The Teacher Next Door

As we drove to the school, I decided to see if Mark would answer a question.

“Mark?” I began.

“Yes,” he responded, still looking out the window.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Doing what?”

“Doing this to me,” I continued. “I mean, at first…before this started…I thought you might have a ‘crush’ or infatuation for me, but that’s obvious not so. You don’t even seem to like me. So why are you doing this? Why with me?”

He was silent for a moment. I thought I might have made him angry by asking questions. Certainly, I had been nervous to bring it up.

“Because I can,” he finally said, then returned to silence.

That was not enough. I could feel there was more to it than that, and I told him so.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he responded.

“Of course you don’t, Mark. You’re in charge,” I went on, trying to appeal to his ego. “You could just tell me to shut up, and I would. On the other hand, I am just trying to understand. Why be so mean? Why me?”

“Stop the car,” was all he said.

I pulled over immediately, knowing that now I had made a mistake. He was angry. We were on a secluded stretch of road between residential areas. Once the car was stopped along the side of the road, he reached over and pulled up the emergency brake.

“Slide that up your cunt,” he ordered, indicating the hand brake.

I hesitated, but only for an instant, not wanting to make him any angrier. I struggled from beneath the steering wheel and began to turn around because, due to the angle of the brake handle, I had to face the rear of the car. Of course, that short denim skirt rode up while I moved, displaying my pussy ever so easily. While I was maneuvering, he yanked on the brake handle with both hands, trying to make it as upright as possible. He looked impatient.

I felt miserable having to do this, but my pussy was already wet. It made me realize how easily I was getting wet and excited lately. Whenever he humiliated me…I got wet.

Mark was waiting.

I pulled the skirt up higher and straddled the brake handle, then slowly, very slowly, lowered myself onto it. It felt strange having the hard plastic enter me. I got as low as I dared, balancing myself on my hands, folding my legs beneath me, when Mark reached up and pulled my blouse apart roughly, spraying buttons all over the interior of the car. My breasts swung freely, fully visible.

“Now pinch your nipples and fuck it,” he ordered. “Slowly.”

My nipples are extremely sensitive and playing with them always gets me excited, whether I play with them myself or someone else plays with them. Doing it myself, on display, enhanced the sensations. The brake handle felt awkward inside me, as I very slowly slid myself up and down on it. First of all, it was not entirely smooth. It had the finger ridges, the button on the end, and a rough texture. Second, it was fairly thin. To fit it inside me required me to be in a quite awkward position with my back against the dashboard and head tilted to the side to avoid the rear view mirror. It was placing an incredible strain on my thighs.

I looked down and could see the emergency brake glistening with my juices. “Oh god,” I muttered.

Suddenly, Mark slapped me. Not hard.

“Don’t you feel stupid, slut?”

I was pinching my nipples and slowly riding the brake handle. Of course I felt stupid.

“Yes,” was all I could manage.

“Then say it,” he commanded.

“I feel stupid,” I said.

“No. No. No,” he said. “Not you FEEL stupid. You ARE stupid.”

“I’m stupid,” I said immediately, fucking myself on the handbrake, sliding up and down more easily now, getting a rhythm to it, pinching my nipples, breathing faster.

“Again!”

“I’m…stupid,” I said again.

“Only a stupid bitch would fuck a parking brake, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes….only a….stupid…bitch.”

“Are you going to ask any more questions, stupid?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I wasn’t quite sure what to answer. “Because…I’m stupid?”

“That’s right. And stupid people don’t need to ask questions, do they?”

“No,” I answered. “Stupid people don’t ask questions.”

“And?”

“And…I’m stupid…a stupid slut.”

He grinned when I said that last bit and I couldn’t believe I said it myself.

“Okay,” he said, “you can get off now. You’re boring me.”

For some reason, that simple statement he had uttered, “You’re boring me,” left me feeling hurt and crushed. I couldn’t figure out why his opinion had become important or why I wanted so much to please him. Slowly, I extricated myself from the unusual position and got back behind the steering wheel. I felt cheated, I don’t know why. It’s not like the parking brake was going to make me come or anything. Then I looked down at my blouse, which no longer had any buttons and tried to figure out what to do about it.

“You can take care of that later, “ Mark said. “Right now you’re forgetting something.”

I had no idea what he meant.

Mark saw the confused look on my face. He gave me a glance that made me think he was going to start up with the “stupid” comments again.

“You left your slimy cunt juice all over the parking brake,” he said. “Lick it off.”

When I bent over and extended my tongue to lick my own juices, he laughed. I could feel my skin burning red from embarrassment and a shudder of shame washed through me. My tongue was snaking across the molded black plastic, when he added, “That should be nearly automatic for you by now. Whenever anything comes out of your cunt, it should go in your mouth.”

So, in addition to licking the hand brake while he smirked at me, I put it in my mouth as if it were a cock. Which made him laugh again.

Afterward, we drove to the school in silence. When we arrived, I reached down and tied the bottom corners of my blouse together. At least it would somewhat cover me. Before I got out of the car, Mark seemed to take pity on me for a moment.

“I’ll tell you things when I want you to know,” he said. “You CAN ask questions, but if I don’t feel like answering, I won’t. And that is a risk you will have to think about carefully. However, to answer your original question, none of this was my idea originally. Someone else thought it up, and I had my own reasons for going along.”

Not his idea?

Someone else was in on this?

I looked at him, but his face was clearly signaling me not to ask the questions that were running through my mind.

“And if you want to know why I’ve been so mean about it,” he continued, “there are reasons for that. First, because it was WAY too easy. And second….”

He paused.

“…because you get off on it.”

“Now kiss your new friend, the parking brake, and let’s see what’s going on at school on a Sunday.”