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8 min read

The Dean

When Angela Aoki is threatened with expulsion at St. Bart's private school, Beth will do anything to keep her daughter in school.
The Dean

Sitting outside the door to the Dean’s office, Beth couldn’t help but feel sixteen years old again, the tips of her fingers shaking with that familiar oh-no-I-got-caught sensation. Beside her, Beth’s daughter looked nonplussed. This whole charade was completely below Angela, it seemed.

Beth wanted to say something, to order her to uncross her arms, to straighten her back, sort out her hair, but the words wouldn’t form. They hovered over Beth’s lips like dollops of honey, refusing to drop.

The rest of the room was silent.

“Mrs. Brown?”

It was the receptionist, a cheery smile on her face, poking her head around the doorway to the Dean’s room.

“It’s Ms. Aoki, actually,” Beth corrected gently, the situation familiar, “Angela’s dad and I separated a few years ago.”

“Whoops, sorry,” the receptionist said, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Ms. Aoki. Care to step inside?”

Simultaneously, Beth and Angela rose to their feet. The similarities between them were startling; their long black hair parted down the middle, their soft rounded faces, their never-ending legs. Both turned heads when they entered a room - much to Beth’s chagrin and to Angela’s delight.

Although Angela was a little taller, a little more tan, Beth often found herself on the receiving end of, “Daughter? Don’t you mean sister?” Meant as a compliment, the statement usually had the opposite effect; it only reminded her how young she had been when Angela was born, not even a year after she had moved to America from Japan. Nonetheless, to see herself reflected in her daughter meant she looked less like her father - and that was a blessing.

The receptionist pulled the door back and stepped to one side, allowing Beth and Angela in. The room itself was bigger than Beth had expected. To the left, the whole wall was covered floor-to-ceiling in shelving, housing hundreds of thick leather-bound books, each creased and dented, the physical memories of many past readers. The back wall was entirely glass, looking out over the campus courtyard - a beautiful fountain as its centerpiece - and placed in front was the Dean’s desk, thick and mahogany and expensive.

With his hands clasped together and his brow furrowed, everything about the dean radiated command. He looked to be in his early forties, broad-shouldered, squeezed into an expensive-looking tailored suit. The sharp cut of his jaw and the dark nature of his eyes would have lent him an attractive face if it wasn’t for the downturned corners of his lips; his disdain for the whole situation painted across his whole expression.

This was a man who was used to being obeyed. Unfortunately for Beth, it was Angela’s disobedience that had landed both of them here in the first place.

The receptionist closed the door behind them. It was as if the whole world was shut off. Beth gulped.

“H-hello, sir,” Beth stuttered, “thank you for seeing us today.” She took a step forward, reaching out over the desk to hold out her hand for a perfunctory handshake.

Her hand hung between them, untouched.

“Ms. Aoki, I presume,” the Dean said. His voice was deep, assertive, sending a tremor down Beth’s spine. “I’m Dean Armitage, I’ve overseen St. Bart’s for nearly fifteen years now. Take a seat.”

Beth snatched back her hand, embarrassment burning within her chest. She sunk into the chair next to Angela. Her daughter still held a look of nonchalance about her, her hands resting lightly on her school skirt.

“I understand you’re here to petition for Angela’s expulsion to be repealed?” Armitage asked, locking Beth to her seat with his gaze.

“Y-yes,” Beth cleared her throat, trying to regain some composure, “yes. I believe painting my daughter with the same brush as those… friends of hers is entirely unjust.” She was gaining momentum now, her voice rising in strength. “Her grades and attendance have been perfect up until this last term, it should’ve been obvious to anyone that she just got mixed up into the wrong crowd of people.”

“Did you, Angela?” The Dean cocked his head towards Beth’s daughter, “Do you feel your friends were the root of your bad behavior?”

Angela shrugged, oozing teenage apathy. Adrenaline building, Beth reached out and squeezed Angela’s wrist, urging her into action.

“It was, wasn’t it? Rebecca and Justin and, what was her name… Hannah. And Elena.”

With a heavy roll of her eyes, Angela sighed. “Sure. Whatever.”

“She’s still trying to protect them,” Beth explained hurriedly, looking between her daughter and the Dean, “it’s in her nature. It’s a testament to her character, really.”

Armitage leaned back in his chair, a little of his former aggression melting from his body. “I see. Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. Aoki.”

“So, can she go back to school?” Beth pressed, “Can she still graduate?”

“It’s… not that simple,” Armitage unlaced his fingers to rub the back of his neck, “to rescind an expulsion… I’ll need more than just a testimony.”

Beth felt her resolve begin to waver. “S-such as?”

“It’s as the old saying goes: actions speak louder than words,” he elaborated. The silence that followed seemed heavier than usual. Even Angela stiffened now, sensing the change.

“Do you want m-money?” Beth’s eyes were wide, having completely lost her mental footing, “A bribe?”

“I want you to act on your convictions, to do something that tells me you aren’t just speaking empty platitudes on behalf of your daughter. Do you understand?”

Leaning back on his chair, Armitage stretched, his thighs opening and his hands coming back to rest behind his head. His face remained impassive.

The message was clear. Despite the growing quake in Beth’s hands and the blood rushing to her cheeks, she knew what she had to do. She hadn’t come this far, hadn’t struggled this hard to have everything fall apart now.

When she spoke, her voice was hushed. “Angela, please wait outside.”

“Mom?” Angela’s mouth had fallen open, her whole body turning in her chair.

“Wait outside,” Beth repeated, sterner this time. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her daughter, knowing her resolve would shatter completely. “Now.”

Hearing the finality in her mother’s tone, Angela rose, looking behind her one last time before closing the door behind her.

And then they were alone.

“You must love your daughter very much,” the Dean was loosening his tie now, languidly pulling at his top button.

“More than anything,” Beth said quietly, trying to still her nerves.

“Then you won’t mind following a few of my orders to get her off the hook.” He stood, fingers running down his chest, catching the buttons of his shirt and pulling them open as he went. “I shouldn’t think a dedicated mother like you would have any issues, anyway.”

His voice was heavy, the aura of command stronger than ever. The sound stirred something deep inside Beth, something she had never felt before. The Dean’s arousal, directed solely at her, sent a sensation close to excitement tingling her spine. It was dangerous.

“I knew from the moment you walked in here you’d want to fall to your knees for me,” Armitage continued, shucking off his shirt. Beth soaked in the lines of his chest, the cut mounds of his shoulders, transfixed.

“Take off your dress, slut.”

With quivering fingers, Beth reached around her back to pull hesitantly at the zip of her dress. The way Armitage was looking at her, staring at her with the full power of his gaze, made her skin tingle with adrenaline. He rounded the desk, standing over her, and for the first time she noticed his height. At Beth’s eye line, the growing bulge of Armitage’s cock filled her sight.

“Stand up,” he barked and Beth shot to her feet, her dress slipping down her body and pooling at her feet. The urge to cover her body with her hands rose, but then the Dean was there, pressing against her, his strong grip weaving its way into the hair at the base of her neck.

Beth grunted, the act of dominance making her breathing shallow now. She felt herself being pushed, rearranged. Her hands came down on the desk but he was still on top of her, pressing her face into the hard wood.

“Spread your legs,” he said calmly, “then reach around and grab your ass cheeks. Do you hear me?”

“Y-yes,” Beth told him, and immediately a slap rang out, the sound hitting her before she felt a stinging, heavy pain to her ass cheek. She gasped, tucking closer to the desk, reeling.

“You mean yes, Master.” The Dean growled, and his hands were raking over her thighs, her panties, ripping them down. “What do you say?”

“Yes, yes Master,” Beth repeated, the heat now rolling off her ass cheek, sending its sensation directly between her legs. It was so confusing, so overwhelming, and suddenly Armitage’s tongue was wet and hot, running up the length of her pussy.

Beth squealed, the tip of his tongue dipping and caressing her clit, parting her folds eagerly. Moans were falling from his lips, his breath gentle against her pussy. With her hands shaking so arousal, Beth could hardly keep her ass cheeks apart, wanting against all her best judgment to grind back against his stupid, gorgeous face.

As quickly as he had arrived he was gone, and then Armitage’s thighs were behind hers, locking her in place. Beth heard the sound of a zipper and her pussy throbbed, missing the sensation of his wet tongue teasing her, tasting her. She could feel something, something impossibly wide positioning itself against her hole and her whole body shuddered with need, wanting to push back but having to wait for what she needed.

“Don’t hold back,” Armitage said, “I want to hear you.”

Even if Beth had wanted to stay quiet, to not give him the satisfaction, as the Dean began to move his hips forward, crushing the girth of his thick cock into her slick pussy, inch after inch seemingly endless, filling her entirely… it was impossible not to let loose a guttural moan, animalistic, her pussy growing wetter as it fluttered around his length, trying to accommodate all of him as quickly as she could.

The Dean’s hands clamped down on her waist and she felt tiny under his touch as he pulled her back against him, making her take him down to the very base. He was moaning too, and despite herself it thrilled Beth to know that she was causing these noises, bringing him this much pleasure.

Hips thrusting, Beth could feel every inch of him sliding out and slamming back in, causing sparks to break out in front of her eyes. She breathed heavily, bliss rolling over her skin in hot waves, eyes fluttering. The Dean’s motions were powerful and relentless, driving her into the desk, grunting profusely, and then his hand was snaking around her thigh, his fingers seeking out her slick clit. Beth shuddered with pleasure, her legs spreading wider, her hips finding their rhythm with his.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you,” Armitage grunted, “I knew you would. Aren’t you going to thank me? Say: Thank you, Master.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Thank you, Master,” she moaned, mouth open, overwhelmed with how perfectly he filled her pussy, “Thank you!”

With each pump of his cock, Beth’s body was thrust forward onto his hand, his fingers awaiting her, ready to circle relentlessly at her eager clit. It was impossible to stop the rise in heat, the sinking sensation of a building orgasm, the hair on her arms prickling. Armitage, too, was losing his rhythm, his grunts stifled from behind a bitten lip.  

Another slap caught Beth by surprise, and then another, and the hot scent of sex permeated the room, pain and pleasure intermingling; sweat spiked Beth’s forehead and her whole body creased.

“Master, I’m c-cumming!” She stuttered out, eyes rolling back as the crush of the orgasm hit her, the clench of her pussy around the Dean’s cock increasing her pleasure all over again. Above her, the Dean’s grip on her hips intensified as their bodies met and he was cumming too, shaking, groaning, holding her in place pump after pump until she could feel him pulling back, knees weakening.

Their breaths were heavy, matched, the slow slide of reality reentering the room with the cooling temperature.

Beth remained frozen, her brain and body utterly spent. Moments passed and the Dean was dressing, his shoes sharp on the flooring.

“Go tell your daughter that school starts Monday, 9 AM,” he said, “and she had better not be late, or else you and I’ll have you back in my office at 9:05, and trust me - I won’t be happy.”

“Yes, Master,” Beth replied and wondered if maybe, just maybe, that behind her the Dean was smiling like she was.