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Was there a camera in my room?
Paranoia coursed through me as I frantically searched the room for a hidden camera.
For an entire hour.
Every nook and cranny.
I found nothing.
I was completely stressed out and when my phone buzzed again, I rushed over to it. I sighed when I saw it was from my mother... she was coming to visit in a couple of weeks. I responded to her text, confirming she could stay in my room, which was pretty spacious for an expanded dorm suite, and then looked back over the texts from the mystery girl.
I don't know who you are, but what you are doing constitutes sexual harassment and if you send me any more inappropriate photos I shall have to report your phone number to the police.
I pressed send and waited for a response.
One that didn't come.
I sighed a huge sigh of relief as I went to bed that night, thinking I'd solved the problem before it got out of hand.
It was the following Monday, a week before homecoming, which was a major event where alumni returned for an extravagant weekend kicked off by a dress-up banquet and a dance. Although being from Canada I'd never met her, there would even be a keynote speech from Governor Daphne Greene, who'd recently announced her candidacy for President in 2020. I couldn't wait to meet her, as well as some other famous women in business, politics, television and movies.
On top of my desk was a new picture, this one printed on paper. It wasn't completely inappropriate, but it continued the theme of kinky accusations in the earlier texts.
I stared at the words.
I stared at the long nylon-clad legs.
I even noticed a hard and enticing nipple just peeking out from the edge of the photo.
Fuck!
I went to reach for my phone, when students started coming into my class. I hastily opened my desk drawer and tossed in the evidence, slamming the drawer shut and making a much louder noise than I'd anticipated.
Some girls looked up and I apologized, and I felt my cheeks burning red as if I were guilty of something.
"You okay, Ms. Walker?" Ashley asked.
"Yes, yes," I nodded. "I guess I just don't know my own strength."
This got a few laughs and I relaxed, and I eventually taught my lesson after delivering the morning's announcements.
The morning went uneventfully, other than my noticing Kyko, a foreign exchange student from Japan, was now wearing thigh high nylons too. It seemed every day or two someone new was wearing them. Which I loved... since, of course, I loved nylons, but there was still something fishy about it.
If this were one of my stories, wearing them would be a declaration of obedience to their Mistress.
But that was only in fiction, not the real world.
I was going through today's assignment submissions at lunch to make sure I had them all when I froze. Sandwiched between some assignments was a second printed photo.
Again nylons.
Again addressing me.
Again making my pussy wet.
Again causing me anxiety.
This was my own fantasy occurring before my eyes.
Yet it was also my nightmare.
Fantasy is just that: fantasy... an imaginary place without any consequences that extend to the real world, a place where anything and everything can happen with no real harm done.
Reality is a lot more complex. And dangerous.
Fuck!
This teen was so hot, and she knew just how to push my buttons.
I looked for whose work this photo had been sandwiched between. It was between Penelopa's and Dalla's. Neither girl was one I could fathom doing such a thing, yet both were now wearing thigh high stockings with their uniform. Penelopa, a Norwegian student, had just started last Friday if I recalled correctly (and, of course I did. She looked amazing with those long legs in pink thigh highs).
Plus, I couldn't just go up and accuse them with this picture. If I was wrong it could mean my job, not to mention how awkward it would be.
This teen was playing me like a puppet master, pulling at my submissive nature and my fetishes, yet keeping herself at bay.
God, was I horny.
Desperate even.
Yet I had to resist getting drawn into this game.
This game that I knew I'd lose if I did play it.
I knew I was weak deep inside, having submitted sexually to men and a few women with relative ease when the situation arose.
So I did what any horny woman trying to regain her senses would do... I went to the staff washroom and got myself off, knowing after I came I'd be thinking straight again (pun intended).
Back in class, I focused on who could be the puppet master ... the likely Mistress.
It didn't take much thought, it had to be Sarah.
She'd worn the thigh highs first.
She often looked at me as if I were her prey.
She had a lot of followers... most of whom had begun wearing thigh highs soon after she did.
But I couldn't just accuse her because she was the obvious one; I needed proof.
And although I pondered asking her to stay after class, I was worried that if I did, she'd take that as an invitation and if I was right, she'd seduce me.
Sure, fantasy me wanted that to happen.
But gainfully employed me did not.
Fuck!
I returned to my room before dinner and found a third photo sitting on my closed laptop.
Fuck!
How did this get in here?
The picture looked so hot. Just the idea of being fucked on your wedding day... or fucked in your wedding lingerie... or fucked in your daughter's room... are all pussy-leaking delicious.
Yet the bigger focus was how the fuck did this picture end up on top of my laptop behind a locked door?.
Someone had to have a key.
My daughter? She had a key. And she'd begun spending time with Sarah and her posse, who I was still pretty confident was the one doing this.
I just couldn't prove it.
Nor could I figure out how she knew any of these things about me.
Was she like many of my fictional seductresses... just able to see through my conservative teacher exterior?
Perhaps my subtle glimpses at their legs in nylons or sometimes their feet in nylons... especially Sarah, who often slipped her feet in and out of her shoes during class... her feet like a hypnotist's watch.
Again my pussy was on fire.
Again I let my lust take control.
Again I came hard... this time imagining I was the one on all fours getting fucked by Sarah.
Again I was frustrated by my weakness.
Again I was no closer to solving my dilemma.
I graded a few papers, which wasn't easy as I struggled to focus, when there was a knock at the door.
I went to answer it and saw a picture lying just inside my door.
I snatched the door open as quick as possible, but the hallway was empty.
I sighed, closed the door and looked at the picture.
One word.
One teen twat.
One pair of nylon legs spread, and I was a muddled mess again.
I forgot about grading papers, went to my laptop and began writing again.
A lesbian story.
I drafted a new Lesbian MILF Seductress story where I imagined Sarah playing the part of Bree. It wasn't my best work (not good enough to release at this point), but it let my juices flow both creatively and biologically.
I ended up going on twitter just to let loose, to add a few captions and respond to a few comments before going to bed... after one more orgasm.
I woke up the next morning and decided to check my twitter author account to update it about an upcoming story and check on any fan chat, when I gasped.
There was a tweet with my author hashtag silkstockings69 and a photo of the same girl from the other pictures with a caption that already had thirty likes, seven retweets and two comments.
Things had just gotten an order of magnitude worse.
Whoever had been sending me these pictures... whoever was tempting me... knew full well that I was not only their teacher, but I was also Literotica writer Jasmine Walker. By now, tons of people were familiar with the name Jasmine Walker, but I should be the only one on the planet able to connect it with my real name: Jenny Walker. And my surname couldn't be the tell because Walker was the 28th most common surname in America, shared by over half a million people.
Fuck!
How?
Fuck!!
Now what?
Fuck!!!
I was screwed... unfortunately not physically, but the other way.
The tweet was from TeenMistress69.
There was no photo in her profile, but a cutesy cartoon of a woman between a teen's legs.
The bio read: Eighteen and a nylon fetish dominant. A girl who loves seducing older woman and making them serve me and my classmates as submissive pets... especially teachers. Currently working on turning all my teachers into playthings. So far four have submitted to me.
I looked at the comments:
Jasmine would eat both those holes in a heartbeat (from one of my regular followers).
The other was from Dominantdaughter who wasn't one of my followers and seemed to have set up her account just last night. It said I bet her daughter would love to use her too.
This thought made my pussy wet.
One of my biggest recurring fantasies was getting seduced and dominated by my sisters, but now that my daughter was of age, the idea of her seducing me was also quite erotic... a fantasy I'd written about in a lengthy illustrated series called Cheerleader Moms a few years ago.
How the hell did Sarah, or whoever this mystery girl was, know that Jasmine Walker the eroticist was also Jenny Walker the teacher?
How?
How?
How?
I ignored my burning inferno and went to shower.
I showered, had breakfast, and checked my phone to see if there were any other comments from the photo.
There weren't.
But there was a new photo I was tagged in with the words: You're next @silkstockings69.
Then another caption photo.
This time she used my author name.
Just confirming that she knew who I was.
God, those tits were amazing, and very like Sarah's.
God, that pussy was tempting.
God, was I fucked.
This girl was becoming more brazen... and giving away that she knew way too much about me.
The surprises kept coming when I'd walked out of my room and had reached the hallway of the dorm floor my daughter was on. She was dressed in her school uniform as usual, but she was now wearing thigh highs.
I asked, "What are you wearing, Zoe?"
"My uniform," she answered as if I was asking a dumb question.
"I meant the nylons," I pointed to her legs.
"Oh, yes. Aren't they cute?" she asked, posing for me.
"They're inappropriate for school."
"Lots of the girls wear them."
"You're not like the other girls."
"And you wear them lots too," she added.
"Pardon?"
"Mom, I see you in lace tops all the time," she said. "I bet you're even wearing some right now."
"This is about you," I tried to keep the focus on her and not on whether she was correct, which she was.
"I'll take that as a yes," Zoe smiled.
"A yes for what?" a voice asked from behind me: Sarah's.
"Nothing," Zoe said.
"You look cute in those nylons, Zoe," Sarah complimented.
"Thanks," Zoe said, appreciating the compliment.
"Don't you think so, Ms. Walker?" Sarah asked, now standing right beside me, so close I could smell her seductive perfume.
"It's a little much for school," I answered.
"Clothing is about identity," Sarah said before adding, "it builds confidence and tells other people where a girl stands."
"I guess," I said, although the last part didn't make much sense.
"Seriously," Sarah continued, "your daughter looks really hot today."
I said, the conversation getting awkward and out of my control, "She does look nice."
"Sexy?" Sarah asked.
"I don't judge my daughter that way," I said, even though she did look really sexy in those white nylons, a colour that girls seldom wore.
"Well, I think she looks sexy as fuck," Sarah said.
"Sarah, language," I scolded, shocked by her bluntness.
"Sorry, I meant sexy as hell," Sarah smirked.
I shook my head and said, "Head to class, ladies."
"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said, her smile wide and smug.
I headed to class, once again wet... once again confused... once again rattled.
It was a few hours later when I got my next major shock... one that made my cunt gush... my body melt... my head spin.
Vina, one of my best students, from Italy, walked up to me in my classroom and handed me an envelope during my lunch break.
I asked, "What is this?"
"A gift from Mistress," she answered.
"Pardon?" I asked, even though I'd heard her.
"You heard me very well," she said. "You're next."
"Next for what?" I asked, continuing to play dumb even though it was obvious what she meant.
"You already know," she said, as she turned to walk away, her black thigh high lace tops in full view.
"Vina, how did you end up in this situation?" I asked, letting on I did know what she was talking about.
She stopped at the door and smiled back at me, "We are all either submissives or dominants and you, Ms. Walker, know which one you are."
She then added after holding my gaze through a dramatic pause, letting me know she knew the real me, both the teacher and the author, "You're about to live the story you haven't yet written."
I opened my mouth to respond, but she turned away and walked out the door.
What had just happened?
How many girls were involved?
Did the thigh highs mean what I thought they did?
I closed my door and locked it.
I opened the envelope.
And even after all the shocking photos and captions I'd seen up till now, I was in no way prepared for what I saw next or for my reaction to it.
In my hand was a photo of Zoe my daughter eating a completely shaved teen pussy.
The pussy was likely Amber's, Sarah's number two, since she was the only girl I'd ever seen wearing yellow nylons.
Like mother, like daughter it said.
Fuck! They've pulled my daughter into this.
Fuck!
Fuck!!
Fuck!!!
I then realized there was more than one photo... there were several.
I flipped to the next one and gasped a second time. My daughter was licking a black teen pussy, seemingly Gwen's, one of three black girls on campus, and Vina was watching, seemingly in charge.
Was Vina the one behind all this?
I briefly thought so, until I recalled her saying the envelope was from her Mistress.
Whoever it was also knew of my fascination with black pussy.
Whoever it was knew all my dirty, nasty submissive secrets.
I finally had evidence of a girl involved... Vina. Well, plus Gwen and my daughter, but they weren't in charge.
But Vina wasn't the one in charge either.
Nope.
And if I went to Madam Monroe I wouldn't only get Vina in trouble, but Zoe and Gwen.
Fuck!
Even though I was stressed out about my daughter, I was also envious of her.
She'd gotten to eat chocolate cunt before I ever had, and it had been a fantasy of mine since before she was born.
If I submitted... a word she obviously chose deliberately, (whoever she was)... I was being promised I could lick black teen pussy every day.
Fuck, was that twistedly exciting.
My pussy gushed into my panties.
My body betrayed any moral compass I was supposed to have.
More curious than nervous, I flipped to the next photo.
Once again envy coursed through me, as did wetness, as I stared at my daughter, this time with cocks in both her mouth and her pussy, although I couldn't see her pussy.
God, did I want some of that.
I wanted it so badly.
Right now.
The words 'Just surrender' were staring at me.
The words that broke me.
The words that shattered any faint resistance malingering inside me.
I flipped to the last photo and gasped again, surprised at my disappointment that it wasn't another photo of my daughter in some comprising act.
No, it was Madam Monroe in a compromising act: lying on the floor and eating a girl's pussy.
Wow, whoever this was had even gotten the head of the school to submit!
In her own office, it looked like.
Wow.
Hot.
The look of helplessness in Madam Monroe's eyes drew me in. A look I'd often imagined as I wrote about so many straight women who ended up as eager pussy pleasers and couldn't understand how or why.
The position of power of this teen enhanced the photo's erotic nature. As did her hand, which seemed to be pulling Madam Monroe's hair up to drive her face deeper into her teen pussy.
I was captivated.
The picture was one of the most authentic visuals I'd ever seen, and it had captured the sensation of submission I so often tried to portray with words.
Then... there was the simple word that added to my weak knees... my wet pussy: surrender.
Surrender.
A single word.
Yet with such depth in its intent.
If a picture can say a thousand words:
This word seemed to be provoking a thousand feelings, creating a thousand possibilities, opening a thousand doors.
I was startled by a knock at the door.
I asked, "Who is it?"
"Your daughter," my daughter's voice replied.
"Oh, okay," I said, hurriedly stuffing the pictures back in the envelope, hoping she didn't know I had them. A mother/daughter conversation about what I'd just seen would be intolerably awkward!
I tossed the envelope in my desk drawer and then hurried to unlock the door. I opened it and she asked, "Why was your door locked?"
"So I could have some undisturbed quiet time to grade," I lied.
"Oh, okay," she said, believing me, as I looked at her and visualised her between those sweet black legs.
"Are you okay?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes, I'm fine," I said, unable to push the image of Zoe eating pussy out of my head.
"Your cheeks are really red," she pointed out.
"It's hot in here," I said.
"No it's not," she said.
"Menopause," I countered with a smile.
"Fair enough," she laughed back.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"Just wanted to say hi," she said, which wasn't all that rare.
