Guidance Councellor

I am a Guidance Counsellor. It's my job to help students decide what they want from life. Where are they going? What sort of work interests them?

I run tests to help determine where there skills lie and try to encourage them onto the right path. A brilliant doctor will never make a lawyer and vice versa. Different skill sets are required.

The smart students are the easiest ones. Generally they know what they want to do and they already have plans in place to help them head in that direction. Next easiest would be the dumb ones who know that they're dumb. You can run some simple tests for them and then point out their options. They're happy to have someone tell them what to do.

The majority of students, of course, are between these two extremes, and they can be difficult. Generally they're open to reason and you can give them some alternatives. They'll find their way home easily enough.

Just like that I've dealt with well over ninety percent of the students who come my way. The other ten percent take up ninety percent of my time. They're the arrogant ones. The idiots who think their geniuses. The no talent clowns who think they're future stars. They can be bloody murder to work with. If they have doting parents who think the sun shines out of their butt, it's even harder.

A typical conference with one of these would generally include comments like this.

"Yes, Joe, I know you're a star on the football field. However, we're a very small school and we did come last in the competition. Maybe if you had learnt to read you could've become a lawyer, but as it is. . .

Have you ever considered a career as a night soil collector? They get to drive a truck, you know."

I get some odd people looking for help and expecting to find success. Let me tell you about Mandi.

Mandi wasn't her real name. She changed it as soon as she entered college and flatly refused to even recognise her official name. Having seen her real name on the enrolment form, I didn't blame her in the slightest.

Mandi was of average intelligence, blonde, and quite pretty. Not knock your socks off beautiful, but reasonably pretty. Practically everything about her was average with the exception of her ego and self-confidence.

Her parents had spent years blowing up her ego for her and I was surprised to find she could still walk, carrying that ego around all the time. Mandi was, she informed me, going to go to Hollywood, where she would be immediately recognised as the next star. It would be move over Madonna, bye-bye Britney and move on Miley; Mandi has arrived.

I tried pointing out a few flaws in her ambition. Namely that according to her drama teacher, she couldn't act. The music teacher says that she can't sing. The PE teacher says he thinks she's got two left feet and will never make a dancer.

All this was as nothing. She had confidence in herself. She would be a star.

I tried to be brutally frank.

"Mandi, for a woman to get ahead in TV and the movies she needs at least two of the three B's. You don't meet those requirements. And if you're wondering what the three B's are they're beauty, brains and boobs."

"I've got boobs," Mandi promptly stated.

I could see that. They were blindingly obvious. They hadn't been the items I considered missing.

"Maybe, but you lack presentation. You also lack skill in the areas required and you don't appear to have any talents that can be polished up to let you shine.

Why don't we run a little test? I'll be a producer looking for new talent. Why don't you knock on my door, I'll invite you in and you explain why I should hire you."

Brimming with confidence, Mandi knocked on my door and I invited her in. She came bouncing in, eager to explain why I should hire her. She barely got started when I butted in.

"What previous experience have you had?"

"Uh, none, actually. I'm just starting out. But you'll find. . ."

I interrupted her again.

"What acting, dancing and elocution courses have you passed?"

Mandi was giving me dirty looks now. We both knew that she'd only barely scraped a pass mark in acting and elocution and as for her dancing; like the PE teacher said. Two left feet.

I deliberately gave her a hard time, trying to get it through her skull that she lacked the required talent. All the practice in the world won't help if you just can't do something. If Mandi would be halfway reasonable I could run some tests with her to find out what she could do.

I finally finished up with what I thought would be the killer.

"Well, this new film does have a few parts for new talent, I suppose. There are a few nude shots. Are you averse to doing onscreen nudity?"

"No problems," said Mandi airily. "Nudity doesn't worry me at all."

"OK. Show me. I can't hire a girl who's going to back out at the last moment."

I sat there waiting, while Mandi blinked and looked at me.

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Dead serious. If you're not going to strip right now in front of me, how do you think you're going to go when a producer asks you to?"

Mandi got a determined look on her face and started undoing her blouse. I said nothing, just sitting back and watching. The blouse came off and the bra followed. She really did have a magnificent chest, the bra being more for decoration that anything else.

While I was admiring her breasts, Mandi had slipped down her skirt and panties and was standing there defiantly, hands on hips.

I sadly shook my head.

"Mandi, you couldn't present yourself to a producer that way. Your bush is a completely different colour to your hair and it just doesn't look right. You need to think of these little things. If I were you, I'd dye the bush, after trimming it considerably. Or shaving completely. When you go home, strip off in front of a mirror and compare what you see to actresses you've see on TV."

Giving me nasty little looks Mandi dressed and left. Before she left I told her that it probably wouldn't hurt for her to bring her parents along and we could have another interview about career choices with them on hand.

Before I continue with this story, let me describe my office to you. I have a desk under the window where I sit facing the door. I also have some furniture not normally found in a teacher's office. Namely, apart from the standard visitor's chair that students use, I have a couple of arm chairs either side of the door and a couch to one side. Plus a Coffee-Mate.

The reason for this is that I tend to have parents meeting me there with or without their children and I like to set an informal environment. A side effect of this is that when other teachers need to see me they invariably use my office for the meetings. Much more comfortable all round.

That's what led to the following debacle. I was in my office when the door opened and Mandi walked in, kicking it closed behind her. She was dressed in her PE clothes, whether going to or coming from her class I didn't know.

She just stalked to the centre of the room and dropped her shorts and panties.

"This will get me some attention," she snapped.

She was more right than she knew. What she was referring to was a very neatly trimmed little bush, in the shape of an arrow, blonde to match her hair. What I was referring to was something quite different.

Mandi heard an indignant gasp and was silly enough to turn around without pulling up her panties. Sitting in the armchairs were the Principal and the Head-Mistress, both looking shocked. Even more shocked when Mandi turned around and flashed them. We'd been discussing what courses we should drop next year and what to replace them with. Like I said, my office makes a comfortable meeting place.

I don't think Mandi was feeling particularly comfortable right then. She seemed to have just frozen.

The Principal was spluttering. He was getting on and due for retirement soon. I don't think he'd ever come across a situation like this.

After some comments along the lines of "well, I never", "outrage", "how dare you" and "you should be ashamed" the Principal found something useful to say.

"Well, Miss, you probably know we've never abandoned corporal punishment at this school. Students like you are the reason why. Mrs Baldwin, see to it at once."

With that the Principal stormed out of the room and Mrs Baldwin, the Head-Mistress started.

"Really, Mandi, how could you. You should be ashamed of yourself. Ten strokes you'll be receiving and think yourself luck it's not twenty. Don't bother to pull your things up. You'll only have to take them down for the punishment. Arthur, do you have a paddle or a switch?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Baldwin, but no, I don't. However, seeing you won't want to waste time going to your office to get one, why don't I just paddle Mandi myself. I think you'll find that my hand makes a fairly good paddle, and you'll be here to act as chaperon."

"A good idea. You're eighteen, aren't you Mandi? I thought so. Then there's no need for me to call your mother and let her know you're receiving corporal punishment."

A scarlet faced and furious Mandi was ordered to bend over the desk. The scarlet face was from genuine embarrassment. The fury was because she was blaming me for this. I could tell from the little knives coming out of her eyes when she looked at me.

To add insult to coming injury, Mrs Baldwin ordered her to keep count of the spanks. Any miscounts and they would start again.

Mandi was watching me as I walked around the desk to stand by her side. Mrs Baldwin couldn't see the little smile on my face but Mandi could. She knew I was laughing at her.

"I assume that spanks landing here and here would be acceptable?" I politely asked Mrs Baldwin, a finger lightly drawing large circles around each of Mandi's cheeks.

"Yes, Arthur," she said. "That would be acceptable."

With that I delivered a hearty spank to one of Mandi's cheek, followed by another hard spank on the other. I must admit, I'd been itching to do this to the girl. For a long time I'd been wanting to beat some sense into her.

"I can't hear you counting, Mandi," snapped Mrs Baldwin, and Mandi hurriedly came out with "That's two."

"We start counting from one, Mandi," came the reminder. "Start again and keep a proper count."

My next one spank was met with a "one" and a yelp, and from that point the count slowly mounted as the spanking continued. Slowly, because I was taking my time, resting after each spank, letting Mandi have time to properly appreciate it. It probably felt a lot longer to Mandi.

At the count of ten Mrs Baldwin said, "Right, that's that. I hope you've learned a lesson, young woman. Now get dressed and be off to whatever class you're supposed to be at."

Mrs Baldwin stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her, carelessly leaving me alone with a half-naked student. Maybe not so carelessly. She winked at me as she left, and I saw her snib the lock.

Mandi was bending down to grab hold of her shorts when I stopped her.

"One moment, Mandi," I said. "I assume this is a continuation from the little scene we staged yesterday."

Mandi just looked at me and shrugged. "I just wanted to show you," she muttered.

"Then take your top off and show me properly," I told her, and almost defiantly, she did.

Mandi really did have a nice figure, with those breasts of hers catching the eye with no problems.

"Mandi, if I was a producer and you showed yourself to me like that, trying for a part, do you know what my next step would be?"

Mandi shook her head, but the faint flush on her face gave her away.

"I'd point you to the casting couch, knowing that you're going to let me play with you to get that part. Are you prepared to do that?"

Mani straightened up slightly, throwing her shoulders back. (That did wonderful things to her breasts, and they sort of quivered slightly as she looked at me.)

"If I had to," she said.

"You have to," I said, pointing to my own couch.

"But this is just a part we're playing," Mandi pointed out.

"True, but if you won't hop on the casting couch with me, who you know, how will you be able to hop on it when some producer demands it?"

I know. It sounded weak to me, too, but Mandi had stars in her eyes and was determined to show that she'd do anything it took.

But she didn't go over to the couch. She just leant over the desk, saying "My bottoms sore, so I don't want to lie down."

I moved over behind her and reached between her legs. She gasped at my first touch, but didn't try to resist at all. I rubbed her mound while my other hand reached around and took hold of one of her breasts.

I teased her, playing with her breast and playing with her pussy. Feather light fingertips grazed her bottom, stirring her up a little more. Fingernails lightly dragging across her tummy caused her to gasp, and then she squealed when they dragged lightly over her mons.

My fingers dipped and probed, exciting her and exploring her. One thing I needed to know was the state of her virginity. I was not going to make her an ex-virgin just to prove a point. I was quickly reassured on this point when I was able to penetrate quite deeply into her passage.

She was heating up rapidly, and she was getting wetter by the second. A finger rubbing lightly against her clitoris caused some more squeaking and a light shuddering raced through her body.

I undid my zip and moved closer behind her. Fingers eased her lips farther apart, and then I was pressing lightly against her.

It was my intention to ease in, nice and slow, giving Mandi plenty of time to feel me coming and to adjust. Like they say, the best laid plans, etc.

I had no sooner started easing in than Mandi was squealing and pressing hard back against me. Before I even realised what she was doing she had impaled herself and was wriggling against my crotch, quite willing to take more if I could find it.

Not having anymore to give, all I could do was take back what I did have and give it to her again. I pulled back and drove in hard and, with an excited yip, Mandi's bottom rose enthusiastically to meet me.

A man likes to think he controls any sexual adventures he has, but no-one had told Mandi this. She bounced against me, hard, determined to take everything I could throw at her, and I did a lot of throwing.

I pounded hard against her, and instead of Mandi trying to keep up with me, I was flat out keeping up with her. She writhed against my cock, she offered herself up as a cock sacrifice, demanding to be knifed by it, hard and often. For a while I thought she was insatiable and that I would disgrace myself by coming first and leaving her unsatisfied.

An unwelcome thought, I assure you, but my fears were groundless. Mandi eventually squealed and shuddered under me, her whole body quivering with the force of her climax, and I was still going. With a feeling of relief I could now just concentrate on having my own fun, and I drilled into her with gay abandon.

I assumed that when Mandi recovered from her climax that she'd take some time before moving with me again. Silly me. Her climax had barely been completed when she was bouncing under me again. I didn't particularly care now if I came before she had her second climax and I just pounded away at my own speed, forcing her to accept it.

She was squealing and wriggling as I drove into her, and I was relieved when I finally did explode in her, spraying her and sending her into the convulsions of a second climax.

I was considering myself lucky to get my cock back in one piece.

Fortunately I keep a large box of moist tissues in my office. Useful for when you tell a girl that no, I don't really think you're going to be President, but have you considered marriage, instead? Perhaps to the father of your child? You do know you're pregnant, don't you?

We both tidied ourselves up, and I suggested that Mandi sit for a moment.

"If you really want to get into movies," I suggested carefully, "have you considered the porn industry?"

To my relief she didn't get up and stalk out in high dudgeon. She actually seemed to consider it, and then asked what training was needed.

"I don't think you'll need much training," I told her. "You seem to have a certain talent in that area. Would you like me to arrange an audition? I think I could set one up?"