Chapter Two
Buffy entered her history classroom apprehensively. God, the last thing she wanted was to see Professor Bloodsworth after he’d walked in yesterday when she’d been enjoying…uh, alone time.
God, he hadn’t heard her moan his name or anything, had he? Bad enough that he caught her jacking off, but if he knew she was imagining of him pounding into her when she did it, she’d curl up and die.
She was slumped down at her desk, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, when a middle-aged woman walked into the room and greeted the class, then instructed the students to open their textbooks to chapter four.
“Who is that?” Buffy hissed in the ear of the mousy girl sitting in front of her.
“The teacher, Miss Babcock,” returned the girl in a whisper.
“What about yesterday? Mr. Hottie?” whispered Buffy.
“Miss Babcock had strep throat,” the girl muttered over her shoulder. “That was just ‘til she got better.”
Buffy smothered a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be seeing that sadistic—and hot!—teacher again any time soon. Something was finally going right! “Things are looking up,” Buffy murmured to herself. Maybe this miserable school wouldn’t be so bad after all. Her roommate had said the boys in town were pretty cute, and there was always that gardener she had talked to the day before. As long as that creepy teacher stayed away from her, everything would be fine.
~*~*~*~
“Go on in, Miss Summers. The headmaster is expecting you.”
Buffy trudged into the headmaster’s office, not looking forward to the interview. Included with the class schedule she received when she arrived had been a note informing her of an appointment with the school’s headmaster, who greeted each mid-year student personally so he could ease their transition at the school.
My parents are paying so much for this school I should be eating fatted headmaster for dinner, thought Buffy crankily. Maybe I’ll mention that teacher to him, see how fast he cans his ass.
Then memories of yesterday sank in and she decided to say nothing, lest the teacher decide to say something for himself.
“I’m Buffy Summers,” she announced, walking into the sizable office and closing the door behind her. The headmaster didn’t bother to look up from his desk as he continued marking in a notebook, and she looked around for a moment, blinking at the bright light streaming through the windows. The office was larger than her bedroom at home and nearly half the size of a classroom, richly appointed in dark woods and hunter green.
Buffy looked her fill before glancing back at the man at the desk, still bent over his notebook. “A-hem,” she said loudly, disguising it as a cough. Jeezus, what was with these people?
The headmaster stopped his writing, and finally looked up. “Good morning, Miss Summers,” said William Bloodsworth softly. “I’m glad to see you wearing more clothes today.”
~*~*~*~
Liar. Who was he kidding? He’d loved the brief glimpse he’d gotten the day before, her body sheened with perspiration, her fingers gleaming with her juices, her face rippling with the very beginnings of orgasm. The scent of her arousal permeating the air like a ripe peach, making his mouth water despite himself.
But it really didn’t do to tell a student how much you’d enjoyed watching them get off, and that you would have stayed for the whole show if it wasn’t morally reprehensible and completely inappropriate of you.
No, instead you go back to your quarters and wank off ferociously, dreaming about pounding her into the wall. Or your mattress.
Or your desk.
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Where’s the headmaster?” she demanded.
“That would be me,” he told her wryly.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You—no, you’re too—too young, and too—”
“Too what?” he asked in surprise. Many people had expressed surprised that he was headmaster at only twenty-eight, but that was the only protest he’d ever heard about his position.
“Too mean!” she blurted out.
Now it was his turn to be shocked. “Mean?” he repeated in astonishment. “Exactly how have I been mean?”
“You hit me!” she said furiously.
“You were rude to another student and when I told you to apologize, you laughed at me,” he pointed out. He was a little startled by her obstinance; surely her parents hadn’t neglected her manners so badly that she thought what she’d done was acceptable. When she’d shot off a demeaning remark to Willow Rosenberg—a shy, studious girl who tried not to attract attention to herself—he’d immediately reproved her for it. He didn’t stand for bullying at his school, and if Miss Summers persisted in yanking his chain, she’s be surprised by just how hard he’d yank back.
“I don’t know how things were handled at your previous school, but our charter allows for us to discipline students as we see fit,” he told her. Buffy opened her mouth to interject a comment, and he cut her off. “And your parents, being graduates of Brighton, are well aware of this. There are few students, Buffy, who go through their years here without experiencing a taste of the ruler or worse. I suggest you resolve to make yesterday your last. I think you’ll find that was the least objectionable means I could have used.”
Yesterday, thought Buffy, cheeks pinkening. “And you’re a peeping tom!” she accused wildly.
Now William’s face darkened with a flush as well. “I wasn’t planning to address that matter,” he said stiffly. “But since you bring it up, we expect our students to remain celibate on campus.”
“Celibate!” exclaimed Buffy. “I was by myself.”
“That’s sufficient!” snapped William. “What if your roommate had come in? Or your dorm matron? Or more to the point, what if your parents had dropped by for a surprise visit?”
“More to the point,” mimicked Buffy, “what if the headmaster is a perv?”
William was still for a long moment. “What did you say?” he said finally.
“You may have seen me, but I saw you too,” she shot back. “Or maybe you just stuck your ruler in your pants?”
Score! Guess that was it for this little interview. Buffy turned to the door and put her hand on the door. It had been embarrassing, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.
Before she could get the door open a hand slapped against its edge and a lean, tight body pressed against her backside. “Miss Summers,” he breathed softly, right against her ear. “I can see you didn’t take what I said about punishment seriously. But if you keep pushing me, believe me—you will.”
He let the door go and eased back from her. She pulled the door open and slipped out without a backwards glance, outwardly calm.
But inside, she was trembling. She was spooked, she told herself, that was all. Not excited. Not turned on.
Really.
"Have you worked here long?" Buffy asked the handyman—Riley— she'd met a
couple of days before. She walked around the cottage he lived in, the main
campus barely visible in the moonlight, and turned to give him a flirty
smile. Finding out where he stayed on-campus hadn't been a problem, and it
had been child's play to get him to invite her in when she'd come knocking
on his door.
He was perfect for what she had in mind.
He was big
and beefy, and that was how she liked men. Not lean and tight, with sharp
hipbones that pushed into the soft flesh of her buttocks when he pressed
himself against her in his office. Yeah, she liked her men dark and handsome
and open-faced, not blond and dangerous with cheekbones like a knife. And
dumb! Yeah, she liked `em dumb. Easier to jerk around that way—jerk around
in ways that were good for her, not them. Not too smart for his own good.
And definitely not with pouty lips and long fingers. Long, long fingers.
Really long—gah, stop it!
"A while," answered Riley with a smile. He
looks so guileless, she thought.
But as innocent as he acted, he knew
why she was there. He'd sported wood from the moment he answered the door.
He didn't even ask why she'd dropped by in the middle of the night, just
licked his lips a
little and invited her in.
Which really was kind of
creepy.
Her roommate was fast asleep. Buffy had waited until Cordelia,
eyes hidden beneath her sleep mask, had begun her regular rhythmic snore before slipping out in her little schoolgirl outfit. Even the most vanilla guy got all hot and bothered when he saw a girl in a plaid skirt
and knee socks, even if he saw them dressed like that every day. Hell, even
that headmaster had to—
Forget about him, she berated herself. That was
why she was there, right? To forget about him and his hands and his eyes and
the way she thought about him when she touched herself. Yeah, she was there
to get herself a good ride and get it out of her system, and then she wouldn't give another thought to Mr. Gorgeous and his nice big
ruler.
God, was the guy STILL talking? Buffy briefly tuned into to Riley
for a second and immediately wished she hadn't.
"—apply fertilizer
and then cover it with sod, but you have to be careful not to step on it for
a few weeks, otherwise—"
"That's fascinating," Buffy interrupted. "Has
anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?"
"Well, thank
you," replied Jethro—RILEY, she reminded herself, Riley—"I can't say that
they have, even when—"
"Do girls visit you in your rooms often?" asked
Buffy, wincing as she listened to herself. It wouldn't have required this
kind of effort if she was dealing with a guy her age—hell, it barely
required words—but she was having difficulty time coming up with pre-sex
chitchat with this guy. Man, he was dull as oatmeal.
Miraculously, he
was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes," he admitted softly.
Buffy
repressed a small start. She sure wouldn't have suspected Joe the Wonder
Bore was tagging the students regularly, but appearances could be
deceiving.
Suddenly the wisdom of her little get-a-man-plan seemed
questionable to her. "Uhh, that's uhh, nice," Buffy mumbled, starting to
make her way towards the door in the most inconspicuous manner possible. No need to make it obvious she was heading out, even if he did seem easygoing. But since when did she have good luck?
"Hey, where are you
going?" he asked protestingly.
"Time to get back to the dorm," she said
brightly. "Classes start early around here."
"Well, yeah, but…if you
do it that way, nobody goes to sleep happy," he responded, swiftly moving
past her to block the door. "This will only take a few minutes, and I know
*I'll* sleep better afterwards."
For the first time in what seemed like
forever, Buffy felt fear curl around her heart. "My roommate's expecting me
back by twelve," she improvised hastily. "I have to leave now."
Riley
smiled at her, raising a hand to touch her face. "Now, that I doubt. She's
probably sleeping away right now—won't notice how late you're gone," he
said, threading his hand through her hair and beginning to apply pressure.
Trying to force her head down.
Bastard! "Let go of me," Buffy grated,
fighting to keep herself calm.
"In a few minutes, baby," he told her,
undoing his pants with his free hand.
"Let go, let go, LET GO!" Buffy
screamed furiously, struggling against him.
A moment later she was
free, and Riley was crumpled against the wall of his living room.
The
headmaster stood over him, startlingly informal in a black T-shirt and
jeans. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he
snarled at
Riley.
"I—I found her in my rooms," Riley lied. "I was trying to get rid
of her."
William didn't move from above Riley, clenching his fists
furiously as he studied the cowering man. Finally he turned to Buffy, took
her arm, and said simply, "Let's go."
They left Riley behind without
a backwards glance.
~*~*~*~
"You're all right?" William asked,
walked briskly beside her. She nodded wordlessly, and they kept walking.
Finally they were in front of the dorm and they both stopped and turned to
face each other. "I want you to go straight up to bed, no excuses," he told
her. She nodded again and turned to leave, but his hand closed around her elbow. "You'll have to come to my office tomorrow morning after breakfast," he said.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her
off. "I know you went to his cottage willingly," he said, shaking his head
as if
disappointed. "I can't even tell you how many rules you've broken tonight. I know why you went there," he added, his gaze lingering on her
mouth. "And I think I can ensure that the punishment fit the crime."
Chapter Five
Buffy had butterflies in her stomach all through breakfast the next day. Every time she raised a bite to her lips, she thought of what she might be putting in her mouth later that day.
And god, it made her salivate.
It was ridiculous to be so hot for the headmaster only a few days after meeting him, especially with him being such a jerk and all, but…god. There was no arguing with chemistry. “Science has its uses after all,” Buffy muttered to herself.
“What was that?” asked Cordelia Chase, sitting next to her.
Buffy forced herself to leave the scenarios she’d been imagining and concentrate on her roommate for the moment. “Nothing,” she said absently. As she lowered her eyes to her plate again, she noticed the scrawny redhead from her history class looking at her, the same one the headmaster had punished her for being mean to.
Maybe I should send her a thank-you note, Buffy thought, squeezing her thighs together in anticipation. She was kind of afraid, but mostly turned on.
She found she liked the combination.
~*~*~*~
Buffy walked right past the secretary outside of the headmaster’s office and let herself into his inner sanctum. “I’m here,” she announced, the slightest hint of trepidation coloring her voice.
Like the last time, he was bent over various papers on his desk and didn’t bother to look up. “I’ll be a few minutes, Miss Summers. Please wait in my study,” he told her, pointing to a door she hadn’t noticed before.
She wandered into the room, turned on the light, and gasped. The sole piece of furniture was a slat-back chair, and hanging from the walls were whips, canes, riding crops, paddles, and several things she didn’t recognize.
It looked like he knew a lot more about punishment than she ever wanted to know.
She was still staring in astonishment at the assorted devices when he breezed into the room, his attire far more severe than the jeans he’d been wearing the previous night. “Take off your clothes, Miss Summers,” he instructed her softly. “It wouldn’t do to muss them up, would it?”
~*~*~*~
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Buffy panted, gasping for breath as she looked at the headmaster pleadingly.
“Head down and no talking, Miss Summers,” William reminded her.
Buffy glared fire. “My parents aren’t paying the outrageous tuition for this school so I can pick weeds,” she gritted.
“Since I was obliged to fire Mr. Finn, it’s only fitting that you take his place, isn’t it?” pointed out William serenely, turning his back on her and returning to his office, leaving her under the watchful eye of Prudence MacElhaney, the school’s head of maintenance.
He knew perfectly well that Buffy would rather be dragged by her hair through the middle of town than muck around in the flowerbeds and shovel out the stables, so what better punishment could he devise?
When he’d told her to strip and handed her the sturdy workclothes she’d be wearing that day, he thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head.
He really shouldn’t have enjoyed it nearly as much as he did.
The look of outrage on her face, though…delicious. He had no idea why he couldn’t get her out of his mind—she was only seventeen; he was her senior by ten years, and above her as the highest authority at the school.
But that wasn’t how he wanted to be above her. He’d never before been drawn to one of his pupils; he regarded the students at Brighton as children, even when they came back after graduating to visit the students and faculty, and, not infrequently, make a play for their former headmaster. But from the first moment he’d seen Buffy, she’d stirred something fierce and primal in him, and he was finding it difficult to maintain a professional demeanor around her. Not when all he could think about was pulling off her clothes and making her scream.
God, the night before he’d wanted to tear Finn limb from limb for touching her. As soon as he’d seen Buffy back to her dormitory, he’d gone back to Finn’s cottage and discharged him, waiting to make sure the man was packed and gone before returning to the well-appointed headmaster’s quarters. He wasn’t sure what had happened—he knew that Buffy had gone there willingly, and that nothing had happened before he interrupted.
But he also knew Buffy had been frightened when he showed up, and happy to leave.
Somewhere inside him, he’d wanted to pound Finn into the ground. He suspected that Buffy had tried to back out and Finn had become insistent; impossible to prove, so he didn’t call the police. Even without evidence, there was no way he’d allow the man to stay on campus if he was a danger to students.
But Buffy had needed to be punished, too. Even if Finn had been a perfect gentleman the night before, numerous rules were broken and would have required his discharge, and her punishment. She’d left the dormitory after curfew. She’d been out after dark without an escort. She’d intended to engage in sexual activity. She’d been alone with a man on campus.
He was the only man she was allowed to be alone with, William thought fiercely.
~*~*~*~
That bastard, I’ll wring his neck, thought Buffy, toweling off. After four hours in the broiling sun tending to the school’s flowerbeds, she’d been handed a box lunch and directed to the stables for her next chore.
Shoveling shit.
After three hours of that, she’d been told she could shower and go back to the dormitory. She had to shower first, she was told, so she wouldn’t track the scent in. She’d been handed her uniform and directed to a makeshift shower stall in a corner of the stable, and now she dragged her clothes over her still-damp body and started out of the stable.
Then an idea occurred to her. A ridiculous idea. A stupid idea. One guaranteed to get her in trouble.
But oh, first she’d enjoy it but good.
~*~*~*~
She was almost out of his office when he caught her. Literally caught her—he’d swung into the room suddenly and they’d crashed into each other. He grabbed her quickly, before she could hit the floor.
God, his body felt just as hard as she remembered. Apparently that hadn’t really been her imagination.
“Miss Summers,” he said more warmly than he ever had before. “I’ve heard good things about what you’ve done today. I’m glad to see you’re not averse to taking your punishment like an adult.”
She eyed him speculatively. “If you can dish it out, I can take it,” she assured him.
His ears pinkened rather adorably, and she could swear he almost started to stutter. “Goodnight, Mr. Bloodsworth,” she told him sweetly.
She hadn’t made it more than two steps when she heard the shout of fury behind her.
“You little—was this your doing? Don’t bother to answer, I know it was,” fumed William, pointing at the pile of horse shit covering the seat of his chair.
She had planned to imagine his reaction in absentia, but what could she do now but smile and shrug?
Which was probably a mistake.
He grabbed her arm furiously. “Don’t you smirk at me! You want a lesson? I’ll give you a lesson!” he roared, sitting against the edge of his desk and dragging her down to lay across his lap. “Sure you can take this?” he mocked savagely, tossing her skirt up and giving her several sharp slaps, watching in satisfaction as her ass reddened and she squirming and protested. Ah, thong panties, created to torture men; they gave quite a lovely view during a spanking, as it turned out.
His cock, already stirring from her presence, rose to press against her belly as he tanned her bottom. He rubbed his arousal against her shamelessly, uncaring of the line he was crossing. “You can take it?” he taunted over her wails, making sure she felt just how hard he was. “How much more can you take, Miss Summers?”
He shoved her off his lap, and she landed on her already-sore rear with a thump.
She clambered up and stood rubbing her aching bottom with her hands, looking at him a little tearfully. She started to back up to make her escape, but his voice stopped her. “One more thing, if you please, Miss Summers.”
She stopped and looked at him apprehensively.
“Your panties,” he said calmly, holding out his hand. “A little something so we’ll both remember the lessons we learned today.”
She stared at him in astonishment, unmoving.
“Now, Miss Summers.”
After another moment’s hesitation, she reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties down, gingerly stepping out of them and holding them out to him. His eyes never left her the entire time.
He took the thong from her and fingered it. His eyes were on it now, not her, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he said, “You may go now, Miss Summers.”
He never looked up as she left.