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“Are you a prude?” I clarify the question even though she knows precisely what I was asking.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she barks.

“Never answer a question with a question. It demonstrates weakness. So, are you a prude?”

“I suppose it depends on the definition. If you use their definition, yes, but I’m not planning to save myself for marriage or anything. I just won’t throw myself at someone that I don’t find attractive so that I can be popular.”

“That’s a very good answer.” I sink into my own head and imagine all of the things that I can introduce to her, but first I need to know if it’s legal. “How old are you, Rose?”

“I’m eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in four months. How old are you?” She grins.

“I’m thirty-six,” I answer.

“Isn’t that kind of young to be a high school principal?” she asks, as I relocate my eyes from her full tits to her dazzling blue eyes.

“For a public school, yes, but this is a charter school. I didn’t have to teach first. I just needed a degree in education and a minor in psychology,” I tell her, “but my bio isn’t why we’re here.”

“Why are we here, Mr. Rogers? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

“No, of course not, you’re here so that I can assure you that action will be taken against the boys who did this.”

She shrugs her shoulders and says, “I really don’t care. So they taped my name on a goat. Big deal.”

“It is a big deal. They broke several laws in the process,” I explain.

“And none of that has anything to do with me.”

I stand up, walk around the desk—seating myself on its edge and giving her a bird’s eye view of the throbbing cock in my pants—and ask, “Do you have a problem with me, young lady, or are you always this saucy?”

She looks at my crotch, pauses, then looks back up at my face. She bats her eyes at me and says, “I’m a big girl, Mr. Rogers. I can take it. Am I excused?”

I nod my head, and she saunters out of my office, leaving me to ponder her meaning. When the door closes, I rush back to my seat and pound frantically on my keyboard. I need to find her file. I have to know everything there is to know about sexy Rose O’Connor. She doesn’t know it yet, but before this year is over, she’s going to be mine.




It’s no surprise when I hear my name called to the office. I’ve already seen the goat video and smelled the lingering scent of barnyard in the hall this morning. I have to admit, I’ve been wanting to speak to Mr. Rogers since the first time I saw him, but as a scholarship kid in a charter school, I try to keep myself out of trouble. Still, he’s built like a Greek God and has been the star of more than one of my sexual fantasies in my two years here.

Being alone with him in this tiny office is kind of hot, but I’m sure that to him, I’m nothing more than just another stupid kid. I don’t want to act like a smart ass. After all, my mother has been warning me against this kind of behavior since the day the scholarship came in the mail. “You need to behave yourself. You’re a smart girl, but your mouth is gonna cost you opportunities.” But, now, seeing how he’s responding to me, I’m starting to think he likes it.

He walks around the desk, and all I can focus on is the giant bulge in his pants. I don’t know if I’m the cause of the stiffness, but it’s nice to think that I am. I imagine what it would feel like to be swooped up by those muscular arms and laid down on this desk. His big hands ripping my clothes off so he can stuff that giant rod inside me. If it would fit, that is.

He asks me something, but I’ve lost all focus on the conversation and hear myself tell him that I can handle it. I die of humiliation when I realize that I’m staring at his dick when I say it and swiftly ask him if I can be excused. In my fantasy, he tells me no and pulls me into his arms, but in reality, he tells me yes so I leave.

How am I supposed to focus in class now? When I walk into the classroom, I hear the goat boys snicker, and I flash them an evil stare. They all shrink down in their seats just as I knew they would. I take my seat and open my book to the chapter and page that the teacher has written on the board. Maybe immersing myself in the story will take my mind off the throbbing between my legs and the wet spot in my panties. I grin as I consider how grateful I am that we aren’t reading Moby Dick.

The bell rings, and we all file out into the hall. I have science class next, and the walk takes me right past the principal’s office. I try to be discreet as I peer into the open door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Rogers. I don’t see him, and so I quicken my pace and run headfirst into his broad chest. He grabs my elbows in an attempt to steady me, but the feel of his hands on me turns my legs into a pair of wet noodles.

“Steady, Rose O’Connor,” his deep, sultry voice whispers.

“I’m good. Sorry, I was distracted,” I reply, looking into his deep, dark eyes.

“Off to class, then,” he says and I scurry away like a frightened mouse avoiding a hungry cat.

For two years, I’ve managed to keep myself invisible to the school administration, and now, I’ve been face to face with the principal twice in one day. I should feel like a failure, but now all I want to do is see more of him.

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