School Reunion Year 1 (2 page)

Penny stood shakily, knees together, skirt around her waist, petulant and pouting, the very embodiment of a properly punished schoolgirl. Futilely trying to massage away the smart of her burning bottom she looked pleadingly at Knight.

‘If you think for a moment that cute, winsome look will get you let off anything further, then forget it,' he said. ‘Follow me.'

‘Where are we going?' Penny asked in a quavering voice.

‘To the gymnasium,' he replied brusquely.

In the centre of the large echoing space stood a solitary piece of equipment: the horse, a bolster with adjustable wooden legs at each corner. Generations of pupils had bent over its leather-clad length for a punishment of last resort.

Knight waited patiently, the cane clasped behind his back. ‘Knickers off and hand them to me,' he snapped.

Fumbling, clumsy, she complied, the heat of a maidenly blush on her face as she doffed the skimpy material.

‘Sit astride the top, facing that end,' he instructed, pointing to the way he wanted her positioned.

Placing both hands onto the cool leather Penny eased easily up astride it, laying her torso forward along the top, legs hanging down each side.

With a snort of approval Knight stepped forward and pulled the tie from her collar, quickly employing it to bind her wrists. ‘Don't want you struggling,' he said. From his pocket he produced her panties and pushed the damp scrap between her teeth. ‘Don't want you screaming the place down, either,' he added. ‘And believe me, by the time you've taken the first six strokes you'll be in fine voice.'

Leisurely he enjoyed the view, the position lewdly spreading her bottom cheeks to reveal her sex and her puckered anus, her knees gripping the flanks of her inanimate mount while her feet, lacking stirrups, hung freely. Gagged by her knickers she was unable to speak, and scared to move she hung on grimly, a cold shiver of dread coursing through her.

The first stroke jolted her forward and, even as the rattan bounced back from her indented flesh a line of fire blazed across her haunches. Her anguished shriek muffled into a gurgle of distress as her bound hands struggled for grip. A second parallel stroke followed rapidly, then a third in rapid succession, scoring livid weals of angry red fire across her gorgeous bottom. Three more merciless cuts found their target, biting harshly into the tender under-curves at the top of her widely spread thighs.

Spared the indignity of a tumble from her mount, Penny lay shaking and helpless before her erstwhile teacher. Lifting her effortlessly Knight pulled the panties from her mouth and hushed an incipient wail of anguish by placing a finger upon her lips. Strong arms draped her, whimpering and bare-bottomed, across the horse, buttocks supported at its highest point, toes just touching the floor, from where Penny had an upside-down view of him as he drew back his arm to conclude her beating.

In comparison with her previous thrashing the final six were almost tokens, a series of skilful flicks applied to the outer flanks of her cheeks and the tops of her thighs. Then peering back between her open legs she saw Knight drop the cane and move his hand to the front of substantially distended trousers. Surely he couldn't be intending to… but why not? Thrashed, bent helplessly over the horse and with her wrists tied, she was certainly in no position to stop him, and surreptitiously grinding her hips against the leather apparatus she felt a shameful spasm of sexual excitement.

‘No, you shouldn't…' Penny wailed in shock as she watched him open his trousers and free his meaty erection.

‘And why shouldn't I?' Knight asked scornfully, carefully insinuating his cock between Penny's parted labia.

‘Nooo…' she wailed. ‘Please, I can't take it.'

‘Can and will,' he mocked arrogantly, holding her firmly down and slipping a rigid few inches into her velvety cave.

Slowly, inch by inexorable inch, he filled her with the impressive length of his cock. Penny felt it stretch her humid depths to the limit, filling every centimetre of her vagina with pulsating flesh. Tilting back and lifting her head, eyes closed in perfect bliss, she rode her new mount to the finishing line.

As Knight drove Penny home she smiled impishly and gazed at him with sparkling eyes, resting her cheek against the headrest of the front passenger seat of his car since she'd prudently decided to kneel to alleviate the stinging in her poor bottom.

‘I'm sure you'll find plenty of reasons to take this naughty girl in hand in the future,
sir
,' she purred.

‘I wasn't intending this should be a regular thing,' retorted Knight. ‘You've paid the price and that's an end of it.'

‘No, it isn't,' she countered slowly, ‘not if I don't want it to be. And just think,' she continued, ‘what it could do to the career of a new and aspiring head teacher to have his private life exposed in one of the Sunday tabloids.'

‘You wouldn't do that…' he began, suddenly pale and a good deal less confident.

‘Oh yes I would,' Penny insisted with a wicked giggle. ‘Believe me, sir, I really would…'

‘Oh great! Oh, absolutely bloody wonderful!'

With considerably more force than was necessary Craig switched off the mobile and tossed it onto a chair. On top of everything else that was going pear-shaped today, now the sodding male model was a no show.

‘Gastric flu?' he snarled, pacing around the room and addressing no one but the camera tripod. ‘Hangover, more likely.

‘Can you believe it?' he went on grumbling. ‘First the lift's out of order so I have to lug all my equipment up three flights of stairs, and then the client decides he's too busy to art direct: “You can do it, old chap, I've complete faith in you, the results have always been splendid before”.' With cruel accuracy he mimicked the magazine publisher's Oxbridge tones. ‘“I'll fax over the shooting sequence and you can drop the film into the office on your way home”. Gee, thanks!'

Sarcasm may be the lowest form of wit, but then, Craig wasn't trying to be funny.

Abruptly he stopped pacing and expelled a deeply exasperated sigh. Ranting was getting him nowhere slowly. What was it those management types were always spouting?
We don't have problems, we have opportunities
. Yeah, right, Craig was in a swamp full of alligators up to his armpits, but by keeping calm and using his head he might yet be able to salvage the situation.

Quite apart from anything else, his cash flow needed an injection of money and this client always paid above the odds. For which, reciprocally, they expected smudges of a very high standard. A fair enough exchange, thought Craig; he was always up for going the extra mile if it kept the customer satisfied.

Besides which, it was too bloody late for him to do anything else to bring in the shekels, and he'd just spent the last hour setting up the lights and a medium-format camera. Craig sat down and rolled a mild spliff, just sufficient to relax as he didn't want to lose the plot, and thought hard as he smoked it.

Okay, there was one possible way, and one way only that he could see of coming out on top; as well as being art director and cameraman he was also going to have to play the male lead. Which meant judicious use of the timer and cable release and keeping his head out of shot. Which in turn would require some alterations to the shooting script. ‘And if there's any time left I can stick a broom up my arse and sweep the floor behind me,' he said ruefully, retrieving his phone and dialling.

Fortunately the client answered at once. ‘Have to be quick, old boy, my plane boards in five minutes and they don't allow mobiles in the cabin,' he said.

Diplomatically Craig refrained from reminding the publisher, editor and owner of
Hera
magazine, purveyor of CP and domestic discipline scenarios to the discerning, that he was supposed to have cried off to visit an ailing relative. Apparently no one could be bothered to lie convincingly these days, but if he could afford a weekend in Cannes, then good luck to him. Quickly Craig outlined the problem, then succinctly followed through with a possible solution.

‘Hmm, not bad,' said his distant paymaster. ‘Not bad at all. By keeping the punisher's face out of shot the male figure becomes a sinister manifestation of authority, an anonymous agent of justice. Yes, all right, give it a try. Must go now, they've called first class.'

Phew, that was a relief, albeit only temporary, as at least he didn't cancel the shoot; the day's fee was in the bag. However, in order to be in the running for any future such lucrative commissions, Craig had to make this plan work. So picking up the shooting script he began to read, scribbling amendments in the margin as he did so.

‘What do you mean; you've no previous experience? Why exactly are you here, then?' Half an hour had passed and Craig was once more annoyed by yet another glitch. ‘Allow me to get this straight; you've never done any modelling of any sort before, let alone this type of modelling?'

‘Correct.' Sophie was nervous but unrepentant and determined to stand her ground. She'd not been at the shoot for any time at all and already there were problems. ‘I've never done anything like this before; the agency knew that when they booked me. Said it was “good to have new faces”.' Despite her nerves she smiled at the contradiction; it wouldn't be her face that was the focal point in most of the pictures. ‘That posh bloke there reckoned I'd “bring a freshness to proceedings”, whatever that means.'

‘Unfortunately,' Craig said wearily, ‘I wasn't aware of any of this.'

‘Perhaps I'd better go?' Sophie suggested reluctantly.

‘What?' Craig was aghast at the idea. ‘Oh no, you're not getting cold feet on me at the eleventh hour, no way. This job is far too important. He sat back, rested his chin on his palm and made a thorough professional assessment of Sophie, who'd arrived flustered but on time, barely ten minutes before.

Her brief biography, appended to the story script, put Sophie in her early 40s - although to be fair she'd easily pass for at least five years younger than that. The narrative called for a scene between an older woman and a younger man.

Sophie, who remained standing, returned his gaze levelly and eventually broke the contemplative silence between them. ‘So, run the scenario by me again,' she said.

At least she was making an effort, thought Craig, who was now so consummately versed in the storyline he could deliver a précis from memory. ‘Well, our heroine has been caught out cheating by her husband,' he outlined for the attractive model. ‘She swears it won't happen again but he's adamant the strumpet should be punished. So great is his anger he doesn't trust himself to chastise her, but instead insists she visit a professional disciplinarian.'

‘Why doesn't she just tell him to piss off?' As criticisms go, Sophie's was crisp and to the point.

‘He's rich and she's not so, and the price of a nice middleclass lifestyle is…'

‘Getting her bottom smacked,' Sophie finished the sentence for him with no sign of embarrassment.

‘Quite so,' confirmed Craig, ‘and a good deal more besides. Look, Sophie, this isn't high art. Start questioning the underlying assumptions these little vignettes are based on and the whole edifice soon falls apart.'

‘Don't the readers mind?'

‘Obviously not,' he said, shaking his head. ‘
Hera
, you'll probably be surprised to learn, is at the top end of the market, but even there the words are really just intended to set the context for the images, which I can assure you
are
top quality.'

‘I rather guessed the word “strumpet” came from you and not the script,' replied Sophie. ‘And as for the standard of photography, well, you would say that, wouldn't you?' she added, grinning cheekily.

‘Thank you,' he retorted, smiling too. ‘Of course the magazine could find much cheaper snappers without any trouble.'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude,' she apologised.

‘Don't worry, no offence taken, you soon develop a thick skin in this game,' said Craig amiably. ‘But you still haven't answered my earlier question, Sophie; why are you here today?'

‘Because I'm desperate to earn cash, for a start,' she revealed. ‘I need the money to pay for a foundation course to get into higher education as a mature student.'

‘What do you plan to study?'

‘English and drama, if I can,' she told him. ‘Never got the opportunity when I was younger; two children in quick succession when I was not much more than twenty put the kibosh on any chances I had then.'

‘So why now?' Craig was curious; she wasn't one of the self-obsessed and vacuous models he often had to deal with. Quite the contrary, Sophie was clearly a woman rooted in real life experience.

‘Kids are off my hands,' she explained. ‘One's working as a nurse and lives in, the other's just begun university.'

‘And…' The answer to the next, as yet unspoken question, suddenly seemed to matter greatly to Craig. ‘And your old man?'

‘There's a court injunction to keep him away from me and the house.'

‘Blimey!'

‘Being a lazy drunk I could just about cope with, but hitting me because I told him I wanted to go to college finished us for good.' Anger flashed across Sophie's appealing face at the memory.

‘Good for you.' Craig was genuinely and firmly on her side; he hated violence in general and by men against women in particular. ‘So, how'd you get this gig?'

‘A friend of mine, used to work part-time in the same wine bar, did a lot of modelling,' she said. ‘All sorts; art students, glamour…'

‘And CP?'

‘Come again?'

‘Corporal punishment.' So, Craig pondered, she really was a novice. ‘It's what these spanking shoots are all about.'

‘Yeah well, she got a better offer and put me forward in her place. I wondered if perhaps it might be a chance to try a little acting - you know, getting into the role - and have a bit of a laugh.' Sophie sounded nonchalant, but the earlier butterflies had retuned to her stomach in force. Craig chuckled, not unkindly, but it made her hidden discomfort deepened. ‘Um, I played around a bit when I was younger.' She grinned sheepishly. ‘My ex was a decent bloke then; pretty inventive in bed, we had some good times, and a bit of hanky-spanky as foreplay always got me in the mood.'

Dam, Craig had been labouring manfully to maintain a professional detachment, but Sophie was making him smile with her. Such naïve yet transparently genuine enthusiasm made it hard to stay angry with all the difficulties the day had thus far thrown up.

There was, he reflected, something extremely attractive about her character; she was friendly, open, lively, and personable. God, her former husband must be a twenty-four carat prat. How many men could boast a wife with such a lovely figure and looks? She might be twelve years older than him, but in different circumstances he definitely wouldn't mind…

Ahem, Earth to Craig, time to stop daydreaming, time was running short, he'd a portfolio of shots to produce and Sophie, bless her, was about to embark on a very steep learning curve.

During the time Craig was immersed in idle contemplation, Sophie had been doing some rapid thinking of her own. Number one, the job was still a runner and consequently her three hundred pounds almost in the bank. Number two, far from being the greasy creep Sophie had speculated she might encounter, Craig was all right. In fact more than all right, to be honest; it had been far too long since she'd met a bloke prepared to show some interest in her as a person rather than a possible one-night stand.

Nice looking, too. Sure, he was a bit younger than her, but in different circumstances she…

Sophie silently admonished herself. Do okay here and there might be more jobs such as this one. What did they call it? Networking, that was the phrase. Not what but who you know.

She hoped he'd like what he saw when she had to start taking her clothes off. She'd splashed out a bit in the lingerie department, in preparation. The posh bloke had told her roughly what to wear, and spending some money on herself for once cheered her up no end. It'd been years since she'd worn stockings and suspenders. Some women moaned they were too fiddly, but a pair of expensive nylons under her skirt helped her feel sexy and confident.

But what about, she wondered, the actual spanking? Would it hurt very much? It was too late to chicken out now, and on the plus side she wasn't averse to a bit of closer physical contact with Craig, even if it was all faked.

It would all be faked, wouldn't it…?

‘If you're ready, we'll begin.' Brisk and businesslike once more, Craig assertively took charge.

‘Okay, fine.' Now the moment of truth was here, Sophie was inwardly quaking. She smiled weakly, and in an attempt to hide her apprehension she looked around the spacious flat approvingly. ‘Nice place for it,' she said, suddenly needing to make idle conversation.

‘A friend of the publisher owns it, apparently,' Craig said dismissively, busy loading film into the cameras. ‘I certainly couldn't afford a place in the Barbican.'

‘Closest I've ever got is Hackney,' agreed Sophie. ‘So, um, what do we do first?'

‘That's the easy part,' he said encouragingly. ‘The set-up scenario requires that you merely walk in from the door. I'll be waiting for you, off camera. At no time is my face revealed, for obvious reasons, but it works in with the plot, what little there is of it, and puts almost the entire visual focus on you.'

‘To do what?'

‘Basically, to look shamefaced and guilty, perhaps a tad scared, too, while I wave my finger and pretend to deliver a stern lecture.'

‘I won't have any trouble with the scared part,' Sophie admitted with disarming frankness.

‘Don't worry,' soothed Craig, ‘you'll be fine. Break a leg, darling, as the thespians say. Most of the images will be from the medium format camera, the big one over there, which I'll operate clandestinely with the cable control concealed in my palm. Just make all your movements with exaggerated slowness so I can take plenty of shots. And try to remember where you are in relation to the lens.'

Faced with this barrage of information Sophie looked momentarily doubtful. ‘Stay cool,' he continued in a reassuring tone, noticing her apprehension. ‘I've also got a thirty-five mil on a tripod over there to give a different angle, and if necessary I'll drop out of character and do some handheld close-ups with a third camera. Just follow my directions and think of it as a silent movie.'

To her surprise the opening shots went well. Sophie looked suitably contrite, eyes downcast, feet shuffling and hands wringing convincingly while Craig issued precise instructions in a quiet, patient voice, which helped boost her confidence enormously.

‘Great!' Craig eventually enthused, and then catching her expression of doubt he added, ‘No really, I'm not just being luvvie-ish, that went very smoothly. I've had a lot more hassle with so-called practiced professionals.'