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Confusion
When the principal's secretary buzzed to tell him Peyton Long was there to see him, John's heart did flip-flops of confusion and he cursed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

There was certainly no confusion down below. His loins stirred with undeniable excitement despite his attempts to suppress it. Just thinking that in mere seconds the young beauty would be walking through his door had his cock swelling uncomfortably in his pants.

What was it about the girl that affected him so? Granted she was gorgeous - an elegant face with startling green eyes, straight brown hair long enough to cover those perfectly shaped and forbidden breasts, and that wonderfully tender smile - but he saw dozens of pretty girls every day. It was part of his job. Why was Peyton so special? Why did she make him lose control the way no other girl could?

With all the others he was a merciless rock. He was 'Mean Meaney', the strictest vice-principal in the long history of Knights Preparatory. He was renowned for the length of his cane and his willingness to use it. No heart-shaped face, puppy dog eyes, tears, or curled lower lip would slow his cane. No pleas, excuses, financial gifts - or offers of sexual favors - were accepted. When you were sent to John Meaney, he caned you hard and you slunk from his office in tears.

There was a gentle tap on his door and it swung open. John caught his breath. Peyton wore a light spring dress of white with a denim jacket that managed to be casual and elegant at the same time. She looked as delicious as a picnic, and he felt a surge of forbidden desire. He locked his jaw in a grim expression and rose stiffly, his frown dour and his eyes like knives.

"You again?" he spat. "Didn't I just thrash you two weeks ago?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Peyton said humbly, her face hot with pink shame. She bowed her head low. "Principal Lemasters said you may discipline me additionally if you feel it is appropriate."

"Ah, did he now."

John took the scarlet punishment form from the girl and studied it. It stated her name (Peyton Long), age (18), crime (absenteeism), and the recommended correction (12 strokes).

"Then we will add on six for being a perpetual offender," he growled, throwing the note in feigned disgust onto his desk. Inside, he was thrilled. Last time it had been a mere eight for being off school grounds at lunch without permission. He'd managed to up that to ten, but how he'd longed to truly beat this young lovely. She took the cane so well, brave and composed, without all the fuss of most girls, and her fully mature bottom was a joy to punish. He could hardly wait to administer a stout eighteen!

It was a somber Peyton who removed her jacket and folded it neatly into a stack by the door.