"What kind of animal are you?" Carla Henniger stared with mounting terror at the big man, her fingers pressed against her lips while her eyes rounded. This hadn't been at all what she'd expected. Why had he hit her? Drawing one hand up to her cheeks, she felt the burning still on her flesh. A tear rolled from one eye as she backed away, shaking her head from side to side.
"Don't… don't touch me! Don't come near me, or I'll scream for the police!"
Looking around, the attractive woman searched for a way out – any way. This interview hadn't gone well at all. And to think she'd thought about entering her daughter in this hellhole of a private school!
"Come on Mrs. Henniger. Or should I call you Carla? I think we're going to get to know each other well, Carla."
The tall, blonde, attractive woman backed away, shrinking from Mike Appleton's hand. He had hit her, struck her across the face while laughing at her. Where was the rest of the staff? What had happened to them? He had taken her on a tour of the private girls' school here in the deserted back country, ten miles east of San Bernardino, stressing the institution's policy of strict discipline coupled with fine academics.
Carla had thought it strange that the few girls she saw walked in two's and seemed to shy away from her as she approached them. There weren't the usual high-spirited athletic activities going on as at other schools. Still, Carla thought that a somber atmosphere was just, what her daughter needed – something that would tame what she thought were some dangerous tendencies toward delinquency. But this – this maniac had cornered her in his office alter the tour, locked the door and then made obscene suggestions. When she refused and indignantly demanded to be let go, he had struck her, backhanding her across the left cheek. Carla stood there stunned, not believing he had hit her. No one had done that, not even her father when disciplining her! And now this complete stranger had struck her and was even sneering at her!
"Help! Help me! Somebody, please!" Carla cried, turning her head and calling out until her throat hurt.
No one. He had timed this perfectly, ensuring the administration building was empty before approaching her. He took one step, holding a hand out to her.
Again, Carla shrank away, holding both hands to her tits while pressing her full, firm ass against the wall. She could hear the steady ticking of the wooden-framed clock above her as if it were telling her to run. Her flesh crawled as she again stared at the door behind the tally dark-haired chief administrator. He was pulling off his tie now, opening his shirt, revealing the hairs on his chest while still approaching her. That look in his eyes – those black pools of utter depravity! Never before had Carla felt as trapped, as helpless as she did flaw.
"You're wasting your breath and my time," Mike said, shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.