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.
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