Principal Diaz and the Student Teacher

By Lyla Sinclair

Principal Diego Diaz lost his wife in his twenties and has devoted himself completely to his job... until the day he’s alone in his office with a particular student teacher. Now he can’t get her off his mind. It feels like more than just wanting to put his hands on her. He really likes her. But he’s a strait-laced straight shooter who would never, ever, cross the line with a member of his staff. All he has to do is avoid being around her and he’s sure he can keep the temptations at bay.

Student teacher Hannah Lewis has been tardy to school too many times. Teachers are supposed to be at school an hour before the students. When she’s called to the principal’s office, she flirtatiously asks what he’s going to do if she’s late again. Principal Diaz replies, “corporal punishment.” Yes, he says it as a joke, but Hanna can’t stop fantasizing about getting a spanking—and a lot more--from the principal. Can she tempt him into losing control and make her fantasies come true?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyla Sinclair
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215755808

Lyla Sinclair

Lyla loves to be alone at sunset, dreaming up new erotic encounters to satisfy her readers' cravings. But most of the day, she can be found lying on the beach, surrounded by nubile young bodies, all of whom are at her beck and call. Eyes closed, sun warming her scantily clad body, she dictates her most lurid fantasies to one of her young sex-slaves as she’s massaged, manicured and lulled to sleep by a nude Spanish guitarist. These catnaps are important, since her nights are spent gorging herself on young men and chocolate (though she never, ever gains weight).

Book preview

Chapter One

Hannah Lewis

Miss Lewis? The voice comes over the loudspeaker in the empty classroom, five minutes after I get there.

For a split second, the disembodied voice makes me believe God is a woman. This school really should modernize and put phones on the teachers’ desks.

Startled, I jump off the edge of the desk where I’ve been sitting while trying to figure out what to put on the bulletin board for this month. Little kids are easy to impress with bunnies or frogs or bright colors, but high schoolers can be brutal.

I’m a teacher. Sort of. I’m twenty-two and have just finished my college courses, so I’m now doing my time as a student teacher, in other words, a teacher trainee.

This generally means I watch, learn, and do whatever the real teacher tells me to do.

Yes? I call to the voice.

Principal Diaz wants to see you in his office.

I check the clock on the wall. The kids are going to be let in soon and Mrs. Jameson is at a doctor’s appointment...

Mrs. Jameson is the actual teacher.

The voice interrupts me. He wants to see you now. He said it would only take a couple of minutes.

Okay.

Damn. He must know I was late this morning, as I’ve been on many other mornings.

In my defense, I never get here after the students are let in. But teachers are supposed to be at school an hour before that, by 7:15, and I’m really not a morning person.

Why didn’t they warn me about the hours before I decided on my major?

Feeling both contrite and rebellious, as is my nature, I hurry down the hall. I want to get my apology over quickly and get back to my classroom before the hall swarms with hyper, testosterone-filled jocks and giddy pep squad girls.

It’s a public high school, so we have all kinds of kids here, but those are the two types who give me the most anxiety when I come eye-to-eye with them. I’m sure it’s leftover PTSD from my own school days.

Really, though, I wish I could visit Principal Diaz under different circumstances. If I got to choose, we’d be strangers in a bar—both mildly intoxicated—who end up talking late into the night and defiling each other in the car.

And that’s just one of the scenarios I’ve imagined. There are plenty more where that came from because Principal Diaz is crazy hot. And he’s single. But unfortunately, he’s never given me so much as an inappropriate glance.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t had sex in forever.

I was dating a great guy for nearly a year, but he never showed any interest in intimacy. Not wanting to presume I knew what the issue was, I’d toss out little bits of information to see if he latched onto anything.

Stuff like, This article says about one percent of the population is asexual. That’s a lot of people when you do the math.

Mm-hm, he’d say.

Finally, one day, I tried to ask him as delicately as possible if perhaps he was gay. He became irate like I’d never seen him before, stormed out, and ghosted me.

At first, I didn’t understand the level of anger, but then I remembered his family was extremely religious.

So, I guess it was a holy ghosting.

I get to the administrative offices and see Principal Diaz’s assistant Ms. Binch. We exchange pleasantries, and I realize it was her voice on the speaker. She tells me to go ahead, and I walk into Diego Diaz’s office.

He doesn’t notice me at first while he types on his computer, and I’m grateful for the seconds I have to admire him.

Broad shoulders, wavy hair that’s nearly black, and a swoon worthy face. I’d totally believe it if he told me he was Rodrigo Santoro’s brother.

I’ve noticed previously that his eyes seem to change colors. They’re warm and brown outside when he’s welcoming students to school in the morning, but under the florescent lights of the office, they’re like onyx.

Watching his hands on the keyboard, I wonder what his fingertips would feel like on my skin.

I’m a very sensual person. If he so much as skimmed them across my arm, I’d be ready for entry.

As he looks up, I say, You wanted to see me?

Yes, Miss Lewis. Come in and sit down. Once I’m seated, he wastes no time. I notice you were tardy again this morning.

I nod. I’m sorry about that, I reply as I force myself to stop playing with my hair. I’ll try to do better in the future.

His eyes are intense, staring straight into mine. He’s trying to be authoritative.

Holy crap! I can’t believe what a turn on that is.

Hot tingly goosebumps erupt on my arms. I feel them spreading to my chest. I hope he can’t see them.

You’ve said that to me several times before, he points out.

I don’t want him to think I’m a total flake. Yes, I know, I reply. I’m just having some trouble since they started construction on the freeway and—

He lifts his hand and I stop talking. May I make a suggestion? he asks.

Um...okay... I laugh nervously. "I mean, you are the