What kind of schoolgirl I'd want

“I asked you what kind of school girl you'd want?” Sensing my reservations, Alison waves off all my objections before I could even start. “For the sake of this little fantasy,” she tells me, “let's agree that you never got married and that all the students in question are of legal age.” The last bit is a bit of a stretch, but no more than many of the stories I read online so who am I to argue.

“Last week you had me pick out my favorite book, Mr. P. You wanted me to choose the fantasy that got me most hot and bothered; well, this week it's your turn.” Alison senses my weakening and pushes even harder. “Think of it as a build-your-own-fantasy where you get to choose what you want.” She pauses long enough to sip some of the excellent coffee, and then turns the full **** of her attention back on me. “Do you want me to be the sexy cheerleader with a reputation for sleeping around or a naïve Catholic schoolgirl whose never even kissed a boy?” She pauses long enough to let me think over the possibilities before spinning out some more choices. “A shy, love-struck student who is hiding a massive crush for her teacher or a conniving bitch planning to trade her hot young body for a better grade?”

“Wow, Alison, I'm not sure -”

“Come on, Mr. P,” I get cut off before I can even finish my thought. “We both know you get off on young women.” After what we shared last night in the hotel, that's a pretty hard to assertion to deny. “I just want to know what kind of girl you'd like so I can make it perfect.”

“Let me think this over, Angel.” I smile weakly, “there's a lot to process.”

“That's fair, Mr. P,” She pauses as a new thought strikes her, “you don't even have to be the student's teacher, you could be a principal or the school disciplinarian. Maybe you want to bend the naughty girl over your desk and paddle her backside...” Alison is clearly getting excited by this new thought, “You could pull the poor girl into your office for something big like being drunk at a dance or as small as a suspected dress code violation. You'd have to inspect every aspect of her uniform...”

There is a brief pause in conversation as the waiter arrives with the check and I pay, but as we walk together back to where the valet is waiting with my car the pretty coed takes my arm in hers and she pulls me close.

“Ok, Mr. P, here's the deal.” She smiles wickedly, “you have until tomorrow to make your choice. Starting Monday morning you'll get to see that hot young student prancing around your house for a week.”