On quietly-clicking heels

They wandered along the corridor in silence, none yet confident enough in each other or their surroundings to break that boundary. Four pairs of smart, black heels clicked out a staggered rhythm on polished oak floorboards, ridiculously lavish in a world rapidly running low on natural-grown trees. Along the walls were staggered frames emblazoned with the names of past students of note. These flickered through a seemingly endless catalogue of candid photos from those students’ lives as professional fucktoys. It was possible they were still even updating in real time... Streaming in images every time one of their masters decided a particular act of debauchery was worth commemorating and proudly sending back to the place which had forged their favoured little pets. It was quite humbling to just pause for a moment beside one and observe simply how many fucked up and degrading situations might still be waiting in store for them after they left this prestigious institution.

Jesse walked with quick, but wobbling steps. He’d thought he mostly just needed to get out of the classroom and onto his feet… but now the idea had entered his head he did desperately need the toilet. Mr Durren had given them basic directions… but this one corridor seemed to go on forever. The metal plug between his cheeks had warmed up to his body temperature at least, but shifted inside him with every step. Combined with his clunky inexperience with heels, this all made him just stare intently at the next step ahead of him, using that driving focus to get him where he needed to be.

Of course, that also meant he was not sufficiently on the lookout for trouble further ahead… such as the incredibly intimidating woman swiftly appearing around a corner and stepping into a collision course with the four, chained newcomers. No-one managed to get to him in time to pull him aside. Leading to the incredibly awkward situation of Jesse looking up to realise he had trapped the Headmistress of the whole school in a human net across her own corridor. The teen looked up at the raised eyebrow of Madame Stanfield herself, and very nearly wet himself just then and there. She didn’t ask them what they were doing out of their classroom, or why he had decided to walk right up to her and block all passage… She just stood over him with that one curled eyebrow hanging like a scythe.

Jesse’s mind went blank. A thousand ways to prostrate himself and apologise rushed in, but he couldn’t find a way to say any of them… In the end the only words that came to mind were:

“Um, H-Hello Ma’am… m-may I service you?”

The eyebrow shot up another few notches, in surprise but approval. A small smirk crossed the Madame’s ruby lips at this clumsy, but quick-learning new pupil. If any of the older students had tried such a tactic they would have probably been subject to double the amount of lashes they would already be receiving for interrupting her train of thought. But, there was something sincere in this one that she couldn’t quite put a finger on…

“Why not?” She offered, in sharply-humored tones, already popping open the single button on the front of her trousers and slipping them down to reveal a neatly-trimmed patch of pubic hair. Jesse was smart enough to drop instantly to his knees, shuffling forward till his head was between her thighs. None of the others dared move to help him… they all understood well enough: this was his test to pass.

Suddenly the **** need to pee was only a background ringing in Jesse’s ears. He had used his tongue before… when Betsy had decided she’d quite like to wrestle him until he was pinned into place with her sat on his face. But, somehow he thought this devoted trainer of ‘perfection’ might require a lot more than ****, haphazard probing. So he set to work actually working out what he was doing… finding places and techniques which seemed to draw out some small reaction, and moving between those in as smooth a rotation as he could. By the end, he still couldn’t really tell if he’d done well or poorly. Madame Stanfield only made a few polite coughing sounds in her throat. Yet, she promoted him back up to his feet, pulled her trousers up… and gently moved him to one side so she could pass. No further words were spoken.