A Masters Work Is Never Done

I like to keep my girls in order. Eighteen year old girls without discipline will run wild, acting like little harlots as soon as your back is turned. But a girl who has been taught to be properly obedient will always be a credit to the academy. Take Miss Presswood. There have been some regrettable lapses, minor incidents on the whole, but chastisement certainly required. But on the whole, Miss Presswood is one of what I call my Good Girls. Always willing, always eager and -- and this really is the key thing you know -- always knows when she has done wrong and always accepts her punishment willingly. And afterwards there is no sulking, no resentment. She really is a very good girl.

Miss Di Ruffia, on the other hand, does tend to give herself airs. And she does not understand fully the need for strong discipline. I notice her in the corridor -- just after I have punished Miss Presswood for a most unusual breech of the dress code -- and as I send her on her way I see Miss Di Ruffia is wearing stockings! Stockings! The regulations are quite clear: white knee socks in the summer months and stockings only to be worn between October and March. I call her to me directly. She looks surprised. And there is always something rather insolent about Miss Di Ruffia's look.

'Yes, sir,' she says. Her voice is so perfectly English, you'd never believe she was Italian. Excellent diction -- it's a pleasure to watch her lips form the words.

'Stand correctly when you address me, Miss Di Ruffia,' I say. Some girls just cannot remember the simplest things -- or are deliberately disobedient. Either way -- silliness or wilfulness -- the method of correction is the same, though with the silliest and most wilful it can take many, many months of frequent punishments.

'Yes sir.' She stands to her full height -- she is a very tall, leggy girl -- the tallest in the academy by some inches -- and clasps her hands behind her back so her small breasts press against her blouse. I look her up and down. I make it my habit to scrutinise most closely the areas of their dress where the regulations are most often flouted -- the hem of the skirt (often too short), the buttons of the blouse (often one or two may be undone), the bosom (sometimes the more shameless hussies will not wear a bra!), the lips (lipstick!) and eyes (mascara!). I never rush this inspection -- it unsettles the more wilful girls like Miss Di Ruffia. Her skirt is perhaps a trifle short, exposing rather more of her slim, silk-clad thighs than is quite proper, her blouse somewhat clinging. No make-up that I can discern, just flawless lightly tanned skin, but when I move close I can smell the scent of sandalwood.

'Perfume and stockings, Miss Di Ruffia? Are you deliberately flouting the rules of the academy? Or have you some explanation that will satisfy me?'

'I have no excuse, sir.' Her diction really is most beautifully clipped.

'No excuse, Miss Di Ruffia?'

'No, sir. I am very sorry, sir. Please punish me as you see fit.' Her voice trembles very slightly as she utters the last words.

I point to the desk and watch her as she crosses the room and stands by it, her back to me. She jumps as I close the door. I walk towards her slowly, watching her quiver. I stand very close behind her, so my mouth is close to her ear.

'You must be soundly spanked, Miss Di Ruffia.'

'Yes, sir.' There is a hint of a tear in her pale, long-lashed eyes. She begins to bend.

'On your bare bottom, Miss Di Ruffia.' She stops, mid-bend, her back beautifully straight, skirt ridden high enough at the back to expose her stocking tops.

'Sir?'

'You heard. Kickers down, please, Miss Di Ruffia.'

She takes a sharp intake of breath, but straightens and, reaching under her skirt, pulls down her skimpy thong. I push her down onto the desk.

'Arms straight out in front of you!' I do not try to contain my fury. 'A thong, Miss Di Ruffia! A thong!'

She says nothing, only a whimper of fear escaping her lips, though she gasps when I pull down her skirt. Her pert backside is exposed, her knickers and skirt around her ankles, smooth, tanned flesh a startling contrast above her sheer black hold-up stockings. Her cunt is smooth and quite beautiful. My penis is erect and throbbing.

'A spanking will no longer suffice, Miss Di Ruffia,' I tell her, unbuttoning my fly and releasing my penis from my shorts. 'Such blatant flouting of the rules can only be punished in one way.'

She turns her head, teary eyes begging. When I place the head of my penis on her cunt her mouth makes a perfect O of surprise. When I push inside her moist and so very tight little cunt, she gasps. I begin to move inside her, back and forth with long, slow, regular strokes.

'With some girls a mere six strokes will suffice,' I inform her as her breathing increases and she grips the edge of the desk, her cunt tightening around my penis most delightfully. 'Others may require a dozen, even twenty.' Little moans escape her now. 'The more incorrigible sometimes need as many as fifty.' She moves her hips now, pushing back against my thrusts, arching her back. Her moans are as rhythmic as the pulsing of her cunt. My thrusts become faster, deeper and her moaning louder, more desperate. 'But you, Miss Di Ruffia, are such a brazen little hussy I fear it may take over one hundred!' I grab her long blond hair and pull her head back. She screams and lifts her legs, kicking her heels against my buttocks as I thrust. When she comes, it's with such explosive force that I spurt into her -- a regrettable loss of self-control.'

'Now, Miss Di Ruffia,' I say, disengaging, 'I hope you have learnt your lesson.'

She says nothing but moans and nods, still spreadeagled on the desk.

'Up!' I say and she gets groggily to her feet. I point at my penis and she kneels and licks it clean, performing her task well. Fully erect again I allow her to fellate me, looking down into her pale blue eyes as her full lips slide easily over my penis and her tongue works busily on shaft and head. She is an industrious girl when brought to proper focus on a task and after some prolonged effort and a little inspiration -- cupping my balls and sliding a long finger into my anus -- she brings me to a second orgasm which she swallows beautifully.

'Well done, Nadine,' I say, buttoning myself up. 'With due diligence, in future you may become an outstanding member of this academy. But for now I think we must monitor your behaviour very closely. You will report to me every evening at six o'clock for a full uniform inspection, including underwear. Clear?'

'Yes sir,' she says in that perfect English. 'Thank you, sir.'

She hastily removes her stockings and dons her skirt. I point to the door and she leaves. I watch her go. Her walk is far too sluttish for a young lady. That will have to be attended to.