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“Actually, you’re right,” he says, cutting me off, as if he understood everything I just said. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Plenty of principals fuck their students, don’t they?” He doesn’t seem to want my answer though because he goes on, “They do. All the time. In exchange for better grades, extra credit, no detention. Now, we both know that I’m not going to give you a better grade or let you out of detention, let alone let you out of summer school. So how about I promise to give you more privileges and let you out of your cage every other weekend.”
Again, words fail me and all I can do is sputter and stumble upon them. And again, he doesn’t need me to be coherent as he continues, “The door is closed and I can find a way to shut your mouth and keep you quiet. Because if my assumptions are correct, then you, Poe, are going to fucking purr like the wildcat you are. So we’re safe here. In my office.”
And that’s it.
That’s the reason.
Because we’re really not.
We’re not safe.
I’ve made it so. I’ve made it so that even inside these four walls, in his office that’s essentially his sanctuary, there’s a threat looming over him.
And that threat is me.
That’s why he can’t. Not because he’s my guardian or my principal or any of those stupid reasons. It’s because I’m planning to ruin his life.
I need to tell him.
I need to. I have to.
I can’t let this go on. I need to stop this.
But for some reason, words get stuck in my throat and I say something else altogether. “H-how will you keep me quiet?”
At my question, I feel a shudder going through his body.
I feel his chest jerk slightly and I hear the papers crinkling. Making me think that he may be clenching his fingers around them like I’m clenching mine around his jacket.
Making me think that he may need as much purchase in this moment as me.
So I scoot down even more and tighten my thighs around his hips to give him that.
To keep him with me.
“I’ll stuff your mouth with something that’ll shut you up,” he rumbles.
“Something like what?”
He gazes down at my trembling lips. “I know what I’d like to plug your mouth with. But since I’ll have a better place to stick it, I’ll just use your panties.”
“My panties?”
“Yeah. I’ll wad them up real nice and put them in your mouth so no one can hear you scream.”
I squeeze my thighs again, actually feeling the fabric of my panties against my skin. My core.
That’s pressed up against him so snugly.
“I’m —”
“You’re wearing them, aren’t you?”
“I am, yes.”
Papers crinkle again.
“Good. Because you know what they call girls who don’t wear panties to the principal’s office, don’t you?”
“What?” I whisper, already knowing the answer somehow.
And he knows that I know. He knows it and so his voice turns all soft and tender as he replies, “Desperate little whores.”
I jump at his filthy words.
At his gentle words.
Not like the ones he said to me back at the bar when he was all angry and enraged at seeing me wearing a tight dress for Jimmy, no.
These words are endearments.
Or at least that’s what they feel like in this moment.
An endearment that we share and God, I love it.
How is it that I love this?
“You know that, don’t you, Poe?” he prods.
And I nod. “Yes.”
“Only desperate little whores wear nothing underneath their school girl skirt as they sit and writhe in front of their principal.”
“I-I wasn’t writhing.”
“Good. That’s good too.” He nods. “Because if you were, Poe, if you were writhing and leaking on my leather chairs, I’d make you clean it up with your mouth. I’m not a big fan of messes, you see.”
I swear at his words, I do leak.
I feel a drop of my juice sliding out of my core and seeping into my panties, the ones that he’s going to stuff my mouth with so no one can hear me scream.
“But your leather-bound books are always strewn about and messy,” I tell him.
“And if you ever leaked on them, I’d make you lick that up too.”
My eyes go wide and I lick my lips.
Which makes him clench his jaw.
Hard.
As hard as he’s clutching the papers because I think I heard something rip just now.
“But you won’t, will you?” he rumbles.
“No.”
“Because you’re not a whore.”
“I’m not.”
Oh God, but I am. I so am.
I so want to be.
“You only act like one,” he says, and then his eyes narrow. “Like you did Friday night.”
I jerk again.
But this time it happens because I remember something.
Something that I shouldn’t bring up but is probably written all over my face because his narrowed eyes turn into slits and he growls, “What?”
“Nothing.”
He leans closer, pushing me with his body and I arch up even more, my toes curling in my Mary Janes. “Poe.”
