Mostly, but it's not easy

She has the same clear eyes and delicate cheek bones that you can't get out of your thoughts. Unlike when you first met in her office when her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, or last night when it fanned out on her pillow, this morning her brown locks hang casually over her left shoulder, loosely gathered with a silver hair band. The narrow waist that you had so admired looks perfect with the sheer silk belt tied tightly around it. The blue robe is pulled tightly around her round breasts, exposing only a small triangle of skin at her neck but short enough to give you another look at her athletic legs.

With a Herculean effort you pull your eyes back to her face quickly enough that she doesn't think you are some kind of pervert checking her out. You may no longer be looking at them, but you remember clearly how her smooth thighs, shapely calves and her small bare feet had looked raised up high as she fingered herself.

"I'm sorry Ms. Naylor." You stammer awkwardly feeling completely out of your element, "I can come back later."

"Come in Mr. Hawkfeather," she gestures to the seat by the window. "It's been my experience than when someone comes to my rooms at 8:20 on a Sunday morning, and says the matter is important, it probably is." Her office is set up much like yours with a desk, a couch and chair, but unlike your room or the furniture in her main office, the pieces in this room are exquisitely delicate. You've done a little hobby woodworking and you know that these are far beyond your ability to reproduce. The Queen Anne's claw-toothed chair has a burr walnut backrest and you take a minute to admire it before settling your oversized frame onto it. This also gives you a moment to adjust the bulge in your pants that has begun to form.

The chair is set under the tall windows that reach all the way to the high ceiling, and from this position you can see into her bed chamber though the partially closed sliding door. You refuse to even glance in that direction and bring your eyes back to you hostess before last nights peep show overrides all your senses.

"Well, Mr. Hawkfeather?" Diana Naylor positions herself neatly on the couch under the bookshelf, carefully pulling her robes over her thighs to cover as much of her legs as she can. "What brings you to my rooms this early on a Sunday?" She is as elegant and refined as her furniture and you feel every bit the bull in a china shop that you know you are. An interloper in a domain that is as alien as another planet.

"I just discovered yesterday," You begin, reciting the words you practiced earlier this morning, "that the Pink Rose Academy doesn't have an updated Code of Conduct."

"Ah yes," Ms. Naylor seems almost relieved to hear what's bothering you. "It's true. We are in the process of rewriting the Code, but in the meantime have found an elegant work-around." You nod carefully wondering about this 'work-around' of hers.

"So students are no longer paddled at the Academy."

"Oh Heavens, No!" She seems agitated by even the question. "We have a Court of Peers who evaluate the severity of the infraction and assign appropriate consequences for those acts that require them."

"Who is on this Court?" You ask with sudden interest, wondering if there was way out of this quandary after all.

"Representatives from both classes and a faculty advisor." Students judging their friends and classmates?! No wonder this school was plagued with discipline problems. Ms. Naylor however does not pick up on your skepticism, she is studying you carefully, "We lost our faculty advisor last year and I was hoping you'd take her spot."

"Do the parents of our students know that this is our Discipline Policy." You stall for time unwilling to immediately shoot down her attempt at a compromise. It is difficult to stay focused as you spend more and more of your energy trying not to stare at the growing 'V' in the gown covering her thighs.

"Oh I'm sure they must. It's not a secret Mr. Hawkfeather." The gap grows even wider exposing a tantalizing swath of pale skin. You cross your legs hoping to hide the growing erection that refuses to ease. You know better than anyone in this academy how smooth Diana's inner thighs are and how neatly trimmed her chestnut curls are.

"Ms. Naylor," you push a little to keep your treacherous thought from wandering off topic, "I've been over the information provided by this school to the parents and students, and there is no mention of this Court of Peers. What we tell them is that infractions are punished by specific numbers of paddlings."

"So you believe we should send a note to the parents?" She leans forward to get a pen off her desk and the top of the robe falls open revealing a round and firm breast only partially covered by a layer of black lace. Perhaps it is the tension you feel being in the presence of this barely dressed beautiful young woman, perhaps it really is what's best for the school or perhaps there is some more personal, perverse reason, but whatever the psychology behind it you put yourself directly into the line of fire.

"No Ms. Naylor," You look her straight in the eye as the gap in her gown closes. "I believe we should enforce the code as it is written."