Finishing school

Trixie’s heart pounded as she followed the lady down the gravel path toward the main school building. She could feel the lingering heat between her thighs from the bus ride’s unwanted arousal.

Her chaperone indifferently introduced herself. “I’m Nurse Hendricks, Miss Humpsalot. You’ll see me often—discipline and health are my domain. Keep up, and don’t dawdle girl,” her resting bitch face was unrelenting.

As they passed a sprawling lawn, a burly groundskeeper raking leaves caught Trixie’s eye. “That’s Groundskeeper Willy,” Hendricks said curtly.

Willy’s muscular frame strained against his work shirt, his calloused hands gripping the rake, but it was the distinct outline of his cock—extending thickly halfway to his knee in tight work pants—that made Trixie’s breath catch. Her pussy pulsed, moistening under his gaze, humiliating arousal and shame making her heart beat quicken. She hated it, hated this body’s response, but the lawyer in her noted his lingering look, a potential ally in this twisted school.

As they paused Willy nodded, his Scottish accent thick and warm. “Hello there my wee lassie,” he said, his grin wide, his eyes glinting with mischief. The scent of tobacco clung to him, sharp and familiar, sparking a pang of need in Trixie.

She remembered smoking, the burn of cigars in her throat, a piece of her old life. “Got a cigarette?” she asked, her soprano voice bold despite Hendricks’ presence.

The nurse’s scowl deepened. “Proper ladies don’t smoke, Miss Humpsalot. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Willy’s grin didn’t falter and as Hendricks turned away, he winked and nodded, mouthing, “I’ll be seein’ ya, lassie.”

Trixie’s pulse quickened—she knew where to find cigarettes… and… maybe more? What would the aptly named Willy ask in return for his favour? She wondered. But she could really use a smoke.

They kept walking, Trixie’s petite legs hurrying to match Hendricks’ stride, her skirt riding up, her pussy still wet from Willy’s gaze. As they entered the main building, a noticeboard caught her eye, plastered with flyers for excursions and clubs. Hendricks didn’t slow, but Trixie’s lawyer instincts urged her to scan it—information was power, and she needed every edge if she was to escape this IVR.

“Hurry up girl. No dawdling!”