I know this storyline had been done before, probably more times than we can count, but it's kind of fun, so I'd like to give it a shot. Hopefully it's still entertaining.
All characters are over the age of eighteen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If there's a better job for a recently divorced middle-aged man, I'd like to know what it is.
Walking down the hallways, I was in control. This was my domain.
"Hi, Mr. Owens," I heard from behind me, and turned to find an attractive brunette smiling at me.
"Miss Addams," I nodded. "Where are you headed?"
"Mr. Hamilton's geography class," she responded, passing me.
"Do you need a map?" I laughed. She paused, and turned to make a sour face at me. Her ample chest was obscured by an armload of books.
"Sir," she giggled, "you're a great Principal, but a lousy comedian!" She continued to walk away, wiggling her ass under her uniform skirt.
"Are you saying I shouldn't quit my day job?" I called after her.
"That's right!" she giggled again, and turned the corner into the classroom, leaving me alone in the hallway. The bell rang, and classes began.
It was early in the day, here at St. Francis Xavier Thomas of the Blessed Sacrament Catholic School for Girls. Grades 9 - 12. 600 students, aged 14 - 19.
600 girls, in plaid skirts and crisp white blouses.
Oh my.
Hey, I'm not a monster. I know that at least five hundred of those are off limits, and I follow that rule to the letter. I have their records. I know how old they all are.
That still leaves a good half of the senior class. Nearly a hundred young women, blossoming into adulthood. By anyone's standards, a target rich environment.
Like Miss Addams, for example. Audrey Louise Addams, age 18. Tall, slender and curvaceous. Star of the volleyball team. Intense competitor. Good student. Mild tease, and according to scuttlebutt, still a virgin, despite her boyfriend's repeated attempts to change that status.
Oh well. The empty halls held little to interest me now, so I decided to head back to my office. Paperwork beckons. I'd come back before lunch.
***
Bureaucratic red tape sucks, and bureaucratic budget red tape sucks even worse. I needed a break, and lunch was approaching. My favourite time of day.
Lunchtime was when the young ladies of St. FXT, BS, CSG let their hair down, often literally. With no boys to muddle the environment, the girls broke into their little cliques, which had the convenient side effect of sorting them for my viewing pleasure. Rarely did the earlier years mix with the seniors, and within those seniors were sub-cliques. Academics, athletes, the cool kids, the science geeks, and my favourite, the sluts.
Yes, even an all-girl Catholic school has sluts, although the term is relative in the absence of boys to act out with. There goes one now.
"Miss Jones?" I said sternly. Even from behind, I could practically hear her roll her eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned halfway, stopping when she was in profile. It was quite a profile, let me tell you. Her hand on her hip, she tilted her head, and took that tone teenage girls have that just aggravates adults instantly. The aggravation almost overpowered my awe.
School uniforms are meant to even the field, so to speak, by eliminating the inevitable competition over style of dress. Being an all-girl school was supposed to eliminate the distraction of the opposite sex.
But girls will be girls, and they will always find a way to separate themselves from the rest of the pack. Thus, skirts got rolled up, socks were rolled down, and blouses were apt to somehow come unbuttoned.
Put a girl like Melissa Jones in that uniform, and conflict was guaranteed.
You see, Melissa was a slut by nature. She may have been an eighteen-year-old senior in a Catholic girl's school, but she was built like Satan's favourite concubine.
"Yes,
SIR?
" she replied, contempt dripping from her voice.
I can't tell you how many times I had masturbated to imaginings of her body. She was just that hot, in the stereotypical blonde bimbo fashion; Long wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, plump lips you'd love to see wrapped around your cock... and that's just her face. Add an ass you could crack walnuts on, a waist that most women would require a corset to match, and last, but certainly not least, tits like honeydew melons, straining the buttons on her blouse. With a body so clearly built for sex, how could you not have impure thoughts about such a creature?
"If I were to measure, your skirt," I levelled my gaze at her face, with great difficulty, "would it meet regulation length?"
"Oh, yes,
SIR
," she sneered, tugging at the pleats which miraculously reached further down her legs after the fact. "May I go to lunch, now,
SIR?
"
"Thank you, Miss Jones," I nodded, letting my eyes caress her chest lovingly. "Enjoy your meal."
With that, the blonde bombshell flipped her hair at me, and turned on her heels. I watched her ass for a few seconds, until I lost her in the crowd.
I did a wander through the cafeteria, touching base, as it were, with my students. For the vast majority of the girls, I was given the respect that an authority figure deserves. I tried to let them be the children they still were, and only stepped in when things were getting out of hand.
The seniors were another matter. Now adults themselves, they chafed at any attempts to curb their right to make decisions on their own. They were mature enough to be good students, but that maturity had a life outside the classroom.
Melissa Jones was not the only physical specimen here. There were several, and depending on your personal preferences, as many as a few dozen.
Over in the corner, Melissa and her friends were chatting loudly. They were living proof of the old saying about birds and flocks. Every one of them was the living embodiment of sexy.
And every one of them knew it.
That's my job, here. I deal with the administrative crap, and remind the young ladies in my charge that the rules are meant to protect their decorum, purity, and chastity. There's the rare occasion of actual physical conflict between young women, that requires my benign intervention, but mostly I just observe.
And let me tell you, beauty is not the only thing in the eye of the observer.
***
Despite appearances to the contrary, I don't live in my office, and have a life outside of school. So do my students, and that's where things get interesting.
I do occasionally bump into students outside of school. Sometimes, the difference between their appearance at school and away from it is astounding, to the point where the girls are nearly unrecognizable.
And then there's the ones you can't help but recognize. Those who become unforgettable. Take Alexis Kensington, for example.
Alex is a very nice, respectable girl. She never gave me any trouble at all. Her uniform was always impeccably adherent to the regulations... despite the body that was in it.
Alex was of average height, and average, attractive appearance... from the neck up, at least. Below that was another story entirely.
The word 'wow' comes to mind, especially after meeting her at the mall, one weekend afternoon. To be fair, if she hadn't spoken up, and recognized me, I probably wouldn't have seen her.
I mean, I saw her, that's certain. I just didn't know it was Alex, because she looked so different.
For starters, she usually wore her hair up, and always had her glasses on. Today, her hair was down, hanging to the middle of her back, and the glasses were absent.
"Hi, Mr. Owens!" the bubbly brunette chirped. She was walking with a gaggle of friends, a few of whom were also students at St. FXT, BS, CSG. "Doing some shopping?"
"Miss Kensington?!" I smiled. "Yes, I am. How are you today? What brings you here?"
"Oh, nothing really," she smiled, giggling attractively. "I was bored at home, so I'm just hangin'," she nodded. "You know? Chillin'."
I looked down at her smiling face, taking in her whole package, and let me tell you, she definitely had the whole package. A pretty, if unremarkable face, and a body that appeared to have been fashioned by a sculptor with a breast fetish, and a sharp chisel. I know, because her attire left very little to the imagination. Skin tight, her jeans and t-shirt showed all the curves that her school uniform hid.
The view down her V-neck showed me the cleavage I always knew was under the crisp blouse she wore at school. Her busty nature had been obvious, but camouflaged, along with her narrow waist, and firm ass, by the conservative style of the uniform.
"My friends are waiting," she said softly, reading my gaze. She shrugged her shoulders, causing a tempting jiggle, then waved. "See you at school!"
With that, she was off, leaving me to drool over her ass, clad in painted on jeans. I had no idea she was such a vision, but now that I did know, I wouldn't forget.
***
Of course, the mall wasn't the only place to find students.
Some of the girls just couldn't wait to alter their uniforms, and took full advantage of my limited jurisdiction. As long as they were on school property, I could enforce the rules.
Off it, however, was another matter.
Melissa Jones was one who knew exactly where the line was. Every afternoon, she would walk just outside that line, and roll her skirt up six inches, to mid-thigh. Her blouse would be unbuttoned in a similar fashion, until she looked more like a naughty stripper wearing a costume, than a student after class.
