The principal grunted, looked at his desk to shift a ballpoint pen and a notepad from the left of his desk top to the right side. He lined up the pen precisely with the pad and said without looking up, “That’s not very humorous, Bradburn. You know very well what I mean, and I hope I don’t have to call you into my office again.”

“I hope not,” Dallas said.

Kingston glanced up. “Then you’ll cut your hair?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dallas answered.

A pompous man, Burdett Kingston was grey and short, but made up for his lack of height by having his big desk raised on a sort of a dais. His chair was high backed and majestic, and he had probably meant people to be awed by it, Dallas thought. But the maneuver had failed; the throne served only to dwarf the man in it. Nevertheless Kingston had power over his fiefdom, and if that power was less than absolute, it wasn’t because the man didn’t try to make it so.

Now he took off his glasses,, peered at them and put them back on again Dallas thought that most men would have at least pretended to polish the glasses, but not Burdett Kingston. Dallas blurred the man out of focus while waiting for the pronouncement that was certain to come, and saw in his mind the stripped, delicious body of Kathy Collins.

Such a loving girl, so willing to try anything, knowing and experimental. Her pussy was so tight, so hot and slippery, and she had learned to use it masterfully, discovered how to clamp down with its inner muscles while she rolled her belly and tried to drain every drop of semen from a cock, thrust balls-deep into its delightful depths.

The principal said, “Then I must ask for your resignation.”

“No way,” Dallas said strongly, surprising himself a little. “If you want me out of here, you’ll have to fire me-so I can take you to court.”