
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1597520.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Cersei_Lannister/Margaery_Tyrell
  Character:
      Cersei_Lannister, Margaery_Tyrell
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Corporal_Punishment, Discipline,
      Spanking, Vaginal_Fingering, Fingerfucking, where_Margaery's_a_total
      brat, and_Cersei's_gotta_discipline_her, School_Uniforms, Catholic
      School, Blackmail
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-11 Words: 1524
****** Dress Code ******
by chutzpaz
Summary
     "Miss Tyrell!" Headmistress Lannister shrieks.
     Margaery only smiles and snaps off the other strap. The Headmistress
     gasps. "Do not-" she commands, but Margaery has already pulled her
     bra completely off, out from under her shirt, and thrown it over her
     shoulder where it lands in the corner of the room, strewn over a file
     cabinet.
     "There," Margaery says. "My bra strap isn't showing anymore."
"We have a strict dress code here, Miss Tyrell." Headmistress Lannister says
from across the desk, steepling her fingers. "Your skirt is too short, your
shirt needs to be buttoned up more, and your bra strap is showing."
Margaery crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. "This is an all-girls'
school! What does it matter?"
Headmistress Lannister shakes her head and makes a tsk-tsk sound. "Rules are
rules, Miss Tyrell, and if you truly do intend to be student council president,
I suggest you follow them. Otherwise I'll see to it that a certain Sansa Stark
suddenly receives a large influx of votes."
Margaery gapes. "That's not fair! I'm pretty sure that's illegal!"
The Headmistress smirks. "King's Landing Academy needs a president who sets a
good example."
"This is blackmail," Margaery mutters.
"Yes," the Headmistress says bluntly. "So do something about that bra strap,
please."
Margery glances quickly at the door, hoping that maybe the secretary can hear
and will save her from this absolute nightmare of a Headmistress. When no one
comes to her rescue, Margaery sighs. "Fine," she says at last. "Fine."
She reaches around, under her shirt, and unclips her bra. Then she very
pointedly grabs hold of one strap, slipping it off her shoulder and down her
arm.
"Miss Tyrell!" Headmistress Lannister shrieks.
Margaery only smiles and snaps off the other strap. The Headmistress gasps. "Do
not—" she commands, but Margaery has already pulled her bra completely off, out
from under her shirt, and thrown it over her shoulder where it lands in the
corner of the room, strewn over a file cabinet.
"There," Margaery says. "My bra strap isn't showing anymore."
For a moment the room is deadly silent. The Headmistress' nostrils flare, only
for a second, before she once again assumes complete control over her icy
features. When she finally speaks her voice is sickeningly sweet. "Miss
Tyrell," she says softly, drawing out the last part seductively, making her
voice linger in the room despite the quiet volume. The change in demeanor is
extreme— no longer does she seem angry, instead, she is perfectly calm,
perfectly still, perfectly controlled. Margaery gulps. She totally made a
mistake.
"Yes, Headmistress," Margaery says.
"Please, come here." Headmistress Lannister smiles nauseatingly brightly.
Margaery bites her lip, but obeys, circling around the Headmistress' desk
warily before coming to a stop right in front of her. The Headmistress rolls
the chair backwards to accommodate her, then leans back, steeples her fingers,
and looks Margaery up and down. Assessing her. Sizing her up like a lion
examining its helpless prey. Against her will, Margaery feels a blush creep up
onto her cheeks. And oh, oh— her nipples better not be hardening, but they are,
because she's standing directly under the air conditioning vent and she doesn't
have a bra and she's pretty sure that they're visible under her white uniform
shirt and—
"Now, Miss Tyrell," the Headmistress says, done with her assessment, "Please
bend over the desk."
"Wha—" Margaery chokes out, hoping she had heard wrong— but no, Headmistress
Lannister nods at her as if encouraging her to go on. Margaery stumbles back,
shaking her head, mouth agape, because no, she definitely will not subject
herself to that kind of humiliation.
"Or should I recommend you for expulsion?" Margaery's mouth snaps shut and she
stills. "I thought not," the Headmistress continues, and motions over to the
desk again. "So what will it be?"
Slowly, Margery leans over the desk, careful not to knock aside any of the
various ornaments that decorate it. But when the Headmistress casually flips
her skirt up, she can't help but jerk back, sending a pencil cup flying.
"Ah, ah," she hears behind her. "Control yourself, Miss Tyrell."
She bows her head, allowing her hair to splay across the desk in a wild half-
circle, and tries her best to obey, bracing her hands on the edge of the table.
Which helps very much when the Headmistress runs a gentle hand across the bare
skin of her arse. She gasps and jerks again, but doesn't knock anything over
this time.
"Yes, your skirt is far too short." With that, the Headmistress delivers a
smack directly onto one of her cheeks.
"Oh!" Margaery yelps. Her whole body tenses.
"Shh," the Headmistress admonishes, delivering another slap.
"You can't dothis," Margaery whines.
"But I am."
"But you can't."
"Then get up and walk away," the Headmistress says simply.
Margaery groans. Another smack. "I can't," she says.
"You can't?" Smack. "Or you won't?" Smack. "Perhaps you're enjoying this."
"No," Margaery moans.
"Perhaps that's why you deliberately provoked me." Smack. "Perhaps that's why
you're always flaunting yourself in those extremely short skirts and these—
these— obscene garments." She hooks a finger under Margaery's lacy lingerie and
then lets go so that it snaps back down.
"I didn't," Margaery gasps. "And I'm not!"
Headmistress Lannister lays another stinging slap on her. "Lying is not
tolerated here," she says.
"I'm not lying," Margaery says.
"Then explain this," the Headmistress says, and runs one finger across the lace
of her panties— and, oh— down the crook, exploring lower, until her finger
glides over the spot of wetness that has developed there. Margaery whimpers.
"You like this," she says plainly.
"No," Margaery lies. Because okay, maybe she does, maybe the gorgeous
Headmistress with long eyelashes and beautiful golden curls and a killer body
has long been making nightly appearances in her dreams, maybe she wears her
skirt too short and unbuttons her shirt too much so that other girls will look
at her, and maybe, just maybe the Headmistress' hand on her arse has brought
all of her badwrongterrible emotions and feelings and desires crashing to the
surface— but she won't admit that, of course.
"No?" the Headmistress asks. "Well, alright. It is a punishment, after all."
She resumes smacking, rhythmically, alternating cheeks and making each stroke
harder than the last until finally, finally Margaery can't take it anymore—
"Please," she begs.
"What?" The hand attacking her backside stills momentarily.
"Please," Margaery repeats.
"Please, what?"
"Please, I— I don't know, I—" Margaery stutters.
She half-expects another smack, and half-expects to be let free. What she
doesn't expect is the finger running down her panties again, the fingers
sliding off her panties, the finger that slips into her as easy as a knife
through hot butter because she's so wet—
And this is wrong, so wrong, but Margaery moans all the same.
"Please, please, please," she begs again, over and over. Headmistress Lannister
continues to thrust her fingers into Margaery, hardly gentle but not unkind
either, just rough and fast and unrelenting. Margaery only bites her lip and
braces herself against the desk, pushing her body up against the wood with
every movement of the Headmistress' hand, but then she adds another and
Margaery lets out a scream.
"Quiet!" the Headmistress reprimands, and Margaery bites her lip again,
resolving to stay silent, but when she hits that spot inside of Margaery she
moans long and deep and— and—
And Margaery is coming, her body convulsing and hips rising to meet the
Headmistress' fingers, and she tries to bury her face in the wood to muffle the
strangled cry of ecstasy that comes pouring from her lips.
When she stops seeing stars, she looks up to see that Headmistress Lannister
now stands in front of her, brushing hair from her face and tucking it behind
her ear. Margaery trembles at the touch, deceptively gentle and almost caring.
Almost. Because the next thing she does is stick two fingers into Margaery's
mouth. She lets out a half-sob when she tastes herself, but obeys the
Headmistress' command of "Suck."
Finally she decides her fingers have been sufficiently cleaned and she slips
them out of Margaery's mouth, leaving a thin line of spit to bridge the gap
between lips and fingers before it breaks and settles on Margaery's chin.
"You may go," the Headmistress says, dismissing her, and Margaery is already
bringing her panties back up and heading to the door, desperate to leave as
fast as possible, but she wasn't finished— "after you clean up the mess you
made."
Margaery's eyes flicker to the pencils that she accidentally sent flying
earlier, and she slowly bends down to pick them up under the Headmistress'
watchful eye. After successfully returning them, she reaches for her bra in the
corner of the room, but the Headmistress tsk tsks behind her and shakes her
head no.
"I—" Margaery says, but she's interrupted.
"I think I'll keep that," Headmistress Lannister says, smirking. Margaery
flushes deeply from head to toe, feeling her whole body redden to match her
arse cheeks, which still sting under the rough fabric of her skirt.
"Go to class, Miss Tyrell," she commands, and Margaery does.
It's only later, after she sits through two unbearable classes and one
unbearable car ride, that she finally gets home and gives herself some relief.
Relief that involves laying back in her bed, ignoring the pain on her backside,
and focusing on fingering herself and trying to be quiet as she calls out
"Cersei" when she comes.
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