She's surprisingly cordial.

The differences in appearance between this stunning woman and the sever Headmistress you met yesterday are so many that you almost can't believe it. She has the same clear eyes and delicate cheek bones, but unlike yesterday when her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, this morning it hangs loosely over her left shoulder, loosely gathered with a silver hair band. Her narrow waist that had been hugged by her tailored skirt and jacket now looks even tinier with only the sheer silk tied tightly around it and although the blue robe is pulled tightly around her top exposing only a small triangle of skin at her neck, it is short enough to give you a good look at her athletic legs and almost all of her long slender arms.

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 know that she has smooth thighs, and that her small feet are bare and perfectly shaped under her slender calves and ankles.

"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. You sit in the Queen Anne's claw-toothed chair admiring the burr walnut veneer of the backrest before you settle your frame into it.

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. Her unmade bed, you notice before you bring your eyes back to you hostess is much smaller than yours, and like her office furniture, far more feminine in its design than your solid maple set.

"Well, Mr. Hawkfeather?" She 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?"

"I just discovered yesterday that the Pink Rose Academy doesn't have an updated Code of Conduct." You begin your explanation.

"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. As far as you can tell, Ms. Naylor is either completely naked or wearing very brief panties under that thin silk robe. You cross your legs hoping to hide the growing erection that seems to be plaguing you lately.

"But Ms. Naylor," you push a little, "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 small but very 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."