Thank Heaven for Little Girls

I know this storyline had been done before, probably more times than we can count, but it's kind of fun, so I'd like to give it a shot. Hopefully it's still entertaining.

All characters are over the age of eighteen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there's a better job for a recently divorced middle-aged man, I'd like to know what it is.

Walking down the hallways, I was in control. This was my domain.

"Hi, Mr. Owens," I heard from behind me, and turned to find an attractive brunette smiling at me.

"Miss Addams," I nodded. "Where are you headed?"

"Mr. Hamilton's geography class," she responded, passing me.

"Do you need a map?" I laughed. She paused, and turned to make a sour face at me. Her ample chest was obscured by an armload of books.

"Sir," she giggled, "you're a great Principal, but a lousy comedian!" She continued to walk away, wiggling her ass under her uniform skirt.

"Are you saying I shouldn't quit my day job?" I called after her.

"That's right!" she giggled again, and turned the corner into the classroom, leaving me alone in the hallway. The bell rang, and classes began.

It was early in the day, here at St. Francis Xavier Thomas of the Blessed Sacrament Catholic School for Girls. Grades 9 - 12. 600 students, aged 14 - 19.

600 girls, in plaid skirts and crisp white blouses.

Oh my.

Hey, I'm not a monster. I know that at least five hundred of those are off limits, and I follow that rule to the letter. I have their records. I know how old they all are.

That still leaves a good half of the senior class. Nearly a hundred young women, blossoming into adulthood. By anyone's standards, a target rich environment.

Like Miss Addams, for example. Audrey Louise Addams, age 18. Tall, slender and curvaceous. Star of the volleyball team. Intense competitor. Good student. Mild tease, and according to scuttlebutt, still a virgin, despite her boyfriend's repeated attempts to change that status.

Oh well. The empty halls held little to interest me now, so I decided to head back to my office. Paperwork beckons. I'd come back before lunch.

***

Bureaucratic red tape sucks, and bureaucratic budget red tape sucks even worse. I needed a break, and lunch was approaching. My favourite time of day.

Lunchtime was when the young ladies of St. FXT, BS, CSG let their hair down, often literally. With no boys to muddle the environment, the girls broke into their little cliques, which had the convenient side effect of sorting them for my viewing pleasure. Rarely did the earlier years mix with the seniors, and within those seniors were sub-cliques. Academics, athletes, the cool kids, the science geeks, and my favourite, the sluts.

Yes, even an all-girl Catholic school has sluts, although the term is relative in the absence of boys to act out with. There goes one now.

"Miss Jones?" I said sternly. Even from behind, I could practically hear her roll her eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned halfway, stopping when she was in profile. It was quite a profile, let me tell you. Her hand on her hip, she tilted her head, and took that tone teenage girls have that just aggravates adults instantly. The aggravation almost overpowered my awe.

School uniforms are meant to even the field, so to speak, by eliminating the inevitable competition over style of dress. Being an all-girl school was supposed to eliminate the distraction of the opposite sex.

But girls will be girls, and they will always find a way to separate themselves from the rest of the pack. Thus, skirts got rolled up, socks were rolled down, and blouses were apt to somehow come unbuttoned.

Put a girl like Melissa Jones in that uniform, and conflict was guaranteed.

You see, Melissa was a slut by nature. She may have been an eighteen-year-old senior in a Catholic girl's school, but she was built like Satan's favourite concubine.

"Yes, SIR?" she replied, contempt dripping from her voice.

I can't tell you how many times I had masturbated to imaginings of her body. She was just that hot, in the stereotypical blonde bimbo fashion; Long wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, plump lips you'd love to see wrapped around your cock... and that's just her face. Add an ass you could crack walnuts on, a waist that most women would require a corset to match, and last, but certainly not least, tits like honeydew melons, straining the buttons on her blouse. With a body so clearly built for sex, how could you not have impure thoughts about such a creature?

"If I were to measure, your skirt," I levelled my gaze at her face, with great difficulty, "would it meet regulation length?"

"Oh, yes, SIR," she sneered, tugging at the pleats which miraculously reached further down her legs after the fact. "May I go to lunch, now, SIR?"

"Thank you, Miss Jones," I nodded, letting my eyes caress her chest lovingly. "Enjoy your meal."

With that, the blonde bombshell flipped her hair at me, and turned on her heels. I watched her ass for a few seconds, until I lost her in the crowd.

I did a wander through the cafeteria, touching base, as it were, with my students. For the vast majority of the girls, I was given the respect that an authority figure deserves. I tried to let them be the children they still were, and only stepped in when things were getting out of hand.

The seniors were another matter. Now adults themselves, they chafed at any attempts to curb their right to make decisions on their own. They were mature enough to be good students, but that maturity had a life outside the classroom.

Melissa Jones was not the only physical specimen here. There were several, and depending on your personal preferences, as many as a few dozen.

Over in the corner, Melissa and her friends were chatting loudly. They were living proof of the old saying about birds and flocks. Every one of them was the living embodiment of sexy.

And every one of them knew it.

That's my job, here. I deal with the administrative crap, and remind the young ladies in my charge that the rules are meant to protect their decorum, purity, and chastity. There's the rare occasion of actual physical conflict between young women, that requires my benign intervention, but mostly I just observe.

And let me tell you, beauty is not the only thing in the eye of the observer.

***

Despite appearances to the contrary, I don't live in my office, and have a life outside of school. So do my students, and that's where things get interesting.

I do occasionally bump into students outside of school. Sometimes, the difference between their appearance at school and away from it is astounding, to the point where the girls are nearly unrecognizable.

And then there's the ones you can't help but recognize. Those who become unforgettable. Take Alexis Kensington, for example.

Alex is a very nice, respectable girl. She never gave me any trouble at all. Her uniform was always impeccably adherent to the regulations... despite the body that was in it.

Alex was of average height, and average, attractive appearance... from the neck up, at least. Below that was another story entirely.

The word 'wow' comes to mind, especially after meeting her at the mall, one weekend afternoon. To be fair, if she hadn't spoken up, and recognized me, I probably wouldn't have seen her.

I mean, I saw her, that's certain. I just didn't know it was Alex, because she looked so different.

For starters, she usually wore her hair up, and always had her glasses on. Today, her hair was down, hanging to the middle of her back, and the glasses were absent.

"Hi, Mr. Owens!" the bubbly brunette chirped. She was walking with a gaggle of friends, a few of whom were also students at St. FXT, BS, CSG. "Doing some shopping?"

"Miss Kensington?!" I smiled. "Yes, I am. How are you today? What brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing really," she smiled, giggling attractively. "I was bored at home, so I'm just hangin'," she nodded. "You know? Chillin'."

I looked down at her smiling face, taking in her whole package, and let me tell you, she definitely had the whole package. A pretty, if unremarkable face, and a body that appeared to have been fashioned by a sculptor with a breast fetish, and a sharp chisel. I know, because her attire left very little to the imagination. Skin tight, her jeans and t-shirt showed all the curves that her school uniform hid.

The view down her V-neck showed me the cleavage I always knew was under the crisp blouse she wore at school. Her busty nature had been obvious, but camouflaged, along with her narrow waist, and firm ass, by the conservative style of the uniform.

"My friends are waiting," she said softly, reading my gaze. She shrugged her shoulders, causing a tempting jiggle, then waved. "See you at school!"

With that, she was off, leaving me to drool over her ass, clad in painted on jeans. I had no idea she was such a vision, but now that I did know, I wouldn't forget.

***

Of course, the mall wasn't the only place to find students.

Some of the girls just couldn't wait to alter their uniforms, and took full advantage of my limited jurisdiction. As long as they were on school property, I could enforce the rules.

Off it, however, was another matter.

Melissa Jones was one who knew exactly where the line was. Every afternoon, she would walk just outside that line, and roll her skirt up six inches, to mid-thigh. Her blouse would be unbuttoned in a similar fashion, until she looked more like a naughty stripper wearing a costume, than a student after class.

One such afternoon, I decided to see just how bold she was, and took a place leaning against a tree, just inside school property. When Melissa approached, she saw me, and paused for an instant, before an evil smile crossed her lips. She walked slowly past, looking straight at me, and stopped just at the edge of my control.

She reached up, and flicked open one button, then another, and very deliberately stepped off the sidewalk, beyond my power. She bent, putting her books down, and giving me a full look down her top at her big, youthfully rounded breasts. Standing again, she began to roll her skirt up, exposing more and more smooth, firm thigh to my gaze, all while looking directly at me, flaunting herself and her freedom. She didn't stop at her usual level of display, tucking an extra inch or two of plaid fabric under the waistband, teasing me even more. She turned her back and bent to retrieve her books, flashing me a peek at her white panties.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Owens," she purred, her voice a sultry whisper of enticement.

I stood there, powerless, sporting a full erection that my underwear was holding down effectively. I had pushed, and she pushed back, even harder. Beyond this line, visible only on a map, she was in control, and I was at her mercy.

***

We were in the final stretch of the school year, a time when every student gets more difficult to deal with. It's perfectly understandable. There's a finish line in sight, and beyond it, freedom from the day to day drudgery of life at school. Their focus is on that freedom, and I am a symbol of the obstacles still in their way.

The seniors were even more awkward, as their finish line was not just ending a lap, but the whole race. At this track, anyway. They would be moving on to post-secondary education of all sorts, and most of them couldn't wait to burn those damned uniforms, once and for all.

You can imagine that Melissa Jones was chief among them. She always had a thing for pushing the boundaries anyway. With mere weeks to go, those pushes became less subtle.

She delighted in tempting the male staff with her body. While the uniform rules stated that the skirts had to be such a length, relative to the knees, they neglected to mention anything about the blouse, relative to the girl inside it.

What I'm trying to say is that she could have gone up one size, and shown less, but where's the fun in that?

So, Melissa's full, rounded globes continued to fill her blouse to the breaking point. As with her use of the property line, she stayed just inside the rules when she had to. Sometimes, the blouse wasn't quite up to the task.

Maybe she washed them in hot water, and they shrunk, or maybe it wasn't the blouse shrinking, but her breasts growing. Whatever the reason, her tits were occasionally more displayed than they were meant to be.

By those that designed the uniform, that is. I'm sure Melissa knew exactly how much flesh she was showing, and was loving the effect it had on us.

Me in particular.

No, I'm not joking. She seemed to take more pleasure in torturing me than most of the other male teachers, and the female teachers never had a complaint about her. It was not accidental. She was doing it on purpose.

I found her behaviour mildly entertaining, and quite titillating. Sometimes, the pun is unavoidable. I wondered how far she would push it, and what I'd do given the opportunity to call her bluff.

I just never thought the answers to those questions would involve someone else entirely.

***

I walked into my office one afternoon, and found a student waiting for me.

"Miss Kensington? Can I help you?" I asked, a bit surprised. Alex had been a student for four years, and this was the first time I had ever seen her here. She was upset.

"Mrs. York sent me here," she sniffed.

"Okay. Come in here, and let's talk," I said softly, directing her in. She took a seat, and I closed the door. "What's up?"

She took off her glasses, and put them on the edge of my desk. Plucking a tissue from the box on the corner, she dabbed her red eyes, and began.

"There was this assignment that Mrs. York gave us to do, and she gave us our grades on it today," she said. Her voice was shaky. "I got an F, because she says I didn't hand mine in at all... but I did! I swear sir! I handed it in on time, and now she's saying I didn't! I'm not lying, sir!"

I was faced with a judgement call. In the total absence of any evidence in favour of either party, it was all I had. As far as I could see, there were only two possible scenarios.

One, she did the assignment, as she said. Two, she didn't.

Scenario two had some sub-points. If she didn't do it, then she was scamming me to get out of trouble with her teacher, but she was already in trouble, so it seemed a stretch. It was a soap opera move, and completely against Alex's character, in my experience. That made the second option less likely, and by default, the first one more so.

So let's assume she did do the assignment... what happened to it, and what do we do now?

"Alex, I need to ask you some questions," I said, as gently as possible. "I need you to answer me honestly, and to understand that my asking doesn't mean that I don't believe you. I'm just gathering information. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"Alright. You're absolutely, one hundred percent sure you did the homework, yes?" I started.

"Yes, sir."

"And you handed it in?"

"Yes, sir. I put it on the pile with all the others, on the corner of her desk."

"Okay. So what happened to it?" I asked, talking more to myself than her.

"I don't know, sir," she replied.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, sorry," I smiled. "I was just thinking out loud. On the corner of her desk, you say?" She nodded. "Was it a difficult assignment?"

"Not really. It was pretty basic, but it took me about an hour," she said. Her eyes were dry now, and she looked less distressed. She sat quietly, legs crossed, letting me sort it out. I stole a few glances at her chest, rising and falling with her breathing. I hoped those glasses meant she couldn't see my eyes on her without them.

Hmmmm. On one hand, there was the implied trust of the teacher. She said she didn't get the assignment, and graded Alex accordingly. But I knew Alice York. She was an old hag, with a terminal case of 'holier-than-thou-itis', and would absolutely never admit she may have lost or otherwise misplaced Alex's paper.

On the other hand, was Alex, a beautiful young woman with no history of deceit or trouble. I looked at her again. She really was lovely, and looked very elegant with her hair up in its French braid. Her neck was long, and gave her a sophisticated aire. I believed her, but this was a no win situation. The assignment had to be redone. There was no way around it.

"Alex, I believe you. I believe that you did your homework and handed it in as required," I told her.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled.

"I have a solution, but I'm going to need your cooperation to make it work," I said.

"Yes, sir," she said. "I'll do what I can."

"I know you shouldn't have to do this, but I need you to redo your paper." I saw her face grow angry. "Alex, it's not a reflection on you. You want to be graded fairly, right? Well the only way I can make that happen is to have a paper to grade. I can't just arbitrarily give you a pass. In a perfect world, I could at least get you an apology from Mrs. York, but I think we both know that's not likely to happen. Will you accept one from me, instead?"

Alex looked at me for several seconds, digesting my words. Her eyes showed appreciation, and she nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. On behalf of myself, and the school, please accept my sincere apology for this mistake," I smiled, extending my hand. She stood, and took it, holding it in her own soft, feminine one. "I will speak to Mrs. York, and tell her to expect a paper from you, delivered by me, and that she is to grade it fairly. Your failing mark will be replaced by the new one. When can you have it done by?"

"Tomorrow, sir," she smiled. "Thank you so much. You didn't have to do all that."

"Yes I did," I answered. "It's only fair, and it's my job."

She turned to leave, and I noticed her glasses on my desk.

"Don't forget these," I laughed, handing them to her.

"Oh! Yes, thank you," she smiled, taking them from me. "I really only need them for reading," she added, her eyes sparkling softly. She looked at me again, a coy grin crossing her face. "Thank you, again, Mr. Owens. I'll have that paper for you in the morning."

I watched her leave, but her words stuck in my head.

"I really only need them to read," I repeated them. "Shit."

She saw me looking at her. She must have.

***

When I went to inform Mrs. York about my decision, I noticed that there was a waste basket by the corner of her desk. Could Alex's paper have been lost in the trash, inadvertently? Certainly possible, but we'd never know for sure.

For her part, Alice York reacted pretty much the way I expected. She was furious that I was backing the student over her. I tried to smooth it over with her, doing a King Solomon, but there was no reasoning with her. In the end, I had to simply tell her that we were doing it my way, and there was no two ways about it.

Miss Kensington did her paper, and delivered it to me personally, with further thanks for acting on her behalf. Mrs. York scowled at me as I handed her the pages.

Problem solved, right?

Yes, and no.

Yes, to Alex's grade. No to my wandering eyes.

***

Two days later, Alex Kensington was sitting outside my office again. It was late in the afternoon, and classes had just ended.

"Uh oh," I laughed. "Not you again!"

"No," she smiled, standing up. I noticed that her hair was down, and her glasses were not obscuring her eyes. Even one button was undone, although that didn't show anything. "I just wanted to thank you again for helping me with Mrs. York. I got my paper back today. B+. Could have been better, but it beats an F any day."

"I'm glad we got things sorted out," I replied.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Owens," she giggled, and walked out of the administration office. I watched her go, entranced by the sway of her long, dark hair, and wiggle of her ass under her skirt.