiful woman,” I thought. But then I immediately told myself that I must have seen a hundred people on my way there, and at least ten of them had also been gorgeous women. Why did I have that feeling precisely with her, as though she were special?

I looked away and focused on what I had come to do: attend a drawing workshop and improve my strokes, even though I was hardly anything special at it.

Then I discovered that she was the one teaching the class, the one who was going to share her knowledge with me. Despite that first impression, I decided to forget about her smile, her gestures, the way she moved while talking about what she loved, and devoted myself to listening and learning attentively. Out of respect, yes, but also because she shared her passion, and that was the most important thing to me at that moment.

Even so, I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed vulnerable, as if it were her first talk. Her body tensed, she clenched her fists, and her posture changed abruptly.

Focus, Vera, I ordered myself.

The class ended and I approached her with the sole intention of congratulating her and giving her my card, in case she knew of a company that might need someone like me. Then I left and got on with my life. On the way back I crossed paths with another hundred people, at least ten of them gorgeous, but none of them affected me in the same way.

It was clear that Selene wasn’t unique, but she had something. She aroused interest and curiosity wherever she went.

Or so I think. Maybe it’s just me. Don’t pay too much attention to me.

***

Time passed and I continued with my routine, my work, and my relationships. One morning I got up to make coffee and check my email.

Advertising. Advertising. Advertising. A message from Selene. But what the…?

I read it without getting nervous, thinking it would be something work-related or simply an attempt to stay in touch. Networking, as they say. She was going to be in town for a few months and wanted to meet for coffee somewhere quiet. I offered her my apartment, then realized I’d have to stock the fridge if I didn’t want to seem like a bad hostess.

I sent the invitation and she accepted immediately. That was when I did get nervous.

I looked at myself in the mirror, disheveled, dressed only in purple panties and an enormous, worn-out white T-shirt. My red mane was a disaster after hours of battling with my pillow, the ends split from not having visited a hairdresser in a year, and a bit of sleep in my light green eyes reminded me that I hadn’t even washed my face.

I lifted my clothes and grabbed with one hand a piece of belly I felt I had too much of.

I’m really out of shape, I lamented aloud. Bah, but I’m fine. These things don’t matter to me, and if I exercise sometimes, it’s because I enjoy it, not because I’m superficial.

One pose to see my good side, another for the not-so-good side, and then I lowered my gaze to the part of my body I liked most: my breasts. Gravity affected them a little without a bra, but they had always seemed just the right size to me, with their roundness and natural droop. When I draw women, I use them as a reference, so I could almost consider them a standard.

I returned to the living room somewhat more presentable, and there was a new reply on my laptop.

She wants to see me next Wednesday around ten in the morning. Perfect.

I replied with my address and a nearby shop as a landmark, so I could meet her along the way and gossip a little before getting down to business. I like getting to know the people I work with or befriend well.

***

The nights remaining until that meeting were torture, while the days served to convince myself that wet dreams were normal for me and didn’t mean anything. The week before, I had dreamed about an actress from a TV series, so…

I discussed it with Lara, a convenient friend—I call her that because to chat with her I only have to connect to the internet, which is a huge advantage for someone who runs away from socializing, like me.

“It’s nothing, you’re just a little depraved,” she wrote to me with a laughing emoticon. “Everything looks beautiful in dreams, but when you see her, she’ll probably have gotten terribly ugly.”

The truth was that I didn’t remember her in detail. I only retained the effect she had had on me, and that was probably what worried me. That, and the fact that I was dragging along a complicated relationship with someone who was starting to ask me for exclusivity. Maybe that was why, on the night before Wednesday, I had the most disturbing dream of them all.

We were both standing in the kitchen, too close, with no clear reason for being so. There was no coffee or cookies, no music, no noise to cover my thoughts. Her eyes were in shadow, probably because my brain didn’t remember that part, but it did show me her dark hair, the lines of her body, and her mouth.

I watched her lips come together and part slowly as she spoke, as if my eyes had a camera’s zoom. It paralyzed me, quickened my pulse, and filled my mind with things I wanted to do and shouldn’t.

We moved closer centimeter by centimeter while I imposed forbidden caresses on myself and restricted access to parts of my body. I held her hands, left the smallest possible space between our mouths so it wouldn’t count as contact, and kissed her forehead slowly, enjoying the scent of her hair. Her hands slipped free of my grip and climbed beneath my clothes toward my breasts. I didn’t stop them until only millimeters remained, and then the alarm went off. Just in time.

Time to get dressed and meet her where we arranged.

***

I always arrive early for my appointments, which is a problem when something makes me nervous. Like an overly intense dream the night before. To fill the wait, I turned to my usual trick: putting the most rhythmic song I could remember in my head, on a loop. It worked, as always, until I saw a silhouette in the distance and began to recognize it. The needle jumped off the record and the sound faded to zero.

“Hello,” she greeted me, with surprising economy of words.

We exchanged two kisses on the cheek and a shy smile.

“How are you? How have things been all this time?” I said, gesturing with my hand for her to follow me.

And I felt greatly relieved. I think she’s changed. She’s thinner. Her hair has grown. The effect isn’t the same anymore. I didn’t look at her too much, so I wouldn’t give myself the chance to find proof that I was wrong.

Good. I don’t like her as much. They were only dreams, an idealization, a movie I had made up in my head. I admired her and put her on a pedestal.

***

I invited her inside and we sat facing each other. I gave her the more comfortable seat and made sure she had anything she wanted to drink. But this time I couldn’t look away. I had to see her eyes, to fit in the piece missing from the dream the night before.

Her hair was longer, brown but dyed green at the tips, and it looked incredible on her. I didn’t know whether she was thinner, but her first smile revealed dimples that almost made me faint.

I need to find flaws in her, I thought. Dark clothes in summer? How hot! But they suited her wonderfully. Matching her eyes, with navy-blue eyeshadow and dark lipstick, she wore a semitransparent black top with floral designs that revealed a strapless lace bra. And a long skirt, also black. What caught my attention most was a collar fitted tightly around her neck, Gothic in style, soft, which seemed more suited to a pet than a person, but fit her perfectly. I didn’t ask what it meant for fear that her answer would captivate me.

Everything she told me sank me a little deeper. I couldn’t convince myself that I wasn’t attracted to her. There was something about that woman; she aroused interest without trying, so much that it annoyed me. Every new detail I discovered about her intrigued me more, like a detective hooked on the case of her life.

There was no professional reason for us to meet. She had simply remembered me now that she was returning to a city where she no longer knew anyone. So we talked about everything: work, family, relationships. And, almost without realizing it, we began getting into more intimate details. I think it was my fault: I opened up too much.

And we got to sex.

I’m affectionate in private, but also very sexual. Those who know me are aware that, if they draw me out, I can talk about many things, and that I have a capricious dark side. And I’m curious. This time, that curiosity was going to be my downfall.

“I have a dark side,” I blurted out suddenly.

“In sex? What kind?” she asked.

“I’m very, very imaginative, very active.”

“Mmm, that’s normal. I expected something else,” she said with a smile. “I think my dark side is darker than yours,” she added, and her smile became a little more wicked.

“I’ve had submissives whom I dominated and controlled with a collar and chain.”

There was the fatal blow to the most curious version of Vera.

“But… dominate how? Is it violent?”

“No, don’t worry, nothing violent. It’s a game where I’m in charge and decide what to do and at what pace. That way the other person can relax, trust me, and let herself be carried toward pleasure,” she replied with all the calm in the world. “Although the language is quite firm, and I get very serious,” she clarified with a very sexy half-smile.

“I… I see…” I stammered, then fell silent with my head bowed.

“Are you all right?” she asked worriedly.

The silence lengthened. Until I dared.

“Could you show me that collar?”

“It’s the one I’m wearing. Why?”

“Curiosity,” I replied with a trembling smile.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“Will you let me?”

“Of course. Come closer.”

She calmly took it off and carefully placed it around my neck. It still held the warmth of her skin. The material was pleasant but snug, with a small metal ring for attaching something. It made me feel strange, and the situation aroused me.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” I asked, frozen, not knowing how to take action.

Selene took a chain from her bag, hooked it onto the ring, and held it in her right hand. She showed me the link between her possession—which was me at that moment—and the power she wielded simply by holding the other end.

“Normally, now you would have to kneel, lower your head, and wait silently for me to decide what to do with you.”

Something pushed me to move without thinking. I dropped to my knees, lowered my head, and shuddered when I saw that she wore black boots reaching halfway up her calves beneath her skirt.

“Please… will you be my owner for a while?” I begged without daring to look at her.

Several endless seconds passed. Isn’t she going to say anything? Suddenly I felt her tug on the chain, making it jingle and urging me to raise my head. She came closer, grabbed my chin and squeezed my cheeks, looking down at me, transformed into a goddess.

“You’re intrigued, aren’t you?” she said in an increasingly authoritative tone.

“Yes, a little.”

“Only a little? Well, if you want this to work, you’ll stay quiet until I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She smiled again, stood up, and pulled me along to the bedroom, forcing me to walk on all fours behind her. She sat on the bed and spread her legs. I tried to touch her, but she stopped me.

“You may touch me or speak only when I say so. Is that clear?”

I remained silent.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

She stroked my cheeks and my hair, then ordered me to stand and undress for her. I lowered my pants, sliding them down my thighs with my back to her so she could see how well my black lace panties fit me. I was proud of my ass at that moment. But to take off my shirt I first had to release the collar, and when I did so without permission, Selene stood up and cornered me against the wall.

“To free yourself, you have to ask me. Do you understand?”

I swallowed, frightened by how much I wanted her. I had never liked violence, physical or verbal, and this didn’t feel violent at all. It was a situation in which I felt safe. It paralyzed me and intrigued me to the extreme at the same time. I wasn’t afraid of her at all: only desire, need, and the certainty that if I surrendered to her, I would be in good hands.

She gave me a lick that made me shudder, brushed my mouth with the tip of her tongue, and carefully bit my lower lip to show that she knew what she was doing. She released the chain herself and finished undressing me. She forced me to turn toward the wall, told me not to look at her, and slipped her hands beneath my bra to squeeze my breasts. Then she pulled my underwear down to my ankles.

I obeyed almost like a robot. Since when am I like this? What is she doing to me? I had always taken the initiative with my lovers. Playful, bold, mischievous. And now I was frozen.

She allowed me to turn around. I wanted to embrace her, but she pushed me against the wall again.

“You’re behaving terribly. If you don’t follow my instructions to the letter, I’ll make you wait longer and longer before you can touch me.”

She asked me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue as far as possible. When I did, she caught it, licked and sucked it in a repeated motion. I loved the sensation, and I stayed so still that a thread of saliva slipped down my lips.

“Please, do it again,” I begged, pinned against the wall.

“What? Didn’t I tell you…?”

“Kiss me. Let me feel more of your tongue,” I interrupted.

She became very serious at my audacity. Even so, I couldn’t stop myself from challenging her and opened my mouth again, waiting for her eagerly.

“I should release you and leave, abandon you. You don’t deserve pleasure if you won’t play along.”

She hooked the chain to my collar again and pulled so I would kneel. She looked down at me, considering it. I know she won’t leave. My naked body tempts her.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered.

I obeyed at once, reading what she wanted in her expression. I saw her lean over, gather saliva on the tip of her tongue, and let it fall onto my thirsty mouth, sliding down my throat and dripping from the corner of my lips to my cleavage. I licked myself happily, and that seemed to anger her.

She pulled me again, put me on all fours on the bed, and sat on top of me. She was light, so I supported her without trouble, but it tortured me not to be able to turn my head and watch her as she took off her boots and began to undress. She stood, got rid of her skirt, and allowed me to turn over. Her underwear was black, of course.

She sat down again at the edge of the bed and directed me once more, forcing me to lower myself and walk on all fours across the floor again. She watched me with flushed cheeks while I tried to make out her sex through the sheer fabric, hunger on my face.

“You’re dying to eat it, aren’t you? Say it.”

“I want it so badly…” I answered, flushed.

She spread her legs and moved the fabric aside. I gathered as much saliva as I could and waited. She beckoned with one finger, and I obeyed, extending my wet tongue along its entire length, flat and warm. But just as I was about to brush her clitoris, she pulled my hair and tipped my head back.

“You have a wicked look on your face. What are you plotting?” she interrogated me. “Relax and don’t think. Just obey. Let yourself go.”

And she kissed me.

Or rather than kiss me, she devoured me. At last she gave me what I had begged her for before. We shared breath, I enjoyed the texture of her lips, and I felt her close her eyes and surrender a little, showing an unexpected weakness. Selene, the dominatrix of bodies and minds, breathed rapidly, wrapped in a desire she hadn’t anticipated.

So I took the initiative for a second. I caressed her waist, slipping my hand beneath her top, prolonged the kiss as much as I could, and pushed her onto the bed, positioning myself on top. I moved her bra aside just enough to brush her nipples with my fingertips, hardening and pinching them until she lost her strength. I pinned her wrists, covered her neck with kisses, bit her earlobe, and dared to whisper her name. That confused her, and she pushed me away.

She positioned herself on top of me and held me down firmly. Although I felt I could overpower her, I decided not to fight yet. I’ll wait for my moment.

“Hadn’t we agreed that you were going to obey? Why is it so hard for you to accept who’s in charge here?” she reproached me, already in a less authoritarian, calmer tone. “You can’t touch me unless I ask you to. Understood?”

“I’ll try.”

She got me off the bed, grabbed the chain, and led me into the living room, making me walk like a cat. I felt her dominance again, how much she enjoyed being in control. She released me and stripped completely, quickly, in the least sexy way I had ever seen. But I loved her body: her white skin, her small, firm breasts, her slender figure.

She sat on the sofa and spread her legs. I waited for orders on my knees, memorizing every detail so I could remember it later, alone. Her finger beckoned me again. This time I approached obediently but with some distrust, moving sensually forward on my knees and hands.

“Come here, curious kitty,” she said with a tender smile.

And then I remembered something and saw it clearly. During her talks, when she was nervous, her muscles tensed and she clenched her fists. Just as she was doing now. She’s no longer in control. She neither wants to nor can stop me. She’s the one who wants to surrender. She’s vulnerable.

I opened my mouth and extended my tongue once more. Although she held me back again, I took her hand and didn’t let her pull me away. A few centimeters farther and I saw that she wasn’t closing her legs, that she wasn’t blocking my way. Until I did it: one long pass over her clitoris, slow and intense, as though I wanted to break a record.

Her hand finally relaxed. With my fingers I parted the lips of her sex slightly and made my way in, drawing circles over her clitoris, attentive to her breathing and moans, to the way she clung to the sofa fabric. But she didn’t look at me. Because she knew that if she saw my grateful expression and mischievous smile, there would be no way to stop me. What she didn’t know was that if I couldn’t stimulate her with sight, I would attack her hearing.

“Now I’m in charge, and I have only one order,” I told her with complete confidence. “You’re going to come for me, with no waiting.”

Her only response was a broken “uff.” Her body trembled and she finally opened her eyes to meet the gaze she had been avoiding. I spread her legs a little farther, slid the tip of my tongue inside her, and moved my lips over those of her intimacy without ever stopping my gaze.

I returned to her clitoris and made it vibrate with powerful licks. I placed my index finger at her entrance and pushed it in, turning it in rhythm with the way her walls squeezed it. She arched her waist, grabbed my hair, and moaned, writhing.

And just then, the chain she had intended to use to keep me restrained slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, like a metaphor for the moment Selene surrendered to the dominance of the person who, although kneeling, now held the power. Me.

I held her firmly so she couldn’t get away, closed my lips around her clitoris, sometimes sucking it, never removing my tongue, never bothering to wipe the saliva running from my chin down to her thighs. My free hand roamed over her body, stopping at her nipples and belly. Two fingers filled her, moving in and out, until I managed to hear what I wanted.

“Uff, yes, like that, very good,” she conceded between moans.

Her approval left me completely wet. It wasn’t just that I was eating her out: it was a devotional surrender to her entire body, a determination to give her physical and mental pleasure above all else.

“Ah! Don’t stop, please,” she begged. “That feels so good, yes…”

I closed my eyes for an instant and imagined myself outside my body, watching the scene from a corner of the room: two naked women in the throes of ecstasy. Selene on the sofa, panting with her head thrown back and her legs spread, and the kneeling version of myself, barely breathing through my nose so I wouldn’t give her a moment’s respite. I felt powerful like that, penetrating her from different angles without letting her go, my own body trembling as much as hers, my thighs clenched from the heat between my legs.

“Uff! Yes! Don’t stop! I’m going to come!” she warned me.

I didn’t hesitate for a second to stay. I needed to see that face having an orgasm she wouldn’t be able to forget afterward. And soon the reward arrived: her contractions were so strong that I struggled to push my fingers all the way in. I didn’t take my tongue away from her clitoris for a moment. She covered her mouth, but the moan was almost a scream, and her body shook while I continued devouring her until the final burst.

I withdrew my fingers carefully, kissed her pubic mound to relax her, and allowed myself to smile at her and rest my head on her belly, listening to her breathing calm.

“Uff, that was so good…” she said, pushing her hair back, with the expression of someone who had just stepped off a roller coaster.

That’s the Selene I wanted to see.

But she soon became serious again.

“I admit you’re incredible, curious kitty. You do it very well,” she said. “But you didn’t want to submit or play along with me, and I’m going to have to punish you by not seeing you again for quite some time.”

I was left speechless, bewildered. Is she really that proud? Did I truly offend her by not letting her set the pace? She dressed angrily and removed the chain from my neck.

“I’m sorry to leave you like this. But I don’t understand why you had to be so bad, why you couldn’t be like the others instead of filling my head with all these doubts and…” She fell silent for a moment. “Keep the collar. The truth is, it looks wonderful on you.”

And she left, slamming the door.

I understood nothing. And on top of that, I was left with an arousal I didn’t know how to relieve. I went to the bathroom mirror and looked at myself, still naked. I raised my right hand and brought it to my neck to feel that velvety touch.

It’s true. I love the way that damn collar looks on me.