Chapter 9: Mr. Griffin Caught me 001

When my name crackles over the PA system, I can be forgiven for being a tad confused. After all, I’ve just been fucked into boneless brain dead jelly by one of my own recently graduated students, on my own desk – which, along with my notes for my secret sex book, is now covered in eighteen year old splooge – and no one’s supposed to be in the building, anyway. Everyone should be at the graduation appreciation assembly or whatever it’s called, outside on the field.

At least, I’d assumed the coast was clear when I’d let Danny Donovan drill me into oblivion on school property. Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest choice. I mean, I was still half-naked.

“I repeat, will Miss Erica Bennett please report to the headmaster’s office immediately. The matter is urgent. Thank you.”

Nope, didn’t imagine it. That’s definitely old Griffin’s voice. And he definitely sounds pissed, even over the ancient PA system.

Well, I’m screwed. I have to try to clean up. For a while I’d just kind of lay on my desk, in a sex haze, after Danny left – I mean, no one was more surprised than me that an eighteen year old guy could fuck like a sex Olympian, and my brain was still trying to wrap itself around what had happened – but now I could feel anxiety descending upon me like a wet blanket. Danny had discovered that I was secretly writing a book on the sexual habits of the 1% while subbing here at Chippewa Valley High, and while he’d used that info to get into my pants (and give me an excuse to finally fuck him), I couldn’t be totally sure he’d kept it to himself. And I could lose my job.

Possibly even get sued, depending.

And Danny had jizzed gleefully all over the notes for said book, which included notes on his own father’s performance. I guess it’s not too hard to read into that – it’ll definitely get a mention in the book proposal – but now I have to try to clean up and hoof it over to the headmaster’s office.

Shit.

I take care of the notes as best I can before stuffing them away in a drawer. Next I give myself a quick wipe down, and hunt around for my panties. I can’t imagine what Danny did with them, and I’m just about to give up when I find them tossed in a corner. Perfect. But I don’t have much choice. I’ve just finished putting them on and straightening my skirt, and I’ve started frantically running my hands through my sex-hair when the PA crackles again.

“Miss Bennett! I said immediately!”

Oh, shit shit shit. No time to find my bra. I button my blouse and grab an empty file folder to hold in front of me, just in case, and trot out the door, careful to lock it on my way out.

My black heels click with every step, and the clicks echo accusingly down the empty halls of this posh high school. Normally this trip would be making me nervous, but right now I’m so relieved not to see anyone else that I don’t have time think about what Headmaster Griffin has in store for me.

That’ll turn out to be a mistake.

The giant oak door to his office is closed. I knock on it tentatively, already deciding to play up the helpless, clumsy newbie angle that’s worked so well with the Headmaster in the past. Mr. Griffin was so conscientiously helpful my first few weeks, checking up on my progress, giving me helpful pointers and the inside knowledge on the intensely competitive social landscape. I guess he didn’t want me to get lost or devoured out there – the social community surrounding this high school, with it’s husband-hunting teachers and crazy rich helicopter parents, is intense.

His help had been invaluable. And he’d never been angry or displeased with me. Until today.

“Come in!” He thunders.

I open the door and slip inside, closing it meekly behind me. He’s sitting in his leather chair, his desk bare. Headmaster Griffin is a big man, even seated. He’s what you call salt-and-pepper gray, I guess? Very “distinguished,” but not in a wimpy way. There’s all sorts of photos of him in various sports uniforms all around the office. I’d always thought he was sort of staid and boring.

Right now he looks pissed.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Griffin?”

It’s a formal environment. The teachers all refer to each other as Mr. or Mrs. or Miss – never Ms. – and the students just cower in fear in front of their headmaster.

“Come closer.”

I do, a little nervously. The light isn’t great on this side of the building in the afternoons, and his office is mercifully dark. I’ve been hoping the bad light will hide my freshly-fucked look, but if I have to get so close, there’s nothing for it. I stand at the side of his desk, close enough for him to see the flush on my skin. I clutch the empty file folder to my chest, and wait.

And wait.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring at me, and working the muscles in his jaw. After a moment I notice that his fist is clenched tightly on his armrest, and I begin to wonder just what the hell is going on.

Finally he looks me up and down. Really, really obviously, he looks me up and down. I press the file folder closer to my chest defensively.

“Give me that.” He says.

What? I panic a little, very, very conscious of the fact that I don’t have a bra on under my blouse.

“Why?”

He inhales deeply, and narrows his eyes.

“It is school property, Miss Bennett.” He says, pointing to the embossed logo on the front. “Give it to me.”

I try to give him my best bambi expression, and it’s not entirely an act. I really don’t want to expose myself, at least partially because I’m getting a little turned on. I know this blouse. It doesn’t do such a great job of covering up without some help, and if my nipples get fully hard...

He looks at my face, at my big, brown, bambi eyes, and...he grins. In satisfaction.

I’m really confused now.

“Give. It. To. Me.” He says. “Or you’re fired.”

What the fuck? I can’t tell if he’s serious. I mean, he can’t be, right? But he looks deadly, deadly serious. I decide to shrug it off and, you know, own it, as much as I can.

“Oh, ok, Mr. Griffin.” I laugh, and place the file folder on his desk, rather than hand it to him – one small act of defiance – and then stand erect before him, proud, as though there were nothing at all shameful about a mostly see-through blouse and no bra.

Or semi-hard nipples.

Mr. Griffin is smirking a little. He looks me up and down again, lingering appreciatively on my chest, before his expression goes cold again.

Then he just stares. Forever. I know this: it’s an intimidation tactic, sometimes they use it in negotiations or whatever. And you know what? It freaking works. I’m nervous and intimidated as hell, and afraid to look away from that iron stare, and, worst of all, I’m starting to get a little...wet. Again.

Finally he speaks.

“Do you think your attire is entirely appropriate, Miss Bennett?” He asks, leaning back in his chair.

Shit. There’s nothing I can do about the bra, but I thought I’d cleaned myself up.

“I often wear a skirt and blouse.”

He raises an eyebrow, and somehow I know what he wants to hear.

“...Sir.” I finish.