Owning Professor Ballard Pt. 06

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My apologies for the delay. I was stuck for quite some time, but now I think I have things straightened out. Expect more installments more quickly.

*****

Kendra sat on the edge of the bed, basking in the glow of her second orgasm of the morning, courtesy of Professor Ballard.

The slave remained on her knees between the student's legs. She continued to nuzzle Kendra's pussy eagerly after she finished cleaning her with her tongue. After a few minutes, the blond looked at the bedside clock, then pushed the slave's face away gently.

"Go make me breakfast, Tongue. The usual," said the blond-haired mistress as she swung herself back in to bed.

This was Kendra's fourth day of living with the professor and acting as her temporary mistress. She was enjoying herself immensely.

"Yes, ma'am," said the middle-aged slave, absently wiping away a smear of moisture from her chin with the back of her left hand. Kendra was always a bit of a squirter.

The slave rose up off her knees and trotted, naked and collared, in to the kitchen. In a few minutes, she returned with whole wheat toast, coffee and orange juice on a breakfast tray. Kendra always took breakfast in bed.

Kendra sat up in bed as Professor Ballard positioned the tray over her legs. Then the slave knelt next to the bed with her head bowed and her hands behind her back as her mistress ate, watching one of the morning news shows.

Kendra had not allowed the slave to eat a full breakfast all week. She thought she could lose a pound or two. Presently, she held up a piece of crust to the middle-aged woman.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the slave taking the morsel in her mouth and chewing slowly.

"Welcome, Tongue. Now, go take care of your ablutions, then bring me the large plug."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the slave as she stood.

Professor Ballard walked quickly to the master bathroom. She closed the door behind her, then sat on the toilet and relieved herself. When she was done, she stood and filled the enema bag at the faucet, then inserted the nozzle in her anus. She held the bag up as it drained in to her.

She was still getting used to this daily ritual. Her owner expected her to keep all of her holes clean and available for use at all times.

When the bag was empty, she removed the nozzle and held in the fluid for exactly two minutes as she had been trained. She concentrated on clenching her sphincter tightly. She found it especially difficult to retain the contents of the enema bag after having had her ass plugged all night.

At last, the time was up. She leaned forward and pushed to expel the liquid. This resulted in several rude noises. The slave winced at the sounds she made, as she did each morning. She was well aware that her mistress could hear her from the bedroom, even over the television. This deepened her humiliation and increased her arousal.

When she was emptied out, she cleaned up then stepped in to the shower. As usual, she shaved her pussy and taint first, then turned her attention to her asshole.

She was getting better, but it was still an awkward process drawing the razor along the rim of her anus. She took her time and did a good job. She knew this area would be inspected closely by Kendra when she got out of the shower.

When she was done shaving, she quickly lathered herself up, then washed her hair. Five minutes later, she was out of the shower. She partially towel-dried her long auburn hair, then finished the process with the blow-dryer, brushing it out the way Kendra liked it.

Twenty minutes after entering the bathroom, Professor Ballard opened the door and stepped back in to the bedroom. She went to the bureau and picked up the large black butt plug, then walked over to the right side of the bed and stood in inspection position, with her legs spread wide and her hands laced behind her head.

Kendra ignored the slave for several minutes as she continued to sip her coffee and watch TV. Finally, she put down the cup and indicated that she was finished. Professor Ballard quickly picked up the tray and set it on the floor. She was careful not to drop the butt plug as she did so. Then she resumed her position.

Kendra swung her legs out of bed and stretched, arching her back and reaching up with her arms. She remained unselfconsciously naked as she stood and began to circle her slave slowly. Professor Ballard stood perfectly still and looked straight ahead.

"All clean and smooth, Tongue?" she asked

"Yes, ma'am," said the slave meekly.

Kendra paused behind the slave, then squatted and reached up, spreading her ass cheeks with both hands. She examined the rosebud closely. After a moment, she blew softly.

"Wink for me, Tongue."

The professor dutifully clenched and unclenched her asshole several times.

"Such a good girl. Nice and clean. You look good enough to eat."

With that, Kendra leaned in and gave the anus several long, slow licks, then inserted her tongue. She waggled it back and forth a few times, then pulled out and sat back on her haunches, releasing her grip on the globes of the slave's ass.

"Getting looser. Definitely ready for the large plug today," said the mistress as she stood.

She picked up a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

"Hand it over, Tongue."

Professor Ballard handed her the plug.

"Spread and bend over," said the pretty blond as she drizzled lube on to the bulbous head.

The slave reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks as she bent at the waist. She was getting used to the ignominious process of getting her ass plugged. She had been filled every morning for the last four days. Now, it was just another part of her morning routine.

Professor Ballard grunted as her mistress pressed the cold tip of the lubricated plug against her anus. The ring of crinkled flesh gradually widened as the plug was advanced slowly. Kendra smiled as she saw the muscular sphincter first open, then stretch tighter and tighter around the widening circumference of the plug.

The slave began to pant as she was stretched, taking deep, fast breaths in and out. It felt like she was giving birth to baby in reverse.

"Argh! Please, ma'am...I don't think I can take it! It's too big!" mewled Professor Ballard plaintively.

"Hush, Tongue. It's almost in."

Finally, there was a pop as the widest part of the plug cleared the sphincter. The worst was over. Kendra pushed gently for a few more seconds until the wide base of the plug settled against the slave's anus.

"How does it feel, Tongue?"

The slave straightened and took a few halting steps.

"Like someone has their fist up my ass, ma'am," said the slave morosely.

"Don't go giving me any ideas," said the blond mistress with a grin.

Professor Ballard turned to face Kendra.

"How long do I have to leave it in today, ma'am?" she asked glumly.

She had been wearing a plug for progressively longer periods of time each day.

"I haven't decided yet," answered her mistress breezily. "I'll let you know."

Kendra pointed to the floor in front of the closet.

"Kneel and wait until I get out of the shower, then I'll dress you."

"Yes, ma'am," said the slave, settling down on to the hardwood floor.

Kendra took fifteen minutes to shower and do her hair, then she was back. She walked up to the kneeling professor and patted her on the head absently as she looked in to the closet.

After a moment, she extracted a little black dress, the kind usually worn at cocktail parties.

Professor Ballard looked up and groaned inwardly.

The dress was suitable for a work environment, but just barely. It was the kind of outfit that would raise a lot of eyebrows in the office, but fall just short of triggering a formal rebuke from her superiors.

You could maybe get away with it if you were a twenty-something secretary in a high-tech start-up company. It was way beyond the pale for a forty-seven year-old professor on a college campus. People would notice.

"I think this will do nicely today," said her mistress mildly. "Why not slut it up a bit, right?"

She handed the dress to the slave, then reached down and picked up a pair of four inch black stiletto pumps.

"Perfect," she said, handing the shoes to the professor with a flourish.

Professor Ballard knew better than to argue. She was aware that Kendra was choosing progressively more revealing outfits for her to wear each day. She wondered where it would stop. Would she start to dress her like a prostitute? The blond had mentioned that they needed to go clothes-shopping together.

The slave didn't even consider asking if she could wear panties. They were never permitted unless she was having her period.

Professor Ballard put on the dress and shoes and examined herself in the full-length mirror. She looked good, she thought clinically, if she were going out to a high-end restaurant for dinner. On campus, in broad daylight, she would look like a bimbo.

She felt her face flush as she thought of the smirks she would elicit from both her male and female students, not to mention her fellow faculty.

Kendra dressed quickly. Jeans and a light cotton blouse for her. Comfort clothes.

"Off we go," said the blond smiling as she hooked her left arm around Professor Ballard's right elbow. "Another day, another dollar, right, teach?"

They walked arm and arm out the door in to the driveway. When they reached the car, Kendra got in the passenger seat while the professor opened the driver's side door.

"Don't forget. Lift up your dress. I want you bare-ass on the leather," Kendra ordered curtly.

"Yes, ma'am," said the slave softly.

The professor hiked up her skirt in the back, then put the car in gear. The leather felt cool on her cheeks.

As she drove, Professor Ballard thought about her upcoming day. Four classes today, she thought gloomily. And a faculty meeting. The first class would be the toughest, she thought. Comparative literature.

Her daughter was in that class.

At the thought of her youngest child, Professor Ballard felt the familiar, bitter pang of deeply-felt and long-abiding guilt.

After her divorce seven years ago, her daughter had taken sides with her father. She told her mother to her face she thought it was just plain selfish of her to break up the family just so she could "go find herself" like some kind of half-assed hippy.

The girl had no concept of the pain and drudgery of being trapped in a loveless marriage. She just knew her daddy wasn't going to live with them anymore.

Her daughter had been just twelve years old when the marriage dissolved. This is always a tough age for girls, but the divorce had magnified the usual problems of adolescence. She started doing poorly in school and hanging out with the wrong kind of crowd. There were frequent calls from teachers about her tardiness and truancy.

As she entered her teens, her daughter began to drift farther away. By the time she was in high school, they barely spoke. When her son went off to college, things deteriorated further. Now they were alone. They were like strangers living in the same house.

At sixteen, her daughter made a big fuss about her last name. Her mom had recently reverted back to her maiden name of Ballard and had asked innocently if her daughter would like to take that name as well.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" the girl had spat. "I don't want anything to do with you. Why would I take your fucking name?"

Professor Ballard had recoiled from the venom of her words. That was the first time she had ever heard her daughter drop the F-bomb, but it was certainly not the last.

After that argument, what was left of their tenuous relationship began to unravel with alarming rapidity.

Her daughter stayed out all night on a regular basis. When her mom asked where she had been, the girl swore at her and told her to mind her own business. She began to smoke in her room.

When her daughter came home with a tattoo on her lower back, colloquially referred to as a "tramp stamp," the professor put her foot down.

"What...is...that?" she had asked icily, pointing around the edge of her daughter's right hip to the design on her back.

"It's a tattoo, what the fuck do you think it is?" replied her daughter, smiling and looking her mother directly in the eyes.

"I did not give you permission to get a tattoo," said the professor primly.

"I don't recall asking," smirked the daughter.

"You have to be eighteen years old to get a tattoo in this state, unless you have written permission from a parent. You are only sixteen. I did not give you permission. How did you ever convince someone to do it?" asked the professor tersely, barely containing her fury.

Her daughter continued to stare in to her mother's eyes. Her smile widened, then transformed into a lascivious grin.

"Believe me, Mom, you don't want to know," she said slowly, then laughed at the shocked expression on her mother's face.

After that, it was over.

Professor Ballard told her daughter she could not live under her roof unless she followed her rules. The girl responded by telling her mother to fuck off and began packing her things. She moved in with her father that same night and never came back, not even on the weekends.

Now her daughter was a nineteen year-old sophomore at her university. It was clear that she still wanted nothing to do with her mother. She had only agreed to attend the school where she taught if Professor Ballard promised not to tell anyone...ANYONE...that she was her daughter. At first, the professor had thought that this condition was imposed because the girl didn't want to be treated differently by the other students.

Then she realized it was because her daughter hated her guts.

Then why does she take my classes?

It was the oddest thing. This was her daughter's fourth semester at the school and she had already taken two of Professor Ballard's courses and was midway through a third. Why would you voluntarily enroll in a class taught by someone you despised?

The professor tried to turn her mind away from the obvious answer, but it was no use.

Because she likes to watch me squirm, she thought sullenly.

Her daughter was a brilliant girl with a strong personality and a chip on her shoulder. She was the kind of student who liked to challenge her professors, and not in a nice way. She was petulant and petty. Professor Ballard had personally been on the losing end of over a dozen rancorous and quite public verbal exchanges with her daughter in her own classroom over the past year and a half.

It's the only time we really talk, she thought ruefully. The professor smiled humorlessly to herself and gripped the steering wheel more tightly as she recalled their many bouts.

Her daughter always sat in the front row and watched her mother like a hawk. If the professor made one, little misstep or botched a reference, the girl would pounce. The sad part was that her daughter was always right.

But why did she have to be so mean about it?

Her daughter always smiled triumphantly when she was able to get her mother to blush or lose her train of thought during class. She made a sport of humiliating her in public.

The car hit a pot hole and Professor Ballard was jolted out of her reverie.

Professor Ballard took a quick glance down at her legs as she drove. She winced. The black dress came up only to mid-thigh. She would have to be extremely careful when sitting or crossing her legs today. She didn't want to give anyone the Sharon Stone treatment. Stairs were going to be a major issue.

She thought about facing her first class of the day in her ridiculous outfit.

Oh, God, what is my daughter going to think? Will she say something? Would she dare?

The slave was momentarily startled when she felt the butt plug start to vibrate in her ass. She looked over at Kendra. The blond mistress smiled back at her from the passenger seat, holding the remote control in her right hand.

The professor's eyes widened.

"Please, ma'am, tell me you're not going to turn it on during class," she asked plaintively.

"I don't know. It's pretty quiet on the low setting. Do you think people would hear?"

"Oh, God, please ma'am, I'm begging you."

"Relax. Don't be such a worrywart. Keep things interesting today and I'll leave it off, but if I get bored..."

Professor Ballard felt the speed and intensity of the vibrations suddenly increase dramatically. A faint buzzing sound could now be heard, even above the noise of the car's engine.

"What are we talking about today?" asked the pretty blond matter-of-factly as she looked out the passenger window. She made no move to decrease the settings of the plug lodged in the professor's ass.

"Moby...Dick...," gasped the professor.

The vibrations were having their usual effect on her. Despite her anxiety, she began to clench her ass cheeks rhythmically around the plug and grind herself against the seat.

"Oh, great. Good luck with that," said the blond mistress dismissively.

The plug continued to do its magic. Professor Ballard felt her pussy begin to throb. In another minute, she realized she was leaking on to the seat.

I'm such a whore, she thought.

The plug was kept on the highest setting for the rest of the ride. The slave continued to squirm and asked for permission to come three times in ten minutes. Permission was denied.

"Don't be silly, Tongue. You'll get us in an accident. Control yourself, you slut," laughed her mistress.

Finally, as they were getting out of the car, the professor felt the device shut off. The ring of muscle gripping the plug continued to tingle, even after the vibrations ceased.

Kendra walked around the back of the car and met the professor at the open driver's side door.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Tongue?"

The professor was reaching in to the back seat to collect her brief case. She paused in mid-reach and looked down at the driver seat.

There it was, a shiny slick of moisture, the tell-tale mark of her almost constant state of arousal.

"Oh, yes, ma'am, sorry."

She took a quick look around the parking lot, then quickly got down on her knees and dutifully licked the seat clean.

"That's a good cunt," said Kendra indulgently. "See, you are a fast learner, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you ma'am," said the slave softly as she stood and extracted her brief case from the back seat. She took another quick look around the parking lot. Nobody had seen.

They walked slowly down the path toward class. The professor concentrated on trying to walk as normally as possible on stiletto heels with a large plug up her ass. It wasn't easy. She noticed several people staring at her skimpy outfit.

After a few minutes, Kendra spoke.

"I'll tell you what, Tongue, you've been a good girl today, so I'm going to make you an offer."

She stopped walking and turned to the slave.

"If you can make Melville interesting for me, I'll let you take the plug out after class and I won't buzz you a single time," said the blond mistress, brandishing the plug's remote control.

The slave perked up.

One class? That's all? She could have the plug out in less than an hour from now.

"Oh really, ma'am? Thank you so much. I won't disappoint you. I promise you," the slave practically gushed.

"No problem, Tongue. But remember, if you start to wander, all bets are off," she said waving the remote.

The plug jumped in the slave's ass for a few seconds, then fell silent.

At last they arrived at the lecture hall. Kendra and the professor walked in together.

And there was her daughter.

She was in her usual seat in the front row. She looked up at her mother, but instead of giving her the usual imperious smirk, she stared up at her, open mouthed. She looked back and forth between Kendra and the professor, her mind clearly trying to process what she was seeing.