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I didn't create and don't own the characters; I merely use them for entertainment purposes.
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.





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