"About time..." Caroline strides around her office looking accusingly at the flustered figure hovering in the doorway. Her mature student, Maggie, is imprudently late for a teaching practice evaluation. She's yet to discover her tardy timekeeping is, on this occasion, forgivable as far as the headteacher is concerned. It's hard to find any staff, let alone trainees, who voluntarily take after-school netball these days.
However, Ms Caroline Hunter, headmistress of St Judes Academy, presently keeps this fact to herself and maintains a stern expression. This is, she calculates, a situation to be manipulated to her advantage. And Ms Caroline Hunter, MA, didn't reach her lofty educational perch without being an adept tactician. St Judes boasts formidable exam results and distinguished alumni. The number of girls going on to top universities far exceeds the national average and parents will beg, bribe and pay through the nose to enrol their daughters in this elite single-sex school.
Meanwhile, Maggie, still in her PE kit, is behind schedule and apologising profusely. Advantage Ms Hunter, who casts her appraising gaze over the novice teacher and very much approves of what she sees: tight sleeveless vest - a hint of cleavage at the front - trim, gamine figure and long tanned legs, stretching from a tiny knicker-peeking gym skirt down to sockless trainers. Most satisfactory; Caroline experiences a surge of sexual desire and struggles to retain her outward sangfroid.
"I'm sorry I'm late," says Maggie but her apology is cut short.
"I quite understand," says the headmistress. "Good performance today, I thought. The team doing well?" she enquires, the abrupt change of tone causing Maggie momentary confusion. "You certainly seem to have transformed their fortunes recently, jolly well done," continues Caroline, blithely ignoring Maggie's perplexed expression. "Please come in, oh, and be so good as to close the door after you." Praise indeed, but something in the older woman's tone of voice puts Maggie on her guard.
"However," once her trainee is over the threshold, Ms Hunter allows a dramatic pause, "about the calls to Australia, Ms Groves."
Australia! Oh shit, a horrid sinking feeling clutches at Maggie's stomach. In such a large establishment she'd gambled that a few international calls to an old girlfriend in Melbourne might escape notice. Unfortunately, it appears Ms Hunter's reputation for eagle-eyed attention to detail is amply deserved. No point in making a bad situation worse, reasons Maggie, might as well own up and throw herself on her employer's mercy. The last thing she needs is to fail her final teaching practice and flunk her degree. A fact Ms Hunter is supremely aware of, giving her - she calculates coolly - the whip (awful pun in the circumstances) hand.
"If I were to report this breach of trust," another achingly long pause, "it could prove very detrimental to your prospects. Alternatively," Ms Hunter raises a hand to silence any prospective plea for clemency, "I recognise you forsook a lucrative job in the City to come into teaching and your overall performance has been excellent." She sees the glimmer of hope in the young woman's eyes. "So, to avoid a bad report there is another option..."
"Such as?" Maggie ventures cautiously, glad of a way out of her predicament, but rightly suspicious. Her time in the tough world of finance has fined-tuned her ability to spot a scam.
"I shall punish you personally," continues Caroline briskly, her usual aura of authority wavering slightly as she enters unfamiliar territory. "Here and now, the matter kept confidential between us thereafter." There's palpable tension in the air.
"Punish me how?" enquires Maggie, looking down to hide the glimmer of a smile.
This is it, thinks Caroline, half thrilled, half terrified. For months now she's lusted after the gorgeous younger woman. Unsure of her feelings, never having experienced any sort of girl-on-girl encounter (she can't quite yet frame the word 'lesbian', even in her mind), she's apprehensive. The school governors would be unlikely to take kindly to revelations of inter-staff Sapphic relations. And the national press - well, perish the thought.
Embarrassed and uneasy she struggles to maintain self-control. Bet the girl has no shortage of admirers, she thinks angrily, caught between conflicting feelings of shame and desire. She, on the other hand, is experiencing a long sexual hiatus.
The inner turmoil so transparently reflected in her facial expressions is not lost on Maggie. Good grief, is the oh-so-respectable pillar of the establishment and seemingly straight Ms Hunter about to make a pass at her? If so, Maggie isn't about to protest. For one thing, if Caroline did but know, the attraction is mutual. For another, the situation presents an opportunity for Maggie to gain an edge.
"Bend over and touch your toes," Caroline orders brusquely, a slight shake to her usually carefully moderated tones. Obedient, but in no way submissive, Maggie calmly assumes the required position, provocatively wriggling her delightful little posterior. Ms Hunter intends to spank her, does she? Far from appalled, Maggie is intrigued. Personally, she prefers to spank, but isn't averse to switching, especially with such an attractively mature woman. She hears the click of Caroline's heels across the wooden floor and observes a wooden hairbrush emerge from a capacious designer handbag.
The footsteps return and Maggie braces herself, feels her skirt flipped up, gasping as skimpy knickers are tugged into her bottom cleft; thighs squeezed tightly together, already feeling aroused. She takes her punishment stoically; twelve hard but inexpert strokes rain down on her unprotected buttocks. Rather too quickly for Maggie's liking. Without being told she maintains her stance, awaiting Caroline's next instruction, sincerely hoping for more intimate contact. If, as she suspects, the headmistress is inexperienced in making out with a woman, she looks forward to providing one-on-one tuition.
If ever there was a time to yield to desire it's now, but overwhelmed by the situation, Caroline bottles out. Face red and unable to make eye contact her courage fails.
"Good, um well, we'll say no more about the matter, you may leave," she blusters.
"Thank you, Ma'am," replies Maggie, in a faintly sarcastic tone, emerging from this disciplinary encounter with more dignity than the headmistress, and the sure knowledge of an irrevocable shift in the balance of power between them. The same question lurks unspoken in both their minds as she leaves the office: what happens next?
