School Reunion Year 1 (5 page)

‘…If my father were here, goodness knows…'

But he wasn't, was he? Because Carly set it all up deliberately for when she knew he'd be on his regular annual two week Caribbean holiday, and since the two were sensibly never absent at the same time Young Mr James would be holding the fort.

‘…Really cannot see that you now have any future with this company…'

Hang on, the plan was to be a lecture and a botty smacking, not the loss of her career.

‘…At Jones Brothers workers are considered partners… such sloppiness is an abuse of our trust and I might add… a personal affront… well, what have you to say for yourself?'

Okay, this was the big one. Carly was on, so she'd better make this the performance of her young life. ‘Um, well sir, obviously you're quite right…' she started, and then offered her abject apologies. ‘There's no way I can deny it, sir. I'm sincerely sorry. I'm mortified to have so upset you, of all people, someone I've looked up to for so long…'

Young Mr James studied her coolly, and realised he hadn't really looked closely at her before. She really was rather attractive; trim figure, pretty face, excellent legs.

He hated sacking people; it was an unpleasant business. She'd such a good employment record, too. She was bright, worked hard, potentially a real asset to the firm. He wished there was some other way of dealing with such an unfortunate situation, like putting her over his knee and soundly spanking that well-rounded arse, for example.

‘I know I richly deserve to be punished but there must be some other way,' she went on meekly. ‘Some way to wipe the slate clean which would allow me to remain with the firm…'

Crikey, did he really hear that? Did she really say what he thought she'd said? He shouldn't dither, it was sounding hopeful. He'd found the error, he alone fixed it, and no one else knew what the meeting was about. It was now or never. Come on, he told himself, seize the moment. If she threw a wobbly there were no witnesses, he could always deny it, and who were people more likely to believe? It could get messy, though. ‘Ahem,' he cleared his throat, running a finger around his shirt collar, it suddenly feeling somewhat tight, ‘such as what exactly, Ms Dowson?'

That was it; put the ball back in her court.

‘Well, Mr James…' eyes downcast, Carly wrung her hands at her front.

‘Come on, girl.'

‘Well,' she ventured, ‘my stepfather, right up until I left home, and a couple more times after that, used to put me across his knee and smack my bottom.' She lied; the creep tried it once and she kicked him so hard his balls nearly hit his tonsils.

‘You mean, he spanked you?' Mr James was shocked, but more by the fact that she'd introduced the idea than by what she'd told him about her guardian. But he mustn't seem too eager. ‘If you're suggesting I do something similar,' he said pompously, ‘it's quite impossible, out of the question.'

‘Please, sir, I'm on my own, I really need this job,' she implored. ‘The store's closed and there's no one else here now, Mr James. No one to know but you and me.'

She was right, of course, he pondered - almost as if she'd planned it. So okay, if that's the way she wanted it. ‘All right,' he decided, ‘I suppose in this exceptional circumstance, and since your work in all other respects has thus far been faultless?'

‘Oh, thank you, sir, you won't regret it,' she gushed.

‘Be so good as to fetch that chair over there,' he directed, his hands sweaty with excitement, hoping he sounded commanding enough. ‘Place it in the middle of the room and stand next to it.'

‘Like this, Mr James?' she asked respectfully.

‘Quite so,' replied the boss, and mastering as much gravitas as possible he rose from behind his desk, strode the short distance to the chair and sat regally down. Better keep the momentum going before she had the chance of changing her mind. ‘Now, Ms Dowson, across my knees, if you please.'

Obediently Carly draped herself submissively across his lap, her heart beating alarmingly as she waited in silence.

‘We'll have this skirt out of the way for start…' said Mr James, hardly able to believe that what he'd fantasised over for so long was finally happening.

Carly hoped he liked what he saw, not daring to look over her shoulder at him. Should she have gone for stockings and suspenders?

‘…And we won't be needing these…' he went on.

‘Mr James, no please,' Carly gasped, feeling him slowly peeling down her knickers, ‘not on my bare bottom, it's so undignified.'

‘Be quiet, girl,' snapped her boss. ‘You agreed to this punishment. In fact, as the tape recorder on my desk will subsequently confirm, you suggested it. There's no point in whining now.'

‘Yes…'
slap
! ‘Ow! But…'
slap
!

Mr James's palm descended heavily, no loving pats, these were full-blooded slaps, rippling her flesh and leaving livid finger marks across the taut porcelain skin of what, Mr James thought wryly, had indeed turned out to be a positive peach of a behind. Try and manipulate him, eh? Well, if she was to have any future at the firm she'd better know who's in charge.

For the next ten minutes both parties were lost for words. Mr James raptly intent on severely slapping every inch of Carly's truly delectable posterior to a livid red, and Carly wriggling, squirming, kicking and yelping while he did so.

Oh God, but it hurt. Her bum was on fire. She'd never felt such pain. This was so much more than she'd bargained for. This was totally different from the light-hearted spankings as foreplay she'd previously enjoyed. Finally her self-control dissolved into scalding tears and she lay helpless and sobbing while Mr James callously treated the velvety skin of her tender under-curves, where buttocks met thighs, to the same vigorous treatment.

‘Good,' he said in a voice full of undeniable authority as he paused for a moment to inspect his handiwork, ‘an extremely sound spanking and an excellent start.'

‘Start?' The implication of this choice of word was not lost on the hapless, chastened girl pinned passively across his thighs. Carly was appalled, pouting, petulant and protesting. ‘My bum feels as if its been scalded, I can't possibly take any more punishment…'

‘I'll be the judge of that, thank you, Carly,' responded Mr James, with a glint in his eye that was positively scary. ‘I think six of the best is required to properly absolve you of your sins. Not least the error of thinking you could set me up. Kindly stand, walk to the desk and bend right over it.'

‘No…' wailed Carly, dismayed by the knowledge that her carefully laid plans were slowly disintegrating around her.

‘Either you walk or I drag you,' Young Mr James was obviously thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘Which do you suppose might be more humiliating?'

Put like that she'd no choice, so, all four cheeks flaming, Carly struggled, dishevelled and tearstained to her feet where, clutching her shirt around her waist and hobbled by the tangle of knickers about her knees she shuffled over to the imposing oak desk. Caution thrown to the wind, Mr James pointedly ignored the look of mute pleading etched upon Carly's attractive face as he picked up a large plastic ruler, weighing it speculatively in his hand, and in an instant her hitherto sulky expression was transformed to one of utmost terror.

‘No, please Mr James, don't use that on my poor bum,' she pleaded, but to no avail.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, pushing her facedown onto the unforgiving surface of the desk, and an expensive brogue pushed her feet as far apart as the delicate but constraining garment around her knees would permit.

Passively prostrate across the polished surface Carly instinctively pushed back her bum in invitation. Damn, she was turned on, she thought. And her condition was probably obvious to him. And if she was so randy then maybe…

‘Uumpf, yeow!' Just as the deep heat of the spanking had begun to suffuse her with a surprisingly pleasurable heat, so Mr James turned up the temperature again. ‘Yeaow!'

Broad bands of flame seared her already tormented flesh, leaving dark and hurtful weals in their wake. Fingers scrabbling at the desk's furthest edge, the muscles in her thighs and calves tensed as she strained against the searing pain, hips gyrating lewdly she was soundly thrashed, and there was nothing she could do about it. She wouldn't be able to sit down for a week, she thought despairingly.

Surprised at himself, thrilled by the abandon with which he'd thrashed the helpless girl's wickedly provocative arse, James surveyed, with quiet approval, the havoc he'd wreaked upon her striped, inflamed bottom.

‘Hmm,' he mused, with evident satisfaction, as Carly gyrated and wriggled her bum in response to the confusing mix of sensations currently assailing her nether regions, ‘I think that may have done the trick. Now it only remains for you to thank me, and…'

‘Th-thank you?' Carly was about to protest vehemently, but in the nick of time she managed to moderate her tone. ‘Oh, um, thank you, Mr James,' she tried again, this time with humility.

‘For what?' he pressed.

‘For… for…' now Carly understood. ‘For punishing this wicked girl's naughty bare bottom and teaching her a well-deserved lesson.'

‘Good, now spread your legs for me, please,' he went on.

Glancing nervously over her shoulder, Carly did as he told her and was rewarded by the feel of fingers sliding against her sex lips, circling the protuberant bud of her clitoris, teasing the entrance to her quim.

‘Oh yes, thank you,' she gasped, hungrily pushing her cunt back against his questing hand, groaning at the exquisite sensations his skilful manipulations wrought in her loins.

James could hardly contain himself.

‘Well, go on then, you know you want to…' A quavering but determined voice interrupted his reverie; without attempting to move Carly turned her tear-streaked face to him, managing a weak smile of encouragement.

‘I want to what?' he asked disingenuously.

‘You want to fuck me,' she said with sexy frankness, as pointed as ever. ‘Judging by that tent pole ruining the cut of your trousers you want to, and as I'm sure you can clearly see, I'm ready and waiting.'

All of which was undeniably true, so why fight it? With earlier reservations overruled by his libido, James rapidly freed his impressive erection and without preamble sank it deep into the moisture of Carly's slickly accommodating vagina. There was nothing subtle about their coupling. No tender, romantic lovemaking, but an urgent, animal fuck. Gripped tightly within her, James responded vigorously to Carly's crude encouragement to fuck her, and fuck her he did, hard and fast.

As his groin ground into her tenderised buttocks she briefly fantasised what it might be like to feel him inside that yet un-broached portal of her rearmost rosebud. To feel her as yet virgin arse stretched with the full girth of that lovely rampant cock. That could come later, but right now she had Mr James right where she wanted him, and the trick would be to keep him there.

‘You think you've got me right where you want me, don't you?' growled a well-modulated voice at her shoulder, shocking her back to reality. ‘I'm not that dumb, Carly; I can spot a set up when I see one. No wait,' he continued, silencing her protest with a sharp slap to her thigh. ‘You're absolutely right, although probably for the wrong reasons. I like a girl who's sassy enough to come up with a plan as clever and calculated as yours, and where else am I going to find someone else as smart, or as downright dirty and up for it as you? No, don't answer that, I don't intend to look; I think you and I can go places, Ms Dowson. But don't expect an easy ride.'

‘Right now there's just one place I want to go,' groaned Carly. ‘Let's see if we can get there together. Oh, and Mr James…' she sighed, rocking on the desktop and gasping in unison with his thrusts.

‘Yes, Carly?' he managed through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed with concentration as he rutted against her luscious, beaten buttocks.

‘You… you can make it as wild a ride as you like,' she added.

‘Understood,' her boss grunted, ‘but I think you should just call me James from now on.'

‘I think,' Carly gasped, ‘we'll stick with Mr James for a little while yet. There's no need to rush these things.' This was her hard-won victory, and she was determined to savour every second.

‘Hi Julie, you look great. I've bought a bottle of wine and boy, have I got something to tell you? You'll never believe what's happened to me today!'

‘Happened to you today? Hang on, Carly, my story will top yours easily. Just wait until you hear this…'

Lingering on the threshold Dan reviewed the situation; he simply had to ask Laura for a date. For more than a month he'd chatted amiably with the pretty young assistant at the post office and general store that was the hub of life in this part of Sussex.

Intrigued to know more about Laura he'd done some diligent research, not difficult in a small country village, and soon elicited the salient details. Laura Walker was the granddaughter of the shop's owner, Mrs Winterton. She had her own rooms above and worked part-time behind the various counters to help fund a degree course at university. A history degree, the woman in the bakers had told him.

Apparently Laura had ‘always been a bright one'. Which was partly why Dan found her so attractive, but only partly, since to his mind she'd a plethora of other attributes including, in no particular order, a cheery confidence, radiant smile and long, long legs, plus a certain other, hard-to-define, character trait, a hint of… what? Dan searched hard for the correct word, finally settling on ‘naughtiness'. Even during their most mundane conversational exchanges he somehow got the feeling that Laura was, in the slang of the local kids, ‘up for it'. Up for what exactly remained to be seen, but if he didn't ask her out PDQ he'd never know.

In response to his protests at constantly living in hotels, Dan's employer had arranged the short-term let of a redbrick cottage just on the edge of the village. From there it was only a short commute to the converted barn where he was installing the software for yet another of the dot.com companies that were spreading like a rash across the South East.

The contract was nearly completed and his next assignment would be in London, not far from his Docklands flat, so if Dan were to make any progress with the lovely Ms Walker it would have to be soon. Besides, he really couldn't keep inventing excuses to call at the store; how many magazines and boxes of matches could a man need? Patiently waiting outside for a lull in custom, Dan eventually noticed the shop was, but for Laura, empty at last. Taking a deep breath he went in.

Ten minutes later Dan's heartbeat had returned to normal and he was deep in conversation with the object of his desire. Who, it turned out, was more than happy to accept his modest suggestion of a visit to the local cinema.

Unknown to our smitten hero, Laura had secretly been hoping he might take the initiative for the last two weeks. She'd even carefully rehearsed her reply in order not to appear too eager, and was relieved to not have to make the running herself.

‘Gran wants me to lock up tonight,' she said. ‘By the time I've banked the takings and got changed I should be able to meet you in the foyer just in time for the eight o'clock programme.'

‘There's always too much to do these days, life must have been simpler in black & white,' Dan mused, idly taking from a rack a monochrome postcard of the village as it was some fifty years ago.

‘Life was what?' said Laura, bemused.

‘Simpler in black and white,' repeated Dan, then aware this must sound a non-sequiter, quickly added, ‘In the nineteen-fifties, for instance,' he examined the back of the postcard, ‘when this picture of the high street was taken. You know, like in those old Ealing comedies.'

‘You're quite sure about that, are you?' queried Gran, who'd been quietly listening out back.

‘Oh yes,' replied Dan confidently, although in truth he was no such thing, the idea only having just occurred to him. ‘I mean, not much in the way of TV, no mobile phones, no computers, people not travelling as far to work. Everything in its place and a place for everything,' he concluded rather lamely.

‘And no cliché left unturned,' Laura put in with a giggle.

‘Well, if you are so convinced,' Gran said carefully, ‘why not put the theory to the test?'

‘How?' Dan and Laura replied in unison.

‘Try spending the next forty-eight hours subject to the same sort of rules and constraints as I had to half a century ago,' said Gran. ‘You should know, Laura, the twentieth century is your specialist subject.'

‘Yes, why not?' Laura smiled at the suggestion. ‘I'm up for it, how about you, Dan?'

‘Fine,' he replied, much amused but wondering just what he'd started, ‘why not?'

‘Because,' said Gran, ‘you'll discover that life was nowhere near as free and easy then as you appear to think it was. Still, it might make you young people more appreciative of the freedoms you enjoy these days.

‘For a start,' she added wickedly, ‘a young girl such as Laura might well have expected a chaperone on her first date.'

‘What?' groaned Dan, beginning to wish he'd never brought the subject up, after all.

‘Don't panic,' Mrs Winterton smiled mischievously, ‘I don't intend to waste my precious evening playing gooseberry. And anyway, that sort of behaviour largely died out during the war. When you didn't know what tomorrow held you took your chances when you could. But even so,' she added with a meaningful look at the pair, ‘my father would certainly have insisted on meeting the young man first, to check his character and discover his intentions.'

‘And what are your intentions?' Laura enquired, causing Dan, to his intense chagrin, to blush.

‘He'd have set a strict curfew, too,' added Gran, ignoring them, ‘and woe betide me if I was late home.'

‘Grounded?' Kate said sympathetically.

‘Huh, stupid American expression,' Gran snorted dismissively. ‘Hauled across his knee and soundly spanked, more like.'

‘At that age?' said Dan incredulously.

‘“You're never too old for a good hiding, and while you live in my house you'll follow my rules, my girl”,' Gran mimicked her own father. ‘That's how it was right up until I left home at twenty, the same age as Laura is now.'

‘But that's terrible.' Dan had been about to engage full political correctness overdrive when he glimpsed Laura's distant expression. Instead of the expected outrage the idea seemed to hold a peculiar fascination for her.

‘Well, I don't know,' she murmured dreamily. ‘At least it's over and done with, which is better than being nagged at for days.'

‘Right enough,' said Gran, approvingly. ‘Very sore at the time, but no harm done. And it at least instilled a little respect. Anyhow,' she continued briskly, ‘that's quite enough reminiscing about the “never had it so good” era. I'll lock up, so you two go about your business and get out from under my feet.' Then with an affectionate smile she ushered them from the shop.

Despite it being summer, by early evening a distinctly unromantic light drizzle had descended. For his short walk to the cinema, which somehow endured in the face of competition from the multiplexes of larger towns, Dan had dressed in an old belted raincoat, at the last moment adding a trilby left by a previous occupant of the cottage.

Laura arrived breathless, flushed and five minutes late, just as Dan's carefully cultivated veneer of nonchalance was starting to fade. Closing the large umbrella under which she'd sheltered, she revealed a simple floral dress, her hair tied back into a cute ponytail and, save for red lipstick, a clear complexion free of make-up. Laura's legs were equally bare and she wore on her feet flat sandals, which looked petite next to Dan's brogues.

‘You look wonderful,' he said sincerely, ‘although that dress is close to being period costume.'

‘I know,' retorted Laura. ‘Gran's a notorious horder and because her own flat's so small she stores a lot of old stuff in the rooms over the shop. And since we're having our own little monochrome retrospective, I decided to dress accordingly. You're looking very Humphrey Bogart-like, by the way.'

‘See,' he said, ‘I'm not a total ignoramus when it comes to the recent past.'

Laughing together, they went into the auditorium.

The movie turned out to be a golden oldie, an American screwball comedy, one of the last to be made before the advent of Technicolor. Since this was Hollywood at its most censorious, references to sex could only be made obliquely and clothes remained firmly on, but if anything this added to the film's period charm. The script was sharp and knowing, and while it was soon obvious the hero and heroine would eventually be united, the feisty leading lady led him a merry dance for much of the plot. So much so that in one scene the exasperated leading man hauled her across his knee for an all too brief spanking.

By this midway stage of the movie Laura had, in true romantic picture-goer fashion, snuggled comfortably against Dan's shoulder. Taken aback by the second overt reference to one of his favourite fantasies in one day, he glanced at his putative paramour to gauge her reaction, which was to look up and kiss him full on the lips. Dan's earlier suspicions were confirmed, unless his decoding of body language had gone completely to pot, it seemed Laura found the subject of CP more than a little stimulating.

The pair's concentration on the remainder of the plot was sporadic, and for the first time since he was a teenager Dan found himself snogging in the back row. Emboldened, he cupped a breast in his palm, and was gratified to feel her nipple stiffen through the thin material as she pulled him closer.

‘Back to my place?' he suggested as they walked home, arm in arm along the high street.

‘Sir, what sort of a girl do you think I am?' she replied, with feigned indignation. ‘I've already gone further than was wise on a first date. And what would the neighbours say?'

‘I haven't any neighbours,' reasoned Dan, but even as he spoke he knew there was no chance of them spending that night together.

‘You'll just have to be patient and wait until tomorrow afternoon,' continued Laura, now seemingly in sensible girl mode. ‘Daylight's the appropriate time for a well brought up girl to visit a gentleman for tea,' she added primly.

‘And in the meantime it's a black and white lifestyle for you - no computers, no video. A mug of tea and a good book are all you've got for entertainment until then. Find out how quickly time flew when life was simpler and the best things in life had to be waited for, like it or not.' And with a smile and a chaste peck on the cheek she was gone, leaving one very bemused and frustrated young man alone on the pavement.

Next day Dan was up with the lark. Managing to forsake the attractions of electronic entertainment for a few hours he did indeed read, before eventually surrendering to the dubious pleasures of an early rock and roll programme on the radio. There was no doubt about it, the days before youth culture and consumerism could be long and dull, and putting the waiting into wanting was definitely not his idea of a good time. Laura's granny had amply proved her point; a life lived in shades of grey may have been simpler but it was also a lot less fun. Slowly a plan formed in Dan's mind. If Laura wanted to play at nineteen-fifty's morality so be it, but later today she would find herself in for a shock.

At last it was mid-afternoon, and answering the knock on the front door he was immediately taken aback by the glamorous visitor waiting there. In place of yesterday's spartan “made-do-and-mend” garb, his date had clearly decided on the glamour of the late Macmillan era.

Laura's hair hung in soft waves to her shoulders, her eyebrows were drawn into dark curves, the lashes mascared, her lips a succulent dark red. The carefully fitted jacket emphasised her trim waist, and the matching full skirt swirled just below her knees. Demurely accepting his spellbound invitation to enter, Laura teetered across the room with dainty steps, still unaccustomed to the high heels of her peep-toe, ankle-strap shoes.

‘You look stunning,' he said, leading her to the sofa where she sat, crossed her legs with a sensual swish of nylon, and clasped a diamanté bag in her lap.

‘I went a bit overboard with Gran's wardrobe,' she admitted, ‘but I'd been wanting to try some of these clothes on for ages.' She giggled mischievously. ‘I feel like a proper lady.'

‘And would the proper lady care for a glass of Chardonnay?' enquired Dan.

‘Definitely not authentic, but a small sherry would be nice,' she said, happily acting out her self-appointed role. ‘And no doubt you'll take a scotch and soda?'

‘No doubt,' replied Dan, with heavy emphasis as he fixed the drinks, ‘you'll be insisting on the same degree of propriety as last night?'

‘That,' said Laura, with a saucy grin, ‘is for me to know and you to discover. Careful,' she added as he leant over to pass her glass, ‘these stockings are terribly hard to find these days, and cost a small fortune.'

‘Why so special?' he asked.

‘Because,' Laura stood and hitched up her skirt to reveal the gorgeous legs he'd so long admired sheathed in sheer black nylon, ‘they've got seams.' She twirled across the room, which rapidly turned out to be a coquettish step too far for, as his trousers tightened even more uncomfortably at the glorious sight, Dan reached his limit.

‘So you think,' he said, his voice dangerously low, ‘you can flirt and tantalise me outrageously, yet hide behind your precious old-fashioned morality each time I take the bait?'

‘It worked for Hepburn and Tracey,' she responded cheekily, but sensing a change in his stance and tone prudently tried to move out of his reach.

‘Not so fast, young lady,' he said, in the time-honoured tones of a B-movie hero, and in a flash he'd seized her by the wrist, sat down and unceremoniously tumbled her facedown across his lap.

‘W-what the hell are you doing?' she demanded peevishly.

‘What your great-grandfather did to your Gran, what Rock Hudson did to Barbara Rush and what I've wanted to do for the last twenty-four hours,' he responded decisively, and to further exemplify the point he brought his hand down sharply across her skirted rump. Now, while it's true Laura protested - verbally, with a stream of insults, and physically, by kicking, struggling and squirming over his knees - a seasoned outsider might have detected a perceptible lack of conviction underlying her struggles.