Obviously, the idea that physical contact between schoolmasters and the poor innocent girls in their charge is a BAD THING is absolutely correct, and quite rightly enshrined in law these days.
That in itself creates entirely different opportunities for perverted thought. Several of my stories revolve around a teacher having to punish his favourite girl (bright, sassy, attractive, a prefect, destined for one of the great universities, requiring private tuition, and so on). The feelings are mutual – the girl respecting, adoring her wise mentor.
But, of course, in a story set in a boarding school of 2006, there could be no corporal punishment. And the relationship would be purely platonic: their deep feelings left unspoken.
Until (if you were having kinky dreams, as I did last night) the final day of the final term of the girl’s school career. It’s after final assembly. Our young lady heads for her favourite teacher’s study to express her heartfelt thanks and say her goodbyes before heading to the railway station.
They stand opposite each other, electricity crackling in the air between them, so many unspoken words leaping through their minds. He tells her to stand up straight: “Just because you’re no longer a pupil here doesn’t mean you can slouch.”
He walks around her, inspecting her, and then stands close before her. “As you’ve left the school. you shouldn’t be wearing your uniform.”
I’ll leave the rest to your perverted imaginations…