I promise that not one single headmaster was defiled during the writing of this short story.
PS. This is a very short erotic tale. Not a full length novel.
A virgin, a rake, Regency England... pleasure.
Our hero finds himself in trouble when Miss Winters is sent to his office for punishment. Punish her or pleasure her? It's his choice to decide.
I highly doubted this little slip of a girl could influence all the others. She was fairly quiet, even if she didn’t form to certain social constrictions. I raised my brows at Mrs. Haughton and glared my best stare at her. “You. May. Go.” It was only then that I realized she had a birch stick in her hand. The kind she liked to use to punish the girls. I’d never, not once, used any such item. I’d never raised a hand to a single one of the girls. I might send them to their room without supper. Or force them to read. But I’d never harm one of them. Miss Haughton shuffled in her place, the birch stick whapping her leg as she fidgeted. Then she finally said something beneath her breath and started for the door. “Wait,” I called. She turned back to me with an anxious look. “I’ll have the birch stick.” I held out my hand and I waited for her to turn it over. She looked none too pleased as she placed it in my palm. Then she turned and quit the room, her skirts flurrying about her. I had no desire to see her ankles. Not one bit. Miss Winters, on the other hand…
My cock twitched at the very thought of her. I still couldn’t stand. “Close the door,” I said.
Miss Winters looked at me as though I’d grown two heads, those blue eyes blinking in question. I didn’t have time to wait for the erection to pass. I lowered my forehead into my palm again and massaged it. “Close the blasted door, Miss Winters,” I repeated. She moved quickly to do so. She obviously warred with the impropriety of it. But I had a feeling Miss Haughton would be nearby, just waiting to hear my verdict about her behavior. And I didn’t want to give the woman the satisfaction.
I pointed to the chair across from my desk. “Sit, Miss Winters.”
Miss Winters did so, gingerly, balancing her bum on the edge of the chair. “I can explain, my lord,” she rushed to say.
God, she was pretty. She stole the words right from my mouth when she looked at my lips. My lips. Good God, I could do wonderful things to her with my lips. I could already taste her on my tongue.