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It was always interesting when we had a new foreign student at the school where I teach, interesting for me at least, although for the most part the kids themselves seemed to be more bored than anything. This girl was different and I was soon to find out just how different, indeed special she really was.

Natasha was the first Russian girl we'd had at the school. No one was  quite sure of what  her father did for a living or why he had been sent to England, but espionage was mentioned, as was to be expected. Natasha seemed reluctant to mix with the other  kids in her class. Maybe this was linked to her apparent maturity, although she was only fifteen, she seemed far more advanced than the others, both mentally and physically. Especially physically: in truth, even back then the only word to describe her was beautiful, which is not the ideal way for a teacher to think about a pupil. And it was obvious that she would not suffer fools lightly. I couldn’t think that any of the boys in the class would last long in her company, even assuming she were to show any interest in any of them, which was doubtful.

It was the last lesson of the day, and as everyone was filing out of the classroom I called Natasha over and asked her to stay; I wanted to ask her a few questions and see if I could help her in any way with extra lessons perhaps. She spoke quite good English, but with a heavy accent that sometimes made it difficult to understand. She also had the habit of reverting back into Russian every now and then. The other thing that struck me was that she was rather aloof and looked at me as though it was I who was the stranger in her country. She had fire in her eyes.

“I now miss bus home,” she said pointing to the school bus about to leave, and added something that sounded like “dozhd” before telling me (not asking) that I must give her a lift home. I was happy to oblige, perhaps this way I would find out more about her.

I dropped her outside her house (which wasn’t far from where I lived), and she got out of the car saying something that sounded like “spaseeba balshoye, paka,” and slammed the door. As I was waiting to pull out into the traffic I heard a tap on the window. It was Natasha, who opened the door, gave me a smile that instantly set my heart racing and said, “that means thank you very much, bye bye.”

The next day my lesson was interrupted by a football game. The girls’ team had got to the final of a competition, which was being played at our school. Two of the girls from the class were in the side and everyone wanted to cheer them on. I thought the lessons were more important and made a joke about girls not being able to kick balls properly. Natasha seemed angry: I assumed it was because she didn't want to leave the lesson to stand in the rain to watch football, and as she passed me on her way out she hissed "tonight I show how I am good kicking balls". I wasn’t sure what she meant by that and figured that her English wasn’t as good as I first thought.

At the end of the day she approached me and said she had changed her mind about extra lessons and asked if I would mind if she came to my house so she could practice conversation with me. I was happy to oblige; I had some homework to mark, but I could do that at the same time as chatting and I’d be happy to have the company. So I gave her a lift home, showing her where I lived on the way.  As she left the car she reverted once more to Russian. “Byez dvatsatee peetee” followed by “da sveedaneeya”. I hadn’t a clue what she was saying so I said goodbye and suggested that she came around at about eight.

She obviously hadn’t understood me because she turned up an hour early at seven, not that I objected. Neither did I object when she took off her coat. I’ve always found girls wearing leather an amazing turn on; Natasha was wearing an incredibly tight pair of leather trousers with a matching waist coat which revealed an ample cleavage that her school uniform had somehow managed to conceal. So dumb struck was I that her next statement almost went unnoticed. “Why not you take off your clothes?” she demanded rather than enquired. It says a great deal about my confused state of mind that all I could think of by way of reply was to correct her grammar, “You mean ‘why don’t I take off my clothes?” “O.K. then take them off” she replied, and with that she started to unbutton my shirt and in no time I was standing before her completely naked, and feeling very vulnerable. But I must have also been completely beguiled, so when she told me to get down onto my knees I did it without thinking. Or maybe I was wondering when she was going to get undressed herself!

For a teacher to be caught getting involved with a student meant an end to his career; I was well aware of that but I was oblivious to the risks. Natasha was saying something to me in Russian. I didn’t understand a word. “Vi paneemayetye” was the last thing she said, but it meant nothing to me so I shrugged my shoulders, the international gesture. What followed happened so quickly it was over in a second. Basically she kicked me in the balls, hard. I keeled over clutching my groin, in agony. “You understand me now?” she said, as I rolled on the floor. “This girl, she knows how to kick balls," said Natasha as she sat herself down, and informed me that when I was able to kneel up she wanted to talk.

Well after a few minutes I was just about able to move, and I found myself kneeling in front of her listening to what she had to say. I was certainly in no position to argue as for some deep-seated reason my knees were spaced apart presenting my tormentor with an ideal opportunity to give me another kick should she want to. I guess that subconsciously I wanted her to know that I was taking up a subservient position. She, on the other hand knew exactly what the position was, and explained it to me in no uncertain terms. "While I am in England I will need a slave. You are to be him. I need to improve my English, I need to learn about your English culture and I want to learn as much about England as I can." I told her that I would have done all of that anyway, and that she didn't have to kick my balls to make me do so. Of course she was aware of that but explained that is was more fun her way. More fun for her perhaps!

I was told that she would do nothing to jeopardise my career, and if anyone asked why we spent so much time together it was because of extra English lessons and no more. In the meantime I was to serve her in anyway she wanted and she added that since I had no choice I might as well agree. “Vi paneemayetye?” she asked. I nodded.  “You learn quickly,” she said. “This is good.”

Over the following months we spent more and more time together; in conversation, at the theatre and at concerts, which she enjoyed and appreciated immensely, and I was glad although not surprised to discover she preferred Tchaikovsky to Tatu, and Diagelev to disco.

The initial kick in the groin was only a precursor of things to come and she would take great pleasure in inflicting pain, with whips or nipple clamps, and if not pain, then humiliation. I would sometimes be made to kneel naked at her feet to be used as a footstool as and when required, or dressed as a waitress and made to serve her dinner. I was later stripped naked and made to eat out of a bowl like a dog. Humiliating and painful? Yes, but I would not want it any other way.

Then just before summer she announced that her parents were going back to Moscow. We would have to say goodbye. I tried to persuade her to stay, she could have walked into any university by then, but she was adamant. I begged her to reconsider, pleading with her to kick me or torture me in any way in the hope it would somehow change her mind, but no, she had to go.

My life has never been the same since.

Eezveeneetye.  Va plokha gavaryoo pa-rooskee

The End
 

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