She hated the school as soon as she saw it. The uniforms. The bucolic setting. And most horrifying of all, the complete and utter absence of boys.



Buffy Summers stared after her parents as they drove off after hugging her and assuring her she’d get used to the school in no time. Get used to it? Sure, she’d get used to it. If she was staying, that is, which she wasn’t. There had to be some way out of this little pocket of pristine hell, and if anyone could find it, it was her.



Of course, she’d usually made her escape with the aid of whatever man was handy, since they tended to get in line to help her out. And who was she to ignore all that willing help? It wasn’t her fault if they thought that was going to get them anything—men tended to be so delusional. Or maybe the word was optimistic.



Buffy picked up her one little suitcase—no need for all her clothes here, her mother had cheerfully pointed out—and headed up the stairs, after the head of students who was there waving her up. “This way, Betty,” she told her.



Buffy rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother to correct her. She’d be out of there before anyone even bothered to learn her name.



***



He noticed her immediately. She’d done something to her skirt—rolled it up at the waist, perhaps—so it was shorter than the standard length, barely decent as she flounced across campus. Williams Bloodsworth had the feeling that if he stood watching for more than a few moments, a breeze or an extra-bouncy step would kick her skirt up and he would see more than he should.



Odd, then, that he didn’t stop watching.



They didn’t get many bad girls at the school; most of the students, like Miss Summers, were “legacies,” the children of former Brighton Academy students.



It was shocking to think that two of the academy’s graduates could raise such a hellacious little temptress. Maybe there’d been a baby switch at the hospital. It was the only explanation William could think of to account for a pair of perfectly respectable pillars of society like Joyce and Rupert Summers to have produced a budding Lolita like Buffy. He watched as she stopped in front of Riley Finn, a handyman the school employed, as he knelt on the lawn, fixing a sprinkler. Something she said caught his attention and he looked up at her.



From that angle he can probably see up her skirts all the way to the Virgin Islands, thought William sourly. The way she was bridling under Riley’s attention, it looked like that was her plan.



Better to nip this in the bud, he thought, casting a glare to Riley. Somehow it penetrated his Buffy-addled brain and he muttered an excuse to the girl, returning his concentration to the broken sprinkler.



She didn’t seem to appreciate the loss of attention. Tossing her head, she stomped off.



“Oh yes, Miss Summers, you have a lot to learn,” murmured William to himself.



~*~*~*~



“Miss Summers, please remain in your seat. I wish to see you after class,” requested Mr. Bloodworth.



A couple of Buffy’s classmates glanced at her in sympathy. Buffy tossed her hair back as if she didn’t care, although she felt a flutter at the pit of her stomach. First day of school and already in trouble. In her experience, nothing good came of being asked to stay after class. They never said, Would you like to stay after class so I can give you a pony?



Although some of her teachers, the sick fucks, hadn’t been that far off.



They could keep it. Buffy wasn’t interested in guys old enough to be her…incredibly hot young uncle, in Mr. Bloodsworth’s case. She liked ‘em young and dumb; they were easier to manipulate that way. Although that gardener or whatever she’d been talking to earlier wasn’t that young. He seemed plenty dumb, though.



Mr. Bloodsworth leaned against the edge of the desk and motioned Buffy to come to the front of the room. Buffy looked at him apprehensively for a moment. “Come here, please,” he told her. Reluctantly she complied.



“Miss Summers, you’re new here, and you don’t appear to be off to a terribly good start,” he said, looking at her seriously. “I don’t know how things were done at your former school, but at Brighton we expect students to maintain at least a semblance of respect for their teachers—and,” he added, as she opened her mouth to protest, “their fellow students as well.”



He studied her, his deep blue eyes piercing. She didn’t respond. Finally he sighed. “Please hold out your hand, Miss Summers.”



What? What did that mean? Hold out her hand why?



“Miss Summers?” he repeated, holding his hand out expectantly. After a moment she put her hand in his, palm down. He looked down at her hand cradled in his, his lashes dark against his lightly tanned cheeks, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her hand. Then he turned it over and Buffy gasped in sudden pain as he brought a ruler down across her palm, once, twice, three times.



“You may go now, Miss Summers,” he told her, releasing her hand, and she fled without another word.



~*~*~*~



Buffy leaned against the door of her room, breathing hectically, her face flushed. My god, was that teacher insane? He’d hit her! That was illegal! Her family was going to sue his ass off!



Buffy reached up to rub the perspiration off her face, and her arms brushed against her nipples. To her astonishment, she jumped from the sensation; the little nubs were drawn up tight and aching. In agitation she rubbed them, hoping to calm the twisting in her stomach, but to no avail. What is wrong with me? thought Buffy frantically. She tossed her books onto her desk and threw herself onto her bed, clapping her hands over her face in frustration. That settled it, she was officially the sickest, most twisted girl who ever lived. Yet another reason to get out of this backwoods prison and get to someplace where an independent spirit was respected, not forced to fit into a mold by some hick teacher, even if he had sexy full lips and bedroom eyes and looked like he could go all night…god….



He was so hot…Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like that when a guy looked at her, and she was still shaking.



Then she noticed the ache in her panties and realized she was more than just shaking. “Jeezus,” she muttered, rubbing her fingers over her mound through her demure schoolgirl skirt. “He’s just a guy…just a guy….”



Before she even noticed what she was doing she’d pushed her panties down and rucked her skirt up above her waist. “Mmm,” she muttered, caressing herself, her legs flung wide. God, she was glad her roommate was out, she couldn’t stand doing this under the covers; she always felt restrained that way, and never seemed to come as hard. This way…no problem, she thought. Come here, Miss Summers, she thought. Touch this, Miss Summers. Squeeze that, Miss Summers. Mmm, happy to, Professor Hottie.



In, out, in, out…she became so involved in pleasuring herself that she didn’t hear the door open. A strangled sound from the doorway made Buffy looked up to see the subject of her fantasy staring at her in astonishment as she reclined on the narrow bed, her hand now buried in her dripping snatch. “Miss…Summers,” he managed, abruptly leaving and shutting the door behind him.



Oh, damn.



~*~*~*~



William, unseen, watched Buffy cross the campus quad with her book bag hitched over one shoulder. In his four years at the school, he’d never come across a student in a situation like that. What had possessed her? He understood that everyone had needs, of course, but why hadn’t she locked the door? It could have been her roommate, or her parents, or…a faculty member, come to remind her that classes weren’t optional, and instead of finding a sulking student found a wanton goddess with her long, luscious legs sprawled out and her hand buried inside her, the glistening on her fingers evidence of the pleasure she was finding as she pushed her fingers deeper within herself, rubbing her clit with her other hand, gasping and moaning and thrusting her hips up compulsively. Needfully. Pursuing something she desperately wanted.



He’d have to keep an eye on her, William thought, making his way back to his quarters.



And, he thought later, as he stroked himself to completion in the shower, he’d have to keep on eye on himself as well.



“Buffy,” he groaned, coming in spurts against the shower’s tiled wall as his thick cock bucked in his hands.



Oh, no. This would never do.

Buffy entered her history classroom apprehensively. God, the last thing she wanted was to see Professor Bloodsworth after he’d walked in yesterday when she’d been enjoying…uh, alone time.



God, he hadn’t heard her moan his name or anything, had he? Bad enough that he caught her jacking off, but if he knew she was imagining of him pounding into her when she did it, she’d curl up and die.



She was slumped down at her desk, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, when a middle-aged woman walked into the room and greeted the class, then instructed the students to open their textbooks to chapter four.



“Who is that?” Buffy hissed in the ear of the mousy girl sitting in front of her.



“The teacher, Miss Babcock,” returned the girl in a whisper.



“What about yesterday? Mr. Hottie?” whispered Buffy.



“Miss Babcock had strep throat,” the girl muttered over her shoulder. “That was just ‘til she got better.”



Buffy smothered a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be seeing that sadistic—and hot!—teacher again any time soon. Something was finally going right! “Things are looking up,” Buffy murmured to herself. Maybe this miserable school wouldn’t be so bad after all. Her roommate had said the boys in town were pretty cute, and there was always that gardener or whatever she had talked to the day before. As long as that creepy teacher stayed away from her, everything would be fine.



~*~*~*~



“Go on in, Miss Summers. The headmaster is expecting you.”



Buffy trudged into the headmaster’s office, not looking forward to the interview. Included with the class schedule she received when she arrived had been a note informing her of an appointment with the school’s headmaster, who greeted each mid-year student personally so he could ease their transition at the school.



My parents are paying so much for this school I should be eating fatted headmaster for dinner, thought Buffy crankily. Maybe I’ll mention that teacher to him, see how fast he cans his ass.



Then memories of yesterday sank in and she decided to say nothing, lest the teacher decide to say something for himself.



“I’m Buffy Summers,” she announced, walking into the sizable office and closing the door behind her. The headmaster didn’t bother to look up from his desk as he continued marking in a notebook, and she looked around for a moment, blinking at the bright light streaming through the windows. The office was larger than her bedroom at home and nearly half the size of a classroom, richly appointed in dark woods and hunter green.



Buffy looked her fill before glancing back at the man at the desk, still bent over his notebook. “A-hem,” she said loudly, disguising it as a cough. Jeezus, what was with these people?



The headmaster stopped his writing, and finally looked up. “Good morning, Miss Summers,” said William Bloodsworth softly. “I’m glad to see you wearing more clothes today.”



~*~*~*~



Liar. Who was he kidding? He’d loved the brief glimpse he’d gotten the day before, her body sheened with perspiration, her fingers gleaming with her juices, her face rippling with the very beginnings of orgasm. The scent of her arousal permeating the air like a ripe peach, making his mouth water despite himself.



But it really didn’t do to tell a student how much you’d enjoyed watching them get off, and that you would have stayed for the whole show if it wasn’t morally reprehensible and completely inappropriate of you.



No, instead you go back to your quarters and wank off ferociously, dreaming about pounding her into the wall. Or your mattress.



Or your desk.



Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Where’s the headmaster?” she demanded.



“That would be me,” he told her wryly.



Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You—no, you’re too—too young, and too—”



“Too what?” he asked in surprise. Many people had expressed surprised that he was headmaster at only twenty-eight, but that was the only protest he’d ever heard about his position.



“Too mean!” she blurted out.



Now it was his turn to be shocked. “Mean?” he repeated in astonishment. “Exactly how have I been mean?”



“You hit me!” she said furiously.



“You were rude to another student and when I told you to apologize, you laughed at me,” he pointed out. He was a little startled by her obstinance; surely her parents hadn’t neglected her manners so badly that she thought what she’d done was acceptable. When she’d shot off a demeaning remark to Willow Rosenberg—a shy, studious girl who tried not to attract attention to herself—he’d immediately reproved her for it. He didn’t stand for bullying at his school, and if Miss Summers persisted in yanking his chain, she’s be surprised by just how hard he’d yank back.



“I don’t know how things were handled at your previous school, but our charter allows for us to discipline students as we see fit,” he told her. Buffy opened her mouth to interject a comment, and he cut her off. “And your parents, being graduates of Brighton, are well aware of this. There are few students, Buffy, who go through their years here without experiencing a taste of the ruler or worse. I suggest you resolve to make yesterday your last. I think you’ll find that was the least objectionable means I could have used.”



Yesterday, thought Buffy, cheeks pinkening. “And you’re a peeping tom!” she accused wildly.



Now William’s face darkened with a flush as well. “I wasn’t planning to address that matter,” he said stiffly. “But since you bring it up, we expect our students to remain celibate on campus.”



“Celibate!” exclaimed Buffy. “I was by myself.”



“That’s sufficient!” snapped William. “What if your roommate had come in? Or your dorm matron? Or more to the point, what if your parents had dropped by for a surprise visit?”



“More to the point,” mimicked Buffy, “what if the headmaster is a perv?”



William was still for a long moment. “What did you say?” he said finally.



“You may have seen me, but I saw you too,” she shot back. “Or maybe you just stuck your ruler in your pants?”



Score! Guess that was it for this little interview. Buffy turned to the door and put her hand on the door. It had been embarrassing, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.



Before she could get the door open a hand slapped against its edge and a lean, tight body pressed against her backside. “Miss Summers,” he breathed softly, right against her ear. “I can see you didn’t take what I said about punishment seriously. But if you keep pushing me, believe me—you will.”



He let the door go and eased back from her. She pulled the door open and slipped out without a backwards glance, outwardly calm.



But inside, she was trembling. She was spooked, she told herself, that was all. Not excited. Not turned on.



Really.

“What is this?” William demanded, waving the contraband in front of Buffy’s face. She flushed, too surprised to come up with a good defense, or even a respectable offense.



“I—I—nothing?” Buffy offered.



He shook his head in disbelief. God, did she think he was an idiot? “I told you you wouldn’t like it if you made me mad again. Didn’t you listen to me? Or are you just trying to see how far you can push me?”



“I—I—I can explain—”



“The time for that was the first three times I asked,” William said curtly. “You’re way past the point of explanations, Miss Summers.”



“Are—are you going to smack my hand again?” squeaked Buffy.



“No, I am not going to smack you hand.”



Buffy tried to repress her sigh of relief. She hadn’t really let on before, but that ruler hurt. And she really didn’t want to feel that thing slapping against her flesh again, or even—



“Bend over.”



“What?” Buffy blurted out in astonishment. She must have heard him wrong. It sounded like he said—



“I said, Bend over. And raise your skirt.”



Buffy stared at him, her jaw dropping. He had to be kidding! There was no way he could think that—



“Every second you hesitate will make this worse for you, Miss Summers.”



Finally Buffy bent over, pulling her skirt up to pool around her waist and bracing her hands on her knees. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.



After a moment she felt a hand caressing her soft bottom, stroking into the curve of her buttocks and then tracing up the mounding flesh to the small of her back.



“A thong, Miss Summers? As it happens, those are also again Brighton’s policy. And I think you’ll find they offer surprisingly little protection,” William added, slipping his hand beneath the waistband and drawing the panties down, baring her completely to his intense gaze. At his urging she lifted one foot, then the other, allowing him to scoop up the black scrap of material and tuck it into a desk drawer.



“Now, then,” he said, returning his warm hand to rest on her ass. “I want you to keep count for me, Miss Summers.”



A moment later his hand came down upon her bottom cheeks, surprisingly hard, and she gasped in response. “What did you say, Miss Summers?”



“One,” she said hastily.



Again. Flat against the apple of her ass. “Two.”



Smack. “Three.”



Crack. Harder, this time. “Oww!”



“What was that?”



“I mean, four!”



Swack! This time just the right cheek. “Five!” Smack! This time the left. “Six!”



Slap! Right across the bottom this time, where her thighs met her ass, and to her horror she felt electricity ripple through her pussy and go straight to her clit.



Unbidden, she moaned.



“I don’t believe I heard you, Miss Summers,” he reminded her.



“Six,” she mumbled. Suddenly he smacked her ass with a flurry of small slaps, and she wriggled helplessly, hissing with a confused mixture of desire and pain. “What?” she protested.



“That was number SEVEN,” he corrected her, resting his hand on her ass. “Not six.”



“Seven,” she panted, shifting under his touch, squeezing her hands around her knees, trying not to touch herself. If he just moved his hand a little….



“Have you learned your lesson, Miss Summers?” he asked, absently moving his hand in small circles over her. She moaned, squirming under his touch and widening her legs. As if in response, his hand slipped between her thighs and tangled itself into her nest of curls, tugging demandingly.



“I’m not sure,” she gasped, thrusting her hips back at him.



“Then we’ll just have to worker harder, won’t we?” he said pragmatically, unbuckling his belt and sliding down his fly.



SNORE! Buffy jerked awake, disturbed by the surprisingly loud snoring of her roommate, Cordelia Chase. Buffy’s panties were soaked, evidence of how much she’d been enjoying her dream. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to fall back asleep, reluctant to let the dream go, but it was gone.



Forget running away. Maybe she’d better concentrate on getting a boyfriend instead—the sooner, the better.


*Chapter Four*

“Have you worked here long?” Buffy asked the handyman—Riley— she’d met a couple of days before. She walked around the cottage he lived in, the main campus barely visible in the moonlight, and turned to give him a flirty smile. Finding out where he stayed on-campus hadn’t been a problem, and it had been child’s play to get him to invite her in when she’d come knocking on his door.



He was perfect for what she had in mind.



He was big and beefy, and that was how she liked men. Not lean and tight, with sharp hipbones that pushed into the soft flesh of her buttocks when he pressed himself against her in his office. Yeah, she liked her men dark and handsome and open-faced, not blond and dangerous with cheekbones like a knife. And dumb! Yeah, she liked ‘em dumb. Easier to jerk around that way—jerk around in ways that were good for her, not them. Not too smart for his own good. And definitely not with pouty lips and long fingers. Long, long fingers. Really long—gah, stop it!



“A while,” answered Riley with a smile. He looks so guileless, she thought.



But as innocent as he acted, he knew why she was there. He’d sported wood from the moment he answered the door. He didn’t even ask why she’d dropped by in the middle of the night, just licked his lips a little and invited her in.



Which really was kind of creepy.



Her roommate was fast asleep. Buffy had waited until Cordelia, eyes hidden beneath her sleep mask, had begun her regular rhythmic snore before slipping out in her little schoolgirl outfit. Even the most vanilla guy got all hot and bothered when he saw a girl in a plaid skirt and knee socks, even if he saw them dressed like that every day. Hell, even that headmaster had to—



Forget about him, she berated herself. That was why she was there, right? To forget about him and his hands and his eyes and the way she thought about him when she touched herself. Yeah, she was there to get herself a good ride and get it out of her system, and then she wouldn’t give another thought to Mr. Gorgeous and his nice big ruler.



God, was the guy STILL talking? Buffy briefly tuned into to Riley for a second and immediately wished she hadn’t.



“—apply fertilizer and then cover it with sod, but you have to be careful not to step on it for a few weeks, otherwise—”



“That’s fascinating,” Buffy interrupted. “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”



“Well, thank you,” replied Jethro—RILEY, she reminded herself, Riley—“I can’t say that they have, even when—”



“Do girls visit you in your rooms often?” asked Buffy, wincing as she listened to herself. It wouldn’t have required this kind of effort if she was dealing with a guy her age—hell, it barely required words—but she was having difficulty time coming up with pre-sex chitchat with this guy. Man, he was dull as oatmeal.



Miraculously, he was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted softly.



Buffy repressed a small start. She sure wouldn’t have suspected Joe the Wonder Bore was tagging the students regularly, but appearances could be deceiving.



Suddenly the wisdom of her little get-a-man-plan seemed questionable to her. “Uhh, that’s uhh, nice,” Buffy mumbled, starting to make her way towards the door in the most inconspicuous manner possible. No need to make it obvious she was heading out, even if he did seem easygoing. But since when did she have good luck?



“Hey, where are you going?” he asked protestingly.



“Time to get back to the dorm,” she said brightly. “Classes start early around here.”



“Well, yeah, but…if you do it that way, nobody goes to sleep happy,” he responded, swiftly moving past her to block the door. “This will only take a few minutes, and I know *I’ll* sleep better afterwards.”



For the first time in what seemed like forever, Buffy felt fear curl around her heart. “My roommate’s expecting me back by twelve,” she improvised hastily. “I have to leave now.”



Riley smiled at her, raising a hand to touch her face. “Now, that I doubt. She’s probably sleeping away right now—won’t notice how late you’re gone,” he said, threading his hand through her hair and beginning to apply pressure. Trying to force her head down.



Bastard! “Let go of me,” Buffy grated, fighting to keep herself calm.



“In a few minutes, baby,” he told her, undoing his pants with his free hand.



“Let go, let go, LET GO!” Buffy screamed furiously, struggling against him.



A moment later she was free, and Riley was crumpled against the wall of his living room.
The headmaster stood over him, startlingly informal in a black T-shirt and jeans. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled at Riley.



“I—I found her in my rooms,” Riley lied. “I was trying to get rid of her.”



William didn’t move from above Riley, clenching his fists furiously as he studied the cowering man. Finally he turned to Buffy, took her arm, and said simply, “Let’s go.”



They left Riley behind without a backwards glance.



~*~*~*~



“You’re all right?” William asked, walked briskly beside her. She nodded wordlessly, and they kept walking. Finally they were in front of the dorm and they both stopped and turned to face each other. “I want you to go straight up to bed, no excuses,” he told her. She nodded again and turned to leave, but his hand closed around her elbow. “You’ll have to come to my office tomorrow morning after breakfast,” he said.



She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “I know you went to his cottage willingly,” he said, shaking his head as if disappointed. “I can’t even tell you how many rules you’ve broken tonight. I know why you went there,” he added, his gaze lingering on her mouth. “And I think I can ensure that the punishment fit the crime.”

Buffy had butterflies in her stomach all through breakfast the next day. Every time she raised a bite to her lips, she thought of what she might be putting in her mouth later that day.



And god, it made her salivate.



It was ridiculous to be so hot for the headmaster only a few days after meeting him, especially with him being such a jerk and all, but…god. There was no arguing with chemistry. “Science has its uses after all,” Buffy muttered to herself.



“What was that?” asked Cordelia Chase, sitting next to her.



Buffy forced herself to leave the scenarios she’d been imagining and concentrate on her roommate for the moment. “Nothing,” she said absently. As she lowered her eyes to her plate again, she noticed the scrawny redhead from her history class looking at her, the same one the headmaster had punished her for being mean to.



Maybe I should send her a thank-you note, Buffy thought, squeezing her thighs together in anticipation. She was kind of afraid, but mostly turned on.



She found she liked the combination.



~*~*~*~



Buffy walked right past the secretary outside of the headmaster’s office and let herself into his inner sanctum. “I’m here,” she announced, the slightest hint of trepidation coloring her voice.



Like the last time, he was bent over various papers on his desk and didn’t bother to look up. “I’ll be a few minutes, Miss Summers. Please wait in my study,” he told her, pointing to a door she hadn’t noticed before.



She wandered into the room, turned on the light, and gasped. The sole piece of furniture was a slat-back chair, and hanging from the walls were whips, canes, riding crops, paddles, and several things she didn’t recognize.



It looked like he knew a lot more about punishment than she ever wanted to know.



She was still staring in astonishment at the assorted devices when he breezed into the room, his attire far more severe than the jeans he’d been wearing the previous night. “Take off your clothes, Miss Summers,” he instructed her softly. “It wouldn’t do to muss them up, would it?”



~*~*~*~



“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Buffy panted, gasping for breath as she looked at the headmaster pleadingly.



“Head down and no talking, Miss Summers,” William reminded her.



Buffy glared fire. “My parents aren’t paying the outrageous tuition for this school so I can pick weeds,” she gritted.



“Since I was obliged to fire Mr. Finn, it’s only fitting that you take his place, isn’t it?” pointed out William serenely, turning his back on her and returning to his office, leaving her under the watchful eye of Prudence MacElhaney, the school’s head of maintenance.



He knew perfectly well that Buffy would rather be dragged by her hair through the middle of town than muck around in the flowerbeds and shovel out the stables, so what better punishment could he devise?



When he’d told her to strip and handed her the sturdy workclothes she’d be wearing that day, he thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head.



He really shouldn’t have enjoyed it nearly as much as he did.



The look of outrage on her face, though…delicious. He had no idea why he couldn’t get her out of his mind—she was only seventeen; he was her senior by ten years, and above her as the highest authority at the school.



But that wasn’t how he wanted to be above her. He’d never before been drawn to one of his pupils; he regarded the students at Brighton as children, even when they came back after graduating to visit the students and faculty, and, not infrequently, make a play for their former headmaster. But from the first moment he’d seen Buffy, she’d stirred something fierce and primal in him, and he was finding it difficult to maintain a professional demeanor around her. Not when all he could think about was pulling off her clothes and making her scream.



God, the night before he’d wanted to tear Finn limb from limb for touching her. As soon as he’d seen Buffy back to her dormitory, he’d gone back to Finn’s cottage and discharged him, waiting to make sure the man was packed and gone before returning to the well-appointed headmaster’s quarters. He wasn’t sure what had happened—he knew that Buffy had gone there willingly, and that nothing had happened before he interrupted.



But he also knew Buffy had been frightened when he showed up, and happy to leave.



Somewhere inside him, he’d wanted to pound Finn into the ground. He suspected that Buffy had tried to back out and Finn had become insistent; impossible to prove, so he didn’t call the police. Even without evidence, there was no way he’d allow the man to stay on campus if he was a danger to students.



But Buffy had needed to be punished, too. Even if Finn had been a perfect gentleman the night before, numerous rules were broken and would have required his discharge, and her punishment. She’d left the dormitory after curfew. She’d been out after dark without an escort. She’d intended to engage in sexual activity. She’d been alone with a man on campus.



He was the only man she was allowed to be alone with, William thought fiercely.



~*~*~*~



That bastard, I’ll wring his neck, thought Buffy, toweling off. After four hours in the broiling sun tending to the school’s flowerbeds, she’d been handed a box lunch and directed to the stables for her next chore.



Shoveling shit.



After three hours of that, she’d been told she could shower and go back to the dormitory. She had to shower first, she was told, so she wouldn’t track the scent in. She’d been handed her uniform and directed to a makeshift shower stall in a corner of the stable, and now she dragged her clothes over her still-damp body and started out of the stable.



Then an idea occurred to her. A ridiculous idea. A stupid idea. One guaranteed to get her in trouble.



But oh, first she’d enjoy it but good.



~*~*~*~



She was almost out of his office when he caught her. Literally caught her—he’d swung into the room suddenly and they’d crashed into each other. He grabbed her quickly, before she could hit the floor.



God, his body felt just as hard as she remembered. Apparently that hadn’t really been her imagination.



“Miss Summers,” he said more warmly than he ever had before. “I’ve heard good things about what you’ve done today. I’m glad to see you’re not averse to taking your punishment like an adult.”



She eyed him speculatively. “If you can dish it out, I can take it,” she assured him.



His ears pinkened rather adorably, and she could swear he almost started to stutter. “Goodnight, Mr. Bloodsworth,” she told him sweetly.




She hadn’t made it more than two steps when she heard the shout of fury behind her.



“You little—was this your doing? Don’t bother to answer, I know it was,” fumed William, pointing at the pile of horse shit covering the seat of his chair.



She had planned to imagine his reaction in absentia, but what could she do now but smile and shrug?



Which was probably a mistake.



He grabbed her arm furiously. “Don’t you smirk at me! You want a lesson? I’ll give you a lesson!” he roared, sitting against the edge of his desk and dragging her down to lay across his lap. “Sure you can take this?” he mocked savagely, tossing her skirt up and giving her several sharp slaps, watching in satisfaction as her ass reddened and she squirming and protested. Ah, thong panties, created to torture men; they gave quite a lovely view during a spanking, as it turned out.



His cock, already stirring from her presence, rose to press against her belly as he tanned her bottom. He rubbed his arousal against her shamelessly, uncaring of the line he was crossing. “You can take it?” he taunted over her wails, making sure she felt just how hard he was. “How much more can you take, Miss Summers?”



He shoved her off his lap, and she landed on her already-sore rear with a thump.



She clambered up and stood rubbing her aching bottom with her hands, looking at him a little tearfully. She started to back up to make her escape, but his voice stopped her. “One more thing, if you please, Miss Summers.”



She stopped and looked at him apprehensively.



“Your panties,” he said calmly, holding out his hand. “A little something so we’ll both remember the lessons we learned today.”



She stared at him in astonishment, unmoving.



“Now, Miss Summers.”



After another moment’s hesitation, she reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties down, gingerly stepping out of them and holding them out to him. His eyes never left her the entire time.



He took the thong from her and fingered it. His eyes were on it now, not her, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he said, “You may go now, Miss Summers.”



He never looked up as she left.

Chapter Six

He was a monster, thought William. An abuser. Unfit to be around children, and without a doubt he should be removed from his position as swiftly as had Mr. Finn the night before.



But still he turned the panties over and over in his hand, memorizing every little swirl of lace.



They’d been soaked through when he’d taken them from her. He’d been touching them for so long that there was only a tiny damp spot in the center now, a pearly reminder that his perversity was not as unwelcome as it should be.



But even if she had found something to enjoy in their encounter, that did not make it right.



He must never be alone with her again; that was the only way. He’d maintain a professional distance, and if she required disciplining in the future, he would have the dean of students take care of it. She would undoubtedly find more civilized ways to provide correction.



But first he should really have a word with Miss Summers, to make his apologies and inquire as to her health.



Perhaps she needed him to kiss it better.



‘That’s it,” William exploded, leaping out of his chair and stalking from the office. He needed relief and needed it now.



He couldn’t wait another moment.



~*~*~*~



Buffy rushed past the students streaming into the dining hall, went straight up the stairs and ran into her room. Thank god it was empty, because she didn’t think she could look anyone in the eye right now.



That bastard—that creep—that disgusting, perverted—



Was there any chance he didn’t notice how wet her panties were?



God knows what he was doing with them right now. Sniffing them? Tasting them? Wrapping them around his cock and stroking himself off? That big long shaft in his hands, the one she’d felt stabbing her while he spanked her? He’d rubbed himself against her and she thought he was going to keep her there until he came all over her uniform. It was sick…disgusting….



Why did he stop?! thought Buffy unreasonably.



Stop that! You did NOT enjoy it, she told herself.



Liar.



He liked it, so why had he sent her away? Didn’t he want her? Or was he just using her?



Oh god, what if he was like that with all the girls at the school?



Okay, that was it. She had to have a talk with some of the other girls, and she had to do it now. They were at dinner, and if she hurried she could still get some food and grill them while she was at it. Ask them if he’d ever touched them like he had her. Pushed their skirt up. Laid his hand on them, spanking them until it almost felt like stroking.



Taken their panties afterward because he didn’t want to forget what had happened.



Christ.



Maybe she’d talk to them. Maybe.



But first the showers were deserted, for once, and she thought she’d like a nice, long, private shower, one where she wouldn’t be seen by the others. She’d just taken a shower half an hour before, but she felt…dirty.



In a good way.



~*~*~*~



“Move your leg,” growled William to Jenny Calendar, his sometime-girlfriend, as he dragged the bottom of her shirt up to expose her breasts. He’d appeared without warning, and neither of them had taken the time to undress before he pulled her into the bedroom, merely pushing the their clothes aside. She’d been startled by his urgency—usually he was a man who liked to take his time. In fact, she was thrilled by the way he drew everything out.



But then again, she seemed to be enjoying the desperation that he’d displayed ever since he pounded on her door a few minutes before.



She shifted her leg, and he slipped between her thighs to prod demandingly at her entrance.



As soon as he’d left his office, he’d gotten into his car and burned rubber all the way into town. He hoped to god nobody he knew saw him driving like a maniac, but he had to do something, anything, to get Buffy out of his system.



And at the moment, Jenny was the only option he was able to come up with.



She didn’t seem to mind, her arms tangling around his head as he nuzzled her breasts, stroking her hands through his thick golden brown hair and rumpling it into disarray. “Will—” she moaned, clutching at him.



Jenny was lovely. Dark hair and eyes, quiet and watchful. He’d always liked spending time with her, enjoying their time in bed and out of it as well.



But all he could think now was that her hair was the wrong color, and the mouth pressing kisses into his hair was ladylike, not impudent and lush.



“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” William muttered, pulling away from Jenny, vaguely aware of her protests as he started to drag his pants back up.



“Will? What are you doing?” she demanded, sitting up on the bed in frustration.



“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I made a mistake.”



And he could already tell that he was about to make a bigger one.



He didn’t know who he was when he’d dragged her across him and spanked her. He’d never done anything like that in the past, never even thought about it.



Of course, he hadn’t really thought of it this time, either; she’d snapped his self-control, something he seldom lost. She, he thought, was as shocked as he was.



But when she was standing there, after he’d pushed her off his lap, there was a look in her eyes…hurt and surprised, but also…excited?



She liked it, a little voice whispered to him. William pushed the thought away. But it wouldn’t leave his mind. It was all he could think of.



And maybe there are other things she’d like, too.


***

Chapter Seven

“You mean funny ha-ha, or buried-his-predecessor-in-the-basement funny?” asked Cordelia, squinting at Buffy as she pushed the remnants of her dinner around her plate.



Buffy ground her teeth. “I mean more like, umm…funny as in really likes to spend time with young girls just a little too much,” she suggested.



To her chagrin, her roommate burst out laughing. “I wish—me and about half the girls here,” Cordelia giggled.



Buffy glared at her. What, did the girls around her just go around checking out the headmaster? Staring at his ass, giving him flirty looks? What a bunch of skanks! “So the students like him but he doesn’t like them?” Buffy specified impatiently.



Cordelia rolled her eyes. The new girl had seemed cool at first, but she was seeming kind of spastic now. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”



Buffy opened her mouth to ask another question but noticed the skinny redhead from history class looking at her curiously from the next table. “What are you looking at?” she demanded shortly.



The girl shook her head so fast Buffy half-expected her nose to fly off. “N—n-nothing,” she stuttered, hurried rising and beating a hasty retreat.



Cordelia fixed her piercing brown eyes on Buffy. “Have you ever considered not being a bitch?” she asked dryly. “I mean, I understand the impulse, believe me, but that thing you do when you’re mean to harmless losers like Willow? It’s just kind of sad. For you, I mean.”



Buffy blinked at Cordelia in surprise. Mean? She wasn’t mean! She was blunt, sure, she came by that naturally; her grandmother was blunt, too, she never let anyone wear anything she didn’t like or do their hair some new way without putting in her two cents and basically making everyone understand that if you weren’t doing things her way you were doing things wrong and…well, now that she thought of it, maybe she was kind of mean.



“God,” Buffy muttered, rapidly beginning to feel like crap.



“She’s probably in the lounge studying, if you want to apologize,” hinted Cordy. She could be pretty blunt herself, but she tried to use her powers for good, not evil.



“Yeah, apologize,” echoed Buffy weakly.



She got up from the table and wandered towards the lounge, taking her time. Willow had to get her books and everything, and maybe she didn’t want to talk to Buffy. After all, Buffy had been pretty nasty and it would follow that Willow wouldn’t want to see her. In fact, Buffy would really be doing her a favor if she just left her alone, that would be best for everybody, and—



Coward, a voice at the back of her head hissed.



All right, all right, she thought, turning the corner to enter the dorm lounge.



There the redhead was, the only person in the room, seated at a window table with her face buried in a book. Like she was trying to hide.



Probably is, Buffy thought guiltily. Because of her.



She crossed the room and sat down with the other girl before she could lose her nerve. “Hi. I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said with false cheer. The redhead looked at her with worried doe eyes and Buffy felt another completely unnecessary pang of guilt. “It’s just that it’s come to my attention that I’m a raging bitch and I kind of wanted to apologize.”



Willow shook her head. “It’s okay,” she mumbled.



Geez, that was a good way to make Buffy feel even worse. “No, it’s not,” Buffy admitted. “I guess I’ve been letting my inner bitch become my, you know, outer bitch a little too much lately.”



Willow gave her a tentative smile. After a moment she asked carefully, “You’re not upset about him, are you?”



Buffy looked at her in astonishment. For a moment she thought her heart stopped. “You—you know?” she gasped.



Willow clapped her hand over her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she’d said. “I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t spying on your or anything, I was just walked past and saw you going into his place, and I knew what that meant—”



“Oh my god, he does that regularly?” demanded Buffy in horror.



Willow looked upset that Buffy was taking it badly. “I don’t think most people realize it about him, but I kind of notice things,” she said. “I don’t think he’s the kind of man most people think he is.”



“What kind is he?”



“I think he’s kind of…dangerous. That’s why I went to Mr. Bloodsworth when I saw you go into his cottage, because I don’t think he was the kind of man you thought he was. I think he might be the kind of man who’d…hurt a girl. I’m really sorry,” she added pleadingly.



Was it possible to go limp with relief?



“Yeah, Riley’s a real jerk,” agreed Buffy wholeheartedly. The asshole had tried to make her blow him, and then he’d been responsible for her day of torture as a laborer. Jerk was too good a word for him, really.



Willow looked relieved that Buffy wasn’t angry with her.



“So I understand you’re a great at…all the subjects,” laughed Buffy, feeling inexplicably light-hearted.



Willow blushed. “I want to become a professor after college,” she admitted shyly.



“Maybe we can set up some study sessions, because school really isn’t my strong suit,” said Buffy. “I don’t know about you, but—” Abruptly Buffy broke off, rising out of her seat to peer out the window at the black car driving down the leafy campus road, going a too fast. “Who’s that?” she asked immediately. “That isn’t him, is it?”



“Him who?” said Willow, getting up to get a look. “Oh, that’s Mr. Bloodsworth’s car.”



“Where the hell was he?” demanded Buffy. She wasn’t even aware she’d said it aloud.



Willow looked at her curiously. “Well, he can leave campus whenever he wants,” she pointed out. “Maybe he had dinner with Miss Calendar.”



Miss Calendar? “Who’s that?” asked Buffy, trying to keep her voice calm.



“That’s his girlfriend,” giggled Willow. “At least, that’s what I think she is. My parents took me to dinner one time and they were in the same restaurant, and they were, you know…all cuddly-wuddly. Then we went over and said hi, and I don’t think he was very happy that one of his students saw him like that.”



“I’ll bet,” gritted Buffy.



Oh, that was it. What, was he just playing with her to pass the time until he could see his girlfriend again? “I’ve got to go,” she muttered to Willow as she pushed away from the table.



She hightailed it across the green and reached him right after he parked in front of the headmaster’s quarters, the nicest private house on campus.



“Not now, Miss Summers!” he bit out, stalking past her. He felt so tightly wound he thought he might explode, and he had a tendency to do insane things when he was around her. Crazy things. Mad.



Irresistible.



“Wait a minute!” she said, running to keep up with his long strides.



“You don’t want to push me, Miss Summers,” he warned her.



She refused to take no for an answer. “I want to talk to you,” she insisted, grabbing his arm.



That was it! He grabbed her shoulders in his powerful hands and pressed her back until she was flush against the wall, every pebble and cavity in the wall distinct against the flesh of her back. His hands opened and closed on her shoulders, squeezing and rubbing until she began to feel lightheaded.



Then he was bending towards her, bringing his beautiful face close to hers, touching the sharp point of his cheekbone to her jaw and moving it upward, rubbing and nuzzling against her. He breathed in deeply, his breath ruffling her hair back, and she realized he was sniffing her. Inhaling her scent. Like an animal.



God.



Her knees buckled, and he pushed her arm around behind her, supporting her. Guiding her. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and pushed in closer until he was pressed against her and she could feel strongly how she affected him. The same way he’d been since he’d dragged her across his lap that afternoon. Jenny couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t do anything for him.



Buffy could.



Her head fell forward to rest in the hollow of his shoulder and a low, needy moan escaped her.



William nudged her head up and began brushing soft, whispery kisses over her face—her cheeks, her eyes, her temples. He was so tender she wanted to weep.



Finally he brushed his lips against hers. “Mine,” he whispered possessively.



He had no right to say that, no right to think it. She was a student, one of his charges.



He was past the point of caring.



Distantly he was aware of the sound of conversation, growing closer, closer, and knew he should release her. If he didn’t, they would be caught. It would mean the end of his career.



But he couldn’t stop.



“Buffy,” he groaned against her lips, slipping his tongue past her teeth. Her own reached out eagerly to touch his, snaking around it, drawing it in further. He memorized the feel and taste of her, her softness, her rhythmic panting against his mouth.



There it was again, the sound of voices. She heard it this time as well, reluctantly drawing back from him to look at him questioningly.



He returned her gaze steadily. “Do you care?” he asked huskily.



No. No, she didn’t. She shook her head.



“Neither do I,” he replied softly, and crushed her lips beneath his.

The voices faded away as William kissed her hungrily. When he took her lower lip between his and began to suckle she became lightheaded, only returning to herself when she felt his hands dragging her pristine white shirt out from her plaid skirt and sliding his hands beneath, rubbing against her as he pulled back for a minute to murmur against her ear. “Are you on the pill?” he growled.



It took her a moment to register what he’d said. “No,” she said dazedly. Her parents had kept her on such a short leash the last few months she hadn’t been able to get her prescription refilled. She felt him tense as he cursed against her hair. She looked at him curiously. “Don’t you have…you know, protection?” she asked worriedly. She thought, wildly, that if she had to wait for him any longer she’d go insane.



As it happened, he had a vague memory of pulling out his last condom at Jenny’s and tossing it on the night table. Goddammit.



He looked at the worry on her face and wanted to drag off her clothes right there in front of his house, in the broad daylight. “Actually, I’m out,” he admitted reluctantly.



Her face fell, and he laughed softly. He really shouldn’t laugh at her, but her transparent eagerness was delicious. “Don’t worry, kitten. There are other things we can do.”



She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “Show me,” she breathed.



~*~*~*~



As they stumbled through the door he managed to remember to lock it. A good thing, considering they were both risking expulsion.



He pushed her onto the closest piece of furniture, a sofa, holding her down as he straddled her. She turned her face up, angling for a kiss, but he chuckled softly and straightened up out of reach. “Now, now, we really have to get to know each other better, don’t we?” he taunted softly. Beneath him she whimpered, pushing her hips up to grind against his erection. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the contact, before pushing down so that she couldn’t move her hips.



“Come on, sweetness, I’m in charge here,” he reminded her.



She whimpered in response, licking her lips.



His eyes sparked and he reached down to trace her lips with his tongue. She moaned under the torture, opening her mouth to urge him inside, reaching out with her own tongue to draw him in. He allowed her to stroke his tongue, but ignored the blatant invitation.



“Now tell me, Miss Summers, about your sexual history,” he purred, grinding his hardness into her and sucking briefly on the tip of her tongue as another moan escaped her.



“I—I—” she gasped, unable to form a coherent sentence.



“Are you a virgin?” he drawled. He knew she wasn’t.



“Ah—ahhh—”



“Here?” he whispered, slipping a hand beneath her skirt and pressing it against her pussy, stroking the sodden material with his nimble fingers.



Her face was now a study in ecstasy, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.



He squeezed a little, making her eyes fly open. “Pay attention, Miss Summers,” he reprimanded her.



She began to pant now. “No,” she groaned.



“No, what?”



“No, I’m not a virgin,” she whimpered. He rewarded her obedience with a brief kiss, chuckling again as she tried desperately to hold his mouth to hers.



“And what about here? Are you a virgin here?” he queried, sliding his hand beneath her and insinuating one clever finger against her other hole.



She gasped and bucked against his hand, unable to believe the things he was saying, where he was touching her. He wasn’t really going to—wasn’t going to—“Yes,” she moaned. “I mean no. I mean, I haven’t.”



“Well, that’s fine,” he praised her, pressing kisses against her damp forehead, before sliding down and pushing his tongue into her mouth, teasing hers as it curled around his wildly. He drew back a little, finally putting his hands on her shoulders to hold her back as she hungrily tried to prolong the contact. “And what about there?” he whispered.



“There?” Buffy repeated stupidly. If he wanted her to think, he shouldn’t touch her, because that interfered with the whole thinking thing.



“Your mouth, Miss Summers. Has anyone ever fucked your mouth?”



Considering he had his hands all over her and she would have given her trust fund to have him fucking her right then, Buffy was surprised by the way she blushed at the question. “I’ve given, you know, blow jobs,” she said awkwardly.



“That’s not quite the same thing, baby,” he told her, bending forward to nuzzle against her throat. “Do you like getting them?” he asked, his voice muffled against her.



“I’ve never gotten one,” she admitted, squirming closer.



He clucked his tongue sympathetically. “And why is that?”



“Lousy selfish boyfriends?” Buffy suggested.



He trailed kisses up her throat and pushed her eager lips apart, taking what she offered so eagerly. For several moments only the wet sounds of their kissing and the low moans that escaped them were all that broke that silence of the room. Finally he pulled back, sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor. “Looks as if your education’s been sorely lacking. I think it’s time to remedy that, don’t you?” he asked, skimming his hands up her legs and under the waistband of her panties, just like he had in her dream.



For a moment her heart thumped so loudly she thought he must have heard it. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak. She nodded, and hoped it was enough.



She couldn’t bear it if he stopped.



He fondled her knees for a moment before pushing them apart, bracing her feet against the seat of the couch and spreading her open for his viewing. He stroked his hands up her thighs, pushing the little pleated skirt up to her waist and leaving her revealed before him, all fresh and pink and voluptuous, her arousal perfuming the air and forming darling little droplets in her dark blonde curls.



He gently placed the heels of his hands against her thighs and studied at her for several moments, staring at her until she began to squirm and whimper.



Then, without warning, he stroked his thumbs up her slit, parting her as he ran his tongue up against her inner lips. She bucked ferociously against his mouth. Jesus, why hadn’t any of her boyfriends done that to her before? Bastards!



Abruptly he sat back on his heels, watching her struggle in vain to continue the contact. “More!” she gasped.



“More, what?” he asked her in amusement.



“More, please?”



He laughed. “Good enough for now,” he said, lowering his face and tonguing her. Her loud shriek told him exactly what she much she liked it. Up, down, against her inner lips, occasionally darting inside but avoiding her clit.



Capturing his head between her hands, she thrust shamelessly against his face, and felt him smile against her.



It made her even hotter.



“Now, now,” she cried frantically, rubbing against him insistently.



She let go of him for a moment and reached to finger her clit but he batted her hand away. “Did I tell you that you could do that?” he growled against her, and she shuddered.



“No-oo-o,” she moaned.



“That’s right,” he muttered, burying his head against her again as she pushed toward his face pleadingly. He was rock-hard and aching, and it was time to give them both what they needed.



He latched on to her clit and began to suckle. He hadn’t had the succulent little morsel between his lips for more than a few seconds before she came, her juices flooding his chin. He took his time cleaning her, drawing out her pleasure with long slow licks as she shuddered and sighed, the last remnants of her climax shivering through her.



Finally he stood up and surveyed her, sprawled on the couch, her skirts rucked up around her waist and her knees splayed wide, head lolling back, drunk with pleasure. Gorgeous.



He took her hand to pull her up, only to find it limp. He patted it a few times. “Buffy,” he called softly.



Finally her eyes opened sleepily. “That was amazing,” she said, dazed.



He smiled indulgently. “I’m glad, kitten,” he told her.



After a moment or two her eyes widened and she gasped comically. “What about you?” she blurted out.



He responded by reached down and scooping her up. “I’ve waited about as long as I can,” he admitted, striding through the house until they reached his bedroom. He tossed her on the bed, then stood watching her as he pulled off his clothes.



Her eyes grew large as she stared at his lean body. His hips were as narrow as they’d felt when he’d pressed her against the door in his office, but his arms were surprisingly muscular and his six-pack was clearly delineated. And below—below—



God.



“Fezuh,” said Buffy.



“What was that?” asked William in surprise.



“Nothing,” muttered Buffy.



He walked over to the bed and knelt on it, grasping the neckline of her shirt and pulling her closer to him. “You,” he told her firmly, “have on entirely too many clothes.”



“Maybe you should do something about it,” she breathed.



“You know, I think I will,” he drawled, pulling off her clothes in short order. He wanted to draw things out, but couldn’t wait another moment.



Then she was naked before him. He stared at her without shame, and after a moment she stopped her embarrassed squirming. He looked at her like she was a goddess, and that was how she felt when his eyes were on her.



“Wh—what are we going to do?” she asked, uncertain.



He smiled, and pulled her closer to him, until they were facing each other, knee to knee, almost touching. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the curve of her throat and she sighed, wrapping her arm around his neck.



Then she felt his fingers probing at her still-wet center, stroking. She followed his lead and moved her free hand to his long, sleek shaft. She wanted to study him, to memorize him, but first she wanted to give him pleasure like he’d given her. She began pumping him slowly, increasing the speed as she felt his breathing quicken.



She felt full and soft herself, replete. She almost giggled to herself as she thought that he was doing this in the wrong order; if he’d wanted her to come twice, he should have fingered her the first time and gone down on her the second. She didn’t think she could come again for a week, she was so satiated.



But his fingers were clever, and arousal began to creep through her again. But still she didn’t think she could come—not after—



Crack! Without warning his free hand smacked down on her ass.



She gasped, startled. “What are you—”



Crack!



Shocked, she felt her nipples tighten almost painfully, and her clit rose insistently against his fingers.



Crack!



She came against him again, shivering and screaming. Her arm on his neck tightened as if she was holding on for dear life.



Perhaps she was.

Buffy wasn’t paying much attention to her Latin instructor—she didn’t even try pretending. Instead she just stared off into space and thought about the night before. How Mr. Bloodsworth—William, she corrected herself—had held her down and taunted her, touching her until she wanted to scream, and then buried his face against her until she really did scream.



And then later, in his bedroom, he’d used his hands to make her come again, come so hard she was barely aware of his cock bucking in her hand. It wasn’t until she was laying back, dazed, and he was leaning above her stroking his come across her belly, that she realized he’d gotten off, too. He touched her in wonderment as she panted and slowly returned to reality, then bent close and licked her body clean of his spendings.



She was barely aware that someone had entered the room and given the teacher a note until she heard her name being called. “Miss Summers, you’re excused for the rest of class,” Mr. Simms told her, waving her to the front of the room and handing her a folded slip of paper. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s assignment, it’s in your workbook.”



Buffy didn’t unfold the note until she had left the class and shut the door behind her. “Buffy Summers is to report to the headmaster’s office immediately.” Nothing else.



It wasn’t a very romantic note. Buffy remembered wandering into her first period late—he’d worn her out but good—and had just shrugged when the teacher had asked why she was late. What was she supposed to say? Sorry, the headmaster was fucking my brains out all night, and I overslept? Saying nothing was the tactful thing under the circumstances. Could the teacher have complained about her—about her tardiness, and her attitude?



The perfectly pleasant-looking middle aged woman in front of William’s office looked up when she arrived. “Miss Summers?” she asked. Buffy nodded. “Mr. Bloodsworth is expecting you. Please go on in.”



Buffy opened the door a little apprehensively and walked in. “Mr. Bloodsworth?” she asked nervously. She hadn’t actually called him William to his face yet, and besides, his secretary might be listening.



William looked up from his work. “Ah, Miss Summers, good. Come with me,” he told her, rising and walking past her out the door. Like the night before had never happened.



She hurried after him as he told his secretary he’d be back shortly and then left the building, obviously expecting Buffy to just follow after him. Which she did, of course. She followed him across the front of the building, down a lane, and finally to a small garage, which he opened to reveal the black Lexus she’d seen him driving the day before. “Get in,” he told her, unlocking the passenger-side door.



“Where are we going?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.



“We have an appointment in town,” he told her absently, sitting down and starting the car. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.”



“Umm…okay,” she replied, bewildered, obediently buckling herself in.



He didn’t seem inclined to talk as he drove through the pretty countryside, the woods surrounding the school displaying their fall colors of red and gold and brown. He had something on his mind, apparently, and she was too shy to broach last night with him.



Of course, she felt stupid for being shy with him. There was no reason to be shy. He liked her the way she was. Right?



“Where are we going?” she asked baldly.



That seemed to snap him out of his little trance. “Into town,” he repeated. “I’ve made you an appointment at the local family planning clinic. We have to get you on the pill, don’t we?”



To his bemusement, she blushed and ducked her head when he said that.



“Don’t you want to?” he asked carefully. She’d enjoyed the night before—he had little fingertip-sized bruises from where she’d squeezed him as she shrieked and thrashed—but perhaps he was assuming too much.



Perhaps last night had been a one-time deal for her.



“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I completely understand,” he began awkwardly, feeling stupid and helpless. God, he’d made a fool of himself—lusting after her like a lecherous old man, the worst sort of pervert. Watching her with her saucy little walk, wanting to have her all to himself. She wasn’t his, she was only a young girl still—



He still wanted her! “Okay, no, that’s good,” she breathed in relief. God, he’d seemed so remote—she’d felt sure something was wrong.



She reached out to touch his knee. “It’ll, you know, be a while before it takes effect,” she pointed out. She felt him quiver under her touch, and a sense of her own feminine power blossomed inside her. He was masterly and beautiful, but she could make him tremble.



“I’ll get some condoms while we’re in town,” he said, his voice low. He was trying not to drive off the road; he wanted to pull the car over and thrust into her, protection be damned. Feel her tight heat around him, clenching him, milking him dry, while he ravaged her mouth and her little hands tightened on his tensing buttocks. Her long legs wrapped around his hips, her heels stabbing the backs of his thighs. Breathing in her needy sighs as she panted and going on and on until both of them came and their cream overflowed onto the car’s upholstery.



Drive. Look at the road, and drive.



“Where can we…you know,” she asked, moving her hand around. Stroking him. “At school?”



He hadn’t really thought of it, actually. He was the headmaster of the school, but he didn’t have some sort of ducal privilege that allowed him free reign with the students; they’d have to be discreet. “My house,” he told her finally. “No one goes there except me. No one would know.”



She nodded.



“You got up to your room okay last night?” he reassured himself. He’d watched from a distance as she’d returned to the dorm last night; he couldn’t stop himself from making sure she made it inside safely, but accompanying her would have been dangerously blatant.



As it stood, he wasn’t sure how safe it was to bring her out of class and drive her into town, but he wasn’t just going to tell her to catch a bus after school. He’d had reason in the past to drive students into town, usually for urgent family concerns or the occasional sensitive situation in which the students’ families wanted special care taken with their children. It was unusual, but not enough to raise eyebrows.



She nodded. “My roommate woke up and I had to make up some story, though, about falling asleep while studying in someone’s room,” she told him.



“Do you think she believed it?”



Buffy shrugged. “I don’t think she was awake enough to care,” she said honestly.



Perhaps he should arrange for Buffy to have a private room, he thought absently. Not that he’d visit her there, of course—that was far too risky—but it would prevent any suspicion from developing on the part of her roommate. That might not be necessary, though.



They’d be more careful in the future.



~*~*~*~



There wasn’t an exam, to Buffy’s relief—she was taken to an exam room, but she was just asked a bunch of questions and then filled out some forms, and they handed her the pills on the way out. William was waiting for her in the reception area, a small paper bag in his hand. A bag with a box in it.



Actually, she found out later, it had a few boxes in it.



“You’re supposed to take them at the same time every day,” he said hollowly, opening the car door for her.



She stared at him. His voice sounded funny, and he had a strange look on his face. “I know, they told me,” she dismissed. “Did something happen in there? Did they say something to you?”



He was silent for a few minutes as they left the town behind them and sped through the woods. Finally he said, his voice tight, “They thought I was your father.”



Oh.



Buffy couldn’t think of anything to say.



Abruptly he swerved off the road, flipped off the engine and turned to her with his eyes burning. “They thought I was your father,” he repeated. She started in surprise as he suddenly reached over and grabbed her, dragging her from her seat until she was on top of him.



He stared at her, his gaze hungry. “And it didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should,” he rasped, crushing his mouth against hers.



They clung together fiercely, pulling at each other’s clothes. He yanked her shirt out from her waistband and pushed it up. He didn’t bother to unhook her bra, that would take time, just dragged it up with the shirt until her she was revealed to him. “Mine,” he whispered harshly, his hands lifting her forward to meet his mouth, tasting her nipples first with tender little licks before sucking them into his mouth and drawing strongly on them, one after the other, until she was grinding her teeth together, trying not to scream.



She wrapped both arms around his neck, pressing closer to his greedy mouth even as she shamelessly rubbed herself against his thigh. God, she was going to finish before he’d even unzipped his pants.



“Can’t wait,” she whimpered, pushing into him. He grunted against her breast and reached over with one hand to fumble with the bag on the dashboard, finally tearing the box open with a vicious rip. A moment later his knuckles rubbed against her as he unzipped his pants and she gasped and pressed against them, desperate.



Another time he might have tried for more finesse, but he was beyond the niceties. As soon as the condom was in place he pushed her thong aside and thrust into her, and they both groaned at the sensation. Neither moved for a few moments as they both drank in the sensations.



Finally Buffy began to rise and fall on top of him. Her head fell back as she rode him slowly, feeling the hard plastic of the steering wheel against her back and the equally rigid muscles of his thighs beneath her. His hands gripped her hips, not guiding her but worshipping her, urging her on. “Perfect….” He whispered, awed by way they fit. She was so tight, her pussy fit him like a glove. Every time she rose on his cock he felt her muscles clinging to him as if loathe to release an inch of him.



Above him, her panting began to quicken and he reached between them, nudging her panties aside so he could roll her clit between his fingers. She clenched and gasped and squeezed him so tight he thought for a moment she might emasculate him, and then pleasure seared him and he stopped caring.



Maybe he blacked out for a few minutes, or maybe his spirit just left his body or something. The next thing he knew he looked up and she was staring down at him, her shirt and bra still pushed over her beautiful tits, which were wet from his mouth and exposed to any who drove past them.



“That was nice,” she whispered, dazed.



“Nice,” he echoed stupidly. He wished he could think of something good to say, something she’d remember for the rest of her life, but he was just happy to have regained the power of speech.



Well, if he couldn’t tell her how much he’d enjoyed it, he’d just have to show her.



He felt sure he’d find a way.

Buffy awoke slowly, still absorbed in her dream. She and the headmaster had been in bed. He’d been pistoning into her, his hands holding her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and her arms had been wrapped around his head as she screamed out her climax. Luscious, she didn’t want to wake up.



Buffy blinked as she felt a tugging at her foot, and looked down to see William leaning back at the foot of the bed, cradling her foot in one hand, a tiny brush in the other.



It hadn’t been a dream.



“Did you have a nice nap?” he asked, eyes on his task.



“Wonderful,” she said, her voice still a little slurred from sleep. “Did you sleep?”



A smile curved his well-cut lips. “No, I just watched you,” he answered. Damned if he was going to waste their time together sleeping.



“This is a nice way to wake up,” Buffy said with a little smile. “Are you coming to the party?” she asked, stretching in bed. Reaching her arms out over her head and flexing her legs, allowing all the languor that had built up from their lovemaking to flow through her. She felt glazed with it, drugged.



William tightened his hand on her foot and looked up. “Keep still or the polish will be ruined,” he chided as he stroked icy pink color onto her perfect little toenails. “And no, I’m not going to the school’s Halloween party—it’s for students, they don’t want to see their stuffy old headmaster there.”



Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that would really horrify them,” she agreed dryly. Mostly it would horrify them if he showed up wearing clothes, she thought jealously. He didn’t seem to have any idea how the girls reacted to him. Every time she saw one of the other students near him, the girl seemed to be drooling all over him. Sometimes Buffy wanted to do something insane to mark him as hers—let them get caught, so everyone would know, or even just scream “Get away from him, he’s mine!” the next time she caught some girl staring at him. That would take care of things nicely. Then she’d be expelled and he’d be fired and maybe arrested, and they’d have lots of problems instead of just her being a greedy bitch. But who could blame her being greedy?



“There we go,” William said, releasing her foot and recapping the nail polish. It wasn’t hers; god knows where he’d gotten it.



“Aww, now I’ll have to be careful not to smudge the polish,” she pouted. She’d wanted another go before leaving, dammit.



A smile twisted William’s slim face. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” he purred, sliding his hands beneath her thighs and pushing her knees to her chest. “Your feet aren’t going to be anywhere near the bed for quite a while.”



With no preliminaries, he slid his tongue up her cleft in a long, unbroken stroke. “Delicious,” he murmured against her. His tongue burrowed through her curls to encircle her clit, prodding it with the stiffened point of his tongue and sucking it between his soft lips for a moment.



“Gahhh,” Buffy gasped, thrusting against his face. He laughed softly, and slid his hands down her legs to part her snatch. He teased her hole, just brushing one finger against it as she twitched and moaned, her feet beginning to sink to the bed.



“No, you don’t,” he said, shoving her legs up again. “Hold them.”



“Wha—what?” Buffy said dazedly.



“Give me your hands,” he ordered her. Obediently she held them out to him, and he turned them over in his for a moment before drawing them down beneath her knees, so that she was supporting them. “Don’t let go,” he told her, bending down again to return to his task.



His mouth was so…so….



“Farther apart,” he said, voice muffled.



“Wha—?”



“Spread your legs more,” he mumbled, delving down to take a lingering lick that made her entire body contract.



“Like this?” she panted, straining to keep her legs as wide as possible.



“Um-hmm,” he murmured, already preoccupied.



She was so close…so close. He laved her more, up, down, rubbing her clit with his nose, making her jump. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore and released her legs, burying her hands in her hair as she held him to her and strained towards her climax.



Abruptly he pulled back. “I believe your toenails are dry,” he said, as if he hadn’t had his tongue buried in her pussy the moment before.



She looked at him in astonishment. “Uh, I don’t think I’m finished here,” she said awkwardly.



William smiled at her wolfishly and eased back from the bed. “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “You should probably take care of that.”



Her jaw dropped. “Aren’t you going to—you know?”



He sprawled into the chair in the corner of his bedroom, bringing one hand up to stroke his erect cock. “I am right now.”



“But you—”



“And maybe you should do the same,” he suggested, touching his tongue to his teeth in a way that made her forget her name. After a moment she slowly reached down and touched herself, spreading her folds and running her fingers up and down her sensitive inner lips. Before long she was sighing in bliss.



God, she was beautiful, all spread out and lush. He wanted, stupidly, to paint her like that and hang it over the bed, but that would bring them both plenty of trouble, and besides, he couldn’t paint.



He began to pant and stroked himself faster, pumping his shaft as he watched her twisting her clit and crying out rhythmically. Like the first time he’d seen her—really seen her—and his fantasies had been set off.



William climaxed with a cry and spurted thick ropes of come onto his abdomen. When he opened his eyes Buffy was sitting up on the bed, watching him greedily, and he sighed in satisfaction.



This was so much nicer with her in the room, instead of just in his mind.



~*~*~*~



All the students were excited by the school’s Halloween festivities, even if they were the kind of things little kids usually did. It was the squeakiest-clean Halloween Buffy had spent in years, which made her laugh, considering the man who’d arranged for the very wholesome activities had lapped his come off her body a few days before.



She was pretty sure she could live with the dichotomy.



She’d just finished off a candy apple when Willow, very anonymously dressed as a ghost, came up to her and asked if she wanted to go trick-or-treating.



“Trick-or-treating? I thought we were supposed to stay on school grounds,” said Buffy in surprise.



Cordelia came up on her other side. “We are, but we’re allowed to trick-or-treat at the staff quarters and at Mr. Bloodsworth’s.” Cordy fluffed her hair beneath her little black cat’s ears and reached behind her to make sure her tail was on straight. “And Mr. Bloodsworth always gives good candy, no Sweet Tarts or Good-N-Plenty’s or crap nobody wants.”



Buffy smiled. Mmm, she’d been planning to show William her Halloween costume—Little Red Riding Hood. Of course, she thought she’d have to stick it in a paper bag and try it on for him at his place, but this way even better—how sexy would it be to preen for him with everyone watching, but not suspecting a thing?



“Let’s go,” she laughed.



She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.



~*~*~*~



Apparently William’s house was the big attraction for the students on Halloween. Streams of girls dressed as flappers, vampires, pumpkins and god knows what passed Buffy on the path to the headmaster’s quarters. Some of them were peering into their bags, evaluating the candy William had given them; others were more interested in dishing on the headmaster.



“I know what kind of a treat I’d like to give him,” said Harmony Kendall, the most annoyingly vapid blonde Buffy had ever met.



Cordelia cast a critical glance after Harmony as she approached William’s house with Buffy and Willow. “That is the sluttiest French maid costume I have ever seen in my life,” she said flatly.



Beside her Buffy could hear Willow quickly muffle a laugh. Cordy’s black cat costume didn’t leave much to the imagination, either.



There was a clump of girls waiting at the door when Buffy and her companions arrived and waited behind them politely. Most of them were underclassmen, children compared to the seniors. When William opened the door, the “trick-or-treat” several of them offered was slightly lispy due to their braces.



William smiled over the assemblage as he passed out the candy, all of the students looking adorable in their Halloween finery. Janie Hancock, yes, she was a convict in black and white stripes; Lisa Scott was a princess; Michelle Adams was supposed to be…well, he wasn’t sure what the colorful fake fur on her costume represented. Cordelia Chase was a cat, Buffy was Little Red Riding Hood—



Abruptly William lost his smile. “Very nice, girls,” he told them, his voice suddenly somber. “Go on back to the dorm now.”



Then he shut the door in their surprised faces.



“That was kind of strange,” said Willow, her voice muffled by the sheet. “He usually isn’t so curt.”



Cordy shrugged. “Hey, we got candy out of it, that’s all that matters,” she said practically.



Buffy stared behind her as they headed back to the dorm. That was more than kind of strange, she knew.



And she knew it was mostly about her.



~*~*~*~



Buffy pleaded off with a headache when Willow and Cordy wanted to go on to the teachers’ quarters for more trick-or-treating. As soon as they were out of sight she ran up to her room, changed into her regular clothes and slipped out of the dorm again. She wanted to know what was going on, and she wanted to know now.



She stayed off the main paths as she headed to William’s; it would be too obvious, her walking to his house for a second time, not even wearing her costume. When the coast was clear she slipped in his back door; nobody could even see that side of his house from the front walkway.



She could hear him at the front door, greeting another group of students. “And one for you…and one for you…and one for you,” she heard him say. As soon as he shut the door she came out from her hiding place in the kitchen.



“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.



William jumped half a foot, candy scattering around him. “My god, what are you doing here?” he demanded in surprise.



“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” exclaimed Buffy. “Something’s wrong with you, I could tell!”



William hesitated, and the doorbell rung again. He felt a shameful relief for the brief reprieve.



He waved her into the kitchen and answered the door. “Very nice, children, very nice,” he told them, dropping candy into their bags. “Here now, that’s enough trick-or-treating for everyone, I don’t want you students roaming around campus anymore tonight. You may continue celebrating in the dormitory until midnight, and then I want lights out—you still have classes tomorrow.”



A chorus of disappointed “Awws!” greeted his announcement, and then the students trooped back to the main buildings. With the children in the distance, William turned off the front light and locked the door.



Hearing his dismissal of the kids, Buffy returned from the kitchen and regarded him silently.



What could he say? That he’d been cursing the night because they couldn’t be together, and then she appeared in a group of children—one of them? Seeing her surrounded by the other students made her seem so young, not like the ripe plum she was when he was touching her. When he thought of the things he’d done to her…the things she’d done at his direction…god, what was he?



“You’re—you’re very young,” he began carefully.



She would have none of it. “So what? You’re ten years older than me? My dad’s fifteen years older than my mom!”



“But I’m headmaster—it’s not right, I’m abusing my position—”



Buffy walked over to him, and he backed up a little. The hell with that! she thought. She kept walking until he was flush against the door, then stood up on her tiptoes so she could speak right in his ear. “It didn’t matter before. In fact, a few days ago you told me you didn’t care if somebody thought you were my father.”



He shivered as her words washed over him. Just hearing her say that made him harden, forgetting his fine impulse when he’d seen her outfitted in her Halloween costume. But it horrified him to go against precepts he held so close.



Suddenly she pulled back, no longer pushing her body into his, and he ached from the loss. “But if you don’t want me anymore….” she said. She drew back farther, farther, until she thought he was actually going to let her go.



Then she was angry with herself, furious, for her bright little idea of turning him on in her costume. Things had been fine until then, until she—



His hand gripped the front of her jeans, pulling her inexorably back against him. He lowered his head to her neck and inhaled her scent, like he did the first time they were together. She loved it when he was like that, primal and instinctive. “You’ve been on the pill for what…eight days now?” he asked. “Long enough for it to take effect.”



“Uh-huh,” she breathed.



A predatory smile curved his mouth. “How about we go bareback this time?”

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.



He crushed his mouth to hers and hungrily pushed his tongue inside; she moaned into his mouth as she reached up to wrap her legs around him. He sank his fingers into her ass and began moving them towards the bedroom, still kissing her.



He couldn’t stop, he knew that now. When they were together, when they were touching…hell, even when they weren’t touching, just being around her was like putting his hand in a light socket; he didn’t know who he was when he was with her, but he didn’t care. As long as there was nothing between them except skin, he didn’t care.



Probably the trip to the bedroom would have gone more smoothly if he’d kept walking, instead of pausing to fondle her breasts through her light knit shirt. “God, you—what you do to me, you—”



He kept on babbling, but Buffy wasn’t catching most of it. She didn’t think most of what he was staying were actual words, anyway, but they made her so hot she could barely understand English.



His hands were at her waist, now, struggling with the buttons to her jeans. “Why are you wearing pants?” he muttered insensibly. Another step and they were on the floor, and he jerked her jeans open and shoved a hand inside. With his other hand he pushed her top up and seized her nipple between his lips. “Whose?” he growled, worrying the tip of her breast.



“Yours,” Buffy moaned, clutching his head to her. God, his mouth was inhuman.



“Damn straight mine,” he muttered, abruptly switching breasts, laving one roughly with his tongue as the cool night air made the other nipple, damp from his ministrations, tighten further; he palmed it with his free hand and tugged at the nipple tauntingly. His other hand was still buried in her jeans, his thumb rubbing her clit as he finger-fucked her relentlessly.



Her hands were on his belt now, fumbling, and he reached down to push them away. He flipped the buckle open in one motion and jerked, and his belt whistled out with a clean snap, making Buffy shiver.



Then he guided her hands to the fastening of his pants and released his hard cock. She still hadn’t gotten a taste of it, and she was dying to, but right now neither of them could wait another minute.



He dragged her jeans down past her knees and thrust into her aching wetness without further preliminaries. For a moment they were both silent as they absorbed the feel of him inside her with nothing between them, her hot, wet walls tight around his throbbing shaft. Buffy leaned her head back and breathed heavily; she could feel every little curvature of his cock. Above her William panted and lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers. Neither of them wanted the moment to end.



After a minute he rose up on his elbows, his hands resting beside her head, and slowly began thrusting into her, his gaze never leaving her face.



Her eyelids drifted shut and she began to keen, overwhelmed by sensation. It was like he could see into her; he knew exactly how to make her hot, how to get her off. The way he looked at her…she felt almost frenzied around him. He was completely different from the other guys she’d been with, and it was more than just his age or experience. It was him, something in him, and it called to something in her. What if…god, what if her parents had sent her to another school? Or what if she’d run away from this one without meeting him?



Tears began to run Buffy’s face silently, and she raised her hands from where they clutched his ass to wrap around his neck, holding him to her. He bent his head in response and she pressed her face to his as he murmured soothingly to her, pumping steadily the entire time.



“What is it, sweetheart?” he whispered, pressing kisses across her cheek and down to her ear.



“You,” she whispered back. “I need you.”



She felt him smile against her cheek. “I need you, too, baby.”



A jolt ran through her at his words. Of course he noticed; he noticed everything about her. “I need you,” he murmured again, deliberately, and she gasped and came against him, hugging her knees to his hips, her ankles still trapped by her jeans.



He let himself go then, and followed her into climax. After the last flutterings of their orgasms had worn off he slowly lifted himself off her, and they both became hushed as they felt her muscles clinging to his shaft, as if reluctant to release him. Finally he pulled free and they both gasped at the loss.



He eased down on the carpet next to her, drawing her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, and contentment washed over them both. They both drifted off to sleep, sated.



It was the chill of the October evening that eventually woke them.



Buffy surveyed the two of them sleepily—she, with her top pushed up and her pants down, he with his tie still knotted and cock hanging from the front of his pants, glazed with her juices. “Do you remember that time we actually took our clothes off first?” giggled Buffy, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. Wishing it was bare.



William laughed. “It was quite nice, as I recall. We must do that again sometime.”



Buffy sighed and wrapped her arm tightly around his waist.



She wasn’t planning on letting go.



~*~*~*~



Buffy slid the key into the lock on the back door of William’s house and slipped inside. When he was kissing her goodbye the night before, his hand had slipped into the pocket of her jeans. She’d thought it was just a caress, but when she took off her clothes that night she found the key he’d left there.



It was so strange to be inside his house when he wasn’t there. She wanted to look around, to explore, but mostly she wanted to be surprise him when he came in, so she went to his room, took off her clothes, and put on his robe to wait for him.




She’d learned his habits well. A few minutes later she heard him let himself in the front door, humming, and drop his briefcase. A minute later he strolled into the bedroom, sipping from a bottle of water, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her sprawled on his bed, his robe hanging from her shoulders, one foot tracing an idle pattern up and down her other calf.



The water bottle fell from his suddenly nerveless grip as he took stared at her as if hypnotized. The next moment, he was dragging his tie down and moving across the bed, crawling on his hands like a panther. She started to pant just from the look in his eyes.



“Buffy—” he growled, lowering his head.



KNOCK! They both jumped at the sound, exchanging a panicked look.



William stood up. “It’s okay,” he said in an almost normal voice. As if he didn’t have wood so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it. “I’ll shut the bedroom door and get rid of whomever it is, and I’ll be back in a sec.”



She nodded vigorously, pulling the robe up to her shoulders and tightening the tie. William smiled at her and finished removing his tie, then left the room, shutting the door almost all the way behind him.



Being nosy, Buffy crossed the room to listen at the crack. Hey, he knew she was a bad, naughty girl, right? And he liked her that way.



Buffy heard the front door being opened—and William’s gasp of shock. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded in disbelief.



Buffy strained forward, curious, but there was no way she could peer around the door without being seen.



As it happened, she didn’t have to wait long. “Look, Mr. Bloodsworth, I don’t blame you for being upset,” said Riley Finn soothingly. “But I really think we should have a talk, don’t you?”

William stared at Riley, his eyes hard. Across the desk, Finn looked at him with the same blank expression typically seen in cattle.



William had almost panicked when Riley came to his house. What he said seemed leading. And Buffy was only a few feet away, in William’s room. Hardly any clothes on. Before William had answered the door, he’d been pressing her down into the bed.



William had said something curt about the inappropriateness of seeking out the headmaster in his quarters—as if he could lecture anyone on inappropriateness, William thought—and walked Riley to his office in the administration building. Away from his home. Away from Buffy.



And then Riley sat across from him and gave a long, confounding explanation for the night William caught Buffy at Finn’s cottage, and William looked into his dumb bovine eyes and realized it he had nothing to worry about.



Riley didn’t know a damn thing.



He wasn’t trying to blackmail William; he was there to beg for his job back. “I didn’t touch her, she came by to thank me picking up her books when she dropped them and then she tripped when she was leaving and I was helping her up and she only stayed a minute,” he rambled.



William managed not to roll his eyes. William had to hand it to Finn; it sounded like something Buffy would do. Dropping by to insinuate herself closer to someone, getting her nearer and nearer to whatever her goal was. Vixen.



Finn was lying, though. He knew why Buffy was there. He just wasn’t smart enough to figure out that William knew, too.



“I’d like to help you out, Finn,” William said with perfect insincerity. “But I’m sure you understand that the board of directors would never stand for such a thing. They’re quite conservative.”



Riley started to babble. “But I swear, I never—”



William held up one hand. “Actually, now that I think on it, I may be able to help you,” he told the young man. He flipped through his rolodex for a moment, then wrote down a name and number.



“Here,” he told Riley, handing the slip of paper to him. “A friend of mine runs an establishment upstate. As it happens, I believe he has a maintenance position available.”



Riley perked up. Idiot. Yeah, he was really going to like fixing leaky pipes at a halfway house for newly released convicts, William thought.



“That’s great,” said Finn happily.



William stood up and shook his hand, then led Finn to the door. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you,” he told Riley pleasantly, then shut Finn out of his office.



The first thing William did was call the security officer at the front gate and tell him to make sure Riley Finn left the campus immediately. Mr. Finn was not to be allowed on campus in the future.



The second thing he did was unlock the small room off the side of his office. He flipped on the light, and surveyed the assembled toys.



Maybe it was time to put them to use.



~*~*~*~



William let himself back into his house, swinging his briefcase. “Hello?” he called.



Buffy ran out of his bedroom, now fully dressed in her school uniform. “Is he gone? What did he want? Does he know anything?” she demanded, flying into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist and peppered him with kisses.



William nuzzled her hair. “No, I think it’s safe to say that Riley Finn doesn’t know anything,” he answered calmly.



Buffy sighed in relief. She’d been so frightened when William left with Riley. That little bastard—who did he think he was? First he tried to make her go down on him, then he tried to ruin her and William?



She should have known William would take care of it.



William pulled back from Buffy and stroked his hand down her arm. “Come on,” he told her, taking her hand and pulling her along. He took her down a hallway filled with portraits of headmasters past and led her into what could only be the library. Bookshelves were wall-to-wall, and a large mahogany desk dominated one side of the room.



He dropped her hand and continued to the desk, laying his briefcase on top of it. “Come here,” he told her.



Buffy blinked at him; his voice sounded a little remote. “O-okay,” she said a little nervously.



“Buffy, you never told me why you were in Finn’s rooms that night,” he pointed out quietly, taking her hands in his and looking down at them.



Buffy blushed. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought Riley could stand in for William. “It was nothing,” she dismissed, embarrassed.



“He didn’t—hurt you, did he?” William asked carefully. Buffy shook his head.



William nodded, satisfied. He’d wanted to make sure before he went any further.



William bent over the desk and opened the briefcase, turning it so Buffy could see what was inside. He ignored her gasp.



“Do you know what that is?” he asked.



Buffy stared at it, eyes big. “It’s, uh…the paddle from your office,” she finally replied.



“Yes, it is, my dear.”



Buffy finally tore her eyes away from the paddle and looked at Spike. His gaze was trained on her face.



“You know, considering the prank you pulled on me, I don’t think the day you spent gardening really taught you anything,” he said softly. “I think you may need to be punished.”



Her breath caught in her throat.



“Wouldn’t you feel better if you didn’t have that guilt hanging over you?” he suggested, his voice low and throbbing.



Buffy looked down at the paddle again. It was creepy. It was disgusting. It was wrong.



“Yes, Mr. Bloodsworth,” she replied, looking up at him with sparks in her eyes.



“That’s my girl,” praised William, shoving the notepads and books and the still-open briefcase across the desk so that one side was free.



“Please remove your panties, Miss Summers,” he instructed her. A thrill went through her to hear him address her so formally again.



For the second time, she pulled off her panties as he watched. When they were together the other times, he undressed her.



“Fold them and put them on the shelf,” he directed. She obeyed. “Now, come here,” he told her, patting the side of the desk. She looked at him a little uncertainly. “Bend over the desk, Miss Summers,” he clarified. “Fold your arms in front of you, lay your head on your arms, and present me with your ass.”



Was it wrong that she could feel herself getting wetter with every word?



She did as he told, and he stroked his hand up under her little skirt, fondling her round, silky ass before he pushed the skirt around her waist. “Don’t move,” he told her, walking over to get the paddle.



She didn’t. She didn’t move when he left, or when he came back to her, or even when he stood there for long moments. She could feel his gaze boring into her, and she wanted to cover up and show off at the same time.



Finally she squirmed just a little and began, “What are you—”



THWACK!



Buffy gasped in response to the dull thud against her bottom cheeks. She’d never felt anything like it—it was a different sensation than when he—



THWACK!



God, it was like some conduit that went straight to her clit! Hands trapped under her head, Buffy tried to rub her pussy against the edge of the desk, but William caught her hips in his hands and stilled her.



“What do you think you’re doing? We’re not finished yet, young lady.”



Buffy groaned in frustration.



THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! It went on and on. Buffy finally lost count.



Then he was in front of the desk, sitting in the chair. “Come here, baby,” he said, holding his arms open. She crawled into his lap and buried her face against his throat, shivering from unspent desire. “Are you mad at me, baby?”



Buffy shook her head, burrowing against him.



He petted her shamelessly. “Do you want me to take care of you?” he asked, insinuating his hand between her thighs and stroking a finger along her crease.



She shuddered in response. “God, yes,” she moaned, pushing against his hand. A few seconds later she was crying out and clenching around his fingers.



He pressed kisses along her forehead as she slowly came back down to earth. “Do you feel better now that you don’t have that weighing on your conscience any more?” he whispered against her ear. “Have you learned your lesson?”



She nodded, growing sleepy.



He thought she’d drifted off when he felt her stir. “I’m very stubborn,” she whispered. “You might have to show me again.”