School Reunion Year 1 Read online

  SCHOOL REUNION

  Year 1

  by

  LAUREL ASPEN

  School Reunion Year 1 first published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks, an imprint of Avid eBooks.

  ePub ISBN 9781780801995

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir’a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Laurel Aspen. The right of Laurel Aspen to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Contents

  School Reunion

  Photo Shoot

  Flatmates

  Black & White

  School Reunion

  Penny’s footsteps echo down the long corridor, her heels clicking against the quarry-tiled floor. Early evening sunlight filters through windows set with leaded glass, splashing rainbow colours onto plain stark walls.

  Penny, more properly Petronella, pauses for a moment. A knot of anxiety twists in her stomach, apprehension lines her face. Momentarily she slumps dejectedly then, pushing back her shoulders, continues her journey, carefully checking the small brass numbers on each classroom door.

  Barely an hour ago she’d been the epitome of a carefree young woman, now her demeanour resembles that of someone en route to the dentist anticipating a necessary but possibly painful encounter. At last she finds the right room, a familiar smell of polish tinged with the sweat of generations of hurrying young bodies wrinkles her nose.

  The school stands about her, cathedral-like in its size and silence, a temple of learning designed to demand the obedience and respect of its scholars. The weight of history weighs heavily here. She shrugs back her expensively cut auburn bob, smoothes down the regulation dark grey skirt. Catching her reflection in the glass of a framed picture of scholars from half a century before Penny takes a deep breath and enters the classroom.

  It was four years since she’d left the sixth form at Redbrook Grammar, and Penny Harman usually tossed flyers from the Old Pupil’s Association straight into the bin. Continually starved of government cash the school canvassed alumni in the hope of raising funds, but Penny, with a good honours degree from a respected redbrick, had so far resisted these nostalgia driven appeals.

  But this time the newsletter caught her attention. ‘Last Days…’ it read, ‘your final chance to say farewell to the old school…’ Penny rapidly scanned the rest of the page. ‘Expensive repairs required… Impossible to adapt… Demolish and replace…’ Penny felt a sudden pang of regret. Typical, flog off a beautiful old building to housing developers to stick rabbit hutches on, then throw up a replacement as cheaply as possible and pocket the profit.

  Hence, apparently, a farewell dance, which previous pupils were invited to attend wearing their old school uniforms. Penny scanned the calendar. She’d nothing planned on that day, it’d be a laugh to meet up with a few old mates and, as for the uniform, she was sure it was packed away in her flat somewhere…

  The evening was going well and Penny circulated, chatting with former classmates. Everyone had entered into the spirit of the event and dug out their old attire. Fortunately for Penny her figure had altered little in the intervening years, so the regulation blouse and skirt were a perfect fit.

  In the cause of authenticity Penny had adhered to the privileges permitted senior pupils in her day. Eyeliner, a little lipstick, but no jewellery. Sensible single-strap shoes with just the hint of a high heel. She might easily have passed as a current pupil, albeit an uncommonly shapely and pretty one.

  ‘Ms Harman,’ a pleasant male baritone showed evident pleasure at her presence, ‘how very nice to see you.’

  ‘You too,’ replied Penny sincerely. It was Nick Knight; Mr Knight of course, in those days, or ‘Goodnight’ to the many teenage girls who found his self-assured manner and dark good looks much to their liking.

  For the reunion, like several other teachers, he’d dressed in keeping with the theme and worn his graduation gown.

  Mr Knight - ‘Nicolas, please, since we’re informal’ - had been a patient teacher, possessed of a certain old-fashioned air of confidence, which had simply added to his allure. Penny, not to put too fine a point on it, had a massive crush on him during her final year. They reminisced amiably until, abruptly, his tone of voice acquired a harder edge. ‘You did very well at university, especially since you got there under false pretences.’

  ‘False pretences?’ replied Penny, puzzled.

  ‘Indeed so.’ A good few inches taller than her, Nicolas peered sternly down at his former charge. ‘You’ll no doubt recall the quite disproportionate difficulties you had with mathematics?’

  ‘I did try,’ Penny sulked petulantly, ‘but however much it was explained I just couldn’t retain the basics, and the mere mention of geometry was enough to make me sweat.’

  Her implicit appeal to his sympathy fell on deaf ears. ‘As, I suspect, so will what I have to say next,’ he said.

  Penny stared blankly back at him, anxious and uneasy.

  ‘In order to get a university place a GCSE pass in maths is a minimum requirement,’ he went on. ‘I not only taught you but also invigilated the exam, during which I saw you copying equations from a concealed scrap of paper. Of course I informed the headmaster.’

  Penny’s throat was dry, her voice almost gone. ‘I wasn’t really cheating,’ she said lamely, ‘I’ve already told you, it was just so hard…’

  ‘The headmaster,’ continued Mr Knight, ‘was more concerned with exam results and league tables, so I was persuaded, reluctantly, to keep my counsel.’

  ‘Then it’s all in the past,’ said Penny, with a sigh of relief.

  ‘Not at all, young lady,’ relied Knight. ‘The old exam papers and invigilator’s notes are kept for ten years. Brought to the attention of your employer, or the university, they might well cause you some embarrassment.’

  ‘Or get my degree rescinded,’ Penny said heavily.

  ‘However,’ Mr Knight added brightly, ‘there is an upside to this dilemma. I have the honour of being appointed headmaster of the new school.’

  ‘You?’ said Penny, incredulously.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, my credentials and performance were judged more than up to the task.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,’ she replied quickly, eyes downcast, no longer the confident young professional but a wayward pupil brought to book.

  ‘We thus have an ideal opportunity to resolve this disgraceful matter,’ went on Mr Knight. ‘In two days this building will be demolished, so who knows what might fortuitously go astray?’ He raised an eyebrow, significantly.

  Penny forced a desperate smile. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Knight responded sarcastically. ‘But now you’re appraised of the alternative, no doubt you’ll cooperate.’

  Penny was acutely aware of being in very deep trouble.

  ‘I think some form of punishment is appropriate,’ he continued. ‘A short, shar
p, retributory shock.’

  ‘Punishment?’ Penny gasped. ‘But I’m not a pupil here.’

  ‘I thought you were following my line of reasoning,’ he said sharply. ‘I still have the records.’

  ‘But that’s blackmail.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he snorted. ‘However, if you wish to be pigheaded…’

  ‘No, no I don’t,’ said Penny, backtracking quickly. ‘I suppose some sort of penance is no more than I deserve.’

  ‘Excellent. We’ll use the maths room, SC3, on the opposite side of the school… to avoid any inconvenient disturbance.’

  ‘What sort of… punishment… had you in mind?’ she asked cautiously, barely able to believe what was unfolding.

  ‘I propose to cane you, Miss Harman,’ he stated with stunning frankness.

  ‘Cane me?’ Penny was thunderstruck. ‘But th-that’s illegal,’ she stammered.

  ‘It’s illegal for a teacher to strike a pupil,’ Mr Knight replied reasonably. ‘However, as you yourself so rightly pointed out, you are not a pupil here but an adult, entering into a voluntary arrangement.’

  ‘I’m being coerced,’ she replied miserably.

  ‘You can prove such an accusation?’ Knight retorted briskly. ‘Five minutes, Miss Harman; I will expect you there in five minutes.’ Then he departed, his dark gown swirling about him.

  Inwardly shaking, Penny tried not to think of some of the old schoolgirl fiction she used to read. Caned, bent over, touching her toes; he wouldn’t, surely, lift her skirt? She crimsoned at the very thought yet the tremor of fear was accompanied by another unexpected feeling of arousal. No one at school or home had ever laid a finger upon Penny it was true; but a boyfriend at university had once spanked her.

  Only playfully of course, fired with the vigour of youth no sooner had they finished one energetic bout of sex than he was ready for another. Penny pretended to be demur, in truth she was as eager as he, but why not make him wait?

  During the ensuing tussle she’d found herself pinned across his knee where, in spite of her struggles and the initial sting, Penny was soon aware of a warm tingle spreading through her loins. The impromptu spanking had made her most intimate parts melt with desire in a way nothing else had, before or since. Subsequently she’d been entered without preamble from behind, grasped by the hips, shafted to the hilt and propelled to a shattering orgasm. Penny several times tried to provoke a repeat performance. Unfortunately it was obviously no more than a passing whim on his part and she’d been out of luck.

  This time, Penny’s chastisement would be from the embodiment of authority, not a lover. With a sigh she slipped quietly out of the hall and down the corridor to meet her fate.

  In the classroom little had changed, time had stood still amid the battered wooden furniture and institutional green walls that were dominated by a large blackboard. Mr Knight stood imposingly behind a desk at the front of the room, on it was a slender rattan wand that inextricably drew Penny’s eyes. He followed her gaze.

  ‘Discovered at the back of the store cupboard during the great pre-move clearout.’ The new Head of Redbrook picked up the rod and swished it loudly through the air, making Penny wince.

  ‘No doubt we’ll soon draw a more lively response out of you,’ he observed dryly.

  ‘However,’ he straightened, fixing Penny with a basilisk stare, ‘we’ve other business to attend to first. Come to the front of the class girl.’

  Penny did so, standing rigidly to attention as Knight walked slowly towards her.

  ‘Your punishment will be in two instalments.’

  This was worse than she’d feared.

  ‘A dozen strokes of the cane for having the vulgarity to cheat, prior to which you’ll be thoroughly spanked.’

  This was far beyond what she’d imagined; the indignity and humiliation of an infantile spanking followed immediately by bending over for the cane.

  ‘Twelve strokes?’ Penny repeated in a small voice.

  ‘Twelve,’ Knight confirmed with unseemly relish, placing two straight-backed chairs side by side.

  Transfixed, like a small mammal beguiled by a snake, Penny felt unable to move. Knight sat on the right hand chair and beckoned her to him. Eyes wide, moist lips slightly parted, she obeyed.

  He reached up and caught her hand and in one smooth - might that be practiced - move, sharply pulling her down across his lap.

  ‘The spanking first,’ he said briskly, ‘to ensure this insolent bottom is properly warmed up, ready for its encounter with the cane.’

  Her toes just touching the floor, Penny’s torso rested upon the second chair.

  Knight lazily stroked the target area while Penny lay holding her breath, the silence eventually broken by her inadvertent cry as Knight raised his right hand and the spanking began.

  Her first, mistaken, impression was that this was quite bearable; if one discounted the inelegant position and the complete surrender of power, that was. Knight’s hard hand slapped rhythmically down, each impact amplified by her tight skirt. After twenty or so such swats Penny became painfully aware of a spreading warmth emanating from the centre of her behind, suffusing her with desire. She wriggled across his lap in response, her sex chafing against the solid muscles of his thighs.

  By way of rebuke Knight pinned her slender waist firmly over his lap and brought an end to Penny’s futile struggles. ‘It hardly seems appropriate to complain now, Ms Harman,’ he said sarcastically. Ignoring Penny’s cry of protest, he grasped the hem of her skirt and quickly bunched it around her waist, feeling his loins stiffen in response to the view. Long legs and taut thighs, the sculptural perfection of her tanned lower limbs counter-pointed by girlish white ankle socks.

  Expert fingertips brushed across her panty-clad mons, sending tremors of pleasure through her moistening sex. She wriggled rapturously at this unexpectedly gentle touch, sighing with pleasure as he continued his manipulations, slipping a finger beneath the gusset of her knickers to gauge the growing wetness they concealed.

  Gasping and squirming, dishevelled and confused, she writhed on his lap. Her bottom burned fiercely, and had she asked he would cheerfully have confirmed it to be hot to the touch. The sopping void between her legs ached to be filled.

  ‘Ooh, my poor bum is so sore,’ Penny groaned. ‘Enough, please.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ said Knight firmly, betrayed by a bulge in his trousers which Penny felt as she kicked her legs. ‘Keep still!’ he snapped angrily, forcing her hands into the small of her back and letting loose a sustained volley of slaps. Sharp bands of pain imprinted themselves the length of her thighs and calves, white handprints visible against the reddened skin. Penny shrieked, slumped across his knees, humiliated and sobbing loudly.

  Knight seemed to sense that, temporarily at least, Penny had reached her limit. Firmly he tugged her knickers up into her overly sensitised cleft, increasing the pressure on her now liquid pussy. Pushing the thin strip of material aside he expertly probed her sticky labia with two fingers. She gasped at the wanton rudeness of the situation, held fast across the head teacher’s lap, bum smacked to a livid crimson, her most private parts rudely opened for her stern tormentor’s voyeuristic pleasure. Penny groaned in helpless delight as Knight began to tease her clitoris, sending waves of delight through her cunt.

  ‘Oh no,’ she whispered distractedly, ‘you’re going to make me come.’

  ‘Copiously,’ he replied confidently, one finger circling her pleasure spot, the other penetrating and plundering her velvet sheath, faster and faster. Simultaneously he resumed the spanking, and the combination of the two exquisitely conflicting sensations soon ensured that Penny came, her cheeks tear-streaked, her tie dishevelled and two blouse buttons having given up the struggle to contain her prominent breasts, now visible through the gaping material.

  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.