The owned teacher chapter 10

Sara's family go to visit relatives, she invites Mark over

Chapter 10: The Empty House

Sara woke early Sunday morning to the familiar sounds of the house stirring. David in the bathroom, kids arguing over who got the last banana, the kettle clicking on. She lay still, staring at the ceiling. Her body ached, her arse tender, cunt puffy, a dull throb between her legs that hadn’t left since the dogging.

Downstairs, breakfast chaos. David kissed her cheek, smelled of aftershave and toast.

“You sure you don’t want to come? Mum’s doing her roast. Kids are excited.”

Sara forced a small smile, hand pressed to her temple. “Migraine’s still bad. I’ll just stay in bed then catch up on marking. Go. Enjoy.”

He hesitated, always kind and worried. “Text me if it gets worse. We’ll be back around seven or eight.”

The kids hugged her legs. “Feel better, Mum!”

Doors shut. Car started. Engine faded down the street.
Silence.

The house felt too big, too quiet. Toys scattered in the hall, David’s coat on the banister, the faint smell of Sunday breakfast lingering. Sara stood in the kitchen for a long minute, hands shaking. Then she texted Mark.
Sara: They’ve gone to his parents’ for Sunday lunch. House empty until tonight. Please… be careful.

Mark: Door unlocked at 11. Collar on. Medium plug in your arse. Egg in your cunt. Naked under your robe. Wait in the bedroom.

She stared at the message until her eyes burned. Typed “No” three times. Deleted it every time. Went upstairs.

In the bathroom she inserted the medium plug, and winced as it stretched her still-sore hole. Slid the egg deep into her cunt. Buckled the collar around her neck. Then she did something she hadn’t planned: opened David’s wardrobe, pulled out one of his old button-down shirts—soft cotton, still faintly smelling of his aftershave and laundry detergent. She slipped it on over the collar, nothing underneath. The shirt hung loose on her frame, sleeves rolled up, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. It felt like betrayal layered on betrayal, wearing her husband’s clothes while waiting to be used by another man in their bed.

She walked and sat on the edge of the bed she shared with David. Stared at the wedding photo on the dresser: smiling, younger, arms around each other. The kids’ school photos lined up beside it. A stuffed bear the youngest still slept with on the chair in the corner.

She cried quietly, with soft, broken sobs. Hated herself so much. Hated him. Hated how wet she was anyway, how the egg shifted inside her with every shaky breath.

At 11:07 a.m. the back door clicked open downstairs.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

Mark appeared in the doorway, a hoodie, jeans, calm as ever. His eyes flicked over her: the collar peeking above David’s shirt collar, the way the fabric draped her bare thighs, the tears on her cheeks.

He didn’t speak. Just walked over, clipped the leash to the collar, gave it a single tug.

“Kneel.”

She slid to the floor. The shirt rode up, exposing her cunt around the egg. He unzipped. She opened her mouth without being told.

He fucked her face slowly, deep and controlled, his hand gentle in her hair. Almost tender. She gagged softly, tears running, but didn’t pull away.

Then he pulled her up, turned her around a d Pushed her face down across the marriage bed, David’s shirt flipped up, her arse presented. He removed the plug with a slow pull. She whimpered.

He spat once, wet, deliberate, onto her hole. Pressed the head of his cock against it.

“Beg.”

“Please… Mark… fuck my arse… own me…”

He pushed in slow, deep, stretching her wider than the plug. She cried out in pain, familiar now. He didn’t rush. Long, steady strokes, filling her completely. The burn spread through her, humiliation twisting in her gut as she realised she was being arse fucked on her marital bed while wearing her husband’s shirt, while he was out taking care of their kids. Controlled. Degraded. Horny beyond reason, her cunt clenching emptily around the egg, juices already leaking down her thighs.

“Bark.”

She buried her face in David’s pillowstill smelling of his shampoo.....and barked.

Short, broken “woof… woof…” sounds. The humiliation hit like a wave, she was barking like a dog in her own bedroom, arse stuffed with cock, while her family ate roast at the in-laws. She felt like a filthy animal, owned and trained, her dignity shredded. The shame made her hotter, her cunt throbbing, desperate for touch. She barked louder, deeper, more animalistic, as he tugged the leash, pulling her head up, making her arch her back. Tears streamed down her face, sobs mixing with the barks, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The control was absolute, his cock owning her arse, his leash owning her will. He owned her.

He pulled out. Turned her over. Straddled her chest.

“Rim me.”

She shook her head—weak, instinctive. “No… please… not that…”, a feeling of disguist.

He tugged the leash—sharp. “Do it.”

She lifted her head. Tongue out. Licked, tentative at first, then deeper as he pulled harder. The taste was musky, humiliating, her tongue probing his arsehole in her own bedroom, the room where she and David made love, where they conceived their kids. She gagged softly, retched once, but kept going.

Tears streamed faster now, her face buried between his cheeks like a slave. The degradation was total she felt like nothing, a hole for his pleasure, controlled utterly. And yet her cunt pulsed harder, slick running down to her arse, horny from the sheer wrongness of it all.

“Good girl.”

He flipped her again. Fucked her cunt now, egg still inside, buzzing low against his cock. Deep hard thrusts. She moaned into the mattress.

“Look at the photo,” he said. “Look at your husband while I fuck you in his bed.”

She turned her head—stared at the wedding picture. David’s smile. Her own younger face. She came, hard, sobbing, her cunt spasming around him and the egg, her body shaking. The orgasm ripped through her, waves of pleasure crashing over the humiliation, the control, the horniness that wouldn’t die. She bucked back against him, milking his cock, tears soaking the pillow.
Mark pulled out. Came across her back—hot ropes landing on David’s shirt, soaking into the fabric, dripping down onto her back.

He stood. Zipped up.

“Clean yourself you dirty bitch.”

He turned to leave, but Sara pushed herself up on shaking arms. Voice small, broken.

“Mark… wait. The house is free all day. Stay? I can… cook for us. We can watch a movie. Just… be normal for a bit.” Desperate.

He paused in the doorway. Looked back at her, his face blank.

“Nah. I got what I came for. I have other stuff to do.”

The words hit like a slap. He walked out. The door clicked shut downstairs.

Sara collapsed back onto the bed, messy, used, crying now. Hurt bloomed in her chest, raw and aching. So many conflicting emotions: humiliation from the barking, the rimming, the degradation in her sacred space; control that made her feel small and owned; horniness that still throbbed between her legs even now. But the hurt was deepest, he didn’t want more than her holes. Didn’t want her.

She realised then, with sick certainty, she was in too deep. Couldn’t get out. Didn’t even want to. The feelings were real, twisted love, need, addiction. She’d let him ruin her again and again.

She got up slowly. Stripped the bed. Put the sheets in the wash. Hand-washed David’s shirt, scrubbed the come stains until her fingers were raw. Sprayed air freshener. Showered, washed until her skin was pink.

When David and the kids came home at 7:45, the house smelled of clean laundry and roast chicken she’d put in the oven.

They hugged her. Told her about Grandma’s new dog, the cousins’ antics. She smiled. Kissed them. Said she’d had a quiet day.

That night she lay beside David, his arm around her waist, snoring softly, and stared at the ceiling. The collar was hidden in her drawer. The egg and plug cleaned and tucked away.
She could still taste Mark on her tongue.
She hated him. She hated herself more.. she was a cheat, a whore, a dog. But even though she hated it, she loved it too.

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