Detention
"He broke the rules. The principal decides to discipline him personally."
The summons arrives at 3:47 PM.
Mr. Reeves—Report to Principal Castellano's office immediately. This is not a request.
I read it three times, my stomach sinking. I know what this is about. The incident in the supply closet. The student who walked in at exactly the wrong moment. The rumors that have been spreading through the faculty like wildfire.
I'm twenty-three years old, fresh out of my credential program, working as a teaching assistant at Neo-Valencia Prep. The job was supposed to be my stepping stone to a real career.
Now it's probably over.
I straighten my tie, smooth my hair, and walk to my execution.
Principal Elena Castellano's office is on the top floor of the administration building.
Everything about it screams power—the heavy wooden door, the tasteful art, the wall of windows overlooking the manicured campus. And behind the desk, in a chair that might as well be a throne, sits the woman who holds my future in her hands.
She's forty-five. Imposing. Built like a goddess of discipline—thick everywhere, curves straining against a fitted skirt suit in charcoal grey. Her skin is olive, her hair a sleek black wave, her face beautiful in a way that makes you understand why empires fell. She's easily two-forty, maybe more, and she wears every pound like armor.
"Close the door, Mr. Reeves."
I close it. The lock engages automatically—a soft click that sounds like a cell closing.
"Sit."
I sit. The chair is designed to make visitors feel small. It's working.
She studies me for a long moment, dark eyes cataloguing every flinch, every nervous twitch.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"The supply closet incident."
"The supply closet incident." She repeats it flatly. "A teaching assistant, caught in a compromising position with a colleague, by a student who had no business seeing anything of the kind."
"It wasn't what it looked like—"
"I don't care what it looked like. I care what it was." She leans forward, and her blouse gapes slightly, showing the shadow of cleavage. "A violation of professional conduct. A scandal in the making. A liability that this institution cannot afford."
"I understand. If you want my resignation—"
"I don't want your resignation." She stands, moves around the desk. Her heels click against the hardwood like a metronome. "I want something else entirely."
She stops in front of me.
Close enough that I can smell her perfume—something dark and complex, like aged wine and secrets. Close enough that I have to look up to meet her eyes.
"You've put me in a difficult position, Mr. Reeves. I should fire you. Report you to the credentialing board. Ensure you never work in education again."
"I know."
"But that would create questions. Investigations. The very scandal I'm trying to avoid." She circles behind me, and I feel her presence like heat on my back. "So I'm going to offer you an alternative."
"What kind of alternative?"
Her hands land on my shoulders. Squeeze.
"The kind where you learn what it means to truly be disciplined." Her voice drops to a murmur. "The kind where you submit to me, completely, and in exchange, this entire incident disappears."
My mouth goes dry. "Submit?"
"You broke the rules, Mr. Reeves. In my school. Under my authority." Her hands slide down my chest, feeling my hammering heart. "The appropriate response is punishment. The question is whether you'll take it like a man."
"What do you want me to do?"
I can't believe I'm asking. Can't believe I'm considering this. But there's something about her—the power she radiates, the control she embodies—that makes me want to obey.
"Stand up."
I stand.
"Remove your jacket."
I remove it.
"Your tie."
The tie joins the jacket on the floor.
"Now." She moves to stand in front of me, close enough that her breasts nearly brush my chest. "Tell me what you did wrong."
"I... I engaged in inappropriate behavior on school grounds."
"You fucked someone in my supply closet." Her voice is ice. "Say it properly."
"I fucked someone in your supply closet."
"And what happens to people who break the rules, Mr. Reeves?"
"They get punished."
"Correct." Her hand finds my belt. Unbuckles it slowly. "They get punished until they understand the weight of what they've done. Until they're sorry."
She pulls the belt free.
Folds it in half.
"Turn around. Bend over my desk."
The first strike makes me gasp.
It's not playful. Not gentle. The leather cracks against my ass through my slacks, and pain blooms hot and sharp. I grip the edge of her desk, knuckles white.
"Count them," she commands.
"One."
Crack.
"Two."
Crack.
"Three—fuck—"
"Language, Mr. Reeves." Crack. "We're in a school."
By ten, I'm shaking. By fifteen, my eyes are watering. By twenty, my pants are around my ankles and she's hitting bare skin, each strike leaving a welt that throbs in time with my heartbeat.
I'm also hard as a rock.
She notices.
"Interesting," she murmurs, pausing between blows. Her hand traces over the welts, gentle now. "You're enjoying this."
"I don't—that's not—"
"Don't lie to me." Her fingers wrap around my erection, squeeze. I moan despite myself. "Your body knows what you need, even if your mind hasn't caught up. You need discipline. Structure. Someone to put you in your place."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Principal Castellano."
Her laugh is dark. Pleased.
"Better." She releases me, steps back. "Now turn around."
She's undressing.
The suit jacket first, dropped carelessly on a chair. Then the blouse, button by button, revealing a black lace bra that barely contains her breasts. Then the skirt, sliding down thick thighs, pooling at her feet.
She's wearing a garter belt. Stockings. Nothing else below the waist.
She's magnificent.
"You've been punished for your crime," she says, stepping toward me. "Now comes the reward. If you've truly learned your lesson."
"I've learned—"
"Have you?" She pushes me back against the desk, climbs onto my lap. Her weight pins me, surrounds me, makes escape impossible. "Then prove it. Serve me. Make me come. And maybe—maybe—I'll let you do the same."
She guides me inside her.
And everything else disappears.
She uses me like I'm hers.
Because I am. In this moment, in this office, I belong to her completely. She rides me with the same authority she brings to running the school—demanding, exacting, accepting nothing less than total obedience.
"Harder—"
I give her harder, thrusting up into her while she grinds down.
"Faster—"
I give her faster, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her down onto me.
"Don't you dare come before I do—"
I hold on. Clench my jaw. Fight against the building pressure because she told me to, because disappointing her feels worse than anything.
She comes with a growl, her whole body shaking, her nails raking down my chest. I feel her clench around me and—
"Now," she commands.
I shatter.
Afterward, she dresses like nothing happened.
Every piece of clothing back in place, every hair smooth, every inch of her the perfect image of professional authority. Only her eyes betray anything—a softness, a satisfaction, that wasn't there before.
"The supply closet incident never occurred," she says, straightening her collar. "Any rumors will be handled. Your record remains clean."
"Thank you, Principal Castellano."
"Elena." She looks at me. "When we're alone like this, you can call me Elena."
"Elena." The name feels dangerous. Intimate. "When can I... serve you again?"
Her smile is slow. Predatory.
"That depends on whether you break any more rules." She moves toward the door, pauses with her hand on the lock. "But if I were you, Mr. Reeves... I might consider being very misbehaved."
She unlocks the door. Opens it.
"You're dismissed."
I become the worst-behaved teaching assistant in the history of Neo-Valencia Prep.
Every week, there's a new infraction. A new summons. A new session in her office where she disciplines me until I can't think straight, then uses me until we're both satisfied.
"You're doing this on purpose," she says one night, months in.
"Of course I am."
"Why?"
"Because I need this." I trace my fingers down her spine, feeling her shiver. "I need you. The structure. The discipline. The feeling of belonging to someone who knows exactly what I need."
She's quiet for a moment.
"I shouldn't have started this. It's unprofessional. Inappropriate. Everything I'm supposed to stand against."
"Do you regret it?"
Another pause.
"No." She turns to face me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression—something she never shows in the halls of her school. "I've been alone for so long. In charge of everything. Answering to no one. I forgot what it felt like to have someone who wanted to submit. Who made it their choice."
"It's always been my choice." I pull her close. "And I choose you. Every time. For as long as you'll have me."
She kisses me.
And somewhere in Neo-Valencia, a principal and her teaching assistant build something that shouldn't exist—shouldn't work—but does.
Detention.
Forever.