The following story was written by inspiration from a fantasy dialog between a very good friend and myself. She likes to be called Countess Devane and helps to keep me young. I worked very hard to keep the dialog as it was originally, and spontaneously, projected, while filling in enough detail to help the reader experience what we did. Please enjoy!
As headmaster of a girls' private school, Mr. Michaels had to pay careful attention to appearances. At the moment, all students and faculty were in the auditorium for a performance of "The Nutcracker," and this was one of the few times he could personally inspect the girls' living conditions without someone looking over his shoulder. While his reasons for not wanting the housemother present during his inspection were mostly personality driven, he found there was a certain excitement associated with a view of the girls' intimate belongings while in the privacy of his own thoughts.
The first two rooms he peered into were actually rather tidy, but the third room was a disaster. It looked as if some young lady had been in an awful hurry to dispose of her books and change in time for the mandatory attendance of the play. The bed was unkempt, and he surmised she had been behind in her schedule all day, if not longer. He smiled at the panties tossed near the foot of the bed, and the lacy bra nearby. Just as he was about to reach for the panties, a young lady burst into the room, oblivious to his presence, and obviously in a rush.
"Oh!" the young girl gasped as she saw the headmaster. "I … I was using the facilities." She knew she was far too late for the scheduled event in the auditorium, and she was at a total loss of words as guilt permeated her face.
"Sit down, my dear," the headmaster directed with a soft, but firm voice. "What's your name?"
"Isabelle," she answered as she sat on the side of the bed, partially concealing the discarded underwear he had already noticed. She was quiet and demure, as a young lady was expected to be, and dressed in the school's standard white polo shirt, plaid skirt, and knee high white socks. Her light brown hair was braided in pigtails that reached behind slender shoulders and down her back.
"Young lady, this may be your room, a place where you may usually relax, but surely you know at your age you do not sit with your legs spread apart in the presence of others." A glance from the headmaster had made him privy to a generous portion of her thighs, and he found himself twitching at the thought of what lay beyond.
"Oops," she giggled as she closed her legs demurely and looked at Headmaster Michaels. He seemed young for a headmaster, and physical fit as well. Many of the girls had fantasized about him as they saw him jog around the campus, or had the pleasure of encountering him in an academic setting.
In an effort to distract his own thoughts, the headmaster looked around the room with a solemn face. "Your room is a disaster. Do you have any explanation for the state of your room, and your absence from the play which," he looked at his watch, "has already begun?"
Isabelle thought desperately, but there was no satisfactory answer. "No, Sir. It is a mess." She looked around and then back to the headmaster, but with lowered eyes. "I'm sorry, Headmaster."
"I believe punishment is in order," Headmaster Michaels concluded. He trembled inside at the thought of spanking her himself, then realized that was in fact a possibility. He knew the housemother's reputation for discipline. She had no tolerance and her judgments had a way of building upon each other. She never seemed to forget, and it was usually in each girl's best interest to avoid her at all costs. "Do you want me to involve the housemother?" he threatened.
"Is there an alternative?" Isabelle pleaded.
"It is within my authority to punish you myself," the headmaster spoke without emotion. "We could get it out of the way right now, and it need go no further … provided you learn your lesson." The young lady seemed to consider the options. She wasn't sure what Headmaster Michael's punishment would be, but she was aware of no reputation concerning him. While Miss Jacobs, on the other hand …
Headmaster Michaels reached around and repositioned a desk chair before sitting and facing Isabelle. "Come, lean over my leg," he instructed.
Isabelle was wide-eyed. But she figured she better comply. It stilled seemed the better alternative. She stood slowly and stepped toward the side of him she would lean from. Hesitantly, she bent over his legs, already bracing herself for the spanking she knew would follow. "I'm sorry," she repeated, with more conviction than before.
The headmaster couldn't believe the feel of this eighteen-year-old feminine body lying over his legs. He dutifully raised his hand to exact punishment in as clinical a manner as possible. WHACK … the girl's skirt provided more cushion than he anticipated. He increased the force of the hit, WHACK, and she squealed a bit. Finally, he lifted her skirt and laid it along the small of her back. Her white cotton panties rippled with the movement of her butt cheeks as she squirmed. WHACK. She squealed more freely, in a mixture of pain and delight.
As he brought his hand back for another hit, he felt coolness against his fingers that told him they were damp. He hesitated, looked at his fingers, smelled them, then leaned over slightly to see that her panties were damp. "Why is your underwear so wet? Have you not changed them recently?" He smacked her again before she could answer. "Take those dirty panties off right now," he demanded.
"Yes, Sir!" Isabelle obediently stood, reached under her skirt, and pulled the panties down to her feet.
The headmaster felt a surge of electricity just seeing the panties separated from the girl's privacy, and imagining how she must look under her skirt without them. Under the guise of further inspection he quipped, "Give them to me."
Isabelle quickly and quietly stepped out of the panties, picked them up, and handed them to the headmaster. Her own feelings were stirred as he lifted them to his nose and took a whiff. She looked for any sign of pleasure on his face, any hint that this had changed from discipline to … something more. But he remained emotionless as his eyes looked above the panties and locked on hers.
"You haven't learned to keep clean?" he asked.
"I wasn't ever taught," Isabelle bit her lip.
He directed her to lean over again and proceeded to lift her skirt as before. Her bare cheeks were slightly pink from his earlier attacks. He was aware she had turned her head to look at him as he tried to hide the aching lust that grew within. His face remained stern as he lifted his hand and brought it down with a loud smack. He tore his eyes from the target to see her reaction as he lifted his hand again.
Isabelle blushed crimson as she squealed. She turned away while he prepared for the next spank.
His hand swung down and connected with the pliable skin, SMACK. He hesitated too long to remove his hand, however, and it slipped down a little, at which point he declared, "You're dripping!" He knew why, of course, but strained to maintain a sense of control and discipline.
"Yes, Sir," she acknowledged and squirmed with a degree of excitement she did not quite understand.
The movement caused him to feel how wet she had made his pants leg. "Look what you've done to my pants! Stand up and see what you've done!"
"I've made another mess, haven't I?" she asked. But she was looking at the bulge in his pants as she rose to stand again.
"Yes, you have," the headmaster spat at her in an effort to appear angry. As he took his own pants off, and only hoped her fear of his wrath would overcome her reasoning skills. On the other hand, he was loosing control. His arousal was so strong that he was already near the point of no return.
When Isabelle saw his erect member peeking through the slit in his boxers, she gasped at the size of it. "Oh my, Headmaster. It's so … large."
The headmaster ignored her comment. "Your skirt is wet and dirty too. Take it off."
Isabelle obediently shimmied out of the skirt. Embarrassment took control as she hoped her shirt would hide her privacy. Her hands dangled and fidgeted in front of her for added protection.
