The Gullible Teacher (bondage story)

This brief story contains mild bondage and humiliation. Reader discretion is advised.

"But I don't understand, miss!"

"I promise you'll understand when you're older, David."

Miss Trueheart sighed, unsure what to say next. The pretty 22-year-old history teacher was one of those people who are simultaneously very bright and rather absent-minded. She would often get so caught up in her love of the subject that she completely forgot practical things like the syllabus and setting homework. Only this morning she had arrived at the school, looked down, and realised she had forgotten to put on a bra. (There were her perky breasts, resplendent in her tight white shirt, with the nipples clearly visible. Whoops! She had spent the day trying to remember to keep her arms crossed.) And now she had allowed the classroom discussion to drift from the assigned topic of revolutionary France to the writings of the Marquis de Sade, which she was entirely failing to explain to her sixth-form students.

"But why would he write about young women getting tied up?" David asked, refusing to let it go. He was only four years younger than Miss Trueheart but she was astonished by how innocent he was. In fact the entire class of 17- and 18-year-old boys were proving surprisingly unaware of the basic facts of life, based on their wide eyes and baffled expressions. At lunch she would have to speak to their form master. The school inspectors were due to visit later today and it wouldn't do for the pupils to reveal any gaps in their knowledge during this afternoon's double biology.

"I suppose to some men that's an appealing idea," she said, limply. "Some men like women to be... submissive. Helpless sex objects on display for their pleasure."

"That doesn't sound appealing at all. Does it, lads?"

There was a chorus of negativity.

"Really?" Miss Trueheart was genuinely surprised. "What about if I had my hands tied behind my back and there was a gag in my mouth?" She mimed the scenario, unconsciously giving the boys an excellent view of her generous bust.

"It's hard to imagine, miss. But it sounds pretty boring."

"Boring?!" Miss Trueheart was ashamed to realise that her vanity had been wounded. But surely it was her duty as an educator to ensure her pupils were aware of important and widespread sexual practices?

"I think there's some rope in the cupboard," she said. "Let's do this properly."

Twenty minutes later the boys stood back to admire their handiwork. Sitting demurely on her desk in the corner of the room, Miss Trueheart was securely bound hand and foot, and no matter how much she squirmed and strained, she was unable to escape from the tight red ropes around her wrists, elbows, chest, knees and ankles. But she could see in her pupils' eager faces that they had grasped the concept of bondage at last. Perhaps her shapely legs in that microscopically short black skirt were part of the appeal; perhaps they liked looking at her thrust-out tits straining at the buttons of her thin white shirt. But she was sure that her submissive helplessness was the main source of pleasure for the happy teenage boys.

"Do you think you-" she started to ask, but David interrupted her rudely. "Oh, do shut up, miss." He picked up an apple from her desk and shoved it into her mouth. She was so shocked it didn't even occur to her to spit the thing out. She just held it obediently in her teeth; it made her look like a roasting hog, trussed and ready for the oven. The boys all laughed at how easily she had been put in her place.

"Actually, we'd better gag her properly," the teenager added as an afterthought, speaking to his classmates and ignoring Miss Trueheart completely. "Keep this silly bimbo quiet so we're not disturbed."

He removed his tie and put a large knot in the centre. "Take out the apple... now." As the apple was removed, Miss Trueheart drew a breath to scream for help, but the tie was jammed into her mouth too quickly for any sound to emerge, and she was silenced again. David quickly knotted it behind her head, giving an extra yank on the fabric to make sure it wouldn't come loose. She tried to complain about this treatment but could only manage a pitiful "Mmmphh!"

David grinned.

"Nobody is going to hear you, miss. You're a helpless prisoner, you might as well accept it. And I wouldn't struggle too much, or you'll fall off that desk on to your pretty bottom."

Miss Trueheart had been squirming quite vigorously to escape, shaking her lovely breasts from side to side as she strained to find slack in the ropes (there was absolutely none, incidentally), but squeaked in alarm when she almost toppled over.

"You see?" he laughed. "Now, I don't think there's any homework today, is there?"

She pouted around the gag. "Nf cnnrphm phhmrmph hnmmmmnrh!"

"Nah, no homework at all. It says so right here." He scribbled on a Post-It note and stuck it on her chest, smoothing it on carefully to make sure it wouldn't fall off. "NO HOMEWORK!" it read. She tried wriggling and shaking her chest to make the note fall off, but it remained annoyingly and humiliatingly secure.

"Now we're off to take the rest of the lesson as a free period, and I'll make sure all of your classes for today know they don't need to bother turning up. Oh, but miss!" He paused dramatically. "Don't forget that the school inspectors are coming this afternoon. I'll put another note on the door telling them to walk straight in. So they can enjoy your performance as... how did you put it? A helpless sex object on display for their pleasure. Have fun, miss!"

The pupils filed out, turning the light off as they went. The door closed. And Miss Trueheart was left alone in the dark, squirming and furious, gagged and bound and utterly helpless. She blushed deeply, overwhelmed by the humiliation of her position: she was nothing more than a pretty piece of furniture; a tricked, trussed trophy. How the boys must be laughing at her, the gullible teacher who had actually suggested they tie her up, the silly bimbo who had offered to supply them with rope and put her wrists and ankles in convenient positions for binding! How had she fallen for such an obvious trick? She could scream with frustration... if it weren't for that tight gag keeping her so obediently silent.

No, rescue would have to wait until this afternoon... and what a disheartening prospect that was. There would be a knock at the door; Miss Trueheart would try to mewl an answer through her gag, half hoping they would come in and untie her, and half hoping to put off the humiliation a little longer. Then the door would open, the light would come on, and the large group - the headmaster, the governors, and the all-important inspectors - would crowd in to gasp and point and express their astonishment at seeing a young teacher trussed up like a turkey. No doubt it would be some minutes before anyone had the bright idea to actually free her from her bonds.

Would she be fired? Miss Trueheart had to admit that, in a teaching evaluation, getting outwitted and bound by one's pupils is unlikely to make a good impression. She simply had to hope that most of the inspectors were men, and that they would enjoy the sight of the helpless captive in her revealing outfit, straining against the ropes and mmpphing prettily. Yes, this was her best chance. She resolved to exaggerate her squirming and stick out her breasts as much as possible. If they thought she was an adorably gullible bimbo with a nice rack, she might just keep her job. And despite everything, she loved this job.

After all, she still had pupils to inspire. Tomorrow, for example, the 13-year-olds were scheduled to learn about cowboys and Indians. And Miss Trueheart had thought up a brilliant game that would really make history come to life.

FIN