Schoolgirl’s Dress Code Discipline

Schoolgirl’s Dress Code Discipline by St Francis

Introduction, You must be of legal age to read. Nothing in this work of fiction condones or is meant to encourage any illegal or immoral behavior in real life. Fantasies and roleplays are not reality.


“Annabel Howard to the principal’s office. Ms. Howard, please come to the principal’s office. Thank you.” The crackly speaker clicked off, ending Mrs. Fisk’s monotone announcement. Annabel felt the eyes of her classmates on her. Her tummy knotted as heat began to rush into her arms, shoulder, and face—the telltale signs of her body growing flush.

“You better go, Anna,” her teacher said.

“It’s Annabel,” she muttered under her breath as she stood from her desk and left through the classroom door.


This was the third time in as many weeks Annabel was summoned to Principal Denton’s office. The last two times had been for dress code infractions. The first time she understood, much as she found the notion of a dress code bizarre. She had been wearing a very low-cut tank top, and when she saw Mr. Brown, the mid-year hire just out of college, she had pulled her jean shorts up so the bottom of her ass hung out when he walked by her. She felt Mr. Brown’s head turn, his gaze tracking her jiggling ass cheeks. A self-satisfied grin crept into the corners of her mouth as her pussy gushed into the tiny thong she’d been wearing. But despite letting him perv out on her teen body, Mr. Brown narced! And Annabel had found herself face-to-face with Principal Denton.

Denton had alternated between chewing her out and shaking his head in disappointment. Her tummy was knotted the whole time from the shame of being caught, exposed. At moments she could barely hear his baritone voice over a whooshing hum in her ears. Not that she minded looking at him. He was handsome in his broad-shouldered, domineering way. Handsome but terrifying. And face to face with Principal Denton in his office, it was mostly the terror that consumed Annabel.

Today she was wearing a normal sundress. She was showing almost no cleavage, and it came down past her knees. It didn’t stop boys from checking out how the fabric hugged her hips or how her butt wiggled when she walked, but it wasn’t cause to get called out of class.


Annabel reached the now-familiar administrative office door, took a breath, and went inside. Mrs. Fisk looked up over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You can go right in, Ms. Howard.” Annabel walked right past her and knocked on Principal Denton’s door.

“Come in,” his baritone announced.

Annabel opened the door to find Principal Denton looking down at an array of papers on his desk. The desk lamp’s light just barely caught the stubble on his shaved head.


He looked up, at first with recognition, and then with something else. “Ah, Annabel. Have a seat.” She did, planting her cushiony bottom in the chair across from Principal Denton. His eyes lingered on her, his lips slightly open to show off his teeth. ”Do you know why I called you in today?”

“No,” she said. His gaze was hungry. She felt her pulse quicken. She rubbed her thighs together gently, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He asked sternly.

“N-no, sir,” she replied.

“I wanted to make sure you were abiding by your dress code,” he said with a chilling smile. “Think of it as a pop quiz.”

Her pulse slowed. It was just a check! And she was dressed primly. She’d make it through.

“And I’m OK, right? Look, it’s at my knees and everything.”


Principal Denton’s eyes traced up from Annabel’s knees, along the curve of her hip into her waist. She felt him linger on her tits before he finally locked eyes with her again. Her nipples hardened under his scrutiny.

“Maybe. Stand up.” She did. “Now come here.”

Once again, her pulse quickened. “Where,” she asked, her voice anxious and breathy.

“To me. Come around the desk.” She swallowed and complied.


Now she stood before him while he remained sitting in his desk chair. Even sitting, he was as tall as she was standing.
Principal Denton’s hand grabbed her hip and traced down her thigh to the hem of her sundress. Fuck, she thought. She could feel the dampness of her own pussy on her thighs. His touch was getting her wet.

“Seems alright,” he said, as if speaking to himself. His hand traced around the hem to the other side before his fingers closed around it. Annabel’s knees trembled and grew weak.

“It’s ok, right?” She asked again. He grinned up at her and started to raise her dress. “M-Mr. Denton—”

“You will address me properly, young lady,” he barked, cutting her off. She silenced immediately.

“Y-yes, P-p-principal, Denton, Sir,” she stammered.


He raised her dress up to mid-thigh. She felt so bare like this. Her heart was pounding. Was he going to do it again?

“Now what will we find,” he mulled. She looked down at his hand on her dress, on her body, as he exposed her thong-covered pussy. He looked up at her, the tip of his tongue peeking out to lick his lips. “Tasteful,” he sneered. Then, “I can smell how wet you are.”

“I’m not—” She started, but immediately clammed up when Principal Denton’s other hand arced out to the juicy patch at the front of her panties.

“Not what, Anna?” He asked. His fingers traced the slit of her cunt, pressing her wetness into her. She shuddered as he touched her. Like she always did.


“Please, don’t, Mr. Denton, not again—” Her memory churned vividly over the second time she had been in his office. What he had done to her. But the memory was cut short. This time, swiftly, he stood up, towering over her. Before she knew it, he had her bent over his desk.

One his hands had her pinned, right between her shoulderblades, against the cold wood of the desk. His other flipped her dress right up over her ass, the thong nestled between her cheeks, her bare bottom exposed. With a stinging clap, he spanked her. Hard. She yelped.

“I told you, Anna, to address me properly.” A thwacking blow stung her other ass cheek.

“Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir,” she cried.

“That’s better, Anna.” Still pinned by her neck, Anna was helpless as Principal Denton’s big hand rubbed and groped her round ass. “You brought me such a nice present today. Good girl. I always want you to wear panties like this.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” she said. She felt weak. And hot. Her body felt so hot.

“It’s so much easier this time, isn’t it? Isn’t it better when you’re a good girl, Anna?”

“It’s Annabel,” her mouth offered before she realized she was speaking.


SMACK! His hand stung her ass again.

“Ow!” She yelped. He hit her again. She felt her body quake under the blow. And again. And again. She writhed, but there was nowhere to go. Her ass felt stung and hot as he paddled her with his palm.

“You will address me properly, young lady.” He spanked her again. “Do you understand?” And again. Her ass jiggled with every blow.

“Yes, Sir! Yes, Principal Denton, Sir! I understand! I’m sorry, Sir!” She exclaimed, as if each smack on her ass forced the words out of her.


He stopped hitting her. Then she felt his hand pull her panties to the side. She gasped at the sudden feeling of cool office air on her exposed, pink pussy.

“Oh wouldya look at this,” he proclaimed gleefully. “Does getting spanked get my little slut excited?”

“Yes, Sir.” She knew better than to question him by now. And she knew it was true. If she’d been wet when she walked in, now that he had manhandled her, she was soaked.

“Good girl. My little slut should always get wet when I touch her.”

She felt his fingers split her cunt open. How they pushed and pried. She heard the gushing of her treacherous pussy as he took her. “Oh, Sir,” she moaned. “You shouldn’t . . . oh fuck you shouldn’t . . . .”

“But doesn’t it feel good, Annabel? Being my slut? Getting that drenched pussy finger-fucked over my desk like a good girl?”

“Yes, Sir!” He was pumping his digits in and out of her helpless body. It felt better than any boy’s cock she had taken. Bigger, too.


“Tell me, Annabel,” he breathed into her ear, the warm air tickling as he violated her cunt with his hand.
“It feels good, Sir. Oh it feels so good when you finger me. Fuck!” She felt like she would cum like this. She was helpless, ashamed. But she didn’t care. The wonderful, abusive pleasure in her cunt was all that mattered. She pushed her hips back at him, her hair a mess over where her head was laid over the desk.

“That’s a good girl, baby. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

“Yes, Sir! Yes! Please keep doing it to me.”

“Keep doing what, slut. Tell me.”


“Keep finger-fucking me!” SLAP! He smacked her ass hard this time as he pumped her slick pussy. She loved it. And it was just his fingers. That made it OK, she thought. This wasn’t too far.

“Beg like a good bitch,” he snarled, spitting the last word. His aggression almost made her cream on the spot.

“Please, Sir, please keep doing me! Please! Fuck your slut, Sir!”

“OK, slut.”

His hand left her neck and she heard the clinking of a belt. Then she felt something so much bigger than fingers. She felt his hands dig into her hips. She felt him pull her thong down to her ankles.


“You dirty bitch. You’re dripping.” He rubbed his cockhead up and down her pussy lips and started to push into her.

“Oh, Sir! No! Not your cock! You can’t . . . oh, you can’t . . .” She was panting like a bitch in heat, the pressure of his cock splitting her open, tearing her words of protest from her. “You’re too big! You can’t—guhhh!” Her protest failed her, cut short as his dick tore deeper into her pussy. It was huge. It hurt. But her cunt clamped on his dick all the same, like it was trying to savor his brutalizing cock.

“You told me to fuck you, slut. So it’s time you get FUCKED!” He cried, slamming his dick up her cunt.


“Buhhh!” She grunted as his dick knocked the wind out of her helpless body. He held her there, impaled, balls deep, bent over a desk with her dress over her spanked, reddened ass. He was using her. She was a toy for him.

“Good girl, slut.” He drew halfway out her cunt and pumped his dick back up her, balls deep once more. She moaned. “Yeah, good girl. Take it, Annabel.” She grunted again.

“Sir, you can’t—oh G*d—fuck me. Oh!” As her needy pussy drenched his cock more, she struggled less. It hurt less. The scales were shifting; less and less pain, more and more bliss. With every thrust, her body accepted him. It was getting easier. She was getting easier. She knew it. And the thought made her hot. In her mind, in her pussy, in her whole body. She felt so hot.

“You said ‘Fuck me,'” he retorted cooly.

“I meant—Siiir—I meant your fingers . . . oh fuck . . . .” Her panting kept up as his cock hammered into her.

“You didn’t say that, slut. And we say what we mean, don’t we?”

“Ye-yes, Sir,” she moaned.


Annabel found it hard to care anymore. She was getting fucked. She was getting fucked! The thought reverberated in her head. Over the principal’s desk! Like a whore! Like the dirty schoolgirl whore she’d wanted to be for so long. She’d long been touching herself to things like this for years—dirty stories and videos of schoolgirls and the like being punished and used. It was her secret shame. She’d masturbated about fantasies like this so many times, about older men violating girls like her. It was just a fantasy, she told herself.

Now, Denton had her mounted like she was a fleshlight made for him. Like she was a whore. His whore.

“Fuck me, Sir!”


He slapped her ass again as he used her. “Good girl!” The sound of his hand impacting her ass echoed against the walls, rang in her ears. She loved that slap.

“Please fuck me! Yes!” His cock felt so good. That big, warm, raw—wait, she panicked, was he fucking her raw?! “Sir, what about a condom? We need—oh fuck—we need—you can’t . . . .”

He leaned down and bit her shoulder as he fucked her, in and out. The wet, slapping noises of raw schoolgirl fucking filled his office. “Of course we don’t need a condom. You’re a good girl for Sir, aren’t you? That means you take it bare.
And you get to feel all this dick rearranging your insides.” He was fully stroking in and out of her between his words, punctuating them by almost withdrawing from her impaled pussy before driving home, battering her cunt.

“But we need—Sir, please, we—”

“You know you love this, whore” Denton spat, not ceasing his thrusting violation for a moment. “You love feeling raw, older cock wrecking you. You don’t want some stupid rubber between us. You want raw Daddy dick, don’t you?” His words were just like the filth she read when she touched herself, as was how he took her, how much bigger than her he was . . . it was everything she had ever wanted while finger-fucking herself.

“Yes, Sir! Yes Daddy! Fuck me raw! Fuck me!”


Somehow, Denton’s fucking got deeper. “Take this bareback dick, slut!”

“Oh, no, Sir! It’s too much! I can feel you in my stomach! Fuck! Fuck me!”

She felt his cock grow even larger. She knew what was coming. She had gotten herself off to enough videos of twitching, orgasming cocks. “I’m cumming, slut! Fucking take every drop!” He kept his cock lodged against her cervix as she felt those pulsing, warm shots of jizz staining her teen pussy. This was too much. Her cunt clamped down as she came all over his dick, as if her body needed to drink up every drop of cockcream it could drain from Denton—from her Sir, from her Daddy.

“Yes! Breed me! Own me!” As her words left her mouth, she felt him pound his still-spewing dick into her, rough and deep. Her eyes rolled back.

His body was draped over hers. She felt his weight on her back as he kept his cock firmly planted in her. Letting it drain. Letting her body absorb his spunk.

She didn’t know how long he had her like that, but eventually he peeled himself off her. He pulled his half-hard cock from her sore pussy. She grunted.


“Look at that,” Denton’s voice dripped with awe. She felt a huge glob of cum gush out her cunt as he said it. Then she heard a camera shutter. She looked back over her shoulder and saw he had his phone out. He was taking pictures of her. Of her bent over, bred body. She felt herself smile reflexively. It was proof. Proof she was the cumdump slut she’d always fantasized about being.

The school bell rang over the PA speaker in Denton’s office. “Now,” he said, “get yourself together and get to your next class.”

She complied. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.


Post-copulation—now that she was no longer being used like a whore—her shame set back in. What had she done? What had he done? What if she got pregnant? But she made no sound. She pulled her dress down and straightened her sex hair as best she could. She moved to the office door before realizing.

“Sir,” she breathed meekly, “what about my panties?”

He held them up for her to see. “These are mine now.” His gaze held hers as he inhaled. “Maybe you’ll get them back next time.” She gulped. “I’ll check on you again soon, Annabel.”

She left. Mrs. Fisk was staring at her computer through her horn-rimmed glasses. She paid Annabel no regard.


On the way to class, Annabel felt even more cum spilling out of her. She hoped no one could see it, but she felt like passersby in the hall, be they students or teachers, must be able to smell the sex on her.

She sat in her next class. She glanced around the room to see if anyone was looking at her. No one was. Her classmates were all absorbed in their phones or conversations.

Class started, and the minutes ticked on. Annabel’s mind was hazy. Eventually, she raised her hand and asked for permission to use the restroom. She was allowed, and she made her way out and down the hall.

When she got to the bathroom stall, she sat on the toilet and immediately dug her fingers into her sore pussy, feeling what seemed like an endless flow of cum in her. “Fuck,” she muttered. As she masturbated in the school bathroom to another orgasm, she heard the plopping sound of cum droplets hitting the toilet water below her. It made her feel filthy. And that made her cum, right there, on her own cum-covered fingers.


St Francis

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