Cora was fighting her own bar-mace more than she was slimes.

It was a despot's weapon, unwieldy, intimidating in someone else's hands. Two fused iron bars and a frayed leather handle. That tiny build? Made for a falchion or rapier. Something she could actually swing overhand. Ideally, paired with a buckler.

The stiletto I'd confiscated sat in its red leather sheath on my hip. I liked the cut of color, some understated flair, though I wasn't going to ask the girl where she'd purchased it. Some investigation was in order. I unsheathed the blade and held it handle out to Cora, "Give this a shot."

The team princess was going to steam when she caught sight of it.

"I- Mentor Serica..." her fingers were white around the bar-mace's handle. She pulled it through the dirt t0 rest the pommel against her belly, "can I please use my mace?"

"Give me a good reason."

"It was my mother's..." The beaten up hunk of iron matched her hand-me-down chain-mail. Somehow the baker had bagged a warrior. 

I tore my eyes from the bar-mace's tip. Her eyes were down-turned, shoulders slumped.

If Cora dedicated herself to strength training, gave it her all, the equipment would still be a total misfit. Her mother must have had at least a foot on her. If she was around she would have delivered this truth.

Her father should have said something, instead he paid me to. This required a soft touch. Not my forte.

"Using improper equipment is going to stunt your growth," I said, and her shoulders hitched. I saw form in the mace, something usable, a jagged forge-hot implement running halfway up its length, "are you open to having it reshaped? Would that still carry sentimental value?"

She tried to lift it, her crushed resolve had tripled its weight and its head clung to the ground, "I can tell you, from the look of that thing. That she valued function, not form. She wouldn't want it burdening you."

Her thumbs picked at the leather. 

"...Maybe shortened," she said, "I want it to look the same."

"Wise."

I bent and set a hand on its pommel. She let go, and I pulled it into the air.

It was a foot too long for her. I set my left hand's palm-edge to the bar at the appropriate level, about halfway down its length. She'd have to use the thing two-handed for a while, until we built up her strength, "Here?"

"Y-yes Mentor." Her eyes were set with trust.

I tilted my hand and found the right angle, and pressed my palm-edge into the bar, "Melt!"

I'd trained arduously for years to master this heat. Dull red bloomed through the metal around my hand. 

"N-now?" Cora stammered, rising to her knees, but she didn't try to stop me. I nodded. Speaking another word risked muddying my command to the flame. 

The mace's glow grew brighter red, and then orange. Its material resonated heavy with earth, it didn't want to budge. The pommel trembled in my palm.

I stomped my foot and orchestrated, "Silence!"

It shut up. Let itself be worked, and began to drip. My hand felt the heat, but not the burn. That had been taken from me.

Cora gulped, she didn't fidget, her eyes didn't wander. I had her full attention. 

My two other students crested the hill. Reilin had her boots tucked against her chest, treading on bandaged feet. Selenee lacked the poise I'd seen earlier, shoulders slumped and her face turned from me. 

"Attend!"

Liquid metal rolled across my palm, and my wayward lot finally showed some pep. They trotted to a stop and bent next to Cora to get a better look as my fire reached the center of the weapon. I'd cut at a sharp angle. The mace had plenty of heft and a pointed tip would be brutally effective in the right scenarios.

I worked the pommel in a slow turn to feed more iron to the heat. The ground-side half of it was coated in cooling droplets that rapidly lost their glow. 

I caught Selenee's eye with a tip of my chin. 

The discarded length hit the ground on its tip and then toppled. I cleaned up my work, made sure each side was uniform, and shaped the point between my fingers. "Dismissed!"

"Huh?" Selenee said, prancing back a step.

"Not you." I pierced the reworked implement into a cabbage head to sizzle and cool. 

"Reilin, get out there and pop some slimes already." the hopping blue orbs were all over the place. There had to be a slime-queen nearby. They operated on a form hive-mind, each a small vestigial limb of the core entity, "Don't let any touch your feet or you'll be sobbing on our way home."

I pulled the mace from its cabbage throne and placed it in Cora's hands, "What do you think?"

"It still looks like her," those wet eyes pulled into a smile, "thank you Mentor."

"You're welcome... now go kill some slimes." I patted her on her chain-link draped behind and sent her on her way.

Selenee had an eyebrow cocked.

"That was very kind of you, Mentor Serica." she took a measured step toward me.

She knew she was playing with fire. Fuck the agreement. She'd just signed a verbal contract. 

"Don't count on a repeat performance."

I approached, adjusted my glasses, and took her in, inches from her face. She had clean pores. Her now smudged lipstick was the only makeup she wore. High-set cheeks spoke to her elvish heritage. She blinked slow, refusing to acknowledge my presence. She'd been analyzed this closely on numerous occasions, "Do you plan to pursue a mentorship?"

"I do." she relayed with even tone.

"Your breath reeks."

I saw the break run in ripples across her face. She took in air through her nose, and tilted her head down to speak, "Apologies."

"Tell me why." I pressed, insinuated myself just a millimeter more into her space.

"I-" there was the wound, "I tended Reilin's blisters."

"With your mouth?" her lip quivered, cheeks tightened.

"Yes."

"Look at me."

Snap. She registered the sound, but pulled her eyes back to mine.

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Her eyes winced shut, her breath was all rasp, "I did."

Right. When those lashes pulled open, I was still there, "You enjoy sucking feet."

"I- I do," her lips pursed tight back together. Her pupils tried to pull away but she wouldn't let them. She was at war with herself. 

I let her sit in it, gave her the time she needed to calibrate and pull away. She remained.

"My heels are aching."

She paused, eyes dropping to my boots. Then she nodded, and grabbed my hand gently, pulling toward a copse of trees. 

The sound of struggling girls and popping slimes was now distant. She knelt before me, and began working the buckles on my boots.

"You understand there's nothing riding on this? Your application's already been approved." I said and arched my foot, offering a better vantage.

"I do." she said, pulling the boot free.

"This is all you?"

"It is." she rolled off my sock. Sweat-soaked lint clung to me.

Snap! My cock sprang free of its holster, pressing tight into my leather skirt. Her eyes went right to it, and a soft smile crossed her lips. 

I lowered myself onto my ass, my member bobbing against my thigh. From her position she could see all twelve inches, and my sack made loose by the day's heat.

She held me by the arch, two handed, "You're..." she couldn't pull her eyes out of my skirt.

"Your choice." I leaned back onto my elbows and the grit of the ground embraced them. She took my big toe into her mouth and circled it with her tongue, "Mmmm..."

She worked the callous beneath my knuckle and my eyes blurred.

My leg rose higher and she shuffled closer on her knees, and she placed a hand on my other thigh. Pop. "May I Mentor Serica?"

I considered, and her tongue dragged along my arch. I throbbed into the supple leather wrapping.

I dragged my skirt up my length and gripped myself tight, working my shaft.

"Apologies." Her hand left my thigh and went back to kneading my sole.

A tuft of grass caught my head as I relaxed onto the ground. Her lips and tongue worshiped me at my very base, each toe given complete loving surrender.

I throbbed.

Her head tilted down. Pop. "Mark me?"

That was enough. I shot. It spilled across her wrap, lines of oozing pearl.

We strolled through a sea of cabbages on a thin dirt path. Our walk had neared a few hours at this point and Reilin winced with each step. New boots, she'd worn new boots. Trying to show off in front of Cora I surmised. I could imagine it, her tucking tail after our interview and purchasing a new outfit to stick it to the baker's daughter. 

Cora, to her credit, wore an old, dust-streaked pair like a second skin. It took everything I had not to laugh. If I commented on Reilin's mistake she could categorize it as me being unfair, and lash outward. As things stood, it was a battle she fought internally.

I could tell though, the lesson wasn't lost on her. Blisters were the building blocks of practicality. They were something we all had to experience, myself included. 

"Cow-pie!" Selenee called out, a moment too late from her station at our rear. It was a fresh one. I'd chosen not to say a word. No reflexes. No perception. Reilin's mind was in her blistered heels and now they were coated in shit. 

Selenee had her pair of beech-wood sandals strung over her shoulder and, rightfully, was attentive to the road. Her toes had to be calloused, but you couldn't tell from up top. They appeared fresh and supple. You could trace the curve of her nails with a compass.

"Selenee, where have you trained?" I called back. I wasn't going to give the backer of this expedition room to start whining. 

"Madame Turaneau's Academy of Dance, Mentor Serica," she replied. It was a trained response. This girl came with a pedigree. Of course I'd heard of the institution. Dancer's weren't a common class, often a second or third choice. They were the kind of girls you foundnd in The Amber Lodge, slinging cunt after shift for a few extra bells. Alicia Turaneau's students were the exception to this rule. They had nothing but respect for their craft.

The normal response to such a statement was "Tuition or scholarship?", but Turaneau didn't accept tuition. She hand-picked each and every one of her swans. 

I felt the bile stewing in Reilin's throat. She dragged her heels through the dirt trying to scrape off the mess. 

Selenee's background was a setback. Her nonchalance wasn't effortless, it was instilled. At first I'd taken her as a cleric.

I'd marked more than a few of my own faults. This was the greatest. My reasoning was compromised in the face of beauty. 

However, I'd just found my in. The few dancers of the Society bore arms. Selenee, notably, did not.

"You didn't think a chakram appropriate?"

The ring-blade. The dancer's signature implement, for those that felt the need to escape the tavern or back-room. She hadn't brought one. War-dancers were dervishes that cut in the escape, tempting you closer and punishing your indiscretion. During my own mentorship I had the pleasure of studying beside one. Darcee had been a brutal flirt, and wore a chastity belt woven of liquid movement.

"I-" She raised her hands to her shoulders in surrender, unaware as her forearms caused the conical tips of her breasts to jut, "I'm a non-combative." 

"Excuse me?" I pried the jaws of my inquisitorial bear-trap open and set it before her.

Cora's eyes were wide. Reilin was a living smirk, and Selenee was dead to rights clutching her back for a ring that wasn't there, "There's emotional magic..."

Emotional magic. It was the biggest pseudo-arcane pile of cow-shit anyone had ever stumbled into. Gyrating your ass and jiggling your tits to calm monsters and embolden the ones doing actual work. It wasn't magic. It was basic, inborn emotion. If you weren't willing to back it with a blade you had no place on the field. 

"So you're bait." 

"I... I'm not-" she took a step back, separated herself from us with three hours of lonely travel.

"What's the plan then? Cheer these two on while they batter slime? Does that sound like pacifism to you?" I circled the others and stooped to her.

"I'm support," she mumbled, shrinking under my stare.

I had no intentions of allowing a glorified slit-wetter sit second chair while I directed these two. 

"Oh. I misjudged," I rounded my pack and yanked out a bandage roll, "Then tend to her blisters," I said, and sent an arm wide to gesture at Reilin. 

She can wipe sweat and smear ointment until she decides she’s tired of being the help.

She hesitated. Fire rose in my throat.

"That rogue. That's the one who's going to step between you and death. You better wrap your mind around taking care of her if you plan to put in an application," I slapped the roll into her palm and turned, "Cora, keep up. These two will find us if they're able."

 

 

Cora slapped her bar-mace into another pool of blue goop. She was on her knees and breathless. I poured a flask of tangy dressing onto a split ten ways cabbage. 

I tore off a corner of cabbage and bit in. I hated to admit it but Ilia's flask-shaken vinaigrette hit all the right notes. 

Reilin's cheque was still tucked into my thigh-band. 

Those two couldn't have gotten lost. It was a straight fucking path.

"Keep it up." I said to Cora, rounding to go check on my wayward mentees. 

By the time I found them, the cabbage had disappeared.

Selenee had Reilin's foot at her mouth. She grimaced as she tried to pop a blister with her teeth. 

Snap. A holster button had come undone.

They hadn't noticed me yet. Reilin was braced, hands in the dirt, boots at her side, wincing. Selenee's eyes were on that injured toe.

Reilin's other foot was already bandaged. Sel had already popped eight or nine of these with her mouth. Nose wrinkled, Reilin squirmed, her thighs were pulled tight together. Like she could hide that she was drenched.

It was so bizarrely intimate. She yanked her foot back and Selenee gagged, then spat. She hadn't even signed a disciplinary agreement.

I decided best not to find out, and left before they registered me. I couldn't let these two clock my lapse in judgement.

 

 

When I rounded on Cora again, she was surrounded by slimes. 

They were bounding, thrashing against her bar-mace. 

I extended a palm, wiped out half of them, and had her continue. 

Reilin had arrived with plenty of time, cheque in hand. I wasn't surprised after yesterday's threat. The girl was probably sore. I'd need to give her some time before she'd step out of line again. She'd come dressed in crimson red studded leather. It was a look. The whole outfit, knee-high boots, mid-thigh skirt, vest and gloves, were polished impeccably. Credit where credit is due, yeah I'd wear that, if I could afford it.

Her "armor" wasn't practical in the traditional sense. There was way too much exposed skin. However, it had been my experience that monsters were just as thirsty, even more-so, than your average human, dwarf, or elf. Showing off her generous ass-et would probably win her some favors out in the field. 

Being she was a rogue, if she ever got cornered, better to fuck a minotaur than get gored by one. 

What floored me was that the sun was half-risen and Cora still hadn't arrived. We were waited in the Adventurer's Society's courtyard. A few other mentors were drifting in. Layabouts.

If it turned out she was busy shelving fresh loaves at her father's establishment, I had plenty of ways I could make her regret it. 

"You know, I have other things I could be doing..." Reilin simmered, running a white cloth across a well sharpened stiletto. Its sides were completely unscored, likely from lack of use. 

I didn't engage, she was bidding for attention and she wouldn't find easy gratification here. 

The girl with the pink bob still had time. I'd not mentioned to her to come equipped. I was a bit caught up in the moment with Reilin, a personal failing. Hopefully she knew well enough what we'd be getting up to.

"I'm not late, I'm not late," she hollered, clattering down the cobblestone path in a set of too large hand-me-down women's chain-mail. She was red in the face, hair damp with sweat, and had someone in tow. 

Her companion was lithe, dressed in a provocative silk chest and thigh wrap, with blue and gold ribbons trailing her knees and elbows. She had the build of a fawn, and the innocent face to match. Her hair was in a half-bun, and dirty blonde.

"Sorry, so sorry, please don't say I'm late," Cora stumbled and almost barreled me over, unused to all the extra weight she carried.

"You're on time, and on time is late. I'll let it slide this once," I said looking down my nose at her, "I assume you have a good reason?"

The other one's cheeks rose and she gave me a quick wave, said "It's my fault Mentor Serica, apologies," and then bowed, perfectly, she became an exact 90 degree angle, and held it.

Her voice tasted like a glazed strawberry tart. There they were, the pointed hears. They peeked through her waves. Not a full point, she wasn't even a half-born, quarter maybe, or eighth, but there was elven blood in her. Cora interrupted, "This is Selenee, my cousin. Well not really my cousin. It's more like a family friend type-." 

"Tut. Let her introduce herself," Cora shrank, and took a step back, "Sorry..." but Selenee seemed unphased, with a slight bend at the knee, she rose, arching her back and throwing her hair. It would have been ostentatious if it weren't so effective. 

Reilin tossed her knife into a rosebush across the lawn and stomped off to fetch it. Selenee's teal-gray eyes tracked it, and a genuine smile crossed her flared lips. They were painted, a soft pink that could almost be mistaken for flesh-tone.

"As she said, I'm Selenee, and again, apologies for stalling Cora." She had a way of talking with her hands that I didn't find annoying. A first.

"Cora mentioned she was starting as a mentee at breakfast this morning and it piqued my interest. I- held her up trying to make myself presentable. I fear I've failed drastically." 

There were no holes to pick there, and she said it with a straight face.

"I'll have to disagree. However, there is an order to these thing." I couldn't drag her back to the office, she was painted porcelain. She'd shatter just looking at a Disciplinary Agreement, "We're already running behind on our excursion. Though, since you drug yourself all this way," her eyes pled, she still held that smile, "I'll allow you to come along and observe."

"Oh thank you!" she spun, ribbons trailing in a vortex, and threw up her hands, "Cora this is going to be great!"

Cora was beaming "please don't fuck me in front of her" energy. Of course she hadn't given the full sales pitch. Selenee'd heard adventuring lessons and decided to include herself. She was an unwanted, unaware tag-along to Cora's disciplinary desires.

"What the hell!" Reilin barked, "I just forked over a third of my monthly stipend and she gets to sit front row for free!?" she was still wrist-deep in the rosebush, scuffing up her gloves.

"You need to learn to perform for an audience. Selenee's inclusion is today's lesson." I turned to her, her red leather skirt had hiked its way halfway up her ass. The Society's Quartermaster, a middle-aged man, was enjoying the show from a bench.

"Excuse me Arnwin!" I brought my voice up to it's seventh notch, "What do you think you're looking at?"

His gaze tore away. He was speechless. Reilin snapped around, cheeks as red as her hair. 

"Revoke!" a tether of flame shot from my palm, searing rose-petals and wrapping the stiletto's hilt. A moment later I held it by its tip, "You can have nice things when you learn to wield them properly. Today you're slapping slimes bare-handed. Now get off your ass."

My ducklings followed me in a row. I paraded them past him. One embarrased. One seething. One oblivious. We made our way toward the fields to assist farmers with a pest problem. 

I was still catching my breath, cock going flaccid, as Cora licked the remnants of my release from her lips, "Your technique left a lot to be desired, we'll have to work on that."

"Yes, Mentor," she said, beginning to work her skirt back up her legs. She had very pinchable thighs. 

I was lost in thought, thinking through a possible training regimen for this girl, when my office door slammed open. 

"Privacy!" I shouted, as a young woman, who I recognized instantly, came tripping into the room, "Mentor Ilia!", she said, before going white in the face. I rushed to cover myself, "She's in office 236!"

It was Reilin Durough, oldest daughter of Lord Regis Durough, the biggest swinging dick in town. Curling crimson hair, and a knee-length burgundy lace dress. She'd recently classed into Rogue without consulting anyone, much to his chagrin, and was now under the tutelage of Mentor Ilia.

She was the first choice, tenured in our program, and had her pick of mentees. She was also a student-stealing bitch who'd sniped six of my best recruiting prospects, "This isn't what it looks like. Now please be on your way and shut the-"

"I'd like to request a transfer in mentorship..." Reilin said, her cheeks rising.

"My rates went up just recently," I said, stepping to the door and closing it behind her. Cora's eyes shot wide.

"You can't be charging more than Ilia," Reilin leveled at me, sweeping her shimmering locks over her small shoulders with a flick of her neck.

"Don't know, my rate is 300 bells monthly." I said, peering over her shoulder, a small shiver ran down her exposed neck. 

The goal was to high-ball it without providing a ridiculous sum. I'd succeeded. Cora's mouth was agape, I was charging her forty-five. 

"That's outrageous," Reilin scoffed, "Ilia's value is renowned, and you're charging more?" But there was a hesitance in her voice, she wasn't about to walk out that door.

"It's not a matter of value. It's time, and attention," I let that last word hang, "Ilia has fifteen mentees. At this moment, I have one."

She narrowed her eyes at Cora, who was still frozen, unsure of how to approach the situation, "She can't be paying that much."

"She's not, and neither are a third of Ilia's grouping. That's how this works, it's your noble obligation." I straightened, remained silent, let her stew in it.

Marks for poise, her shoulders didn't drop, "...You'll provide a ten percent discount for each additional student you take on."

"Five." I countered immediately.

After voicing her displeasure with a hasty harrumph, she said "Fine." 

"Very well." I approached my desk, fishing another disciplinary agreement from its' drawer, "First month's is due tomorrow morning, read this over and sign."

She placed herself in the chair and rolled her eyes down the page. A hand went to her neck, "You do... All of this?"

"If I find you in need of it. Yes." I set my pen down beside it, polished mahogany with rose-gold fittings, a parting gift from my own Mentor.

The bitch, the little bitch, she picked it up and started checking off "No thanks" boxes.

Spanking, gone.

Oral, gone.

Thigh-work, gone.

Anal, gone.

When she finished, all that was left was vaginal intercourse. 

It was like a frightened nail telling the carpenter to only use their hammer. 

Then she signed, Reilin Durough.

"Now that's taken care of, we need to discuss how you barged into my office unannounced," 

A glimmer of hope lit in her eye, "Yeah, what of it?"

"I tend to very sensitive matters behind this door," I stood, still nude from the waist down, and throbbing, "You're in need of instruction, on respecting the privacy of others." 

I walked around my desk, grabbing my wooden pointer from its end.

"You're not going to make me wait?" she asked. 

"For what?" I returned the inquiry and scooped the pointer's end beneath her wrist, guiding her palm flat onto my desk.

Her fingers pulled inward, a light tap on the back of her hand corrected it.

"For your..." Heh, she couldn't get it out.

Switching hands, I positioned her other palm, then gave her butt a small jab with the prod's end, bolting her from her seat.

Cora was practically drooling.

"Would you like the baker's daughter here for the proceedings?" I lay the decision on her flat.

"N-No!" she turned to the side, refusing to look at the pink-haired girl.

"Cora. You're excused, I'll see you here tomorrow at daybreak." 

The shy young woman fixed her skirt, and bowed at the door, saying "Thank you Mentor Serica," before slipping through it.

It clacked shut, "I hope the irony's not lost on you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Reilin responded through teeth that ground, palms still flat.

"Bears further correction," I began tapping her calves, guiding her legs wide and back.

"You know I didn't sign up to get scolded on my social skills. You're an adventuring mentor," she huffed, thighs splayed, knees a tad bent, legs shaking.

"We can terminate the lesson at any point. Your agreement mentioned a safe word, do you remember it?" I stood, watching her thighs quake, as a drop of my pre-cum hit the floor.

"No." Her nose wrinkled.

"Pitiful, it's 'Lingonberry'. Would you like to say it?"

She couldn't bring herself to respond. Her legs must have been on fire. 

I rolled the pointer in my fingertips, mahogany, I'd gotten it to match my pen.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No. Okay. No, I don't want to say it."

"Alright then, you may use your left hand to lift your skirt and reposition your undergarments." 

She leaned onto her right arm, legs twisting and trying to buckle, and tentatively lifted her left. Shaking, she lifted her skirt, revealing an ass built like a shelf in a daring pair of red lace panties, "You could have just fucked me."

"This isn't a reward," I said, as she wormed her fingers into her panty's crotch and pulled it to the side, revealing a dew-slick blushing cunt.

"Now, who won't open any more doors without knocking?" I asked, pressing my pointer flat into her ass-cheek, it had give.

Her palm went back to the desk, "I-"

"I what?" I pushed it against her harder and her right knee almost gave out.

"I- won't open any more doors... without knocking."

"Good." I positioned myself between her legs, set my pointer back on the desk, and wrapped my hands around her trembling thighs, "Say please."

"Please." she spat. I rocked my hips back, placed my tip at her clenching entrance, and sunk.

"Aaaahhh!"

Her warmth wrapped me tight to mid-shaft, her clench shook with her legs. She was still wound up inside, in need of prying. 

"Who's my little door-knocker?"

"Hah-haah-I-am..." her stomach was quaking.

"No. Who's my little door-knocker?"

"Me- Unhh- I'm your little-door-knocker..."

I pulled back and gave it to her again, "Uuuaghhh-huh," marking another inch on my measuring stick.

"Are you going to take the whole thing?" I asked. She dropped her head, gazing at my length upside down, chest heaving. "I-I don't-think...huuuh..."

I receded, stealing away every devastating inch, making sure the ink set, "Pu-Please..."

"You'll need to prove yourself." Pop. I yanked my head free, and she collapsed to the floor. 

I stooped to wrangle my leather skirt around my waist, and began buttoning, "Tomorrow, daybreak." I looked at her list, all those checked "No thanks" boxes, "I'll have to think of something new if you're tardy."

"Coraline," I looked down my glasses at the young woman on the other side of my desk. Her application read "Fighter". It was hot in this little office I'd rented from the Adventurer's Society. My blouse was gripping too tight to my tits.  

She wasn't one. Her short pink hair was tied with a bow. She was frail, in a teal pleated skirt, white blouse, and thigh-high stockings, with an expression of terror on her face.

"C-Cora." she corrected me, shifting in her seat. 

"Alright Cora, these affinities are terrible," I pointed to her appraisal, "You're eighteen, what have you been wasting your time on?"

"Well, I help my father in his bakery," her eyes were tracing cracks in the wall.

"Right here Cora," I said, and her eyes snapped back to mine.

"S-Sorry," she stammered, straightening in her seat.

Who put her up to this? 

"Says here your father, the baker, will be paying for my services. They're not cheap, and dungeon-delving isn't an extracurricular activity. Why's he doing it?" I leveled with her, even though I needed the coin, I wasn't going to drag some brat to her likely demise without a good reason.

"I begged him to," her eyes were welling, hands needling at her thighs.

"Why?" I didn't break my gaze. Let her cry, if that would bring her to her senses.

"D-discipline," it came out as just a breath.

My heartbeat rose in my ears.

"I need discipline," Fuck, "I hear you can be very, hands on."

My hidden edge strained against its leather holster. Not now.

"My... discipline is reserved for those who deserve it. Not some-" I began to scold, but she cut me off.

"Please! I'll do whatever you ask of me. Shape me. I can be a fighter," she pleaded. 

Snap.

"What?" she asked, trying to identify the sound. It was one of three holster buttons. I adjusted my chair, scooting closer to my desk.

"It's nothing. I really don't know Cora, you're not giving me much to work with here," she frowned, bit her lower lip.

Snap. It strained.

"I- I have trouble focusing and I felt like, with your direction, I could become something useful. And- and they said, that you use," her tongue traced a line across that lip, "unconventional methods." Her voice squeaked.

Snap. It was free.

I shifted my legs, "I do. Now tell me, what exactly did they say?" My cock pushed against my inner-thigh, aching, a rough heat growing though it. She looked down at her knees.

"Cora?" I placed a palm flat on my desk.

"They say you've got a really big dick!" she froze, a tremble running through her, "and that it can help..."

That was enough, I was going to suffer through training the untrainable. 

"Your application's been approved. I handed her a single page, labeled "Disciplinary Agreement", "You'll want to read this over, and sign it."

The good girl read the whole thing, while I waited, throbbed, my cheeks flush. Finally, she jotted down her name. 

"Good, you mentioned trouble focusing, I noticed it myself in our interview. Please remove your skirt."

"Ye-Yes Ma'am." 

She stood and loosened its cinch. It fell to the floor, revealing a pair of light-blue cotton panties. I stood, bulge pressed tight against my brown-leather pencil-skirt, and yanked at its side. After a short series of snaps, my training-stick was finally free, all twelve inches of it, with a trim triangle of black pubic hair resting above it.

She pulled in air, looking almost light-headed. 

"I can tell you're the kind of student who needs a taste to understand what's in store." I said, stepping around my desk.

"Mmhmm," her thumb played with the hem of her panties.

"On your knees Cora," She was a good head shorter than me, with b-cup breasts.

"Yes Ma'am." She lowered herself to the floor, fully focused, "May I Ma'am?"

"Call me Mentor."

"May I, Mentor?"

A bead of precum had already smeared along my tip, she surrounded it with her soft mouth, pulling her lips over her teeth, and licked at it, "Mmmm-"

She'd signed off on everything, hadn't checked any of the "Please Don't" boxes. How had she convinced her father? He couldn't know. 

Her tongue wrapped my tip, and then started to flick it's bottom, it wasn't great, but she at least had some cursory knowledge. There was room to improve. 

I pushed in, pressing down her tongue, quickly colliding with the top of her throat. She gagged.

I paused for a moment to let her collect herself, but she didn't, she pushed throat onto it, "Hah-"

"Mmmph, mmm, mmph, mmph, mmph," she pulled away, gasping for breath, looking up to me for direction. 

"Did I tell you to stop?"

"No Mentor, sorry Mentor," and I was back inside her mouth, she pushed herself farther onto my length, tentatively bracing her palms on my smooth hips, finding stability.

I wasn't going to make her work too hard for this one. She was applying herself, that was a good sign. 

My balls clenched tight, I let myself think of the two of us, out in the field. Yes, I'd let her be my bunk-bunny. Fill that desperate little hole of hers on the regular, let her enjoy it. 

I thought my reputation would be ruined when my last student, Rebecca, took off and started running her mouth. If this was any indication, it may have been the best turn of my career. 

I pushed myself in further, and grabbed the back of her head, letting myself flood into her throat, "Haah-"

"Mmmmmhh." she moaned, still suckling at it with her cheeks, gripping my thighs.  My cock continued to pulse, calming. I released her, pulled out, "Alright, you tell your Daddy you're in." 

My desk caught under my ass as I reclaimed my breath. The pink-haired short-stack beamed.