Author's note: This story makes a slight deviation from my established convention. While this story is first person, the main character is not Indigo Marr.

"Shit." I muttered under my breath as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. I had one period a day out of six set aside as a 'prep' period; a time to grade papers, write lesson plans and, as today, fill out requisitions for supplies and materials--a task I particularly despised. The accountants seemed to think that it was entirely sensible to expect an instructor to plan every need for the entire year on one requisition form. I'd gotten into the habit of keeping a small notepad in my jacket pocket to jot down items to be purchased as I thought of them.

Distractions and interruptions were prevalent here however--most of them from the student body, or the student bodies, to be more precise. Working at the Ridgemar Preparatory Academy for Girls sounded like a quiet, pleasant job after the major headaches and petty politics of the metropolitan school I had left. And, for the most part, it was. It was dealing with the students that was the problem.

I set my pen down on the antique desk, neatly stacked the requisition forms, minimized the online catalog I was browsing, and sat back in my chair. The girls wandered into my room exemplifying the paradox that is the 16-year-old girl; chatting and giggling like little girls, while dressing and moving like mature women. Their ability to be simultaneously childish and mature was a persistent irritation to me--one which I did my utmost to eliminate.

I had gained a reputation, somewhat properly, as being tyrannical. I preferred to think of myself as a benevolent dictator; one with Machiavellian underpinnings. I laid down the rules immediately each year, promptly and harshly made an example of any trouble makers, and allowed my reputation establish the tone for the remainder of the year.

The reality of it was that, within the rules, I was reasonably tolerant. The smart ones realized that. The stupid ones felt the crack of a wooden ruler across their knuckles; working in an exclusive private school had its advantages.

Polite greetings popped out of the crowd randomly.

"Hello, Mr. Ammon."

"Good afternoon, Miss Anastasia."

"Hi, Mr. Ammon."

"Good afternoon, Miss Amy."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ammon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Miss Steph."

Stephanie Kapolawicz was an unusual student. In a school filled with daughters of the rich elite, Miss Steph was straight middle class. A rather quiet young lady, Steph had received a full scholarship. I'd noticed her immediately on the first day of class; she was a 16-year-old reincarnation of Betty Page, right down to the bright smile and playful eyes.

As the year had progressed I had come to be as impressed with her mind as I was with her nubile young body. She was intelligent, creative, witty, slightly devious at times, and obedient. As I've stated, I have a reputation as a tyrant, but I also have the best behaved classes in the school. While most of the girls needed occasional--or, in some cases, frequent--reining in, Steph was almost always prompt and precise in following orders.

At first, I thought nothing of it, just appreciating a student who was well behaved. Then I started paying more attention. The devil was in the details; the shy smile when I would complement her, the pout when I would chastise her--or worse, express my disappointment in her--and the way in which she honestly deferred to my authority. It was all very subtle. Being used to crushes and attempts to attract my attention that were often so blatant as to be comical, it took me longer than it should have to decipher Steph's behavior.

By the end of the first quarter, she had gained a deputation as the teacher's pet. Little did any of us realize how far that metaphor would go.

About that same time, I started testing her. I would make an idle comment on how I preferred her hair to be styled, or which variations on her school uniform were 'nice'. I watched as my preferences became the standard. After a while, I progressed to behaviors. Walking around the room during exams, I would tap her with the wooden pointer I always carried, instruct her on her posture and watch her promptly react.

The second week of the second quarter, Steph knocked on my open door during my prep period.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ammon. May I come in?"

I looked up from the stack of paperwork to see her standing politely in the doorway. For a moment it confused me; she was actually waiting for permission to enter, rather than simply asking as a formality as everyone else did. I was in an odd mood--frustrated at the paperwork, and feeling like stirring up trouble. I reclined in my high-backed antique chair, crossed my arms lightly on my chest, and very deliberately looked at her. I took my time to let my eyes fully take her in.

Her shoulder-length hair looked freshly trimmed; the straight bangs a perfectly even curve across her forehead. Faint hints and streaks of auburn showed through the black, indicating that it might be time for her to touch-up the dye. Thin eyebrows arced long and graceful above bright blue eyes which blinked and darted in recognition of, and embarrassment at, my survey of her body. And yet she did nothing to avoid it--indeed, I noticed her stand a bit straighter, relaxing her shoulders, and lightly clasping her hands behind her back as I had instructed her that "proper young ladies" should do in the presence of a superior. She had left her uniform jacket elsewhere this morning. Instead of a soft gray tweed, there was a crisp white cotton shirt, perfectly pressed, the collar tabs held stiffly in place by small pearl buttons and hidden stays. The top button remained open, revealing an extra two inches of her graceful neck. A simple silver chain hung close on her throat, holding a delicate silver ring nestled into the small nock where her chest met her throat. Small pert breasts rose beneath the crisp cotton, giving a beautiful swell to her chest and curve to her silhouette. I paused to wonder if those breasts were gently wrapped in plain cotton or delicate lace. Would they have hold the pattern of that lace, echoed in fresh pink textures, when the fabric was peeled slowly away from the treasures it held? The tailored shirt tapered down to her narrow waist where it was tucked neatly into the wide waistband of her uniform skirt. The skirt itself, a precisely-pleated black and green plaid, was exactly to uniform code. Again I took a moment to pause; what was hidden behind the soft wool? Was her mound a wild tangle, a neatly-trimmed soft fur, or was it smooth and bare, waiting the caress of a commanding hand or wet tongue? Did she taste sweet, or was there a bright tang to her? Did her delicate sex hide behind smooth lips or emerge to present itself to its suitors? The laser-straight hem fell from smoothly flared hips to just above her knees, showing smoothly muscled calves and well-turned ankles clad in straight white knee socks below. At the very last were black leather shoes polished to a shine. The wooden heels of those shoes make a crisp click on the hardwood floors of the academy classrooms and tiles of the long hallways.

I let my eyes sweep back up her body, taking it all in again, from trim ankle to slender neck, until my eyes locked her own, holding her with my gaze, forcing her to admit the dangerous pleasure she took in my scrutiny.

In all of this young beauty, however, what stood out was the subtle, bright smile on her full, soft lips. It was an acceptance and an invitation. One that I decided at that moment that I would accept.

"You may enter, Miss Steph."

"Thank you, sir." She walked to stand in front of my desk, her heels making that small, crisp click with each step. "Mrs. Williamson asked me to bring this to you." She handed me a folded note which I took and read. Silly details about a staff meeting that she could just as well have e-mailed to me. I tossed it into the trash and looked back up at the young lady standing before me.

"Is there something else I may do for you, Miss Steph?"

"Um. No, sir." She hesitated for a long moment. "I was wondering, sir.... I, um.... I have this period free, and I usually spend it in the computer lab, but now there's classes in there so I can't use it. And I get really bored in the study hall.... So, I was wondering if, maybe you might want some help in here. Since it's you're prep period and all."

"What do you have in mind?" I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Um... well.. I could correct papers. File things. Y'know... basically do whatever you wanted."

My eyes brightened at her words, and a smile crept onto my face. "You'll do whatever I tell you to?"

"Yeah." As soon as the word came out, realization came over her and she flinched as if trying to bite it back. "umm... I mean......"

"I think I know exactly what you mean. As you know exactly what I mean." I opened the top drawer of the oak desk and pulled out a small yellow pad. Uncapping the fountain pen I favored, I silently filled scritched on the cheap paper. Tearing off the slip, I handed it to Steph. "This is a permanent pass." She took the small piece of paper with a tentative grasp. "If you have the courage to be honest with yourself, you will hand that to Mrs. Williamson and report here Monday, promptly at the beginning of the period. If you report to me, you are agreeing to do whatever I wish of you. You will follow all orders and accept all rewards and punishments I deign proper to give you. If you fail to show on Monday, you will not ever be allowed another chance. If, on any day following that, you fail to report, I will consider the agreement voided permanently. If, at any point, you want to stop, you may simply say so and leave. You will not, however be allowed to return. Is this understood?"

She stood there, holding the small piece of paper out in front of her, not saying anything for several long seconds. "Yes, sir. I... I understand."

"You are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

She neatly folded the small yellow pass, slipped it into her shirt pocket and, with one last look--hesitant, frightened, and excited--turned and walked smoothly from the room.

I watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her full hips and the smooth curve of her young ass, and wondered exactly what it was I had just set in motion.