Extra Curricular: Class Control

**Author's Note**

Cheers for the feedback. Here's more of Eleanor sorting out the posh twats at Thornbridge. More class stuff, more discipline, more stockings.

Disclaimer: All characters in this story are adults (18+). Sebastian Carrington-Wright turned 18 in September at the start of his final year as Head Boy. This work contains explicit sexual content intended for mature audiences only.

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Chapter 2: Class Control

Eleanor slammed Sebastian's file shut. Little shit. Three months as Head Boy and already acting like he owned the place. Any normal kid would've been kicked out by now. But not him. Not with Daddy on the Board and Grandpa's name all over the science wing.

"Mr. Carrington-Wright." She glared at him. "Don't remember asking for you."

Sebastian leaned in her doorway, smirking. Uniform just messy enough to make a point. Posh boy rebellion.

"Headmistress said I should come see you." His eyes dropped to her chest then back up. "Since we'll be working so closely."

Eleanor stood up. At forty-five she still turned heads, not that she cared what this spoiled brat thought.

"Late to the prefect meeting yesterday. Jenkins says you reeked of weed and whisky."

Sebastian looked at his nails, bored. "Family thing."

"Bullshit. Saw your Instagram. Pool party at your country house, models everywhere." She enjoyed watching his surprise. "Unless running out of champagne counts as an emergency."

"Been stalking me online? Bit sad for a woman your age."

"Part of my job, you little twerp. Your particular brand of entitled crap needs watching."

Sebastian's smirk changed. Made her skin crawl. "Speaking of watching... Father told me what he walked in on last month. Quite the promotion technique you've got."

Fuck. Heat rushed to her face.

"Shut the door."

He did, turning the lock with a dramatic click.

"Your predecessor learned exactly where he fits in Thornbridge's real pecking order."

"Blackwood." He practically spat the name. "Northern comp trash with a scholarship. Dad says it's all gone to shit letting peasants in."

"Standards." Eleanor sat on her desk edge, skirt riding up just enough to show stocking tops. "Your attendance is crap, your work is barely conscious, and you're making a joke of a position daddy bought you."

His eyes dropped to her legs. Got him.

"Yet here I am," he said, less cocky now. "Money talks."

"What it tells me," she said, walking to her cabinet, "is that you've never been put in your place."

She got out the cane. Proper old-school one with the Thornbridge crest on the handle.

"What the fuck is that for?" His posh voice cracked.

Eleanor tapped it against her palm. "Traditional discipline. Even for boys whose daddies buy science wings."

"This is medieval! My father--"

"--signed off on it last month. Said you needed to 'understand hierarchy' before Cambridge."

Sebastian went red. But his trousers told a different story. Interesting.

"I'm not doing this shit," he said, but didn't move towards the door.

"Your choice. Get kicked off rugby and we pull your Cambridge recommendation. Oxford might take you. Or some American place that'll accept anyone with cash."

He went pale. "You wouldn't."

"Your family name means fuck all right now. Especially with your father's hedge fund being investigated."

"How do you know--"

"Thornbridge has connections. So what's it to be? Discipline or the letter?"

Sebastian swallowed. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

"Take your clothes off. Down to your underwear."

"You can't be serious."

"School policy since 1823. Discipline in undergarments. Unless you'd prefer Pembrooke supervise?"

His hands shook as he stripped to silk boxers with his family crest on them. Even his fucking underwear was posh. Despite everything, he was getting hard.

"Bend over the desk. Grab the edge. Let go and we start again."

He did. Eleanor stood behind him, enjoying how he flinched at the sound of her stockings.

"Eighteen. Six for being late, six for lying, six for taking the piss. Count them."

The cane cracked down hard. Sebastian jumped like he'd been shot.

"One." His voice tight.

By six, he was a mess. No more Mr. Posh Boy. Each time the cane hit, he'd make these little noises - not quite crying, something else. His hips kept pushing against the desk edge. Not subtle about it either.

"Six," he panted.

Eleanor stopped. Saw the red marks through the silk. Watched him grinding away against her desk like a dog in heat.

"Had enough yet?"

"No. Keep going." Trying to sound tough but his voice was all over the place.

Whack. Number seven caught him right where it hurts most. Right in that soft bit where arse meets leg.

"Fuck!" He jerked forward, forgot to count.

"That's seven," she reminded him coldly.

By twelve, something had changed. His posh boy act was gone completely. His silk boxers had a wet patch at the front, and he was rutting against her desk with every stroke.

"Stand up."

He froze.

"NOW."

He turned around slowly. No hiding it now. Cock tenting his boxers, big wet patch where he'd leaked through the silk.

"Well." Eleanor traced a finger over the damp spot. "Seems your cock gets the point better than your brain."

He gasped when she touched him. "This is fucking humiliating."

"That's the point, you entitled little shit." She squeezed him through the silk. "Your sort never learns humility any other way."

She moved closer. "Thornbridge isn't about family names or money. It's about knowing who's really in charge."

Her hand wrapped around him through the silk. Made him moan.

"Your predecessor found that out right here in this office."

"The rumors about Blackwood..."

"Only half the story." She squeezed harder, just shy of painful. "The last six strokes give you a choice. Regular way, or we deal with your... situation in a more educational manner."

Sebastian could barely speak. "What exactly...?"

"A proper lesson in Thornbridge's real power structure." Her thumb circled the wet spot on his boxers. "Your choice shows whether you've got any real potential here."

His eyes kept dropping to her stockings. "If I pick the second option?"

"You get invited to the Headmistress's private study tonight. Your real education starts there." She kept working him through the silk. "Victoria loves breaking down posh boys like you. Piece by bloody piece."

He pushed into her hand. "And if not?"

"Then you stay what daddy paid for. A useless figurehead with a fancy title."

Didn't take him long. "Second option," he said roughly.

"Good choice." She hit the intercom. "Margaret, hold my calls. Disciplinary meeting."

She unbuttoned her blouse enough to show black lace. "Get those off," she nodded at his boxers.

He pushed them down. His cock sprang free, big and hard, tip wet and shiny.

"On your knees."

Down he went. No hesitation now. Eleanor perched on her desk, slowly raising her skirt to show stocking tops, suspenders, and damp knickers.

"No hands. Keep them behind your back."

What followed was a proper education in Thornbridge's real power structure. Sebastian had never been spoken to like this, never been controlled like this. Didn't take long for him to love it.

"Slower," she ordered, yanking his hair. "Flat tongue. Just like that. Don't you dare move my knickers aside. You haven't earned it."

When she finally let herself come, she ground against his face hard, pulling his hair painful-tight. Sebastian moaned, hips jerking uselessly, his cock untouched and desperate.

Afterward, she stepped behind him, grabbed his balls with one hand, cock with the other.

"Last lesson," she whispered in his ear. "Release is given, not taken."

Didn't take long. He came with a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, finally understanding. Real power at Thornbridge had nothing to do with family money and everything to do with Eleanor Harwick-Smythe.

"Clean up," she told him after. "Headmistress expects you at seven. This key gets you in the east entrance." She dropped it on the desk. "Next time you're late, it'll be much worse."

Sebastian was still shaking. "What happens at seven?"

"More education. Tonight decides if you're just a name on paper or actually part of Thornbridge's inner circle."

As he got dressed, she saw the change. No swagger left.

"Ms. Harwick-Smythe," he asked at the door. "Blackwood... did he pass whatever test is coming?"

"Blackwood found his place here. You will too. Thornbridge values different things in different students."

"What do you value in me?"

"That's what tonight reveals. Seven sharp. Wear silk underwear. Victoria loves tearing it."

After he left, Eleanor changed her soaked knickers for a fresh pair from her desk drawer. The intercom buzzed.

"Headmistress on line one."

"Eleanor," Victoria's voice was pure sex. "How's our new Head Boy?"

"Got potential under all that entitlement. Needed a firm approach."

"Excellent. Bennett's joining us tonight. Thought you'd enjoy watching his education alongside our posh boy."

"Can't wait," Eleanor replied. "Is William coming for the alumni thing?"

"Yes. Quite keen to see your new position."

After hanging up, Eleanor thought about Thornbridge's hidden power structure. Three months ago, she'd been just the Ice Queen, feared but powerless.

Tonight, she'd watch Victoria break in two new members. Next week, she'd see William Blackwood again, not as the shocked Deputy Head caught on her knees, but as a full member of Thornbridge's most exclusive club.