The Desk

There was a knock on the heavy oak door. "Come in." The voice was deep yet female; sonorous, used to being authoritative.

Chloe opened the door and entered. Instinctively goose pimples appeared on her arms; the very atmosphere in this room startled them into life. The smell of furniture polish and leather seating. The enforced quiet, something like a library, except for some kids in the distance, way outside the window. Perhaps even the chill of the room - it was a warm summer's day, and the study had no air conditioning; yet it seemed at least ten degrees cooler than the rest of the building.

"Ah, Miss Porter. Thank you for coming to see me." The woman who spoke these words sat behind a desk - again of heavy oak - which seemed to envelop her bottom half. The rest of her was power-dressed somehow out of the eighties - perhaps it was the big shoulders which were the giveaway. From her age, one would guess that was when she graduated. "I've being receiving reports about your slovenly work recently." She took a file from a drawer and opened it, flicking through the papers. "Late attendance... casual dress... work not up to standard... insolence, even." She turned the file towards Chloe, who was now standing sheepishly in front of the desk, as if inviting her to inspect it for herself. Chloe didn't need to. She knew the sort of thing it would contain. She stayed silent.

"I see you're not bothering to deny any of these reports. I take it then you admit this behaviour. Well?"

Chloe didn't reply for a few seconds; her mind was racing. What was there to say? She'd been caught "bang to rights". The iron gaze bored into her until she summoned up the courage to get a few words out. "Yes, Mrs Petrescu" was all she could manage.

"YES, Miss Porter? What on Earth does that mean?"

There was another long pause as Chloe tried to weigh up the options of what she could say, whether there was any way of talking her way out of what she knew was about to happen. Underneath, though, she knew it was futile. "Yes, Mrs Petrescu. It's true."

Mrs Petrescu closed the file, and put it back into the drawer it came from. "At least we won't need to argue over the evidence then, if you plead guilty. But I suppose you have some feeble excuse you would like to present me with to explain your sloppiness? Hmmm?"

Chloe looked down at her shoes. Was there any point in pleading? Of trying to explain the pressures she was under? Of trying to explain why she had shouted at Mr Huddersfield in front of everyone that he was a "rancid old twat"? Of trying to put across how that would surely have received silent nods from the whole building, even if nobody else would have dared to express the thought? No. Better to at least present a show of remorse. "No excuse, Mrs Petrescu."

The older woman's face broke into an ironic half-smile. "So you have the good sense not to prolong the agony, I see. Which of course is evidence of the sharp mind we know is hidden underneath such shabbiness. What concerns me though is that this is not the first time you've stood in front of this desk and admitted your culpability. As I recall, only a few months ago you were staring at that same patch of carpet as I lectured you on your behaviour. Perhaps it's time for stronger measures."

Chloe's head shot up from the floor. 'Stronger measures'? Perhaps the rumours were true then...

"I am not psychic, Miss Porter, but I see by your face that you may have heard whispers about my methods. It seems you now have a chance to find out for yourself. Of course, I cannot force you to comply; if you would rather pursue this by a different route - a tribunal, a school-wide inquiry, perhaps?" Another drawer opened; another sheet of paper was placed in front of Chloe. "Your choice."

Mrs Petrescu rolled a pen across the desk; Chloe instinctively put out her hand to catch it. She scanned down the writing, then, in a nervous scrawl, added her signature and the date to the bottom.

"Thank you Miss Porter - Chloe, as I shall call you now. Again you show good judgement." The form was stamped, then placed in yet another drawer. Chloe found herself idly wondering how many there were in the desk. "Go over to the door, bolt it and press the switch next to the handle. That will ensure we remain undisturbed."

Chloe did as she was told. As she turned back to the desk, she saw that Mrs Petrescu had risen from her chair to shut the venetian blind behind her. The room was darkened save for a few strips of light that landed on the top of the desk. To Chloe it seemed as if the temperature in the study had dropped even further.

"Remove your skirt, Chloe." The command made her heart flutter and the corners of her eyes water. She had made her choice, and there was no getting out of it now. She stole a glance at the headmistress: the iron gaze that was returned left her in no doubt as to the reality of what was about to happen. She unzipped her skirt, stepped gingerly out of it, and folded it carefully before placing it on the floor. As she stood back up, her hands instinctively went to cover herself. "No, Chloe, on your head." Reluctantly, she threaded her fingers together on top of her head: despite the chill, she could feel the sweat from her palms through her hair.

Mrs Petrescu walked round the desk towards Chloe, looking her up and down. "What does that say on the front of your knickers?"

"We Shall Overcome".

"Very witty." Mrs Petrescu grabbed the strings at the sides, and pulled them down to Chloe's knees. "Legs apart slightly - keep them there!"

Now Chloe could feel the cool temperature between her legs. There was no hair to insulate her. Just bare skin, which now she could feel the iron gaze being trained upon. Mrs Petrescu walked back behind her desk, pulled off her jacket, and draped it over her chair. She opened one drawer, pulled out a hair bobble, and tied her long mousy-brown tresses behind her neck. Even without the shoulder pads she looked just as severe as ever to Chloe.

Another drawer was opened. "I think this will do nicely for today" said the headmistress, as she extracted a strip of leather, and held it out towards Chloe: about two feet long, about two inches wide, dark brown and thick: and with one end cut into three strips for about four inches. "You know the name of this implement?" Chloe shook her head. "The tawse. As used in Scottish schools of old... and also in my study. Lean on the desk."

Chloe shuffled herself forward to the edge of the desk, and leaned forward, using her arms to support herself. "Further down, Chloe: otherwise you'll let yourself fall." Gingerly, she lowered her torso to the desk, her hands under her chin. The leather top of the desk felt cool; the edge of the oak cut into the tops of her thighs. Last time she was like this it was her kitchen table: but she'd been waiting for something very different to happen then...

She heard Mrs Petrescu walk round behind her. She clenched her cheeks, waiting for what was inevitably going to happen now...

THWACK! "Aaah!" But she never thought it would be as bad as that!

"Count them, Chloe. And be respectful."

"One, Mrs Petrescu."

"Call me Ma'am."THWACK! The pain shot up Chloe's body and pushed her flatter onto the desk.

"Agh! Two, Ma'am!" Chloe's right hand instinctively went to cover her bottom; it was instantly slapped away with a hand.

THWACK! "Please, no! It hurts!"

"That's what it's supposed to do. Count now, or you will get even more!"

"Three, Ma'am. Please, Ma'am!" Chloe had never felt anything like it in her life. The pain, the fire, the humiliation...

THWACK! "Aah! Four, Ma'am!"

"That will do... for starters, anyway. Onto your knees on the floor."

Chloe didn't think she could move; the pain had abated, but had given way to a burning sensation. Somehow she lifted herself up from the desk and unsteadily dropped onto her knees in front of the headmistress, whose long flower-print skirt now filled what vision she had through the teardrops in her eyes. She wanted to rub the pain away from her bottom, but something told her this would not be a good move. Instinctively, slowly, she again clasped her hands on top of her head.

"That was the first time you have ever taken punishment such as this?" asked the headmistress. Chloe nodded slowly. "I thought so, which is why you only received four. I very much hope that in future your behaviour will improve, so that you may escape having to take six, ten or even twenty."

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll try." Twenty? How could anybody take twenty?, she thought to herself.

"I know you'll say you'll try. How can I trust you?"

Chloe didn't know how to answer this one. Seconds passed in silence; she knew the tension would not be broken until she answered. "Don't know, Ma'am."

"Lie on the floor. Face down." Chloe did as she was told. The short-piled carpet dug into her skin. "Arms out either side." Now all Chloe could see were Mrs Petrescu's feet, in tan hose and sensible black sandals. A mix of aromas tickled her nostrils; the leather of the sandals, and a slight perfume that could only ever be foot sweat...

"You will promise them that your behaviour will improve. You will seal that promise with a kiss for each foot."

Chloe couldn't believe herself. She'd been half-expecting the punishment... though not with that tawse. But this? She guessed it was some kink of the headmistress. Eager to get it over with, she pushed herself forward to Mrs Petrescu's feet, quickly garbled out the words "I promise I will improve my behaviour", and placed a miniscule peck on the top of the toes of each foot. It didn't taste too bad, actually, but...

"I didn't believe that at all. Again, and sound like you mean it!"

"I promise I will improve my behaviour", recited Chloe, "and I seal it with a kiss." This time she pressed her lips harder to the toes; each foot got two or three seconds before Chloe lifted her head. Being told to do it was revolting; but actually doing it wasn't too bad.

"That's better. If you break that promise, these feet will come back to haunt you. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am." [What did she mean by that??]

"Stand up."

Chloe pulled herself to her feet, making sure she still had her knickers around her knees, and put her hands back on top of her head. The pain was number now; and all that foot-kissing stuff was behind her too. She hoped this was all she was going to have to go through.

The headmistress sat herself on top of the desk, legs crossed. One foot jutted out rather close to Chloe's thigh. "This is what I expect from you in future. There will be no late appearances without just cause: your flimsy excuses definitely were not 'just cause'. Agreed?"

"Yes, Ma'am" replied Chloe.

"You will dress smartly at all times. No training shoes in this school. Agreed?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Chloe could feel Mrs Petrescu's foot very lightly touch the bottom of her left thigh. It almost made her jump; instead, it gave her the goose pimples again.

"You will be respectful to all staff, especially those of long service. You will keep criticism to yourself unless it is at a time when it is solicited. Agreed?"

"Yes, Ma'am." That foot was slowly making its way up her thigh... where was it going? Surely not...

"And you will ensure that your work always reaches the very high standards I know you are most capable of. Agreed?"

"Yes, Ma'am". The headmistress' toes had now worked inbetween Chloe's thighs; now she could feel the big toe - and the lip of the sandal - up against her own lips. They connected with her clit. Despite herself, she could feel herself becoming stimulated. She could feel more pressure being put on her.

She could also feel a blush coming on; part of her wanted to move away - this wasn't punishment, but harassment! Another part of her was worried that if she did that she'd taste the tawse again. And yet another part of her, quiet and deep but definitely there, wanted Mrs Petrescu to continue...

Chloe's knees buckled slightly, pushing the headmistress' foot deep between her legs. At once it was removed, and she was pulled over Mrs Petrescu's uncrossed legs, stomach pushed onto the knees. An arm held her securely in place. "Dirty girl!"

Chloe knew what was coming. Sure enough, she felt theSLAP! as Mrs Petrescu's hand crashed down onto her bottom. "One, Ma'am!" she instinctively yelped. Not nearly as bad as the tawse, but still, oh, the pain...

SLAP! "Two, Ma'am!" But with the pain, also something else..

SLAP! "Three, Ma'am!" In this position, the slaps tingled her clit:

SLAP! "Four, Ma'am!" ...the mix of pleasure and pain only adding to...

SLAP! "Five, Ma'am! Please!" ...the tears welling up in her eyes, as well as what was working up in her pussy...

SLAP! "Six, Ma'am! No! Yes!" This time, the hand stayed on Chloe's cheek; then worked its way down her arse-crack and inbetween her legs. Two fingers invaded her hole, whilst a third teased and danced around her clit; her throbbing bottom and her pussy were now as one, wanting to be taken over the edge, wanting to feel the pain again, wanting the headmistress to fill her up...

"Ask me! I know you want to, but ask, or I'll stop!" Mrs Petrescu barked at her.

"Please! Ma'am, let me cum! I need it so bad!"

"Ask my feet! Promise them you will be good if I make you cum!"

"Ma'am... Ma'am's beautiful feet, please let me cum!! I'll be good! I'll promise you with a kiss! I need to cum now! Aaaaaa!!" Chloe kicked her own feet up in the air; her breath was sucked out of her; tears streamed out of her eyes; and suddenly she was over the edge, juicing over Mrs Petrescu's fingers, gripping her wrist between her thighs, arching her back and neck as she let out a long but soundless scream...

But it wasn't over. She knew she still had things to do. The headmistress let her fall from her lap; Chloe dropped to her knees, still panting in short breaths. She bent herself down, propped up on her arms, and placed a long kiss on each of Mrs Petrescu's feet. "Thank you for letting me cum," she said to them in a breathless whisper. "I promise I will be good for you."

---

"I trust you will abide by the form you signed, Miss Porter. What happened in my study remains in confidence between the two of us. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I mean, yes, Mrs Petrescu." Chloe's tears were dried, and she was just finishing putting her clothes back on and rearranging her hair back to normal. The headmistress was back in her chair, as if she had been once again welded to her desk.

"Good. I hope your behaviour will be much more what is expected of you in future. Such slovenliness and insolence is commonplace from my pupils - but certainly not what I would want from a twenty-eight year old IT support technician."

"But.... maybe..." Chloe stuttered.

"Yes?" The headmistress raised an eyebrow at her.

"Maybe..." She wondered if she could say what she wanted to say. Eventually her lips found the words. "...I could be a pupil?"

"Ah, that is a very different matter." She opened her diary and flicked through a few pages. "Are you able to see me Sunday afternoon? ...Good." She handed Chloe two business cards. "The blue one is my home address. I will expect you at one o'clock sharp. The yellow one is Trimley's, our school uniform suppliers, who you will visit on Saturday to obtain what you will wear for me on Sunday"...