I was beginning to think seriously about taking work outside the teaching profession that sunny, early fall Saturday, and I hate to think of what I would have missed if the phone hadn't rung during my lunch.
The small college town of Giles, Michigan didn't seem to be able to offer any interesting positions for me in either of the two local colleges, and there was a pretty good little touring jazz combo that needed a drummer and sound engineer... maybe that would be a good gig for a while, I thought halfheartedly. But it was a beautiful fall season, the smell of new books mingled with the brisk autumn air, and as I did every fall, I began to feel a nostalgic, restless urge to be strolling an historic campus among lovely, enthusiastic, innocent-looking schoolgirls.
So when I answered the phone, and a woman's accented voice asked for "Professor Williams," I put down my coffee and gave my full attention.
"We found your resumé on your website, and we'd like to think you would find our college a perfect match for your interests and talents," she said. I was familiar with Université Westminster, in the mountain town of Wengen, Switzerland, but I had only visited and taught there in some of my more treasured fantasies... I had considered it too exclusive to actually apply. Since my online resumé mentioned my views of education and discipline, I assumed that she was aware of them. Thrillingly, apparently also in agreement, since I was being considered. Not all colleges approve of spanking discipline - hardly any, in fact.
"We need to find a qualified English speaking professor, so that our girls may gain more familiarity with the language and culture that they will need to know in their various future careers," the voice said. The voice, I learned, belonged to Mrs. Bourbon, the school receptionist, secretary and generally the manager of the school's business. She could probably have me hired on her say-so, so I gave my best phone interview. I was, it seems, just what they were looking for, and they had already checked my references.
Two hours later, giddy with anticipation for my new position and its surprisingly comfortable salary, not to mention the "intangibles" of the job, I was packing, with a car service coming to take me to the airport.
At the Swiss airport, the girl behind the velvet rope holding the sign that said "Professor Williams" was certainly a cutie, with a small, pouty mouth and pert, full breasts... a fresh-faced blonde girl, wearing a sincere, hopeful expression as she searched for me among the disembarking passengers. I noted her light, white blouse and dark blue pleated schoolgirl skirt with approval... the glimpses of cleavage and thigh they afforded aroused my interest right away. She noticed me and waved happily, bouncing a bit on her toes as if to help me notice her. With that ponytail of blond hair swishing around like that, those bouncing breasts, how could I not notice?
Soon we were introduced to each other and in the school limo, with the driver loading my luggage in the trunk.
I had noticed the lovely curve of the underside of the girl's well-rounded bottom as she bent to climb in, with even a glimpse of her white panty covered pussy mound between creamy thighs... I can't be sure, but I think she arched her back and stuck out her bottom a little more than was strictly necessary, crawling in to the plush seating. My dirty mind's desire was awakened by then...
Miss S. chatted gaily in a cute French accent, asking about my trip and so on, and smiled shyly, but often. I told her about the New York hotel and the wait at JFK, and that she was a lovely girl, and that I hoped she was a good student. She put her hand on my leg, and said "Oh, I hope so, sir... I do try... I am most happy you are coming to teach us. You look more nice than Dr. Calhoun, who was old and mean."
The limo was comfortable, with seats like couches, and the view of the pretty town outside was giving away to even prettier countryside as we made our way up the road to the mountains in the afternoon sun. It had been some time since I could look out a limosine window and see castles on hillsides. Never, in fact. But the interior of the car was what had my attention.
"I am nice," said, placing my hand on hers and smiling into her eyes, "as long as you obey and behave like a good student, of course." She actually blushed, and put her hands to her pretty face, and said "oh, well, yes."
"Yes?" I said.
"Well..." she hesitated.
"Have you misbehaved, young lady?" I asked, silently hoping she had... she looked out the window and shook her head no.
The driver, at this, glance over his shoulder and muttered "Tell him, lassy, just how it is you're in this car, and where you're supposed to be!"
"That's enough," she said crossly, and pushed the button to raise the glass partition. "Traitor!" she grumbled.
I raised an eyebrow and looked seriously at her. "Well, maybe you'd better explain that before we get back to the school."
"Oh..." she fidgeted, with her hands clasped between her knees, "I sort of... decided to come along to be the first to meet you, and welcome you to our school. That's all."
"And what you're not telling me is...?" I asked, recognizing a schoolgirl's evasion right away. "I'll find out when you get back, you know."
"Well..." she ducked her head and squirmed a little, trying to avoid the inevitable. She realized that it was hopeless, and made the wise decision to simply tell me. "I was supposed to be helping clean the dorms." Aha, I thought. Then came the flood of excuses... "But Evelyn said she would cover for me, and I had to do it last week anyway, and all the girls said I should go, and the driver let me, after I... well, I did something nice for him." She covered her mouth instantly... too much had been revealed, it seemed.
"Oh? What sort of something?"
"I, um, kissed his... I gave him... in the front seat, and I just leaned over..." She was blushing madly. "But that's not so bad! It's not really so very naughty, and he said it was okay!"
"Then you wouldn't mind explaining that to your headmistress?" I said. Her eyes became twice as big. The headmistress, I knew, was a Mrs. Hedge, an unsmiling, matronly woman that polite society would call "handsome" or "sturdy."
"Oh, no, please, sir!" She was quite agitated. "No, don't make me tell! Please, it's private!" She grabbed my arm and pressed her other hand to my leg, leaning toward me, displaying her sincerity and some very pretty cleavage.
