Perverse administration

The students packed up their things and bowed to the professor as they left. Izachi glanced at her; she gestured for him to exit.

• Gaigin, you'll learn to keep quiet from now on. You'll be quiet when I ask questions, understand ? I nodded.
• Alright, get dressed. Go with Azachi. Use this afternoon to learn. I have a challenging program planned for you.

I lowered my eyes, my trembling hands gathering my clothes scattered on the cold floor. The fabric burned my fingers, each rustle of textile echoing like a betrayal in the oppressive silence of the empty room.

Azachi waited by the door, his impassive gaze betraying a glimmer of unhealthy curiosity. When I tried to pass in front of him, he briefly blocked the way with his forearm, his warm breath brushing my damp temple and lifting a strand of my red hair.

• Come on, let's go see Mr. Mistuchi, the principal. He wants to see you; the headmaster wants him to test your skills.

My heart was pounding as Azachi guided me firmly toward the principal's office. His fingers left their mark on my bare skin, as if my skin already bore the imprint of their institution. The polished parquet floor chilled the soles of my feet with every step, the shiver running up my legs, still trembling from the exam.

The deserted hallway amplified the clatter of our footsteps, each echo resonating like a countdown.

He knocked on a door where a voice in Japanese ordered us in. A man with a gaze as cold as a snake's, in a contemptuous tone, said:

• Ah, there you are. She's the Urichunfu. I grimaced at the insult.

"Yes, Mr. Principal," Azachi replied, giving me a slight push forward. Mitsuchi's office smelled of stale cigars and aged leather, a scent that clung to the back of my throat. His reptilian eyes slowly scanned me, lingering on every exposed curve, while his slender fingers drummed on the varnished wood.

• Come here and undress, so I can verify that you're physically up to the task, he ordered in a husky voice.

I felt my knees buckle under the weight of the command, but Azachi's insistent pressure on my back propelled me forward. The leather of the principal's chair creaked as he leaned forward, his half-closed eyes betraying a calculated fascination. My fingers first brushed against the neckline of my dress, the fabric already damp with perspiration clinging to my knuckles.

A metallic click sounded as the zipper gave way, millimeter by millimeter, revealing my goosebump-covered skin under the scrutinizing gaze.

The dress slid down my shoulders with a knowing rustle of silk, first revering the trembling curve of my collarbones. The air conditioning bit my bare skin as the fabric gathered at my waist in a final, defiant gesture. The headmaster's fingers froze suddenly on his desk, his yellowed nails leaving pale marks in the polish.

"Lower," he growled, a glistening trickle of saliva at the corner of his thin lips.

My fingers nervously gripped the waistband of my dress, the elastic resisting for a moment before sliding down my hips with a dull rustle. The fabric cascaded around my ankles, forming a perfect circle on the polished parquet floor where my trembling silhouette was reflected.

The cold air enveloped my bare skin, every pore pricking under the principal's gaze, his pupils slowly dilating.

My nakedness was coldly examined by the principal, who rose and ran a finger along my curves, nodding his head.

His icy fingers traced a burning furrow along my hip, stopping at the protruding bone with calculated pressure. A low grunt escaped him as his other hand roughly lifted my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his—black slits glistening with oil.

Open. The order cracked like a whip. My jaw trembled before lowering, revealing the moist interior of my mouth under his scrutiny.

His yellowed nails scraped at my lower gum as an approving grunt escaped him. The smell of stale tobacco and sour sake filled my nostrils as he leaned his face closer, his drooping eyelids fluttering with clinical interest.

"The tongue," he ordered in a hoarse voice, and I let my tongue slide slowly over my lower lip, the muscle reddening under the harsh fluorescent light.

Not bad for a gaijin. He ran his right hand over my left breast and the other between my thighs, exploring my intimacy without restraint.

His thick fingers crushed my clitoris with methodical brutality, the nail of his middle finger scraping my sensitive flesh with a precision that made me shudder. A trickle of precum from my arousal began to flow.

"You're excited, that's good," he teased, suddenly pushing two fingers even deeper inside me.

His fingers slid in further, tickling my vulva until a gag shook my chest.

I felt his fingers push in deeper, his nails scraping against my vaginal wall with surgical precision. A strangled moan escaped my throat, and warm saliva trickled down my chin.

The principal twisted his wrist a quarter turn, stretching my sensitive tissues until a sharp pain radiated to my lower abdomen.

"Please, sir, you're hurting me," he said, slapping my breast with his hand and scolding me.

"Shut up," he said, adding another finger, pushing the others even deeper into my sex.

Pain mingled with a humiliating sensation of fullness as his knuckles tore apart my tender flesh. A wet gurgle betrayed each movement of his fingers, the air thick with the obscene sound of my own submission.

"Lean on the desk," I obeyed when he abruptly withdrew his fingers, making me wince, as I leaned on the desk, arms outstretched. I heard his pants slide down behind me; he presented his penis to my anus and thrust into it.

With a sharp, forceful movement, he rammed it in to the hilt, tearing a hoarse cry from my throat. Pain flashed in white behind my eyelids, each forced fold of flesh igniting under the assault. His hands gripped my hips, his nails digging half-moons into my pale skin as he began a jerky, rhythmic thrust.

I felt the brutal friction of each thrust, my muscles contracting in vain around his member, which burned like iron.

• Hmm, yes, she's as soft as a bird's nest, it goes in like butter, the students will love it. Uzachi smiled at him, saying,

• I told you, she likes being treated like a female dog, that thing. The principal nodded and began to thrust.

His raucous laughter echoed against the back of my neck as his hips slapped against my buttocks in a jerky rhythm. Each thrust tore a gasp from my throat, my saliva dripping in sticky strands onto the varnished wood of the desk.

"Look how she's contracting," he growled, digging a hand into my hair and twisting my head toward the students. Uzachi leaned forward, his bright eyes following the trail of sweat between my breasts, taking the opportunity to pull my red hair deeper.

The leather desk creaked under my nails as he yanked my head back by the hair, exposing my throbbing throat to the class. A trickle of bile rose in my mouth as his member tore deeper into my flesh, each thrust now marked by a wet smack of skin on skin.

It hurt, and yet I was becoming increasingly aroused. I was a sex doll to him, good for nothing but being taken, but I liked it now. I had crossed the threshold of shame. The principal quickened his pace, his hips striking my flesh with the regularity of pistons, each impact making our sweaty skin slap together. His hand left my hair to wrap around my throat, compressing my windpipe just enough to make black spots dance at the edge of my vision.

"Look how her anus contracts with every thrust," he growled, forcing my head toward Uzachi, whose nostrils quivered, mesmerized by the point where our bodies met.

The principal's ragged breath quickened against the back of my neck, his fingers driving violent circles into the flesh of my hips. Another thrust, even deeper, drew a strangled moan from my throat as his pubic hair rubbed against my reddened buttocks.

• She cries out in pleasure and pain, but look how her little hole closes every time I pull out, he sneered, deliberately slowing down, prolonging the perverse agony.

With a sharp thrust, he almost completely withdrew his member, letting my throbbing anus contract around the void before plunging back in with a single, brutal movement. A wet gurgle erupted between us, the obscene sound echoing beneath the principal's ragged gasps.

His fingers tightened around my throat, cutting off my breath just enough to blur my vision with tears and suffocation.

• Oh yes, it's so good, his anus is so welcoming, you like it, little one, don't you?

To my shame, I confessed.

• Oh yes, sir, thank you. Ah, yes.

I felt an orgasm coming; it was rare for me to feel pleasure emanating from that place. The principal groaned as he felt my muscles contract around him, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, leaving purplish marks.

"Ah, the little slut's going to come from behind," he sneered, quickening his thrusts, each stroke making his skin slap against my reddened buttocks.

I felt the orgasm rise like a wave of napalm, burning away my shame to leave only animalistic pleasure. I felt my anus tighten around his cock as he ejaculated inside me.

His final pulsations tore at my rectum as he emptied himself inside me, each burning spurt lashing my inner walls. I felt his semen trickle down my trembling thighs, mixed with beads of sweat and saliva that fell from my parted mouth.

The principal remained buried inside me, his fingers barely loosening their grip on my throat as I gasped for air, gulping it down in gasping gasps.

I was having trouble regaining my composure.

• Well, she's not bad, she has potential. Get her dressed and take her where we agreed. We need to make this investment profitable.

The headmaster withdrew with a wet sound, his semen trickling warmly down my trembling thighs. A shiver ran through me as his member finally slid out, leaving my throbbing anus gaping and aching. His fingers pressed one last cruel squeeze against my throat before releasing their grip, leaving me gasping against the desk, my saliva pooling in a murky stain on the polished wood.