'Not you, Heidi.'
Last to leave, I halt in the doorway, your firm tone stopping me instantly.
'Come here. Close the door.'
'Yes, sir'. My voice trembles. I try so hard to be a good girl but I know I'm in trouble.
Obediently I shut the door and approach your desk. You watch me carefully, setting your features into grim disapproval. Your gaze lingers its way up my body from my white-socked calves, over my thighs to the hem of my too-short skirt, then following the buttons of my blouse to my breasts where my nipples peek through the thin fabric of my bra and blouse. I meet your eyes at last and blush, hanging my head, clasping my hands behind my back and standing up straight like a good girl even though it makes my breasts strain against the fabric of my too-tight blouse.
'Do you know why I called you back, Miss Presswood?'
'No, sir.' I dart you a quick glance and hang my head again. You only call me 'Miss Presswood' when I'm in bad trouble.
You stand up, taking the long wooden ruler from the desktopand move to stand behind me, slightly to one side. I turn my head to follow you, but you stop the movement by touching the tip of the ruler to my cheek, making me flinch. I face the front like a good girl, I hope.
'Face the front, Miss Presswood. Hands by your sides.' You stand very close to me and I tremble. My cunt is wet, aching; my thong damp. 'You are a disgrace, Miss Presswood. Your skirt is far too short for modesty, it should come to here.' You touch my thigh an inch above the back of my knee. 'Instead it is all the way up here.' you run your finger up my soft skin to meet the hem of my skirt. My legs nearly buckle and I have to bite my lip to stop from moaning. Your finger is about two inches from my sopping cunt. You move it a little higher and say, 'What have you to say about that.'
'Oh, sir,' I gasp. 'I'm very sorry, sir. It was all I had to wear today.'
'Was it, Miss Presswood?' You move your finger up and down, just a little so it brushes the seam of my underwear. You must feel the wetness. I give a little whimper. You remove your hand and take an audible breath through your nose. 'Were all your other skirts dirty, Miss Presswood?'
'Yes, sir,' I whisper.
'Then you must be a very dirty girl, Miss Presswood. Are you?'
'No, sir. I mean yes, sir.' Flustered I blush again.
'Let me be clear, Miss Presswood. Today you are dressed in a skirt that is far too short for decency and a blouse that is at least a size too small. I detect lipstick and rouge. And if i am not mistaken, perfume.' You take my hair in your hand and raise it to your nose. 'Perfumed shampoo and also perfume on your skin.' Still holding my hair, you smell the nape of my neck. I feel your breath on my skin. 'Frankly, Miss Presswood, you look like a common prostitute. Is that what you wanted?'