The Gentle Headmaster

Having committed her offense mere feet away from the main office entrance, it wasn’t a long trip to the administrative areas in the back. Wendy could practically feel the near-weightless pawn now stashed in her breast pocket; it had been the proof that she didn’t calculate for every reading of her punishments, and now she was off to find out what else she hadn’t considered.

The principal’s office is past Catherine Hatts’ office, and Wendy only tenses more against the Bulldog’s strong, guiding hand as she’s ushered into this unknown chamber. Wendy only knew of this layout at all from freshman year when Hatts was (against all good sense) the sponsor for the Chess Club and had her "chess spirit rallies" in her office. But this other room, the fabled principal's office? Naught but the stuff of high school nightmares. Here in this fabled place where no good student found themselves, where Wendy thought herself too clever and careful to ever be caught, waited the man she only ever saw in auditorium presentations. There, sitting behind the only oak desk in all the public school offices constructed here, framed by education research books older than the students they would teach, sits the salt-and-pepper-haired principal, Mr. Walter Black.

Walter Black was only an imposing figure where he stood: at nearly six and a half feet of height, his visage was soft and round with skin that eagerly sagged in anticipation of old age, though Mr. Black was not yet in his fifties. He was a heavy man, though no yet round, and he had a kind smile and generous, green suits that he favored before all others. “The Toad” was a nickname only the meanest students used, and Wendy couldn’t help but feel that his glittering eyes watched her as a frog might a fly.

The youngest Peppernickel took this all in a terrified stride; "Headmaster" was not this man’s title, but the alien researchers clearly had this foe in mind when they laid that punishment on her. Wendy tried to get some greeting out through clenched teeth, but she still wasn’t quite over the fact that she just flashed some 100 students, including her fellow club member, barely a minute ago.

“Mr. Black!” The middle-aged man jumps with a start at the Bulldog's bark, but she goes on, “We had an incident outside. I think you’re going to want to get ahead of this one before the calls come in.”

“Oh? Oh dear, truly?”

Wendy began to panic as her mind raced at some explanation that these sleepers would accept. “T... That's, um-”

“Ms. Peppernickel just flashed a few dozen students right in front of me.”

Principal Black blinked across his desk at Wendy as her one good eye groped the room for an exit. The two leather-backed chairs in front of the desk that she was **** to stand between, the nice set of pens and stapler on his desk, the framed degrees on the wall, no windows, no doors besides the one behind them... and nothing she could use, ultimately.

She was trapped.

The supervisor shook his head with a grim frown. “Ms. Peppernickel... ah, from our Chess team, isn't that right?”

Wendy had never spoken to the principal directly like this even once... but apparently her participation in the school teams was enough. “Y-Yes, sir, this is all j-j-just-”

“Ms. Hatts, what sort of record does this young lady have, hmm?”

“I'll have to run it, sir, but this is a very serious-!”

“Of course, of course,” the soft-spoken superior chuckled, waving his hand at nothing, “I don't think we need to involve much more beyond a bit of old-fashioned discipline. I'll talk to Ms. Peppernickel, you just get me her permanent record, please.”

The phrase "old-fashioned discipline" sinks Wendy further into dreading the upcoming test of her will... but that paltry anticipation is eclipsed by the true threat there:

Her permanent record?! Wendy always wondered what tabs the local government kept on her... but this was not how she wanted to find out, and certainly she did not want it amended to bring her even more attention! “S-Sir, please, it won't happen again!” But Wendy already accepted that there's no way that'll be true, not when handing her even a token turns her into a drunk sorority girl. At this rate, someone picking up her pencil for her in class would probably trigger a wardrobe malfunction, so what hope did she have of preventing another incident except by playing the next Gem Ladies round early?

She was so certain she would end up doing it again, in fact, that she felt her shirt loosen near the top... as another button popped off her shirt. She stared down in stunned silence as her new cleavage made itself known... and Hatts' gentle hand on her back becomes a firm grip on her shoulder. Wendy didn't dare look back and up at the Bulldog now.

“Please, Ms. Hatts.” Quietly, and slowly, the hand withdrew... and the office door closed with a metal click, causing Wendy to jump in place. She was alone now... with this massive, threatening drone of the government, of the aliens, of... men. “There... now I don't know what really happened out there, but I bet you do, and I bet the last thing you want to do is talk about it, hmm? Am I right so far?”

Mr. Black stood, and all at once she was reminded of his terrible, looming frame. He was tall for any student of average height; Wendy, meanwhile, was dwarfed by his stature. Carefully his massive body came around the desk as Wendy nervously took in more details: a tray of candies next to his name plate, a multi-picture frame on his desk showing family, some accolades on the credenza behind her, and the large, weathered hands of an administrative **** of municipal government.

“You can speak freely here, Wendy, you're safe,” he somberly whispered.

I can't and I'm not! But nonetheless, she managed, “C-Correct, sir, but not because... erm...”

“It's alright,” he almost cooed as he stood in front of his desk now, now within reach of her. “Being a teenaged girl is probably one of the hardest things a person can do these days, hmm? Adult or not,” he seemed too quick to emphasize.

“That's... possibly true,” Wendy carefully agreed, “and I'll do my best to not be... a bother again-”

“Candy?”

Wendy blinked down, stunned, as he reached behind him without looking and pinched the little bowl of mints and other cheap-looking fare before swinging it between them. He held that bowl of tokens offered... and Wendy gritted her teeth as she felt her body move without her saying so.

She accepted one of the mints, a classic white wheel with strips of ruby painted into it, and tucked it into her shirt pocket along with the pawn. She wanted it about as much as she wanted her hands to once again undo the buttons that remained on her now-flimsy top.

Mr. Black's fingers shakily put the bowl back on his table as he realized what was about to happen. His smile shrunk into a worried frown as he stuttered, “N-Now, M-Miss Wendy, what are you-”

“I-I'm sorry-!”

And out flopped Wendy's pert, sweat-glistening tits, each nipple growing hard under the wide-eyed scrutiny of the giant before her. Her eye squeezed shut as if not to see his reaction... but as she held her shirt open, her knuckles dug under her breasts as if to lift them to ensure they pointed right at her audience, she dared to open her good eye and see what damage had been done.