A fellow teacher with a friendly 'hello'

Standing outside your door is a woman that you almost mistake for a student. You are not great at judging ages, but if she is even 25 years old you'd be surprised. The young woman is dressed in a short sleeveless sundress with flamboyant swaths of bright reds and yellows that seem to move even as she stands perfectly still.

"Oh, Hi!" Her smile is as bright as her outfit, and although she tries to appear casual and relaxed, you can tell that her blonde wavy hair has been carefully brushed and her full lips have had a recent application of red lipstick. In her manicured hands is a small tin of cookies, but she makes no attempt to give them to you as she scans you up and down like a hungry cat eying a goldfish. You return the favour, taking in her tanned skin, toned legs and the flat stomach under the swell of her full breasts that are only partially hidden by the low cut top.

"Are you the new dean?" she asks, her hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. You wonder if it the fact that you are wearing a slightly damp T-shirt that has at least a half dozen smudges from your cleaning, or because she wasn't expecting a blond with blue eyes to answer the door.

"Yes," you smile back. "I guess I am." Extending your hand you introduce yourself. "Kyle Hawkfeather." Her hand feels warm and soft in yours, and she makes no attempt to withdraw it after your handshake.

"Monica Fulton." She says as she hands you the cookies. "I teach French and Spanish." You wonder what Ms. 'we have a dress code here at the Pink Rose' Naylor would think of this look from one of her youngest and probably prettiest teachers.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ma'am." She brushes a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, clearly used to the effect that her good looks have on men, and not at all afraid to use it when she wants to.

"I see you're making yourself at home." Miss Fulton peeks into the room behind you, "I've only been here a couple years, so I never got the chance to see the inside of Ms. Marshall's dreaded office." The young language teacher is clearly fishing for an invitation to come in, but you have nothing pressing to do and she did bring you cookies.

"Yes Ma'am." You tell her as you step out of the doorway. "Would you like to come in?"

"If you're not too busy. But Kyle," she rests her palm on your chest, "you have got to stop calling me Ma'am. I feel like that old bat, Ms. Naylor each time you do it." She gracefully paces around the room like a dancer on a stage. "Have you met the boss yet?" she smirks with a nod back towards the main building.

"Yes we just met. She seems rather serious."

"Tight assed you mean," Monica laughs. "She thinks she's the queen of the place, and she was really annoyed when the decision was made to hire men." She gets to where you left the old paddle sitting on the bookshelf and you see her hesitate just a second before she traces her fingertips along the dark polished wood. You can't tell if she is interested or horrified by the relic left behind by the school's last Dean of Students.

"She said something like that." You chuckle as you sit on the edge of the desk watching your visitor with considerable interest. "She thinks we'll be a distraction to some of the students."

"You'll be a distraction alright, Mr. Hawkfeather." She turns back to face you as she licks her lips provocatively. "Word already got out about you and the others. Although," she hesitates as she looks you over again, "I think most of the girls are expecting a scowling red-skin with face paint, not a dimpled California surfer-dude with perfect teeth." You simply shrug off the implied question; once a day is more than enough to have to explain your history. Miss Fulton doesn't seem to mind your lack of response and goes right on chattering.

"Don't get the idea these are a bunch of sweet little innocents, Kyle." She warns you as her hand returns to rest on the paddle. "This here is exactly what some of these spoiled bitches need, you'll see."

"Thanks for the warning," you smile uneasily, not at all sure that that is what Senator Williams had in mind when he pushed you into this mess. Both your father and grandpa believed in a good walloping when it was called for, and you'd received more than a few when you were younger; but these were different times and the pristine debutants that were enrolled in this school were not likely to respond well to the paddle.

However, if this language teacher had flirted with the Colonel anything like she was with you, you bet she was the one that he was thinking about when he told you some of the staff needed a good fucking. Noting the sleekness of her toned body and full breasts as she preens, you decide that this wouldn't be much of a hardship. The differences between the prim Ms. Naylor and the vivacious Miss Fulton are too many to list, but you wouldn't mind investigating these differences more fully while you were here this year.

"Are you staying in one of the cottages?" Monica asks and then continues on without letting you correct her misinformation. "You're so lucky. I'm stuck in the faculty building." She nods her head indicating the general direction. "Only the senior female teachers have cottages, I guess they're too old to take advantage of the privacy like Alice, Christina and I would." She laughs throatily, looking at you with open interest.

"I wonder if Ms. Naylor fully thought out her decision to give you and the other men cottages." She smiles at you coyly. "I know she wanted you far away so you're not a distraction, but did she really mean to give you that much privacy?"