Your erotic stories

Cat squirmed on the hard wooden chair and watched the seconds tick by on the clock. 4:55 on Friday afternoon. Five minutes until doomsday. She worried at an almost non-existent hangnail, nibbling it smooth. Was she a glutton for punishment? Had a death wish, perhaps? She smiled ruefully to herself. Why, oh why, was it so hard to get kicked out of school?

The school secretary, Mrs. Graham, stared disapprovingly over her glasses as she locked her desk and gathered her things. “I wouldn’t go smirking and thinking I was so smart if I were you, young lady,” she snapped. “You seem to think that rules don’t apply to you. No wonder your parents gave up on you and sent you here.” Cat narrowed her eyes and slumped down in her seat, refusing to respond. She folded her arms across her chest and stretched out her legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. Mrs. Graham slipped on her coat and tucked her huge purse under her arm. “Hopeless, you are positively hopeless.” She shook her head and left the office.

“Bitch,” Cat muttered under her breath as she heard the door click shut. Can’t really blame my parents, she thought. They tried. They tried grounding her, sending her to psychologists, and local private schools — and she’d promptly been expelled from three of those. But no matter what they tried, Cat just thought of a shocking new color to dye her hair, or a worse yet, a shocking new body part to pierce or tattoo. She continued to do what she wanted, when she wanted, and her parents were convinced that she was running with the wrong crowd and needed to be protected. That thought really made her laugh because she knew that other kids’ parents were worried that their children were hanging out with her. And so, dear old Mom and Dad finally sent her here, The St. Agnes Boarding School for Girls — Our Lady of Perpetual Agony, as the students called it — well known for strict rules and getting the “wild child” under control. Located in a rural, thickly wooded area, the nearest town was almost thirty miles away; even if she broke curfew and left campus, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. She’d had to be extra creative and inventive when she began her current “Let’s Get Cat Expelled” campaign. Cheating on tests (even if she already knew the answers), starting a riot in the dining hall over oatmeal again, refusing to do her homework, altering her uniform in a non-regulation fashion — the old headmaster, Dr. Mitchell, had lost all patience with her…she could feel it. The next time she got called to his office would be the last. He was going to expel her; freedom was within her grasp.

But then, the old bastard retired. What. The. Fuck. She’d spent half the school year wearing him down, had him right where she wanted him — and he left the school, didn’t even have the decency to finish out the term. Of course, that might have been her fault — at least in part. Now she had to start all over again with the new headmaster, Mr. Rowland. He was a lot younger, probably not even thirty, and much more resilient — this wasn’t going to be easy. It made her sick how some of the girls got all cow-eyed and stupid over his piercing dark eyes, or gushed about how sexy his clipped British accent sounded when he told them to quit dawdling in the halls and get to class. OK, he was kind of good looking, in that trouser-creases-pressed-just-so-every-hair-perfectly-in-place kind of way, if you were into that kind of thing. Cat had to admit she secretly liked his precisely trimmed goatee because it made him look a little bit like the devil. Whatever…he was just a controlling asshole who thought he could tell her what to do and when to do it, just like all the rest of them. She sighed in exasperation and stuck out her lower lip to blow her straight black bangs straight up and out of her eyes…and had a flash of inspiration. Maybe a different tactic might work? She deftly rolled the waistband of the plaid uniform skirt she despised, hiking it up enough to show another three inches of bare thighs between the tops of her knee socks and the pleated hem. Pleased with the result, she discretely unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white cotton blouse, just enough to show the lace of her bra and the edge of the heart tattoo on her left breast that had royally pissed off her father and had nearly sent her mother into hysterics. She pinched her nipples hard — since they had insisted she remove the rings, she could do that again. Glancing down, she was satisfied that the little peaks pushed prominently against the thin cotton — there, that was seriously in violation of the dress code. She giggled to herself as the clock chimed 5:00 and the office door opened.

*******

Marcus Rowland’s glance took in the secretary’s vacant desk, the closed outer door, the nearly empty room, and the student’s defiant posture. “Catherine, come in please,” he said, gesturing to his wood-paneled private office.

She stood and stretched lazily, making sure he got a good look at her breasts straining against the fabric. “It’s Cat,” she corrected. He bit his tongue and steeled himself, watching as the girl sashayed past him, the blue plaid pleats of her skirt twitching back and forth across her curvy bottom. Exhaling as silently as he could, he ran his hand through his hair. It was going to be a long damn night.

He closed the solid office door with final, ominous sound. “It’s ‘Catherine’, according to your disciplinary file,” he replied dryly, tossing a thick manila folder on the heavy oak desk, “which is…substantial reading.” He yanked out a straight backed chair in curt invitation before circling around his desk to sit in his own leather upholstered chair, facing her. It was safer to have that distance, that barrier, between them. He silently regarded the girl for a few moments; she stood stubbornly in the middle of the room, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. “Please, sit down,” he said. Clearly, it wasn’t just a request.

She flounced into the indicated chair, which was designed to encourage perfect posture; but somehow she managed to slouch, causing her too-short skirt to ride up even higher. The headmaster’s thoughts and gaze wandered south, to the light shadowing between her legs, imagining the softness of her bare skin, how warm she would feel under his hands, as he pried those luscious thighs apart, and slid…

Abruptly, he shifted focus to her face, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He measured his breathing, carefully regaining his composure and his impassive expression. Had she noticed his indiscretion? Could she tell what he’d been thinking? It seemed that a faint, knowing smile crossed her lips briefly, but it passed so quickly he couldn’t be certain. Damn it, he should have taken the post at the boys’ school instead. With no woman for companionship except for the female teachers who were all either married, elderly, or spinsters for good reason, and all of these lovely young girls around…constant temptation…so ripe for the picking…and so absolutely, positively off-limits. Nearly every night he was masturbating to the forbidden fantasies in his head.

He cleared his throat. “Do you understand why you were sent to my office, Catherine?”

She tucked a wayward strand of her smooth black hair behind one ear; Marcus found himself wondering if it was her natural color, and if it will feel as soft on his fingers as it looked. He mused briefly that she reminded him quite a bit of Snow White — a naughty, petulant, juvenile delinquent Snow White, who probably didn’t traipse around the campus waiting for her prince to come. “Uh, I think it has something to do with my little birthday celebration last night,” she replied blandly, her round blue eyes the picture of innocence.

“Your little birthday celebration. Indeed.”

Cat leaned back in her chair and tried not to smile too triumphantly. Yes, this was the icing on the cake — her birthday cake, in fact. Surely this was it…she’d gone too far, and would be expelled this time. And god, his British accent made him sound so fucking smug.

“I understand it involved drinking alcohol with other underage students?” he continued.

“Hey, everybody there was over eighteen.”

“Yes, I see that all of the young ladies involved were under the age of twenty-one.” He made mental note of her birth date while flipping through the pages of her extensive file. She’s eighteen now. At least that’s one law that he wouldn’t be breaking. Wait, bad thought. He closed his eyes briefly and willed his mind to be clear of such things.

“And in order to provide liquor for your little soiree, you…picked the lock on the door of the teacher’s lounge?” he continued. Creative, he had to give her points for that, and gutsy, too.

“Where else was I gonna get booze?” Cat laughed. “It’s not like there’s a party store across the street — we’re out in the middle of bum-fuck Egypt.”

“Interesting choice of words, Catherine,” he murmured, “but hardly befitting a young lady of good breeding.” Marcus ignored her snort of derision, and flipped through a few more pages in the report, paused, and raised his eyebrows. “And you offered sexual favors to the custodian?” he asked incredulously. Mr. Walker, the school janitor, had to be nearly sixty.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Jeez, not exactly…I was just trying to talk him into getting us something more to drink. Not like I showed him my tits.” Wait, Stupid, shut up, shut up — this is not the time for self defense, let him think it’s even worse than it is — all the better reason to expel you. “Well, I mean, I guess I did rub up against him a little. But I was really wasted.” Cat bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing hysterically.

“I see.” Marcus stood up, slipped off his suit jacket, and folded it deliberately and neatly over the back of his chair. “These are very serious offenses, young lady. I hope you understand what this requires.”

YES! Cat cheered inwardly. Outwardly, she rose from her chair and kept her eyes downcast toward the carpet, so he wouldn’t see her delight. “Yes sir, Mr. Rowland” she said meekly, “I’ll go start packing my things…”

“Come over here.” He pointed to the smooth polished wood on his side of the desk, pushing his own chair out of the way.

“What — you need me to sign an exit form or something?” Her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

He didn’t answer, but unbuttoned the cuffs of his crisp blue dress shirt, and started rolling up his sleeves. “Jeez, are you that worried about smudging ink on your shirt cuffs?” she giggled.

“Catherine. Come over here. Now.” Not even glancing at her, he loosened his obviously expensive silk tie, slipped it off, and laid it over his coat.

Sighing in exasperation, she stood on the spot he indicated. “OK, now what?”

“Hands on the desk, good girl, feet apart, shoulder width…” He matter-of-factly shoved his shoe in between her feet, kicking them the requested distance apart. Cat, too stunned to react, noticed that his black oxfords were polished to an almost mirror shine. He deftly slid open his desk drawer, and she could not believe her eyes when he withdrew what appeared to be a smoothly polished ping pong paddle. “Now, bend over the desk, that’s it…”

Cat straightened immediately, and backed away toward the window. “Oh, HELL no, you are out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to put up with this, you fucking bastard!” she snarled. “Don’t you DARE touch me! You arrogant prick, what gives you the right to…”

Marcus waited patiently for Cat to finish her tirade. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, and made sure to look relaxed, although his muscles were taut and ready to respond if she chose to bolt for the door. She didn’t. Pretty soon she wound down — ran out of colorful epithets to call him, more than likely. She stood glaring at him, arms folded across her chest again, but in more of a self-protective gesture than defiance now, he observed. Oh, she was lovely when she was furious — blue eyes blazing, bright spots of color high on her cheeks, chest heaving. He attempted to hide his smile, but not well enough.

“Fuck you, I don’t need this shit, I’m outta here,” she muttered, stomping toward the door.

Marcus didn’t change position or move in the slightest to stop her. “It would not be in your best interest to leave, Catherine.”

She stopped in her tracks and spun around, hands on hips. “And why the hell not?” she snapped.

“In the report, it mentions there were other, ah, substances at your little party.” Fishing…fishing… bait the hook and wait patiently.

She narrowed her eyes, “You have no proof of that.”

“Mmmm…” he said, noncommittally. “And what would your parents say if they knew we had your room searched while you were in class today, do you think they would be surprised to know what we found?” Plant a seed…water it…ah, there it was: abject terror.

“You have no right to go through my things! Who the FUCK do you think you are?!?”

“Who do I think I am? I am the headmaster of this school. I have every right to search your room, my dear. I have been entrusted by your parents to make sure you pass your classes, obey the rules, learn to respect authority, and become a productive member of society rather than the juvenile delinquent you obviously are. Now,” he said softly and deliberately, “get back over here and place your palms on the desktop.”

Cat stood with her hand on the doorknob; he could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she considered all of her options. After a few moments, he watched her shoulders drop, almost imperceptibly, as she turned away from the door. Defeated and slightly dazed, she slowly walked back over to his desk. This time, however, she stood, compliant, as he arranged her to his satisfaction — palms flat on the desk top, legs apart, he bent her forward until her breasts touched the wood…then he lifted the hem of her skirt and prepared to tuck it in her waistband so it would be out of the way…

She abruptly straightened up, alarmed, “Hey, hey now, what are you doing?”

“Catherine, that’s enough nonsense,” he said, brusquely. “I’ve administered corporal punishment to hundreds of students — though none as deserving as you.” He pushed her firmly back down in position, and grabbed the hem of her skirt again. “You wouldn’t even feel the paddle through all this heavy fabric, and being able to feel it is the point.” He began tucking the voluminous pleats up and out of his way. “Your bare bottom won’t be like anything I haven’t seen befo…”

He swallowed hard, and couldn’t even finish his sentence. OK, I lied, he thought. I’ve never seen a bare bottom like yours, girl. It looked like twin pale, pale pink pearls…or two scoops of vanilla ice cream, just barely starting to go soft and melty around the edges. Her ass was absolutely gorgeous. He fought the overwhelming urge to lick her satiny skin, or throw himself on top of her and grind his throbbing dick against those soft, bouncy, delightful pillows of flesh. And instead of the standard school issue baggy white cotton knickers, her butt was barely covered by rose colored silk panties, edged with lace and ribbon. He had a vivid vision of sliding the silk reverently down over her hips, and felt himself literally go weak in the knees.

Lost in reverie, he didn’t realize how long he paused…just…imagining…until Cat said through clenched teeth, “Could we hurry up and get this over with?”

He could not stop himself from running his fingertip lightly along one lacy edge. “These aren’t part of the school uniform you were issued — they don’t meet dress code.”

“Yeah?” she shot back, some of her fire returning. “Well, nobody’s supposed to be looking at my goddamn underwear, are they?”

Touché. Marcus hid his smile again, this time with more success. “You may wish to take them off. They appear to be…expensive. It would be a shame to risk damaging them. But, it’s up to you.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Give me a fucking break — you are such a perv, I bet you are just loving this, aren’t you?” She hooked her thumbs through the lace and in one swift move, angrily yanked the offending undergarment over her rounded hips, down to her ankles, and then kicked it under Marcus’ desk. “There, happy now?”

Baby, you have no idea how happy that makes me, he thought. Arrgh, bad thoughts, bad thoughts…get back on task, man, you have a job to do.

Clearing his throat, Marcus straightened, and shifted his stance slightly, hoping his rising erection would lay flat against his stomach, instead of tenting the front of his trousers prominently. He picked up the paddle, and said, “Alright, Catherine, for your offenses you will receive twenty strokes, each stroke you are to count aloud. Do you understand?” He was met with sullen silence. “Very well,” and he began. After the first swat, all hell broke loose.

“OW, YOU SONOFABITCH, THAT HURT!!!” Cat screeched.

“Yes, dear girl, that is the idea. Now, count.” *smack*

“NOOOOOOOOO, FUCK YOU! I’M NOT COUNTING!!!”

“Count, Catherine, or each time we must start over.” *smack*

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD, I’M NOT PLAYING SESAME STREET WITH YOU, YOU GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING…”

It did not go well. Every time the paddle connected with her bottom, Cat howled a string of insults that would shock a sailor. Marcus had never experienced anything quite like it. He had grown up in England, where schoolchildren respected authority and tradition, and knew how to take a spanking with some measure of contrition and decorum. Nothing at all like this demon-possessed American hell cat who was thrashing and kicking and swearing a blue streak at the top of her lungs. Even though the faculty wing was far from the dorms, and it was evening and no one was in the building except for the two of them, he was grateful for the soundproofing of the wood paneling and the heavy oak door.

Marcus clenched and unclenched his left hand a few times, seeing red fog creep into the edges of his vision. Fighting loss of control, he did his best to keep his tone level. “This unseemly behavior is not helping your situation, young lady. You will receive twenty strokes — but I will not begin counting them until YOU begin counting them, as you were instructed. Now — COUNT.” *smack*

Cat screamed in fury. “I – AM — NOT — COUNTING — YOU — SADISTIC — PRICK — cocksuckingclosetqueerbastardsonofabitch…”

Unbelievable. She was like the Tasmanian Devil with Tourette’s Syndrome.

Every man has a breaking point; Marcus Rowland broke. He then proceeded to break a laundry list of personal and professional rules, both written and unwritten, rapidly and successively.

“ENOUGH!” he roared, pulling Cat up and off the desk by her wrists (Rule #1: Never lose your temper while administering corporal punishment). He sat down swiftly in his leather desk chair, pulling the startled girl roughly across his lap, face down and bottom up (Rule #2: Always maintain a professional physical distance from the student being disciplined).

“Since you refuse to follow simple instructions, then I will beat your ass,” *smack* “until I decide” *SMACK* “that you’ve had enough.” *SMACK* (Rule #3: Keep the discipline impersonal — always use an implement appropriate to the offense, never your bare hand).

He continued to rain swats down on her bare buttocks, careful to change position and location frequently to avoid any real damage, while her creamy white ass cheeks took on the same pretty rosy shade as her now-forgotten panties. Her rage burned out in stages, like a rocket: first she stopped swearing up a storm, next she stopped screaming, and finally she stopped kicking and thrashing so violently. However, as she began to cry and plead for mercy in earnest, her body shifted and rubbed directly against his crotch. His steel-hard erection, which he had managed to conceal up until that moment, was suddenly pressed up against her belly and thighs. He threw back his head, groaned involuntarily, and the rest of the rulebook went right out the window. The feeling was so incredible, he almost came on the spot. He held her still on his lap, fighting the urge to rotate his hips and grind his aching cock against her soft, soft flesh. He knew the minute she left the office he’d be jacking off furiously, replaying every detail in his head, stroking himself to an explosive climax.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted softly. Coming to his senses, he gently lifted the girl to a sitting position astride his lap. She hissed sharply as her hot, punished, bottom made contact with his knees.

“Please what, Catherine?”

“Pleasedon’tspankmeanymoreI’msorryIwon’tdoitanymoreI’llbegood…” she hiccupped a little as her words tumbled out. She was panting, eyes bright with a few genuine tears, sniffling. He handed her a tissue.

“You understand you won’t be leaving school?” She nodded. “And you are expected to obey the rules?” She leaned forward into him, her forehead meeting his chest with a soft thud, and he could feel her nodding assent again. She sighed softly and pressed even closer to his body, her cheek making his shirt slightly damp. He reached up, hesitantly, to stroke her shiny dark hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. But in his mind he felt his hand fisting in the silky strands at the nape of her neck, pulling her in possessively for a kiss, or pushing her sweet, naughty mouth down to envelop his cock. And then he felt that sweet, naughty mouth sliding across his skin, her breath on his neck, as she whispered in his ear, “Please…”

He grasped her shoulders and peeled her from his chest, meeting her eyes. “Catherine, tell me what you want.”

Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted invitingly. But she looked uncertain, confused. “I don’t know, I’m not sure…”

The realization dawned on Marcus that no, of course she didn’t know what she wanted. She was a very young woman, very strong willed, and had apparently never experienced anything like this before — never been dominated, or forced to submit. He wrapped his arms around her waist, thinking, this is so beyond inappropriate. What in the hell am I doing?

He kissed her, tentatively at first, exploring…then insistently, demanding. He could feel the heat radiating from the core of her sex, hovering mere inches over his crotch. He pulled her down hard against the throbbing erection that was straining against his pants, threatening to break through the zipper. He slid one hand up her spine to twine in the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging gently, kissing down the side of her neck, her collarbone; he pinched her nipples hard through her blouse until she made a little gasping sound that nearly drove him crazy. He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, stroking her little patch of fur, sliding his middle finger along the cleft, probing… kissing her deeply, matching the movement of his tongue into her mouth, he slid his finger into her pussy. She purred, and ground down hard against his hand. He fucked her with one finger, then two, while lazily circling the hard little button of her clit with his thumb. Cat writhed in his lap, panting, begging, “Please, oh please, sir, god, please make me come…”

“Yes, you sweet little bitch, come for me,” he growled against her neck, grazing her with his teeth. She came on his fingers, her wetness, sweet and sticky, gushing over his hand. While she was still trembling against him, he frantically undid his belt, his zipper, pulled out his cock — he had to have her, needed to be inside her, to fuck her hard and make her come again, and again. His rigid tool sprang free of its prison, and he slid it between her labia, sawing gently back and forth, coating his shaft with the juices of her orgasm. She shuddered deliciously and shifted just a little, so his swollen glans rubbed against her tender clit. Pushing his open pants and boxers impatiently out of the way, he adjusted his angle to enter her — she was so ready, so willing, so open for him…

And warning sirens went off in his head. He stopped himself from moving a millimeter by sheer force of will. He swallowed hard with the effort. “Catherine, are you on birth control?” he asked quietly.

The spell was broken — her eyes flew open and he could see her rising realization and frustration. “No…oh god, no!” she wailed, “I’m in a girls’ boarding school in the middle of fucking nowhere…why would I be on birth control?”

With a sinking feeling, he understood her perfectly. It was the same reason he had resigned himself to celibacy until the school term ended, and the same reason he did not even have a box of condoms in his desk…not even one in his wallet. FUCK. FUCKFUCKFUCK.

Gritting his teeth in utter frustration, he cupped her ass and reluctantly lifted her away from his raging penis, away from certain temptation…and she winced slightly. He felt a twinge of…well, not guilt, but perhaps sympathy. “Here, this will help,” he said, reaching in his desk drawer for a small bottle of hand lotion. He poured a generous pool in the palm of his hand, then gently stroked the cool lotion over her stinging flesh, soothing her…sliding his fingers ever-so-slightly in the groove between her cheeks, he heard her gasp. “It’s ok,” he murmured, “this will make you feel better.” And hopefully make what I’m about to do to you go a little easier, he added, to himself. Marcus pulled her closer against his chest, careful to keep her from rubbing directly against his cock — one touch now, and he might come all over her. He continued to massage her lower back and buttocks, lulling her, almost hypnotically, into a state of calm. But then, he stroked more deliberately between her ass cheeks, his finger barely grazing over her tiny pucker; and she froze. “I need to be inside you, I’m going to fuck you here,” he whispered.

“Oh no, you can’t, I can’t, I’ve never…” she began to protest and push away, but he held her firmly, kissing her, sliding his other hand down to rub her clit, and soon she was moaning into his mouth.

He teased her tight little hole again, the lotion easing the way for the tip of his finger. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll teach you how…”

In slow motion, like moving through water, he stood her up before his chair, slipping off her blouse and bra, while kissing her breasts and belly, then pulling off her shoes and socks, and lastly her skirt, leaving her naked and trembling in nervous anticipation. Standing up to kiss her mouth, he quickly removed his shirt, his shoes, and his pants; before she could really get a good look at his raging hard-on and panic, he turned her firmly but gently around to bend her over the desk once more. She looked worried, but as he slid his fingers into her sweet little pussy, she gave a little sigh of pleasure and pushed herself back against his hand. She was still so wet, he gathered some of her syrupy liquid on his fingertips and anointed her anus, probing and teasing. He felt her body tighten up in apprehension and he kissed the back of her neck and her shoulder, whispering, “Relax, trust me, I’ll make this good for you, I’ll take good care of you.” He laid his hard dick in the valley between her mounds, sliding it back and forth against her satiny skin. Marcus grabbed the lotion to add a little more slickness for good measure, then gently spread her buttocks with his hands and pressed the head of his cock to her most private place. Cat gasped, and he could feel her tighten involuntarily, that fight-or-flight response. Marcus stroked her hips soothingly, kissed her shoulder blade, “Easy, easy, just let it happen…”

“Ow, ow,” she whimpered, clawing and the desktop.

“Shhh, it’s ok…it only hurts for a moment…relax for me, let me in, Cat…” He continued to press forward with his hips — not brutally, but steadily, insistently…and after a few moments he felt her relax, felt her resistance give way. The whole shaft of his cock sank deep in her ass, into buttery softness, tight and hot. She moaned, a little in pain, a lot in pleasure. He kissed her once more and held himself still, letting her get used to the invasion. He waited…patiently…and when she began to move against him, he began to slowly fuck her ass, nice and easy, shallow, deliberate strokes. She writhed under him, making throaty, primal sounds, and he responded, fucking her a little deeper and a little harder. He ground his pelvis down on her soft, cushiony bottom, and it felt even better than he had imagined. He slid his hand under her, pressing and tickling her swollen clit and pushed her over the edge. He whispered raunchy encouragements in her ear, “That’s it baby, you like this don’t you, you love my cock buried in your tight little asshole, don’t you?” It made her blush, made her pussy tingle, she was so close…”Oh you are such a good girl, that’s it, give it to me, give it up, let me fuck you deep, come for me girl, come hard on my cock…” She climaxed for him again, squealing and growling, her clit throbbing under his fingers, her ass clamping down, pulsing rhythmically on his dick, and he grabbed her hips and thrust inside her, felt his balls tighten, every muscle in his body tensing (oh-fuck-yesss-you-beautiful-little-bitch-take-my-cock-take-it-all-I’m-gonna-shoot-my-load-so-hard-so-deep-you-will-taste-it) coming so hard, filling her sweet, hot, tight, perfect ass with his semen.

As his vision cleared, he could feel his knees weaken as, panting, he leaned forward to grasp the edge of his desk with one hand to steady himself. He stroked her skin lightly with the fingertips of his free hand…”Are you ok?”

Cat looked shyly over her shoulder at her headmaster. “Mmmm…yeah, I think so…pretty good…” and she wriggled against him. He continued stroking her soft skin, murmuring little endearments, kissing the back of her neck.

Marcus then mustered as much authority and dignity as he could, considering that he was shaking and breathing hard, naked, with his softening dick still buried in his problem student’s butt. “You understand, young lady, that you need a lot of discipline — I expect you in my office every Wednesday and Friday…make that Mondays, too…at 5 pm. Sharp.” He felt his member finally give up the good fight and start to slip from her body; he eased away from her, helped her to stand upright on her trembling legs, and handed her a handful of tissues to help her clean up.

“Oh yes, sir, Mr. Rowland,” she replied, grinning as she began pulling on her rather disheveled clothing. “I will be here Monday afternoon.”

“Better come by tomorrow, as well, Catherine,” he said. “And Sunday, too,” as he zipped up his trousers.

“Sure,” she said, “but my name is CAT.”

It was a month before Marcus admitted to Cat that he didn’t really have her room searched.

And it was after graduation before Cat admitted to Marcus that he wouldn’t have found anything incriminating in her room, anyway.