This is kinda long, but worth it I hope, and very different from my previous stories. I wanted to explore how you would bring yourself to ask for punishment and how a caring person might respond to a request for masochistic punishment. The female character is very strong despite needing punishment but it's from a male perspective. I've never done that before - hope it works.
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One advantage of being a headmaster in a London primary school (same as a principal in an elementary school back home) is the never-ending supply of pretty young mothers to look at. I came to England as a teenager and grew up here so my accent's kind of faded, but with enough of a mid Atlantic twang to arouse interest - I've always found it strangely attractive to the ladies, useful when flirting! Anyway, I've been doing this job for twenty-five years now and every September a new, younger set of mothers arrives with their little ones in the mornings. At the end of the school day they wait for their children in the playground in animated groups chatting and laughing dressed in anything from smart business clothes to tight jeans and tee shirts. Personally I like the summer best when many of them are in strappy tops showing off their tans.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happily married but there's no harm in looking is there? Well, maybe there is, but more of that later.
This year had been an exceptional year. There was one particular group who always met together and were very keen to support their youngsters. They quickly got themselves involved in all the events we organise and ended up running the PTA. They were all exceptionally attractive, three blondes, two brunettes, one very curvy redhead. Figures ranged from stunningly well endowed to slinkily sexy. They were great organisers and loved getting everyone else to join in. Always first on the dance floor at the school family discos they arranged, dragging their husbands and children with them, or anybody else they could grab - including me! (I didn't fight too hard but had to show a sense of decorum in front of the kids.)
We were nearing the year-end and Helen Williams the PTA chair had arranged a thank you barbeque for the PTA committee at her house. Helen was the slinkily sexy one, short blond hair big blue eyes, a tight slim body, and no tits to speak of but with the most attractive curvy hips blending into a beautiful backside. My wife and I were invited but she had already arranged to go out with friends so I went alone. Bring a bottle the invitation said. I took a couple of bottles of white Grenache, I didn't know how sophisticated their tastes were, and whether they'd like the meatier reds or full flavoured Chardonnay I usually preferred but the rose wine was very gluggable and went with most things. I also took half a dozen bottles of Shepherd Neame strong beer - I'd really grown to like good English real ale. It was mostly for me but I guessed some of the men would appreciate it, though from what I'd seen they mostly drank lager.
The evening was a great success with about a dozen people there. It was mostly women though, (just the way I like it!) with only three of the husbands there, Helen's husband Greg was one of them, and naturally the men were cooking the meat on the grill while the women did everything else. They were bustling backwards and forwards into the kitchen while the men drank beer and occasionally prodded the steaks and burgers. I alternated between both groups, the Shepherd Neame went down surprisingly well with the men but eventually the women claimed me to ask about the white Grenache which was also going down a storm.
"You're a bit of a dark horse," Greg called over as I sat with the women, "an American who's a connoisseur of English beer AND Californian wine!"
I laughed, "No," I said shaking my head, "I just know what I like."
It was a warm evening and as dusk descended we all sat outside in the garden. The kids from all six families were splashing in an inflatable paddling pool and running around with water pistols, squealing and laughing until it was time for bed. All the kids were staying at Helen and Greg's, excited at the prospect of the sleepover. After a few minutes they were all carried back down scrubbed clean and brushed up, pyjama clad to say good night to the grown ups and kiss their daddies.
With the kids away the adults settled down too, sitting around on the patio, the dying barbeque grill glowing faintly red to one side and the stars winking into life as the bottles and glasses clinked and laughter and chat continued.
"Look at me, I'm soaked," said Helen, glancing down and picking up the hem of her tee shirt. She'd been the target of several squirts from the water pistols, "I'd better go and change."
"No, leave it," said Greg laughing, "we can have a wet tee shirt competition." and he picked up a discarded water pistol and gave his wife another squirt. He hit her full in the chest and it immediately became apparent that she wasn't wearing a bra - it also became apparent that her very tiny breasts had very prominent nipples, or maybe that was the cold water?
"Anybody else?" said Greg laughing as he turned the water pistol in the general direction of the women. They all squealed and shrank back.
"Greg!" Helen scolded, "That'll do!" It was very clear who wore the trousers in that house Greg looked embarrassed and just for a second the mood fell. The alcohol had worked it's magic though and Helen flattened her now very wet tee shirt against her stomach and thrust her tiny breasts forward and said "Well, I wouldn't win anyway!"
Everybody laughed, relieved. "No, that'd be me," said one of the brunettes proudly thrusting her very well endowed chest forward.
"No contest Judy!" said the other brunette who was nicely drunk - the English call it 'tiddly'. The tiddly brunette was called Anne, "you could give some to all of us," she continued. The men laughed and the women giggled.
Then Judy glanced at me, "Careful, we're embarrassing Mr T."
"Oh God!" cried Helen, folding her arms across her chest. "I forgot you were here - ohh! I didn't mean that! Oh dear, this is soooo embarrassing."
I laughed too, "don't worry about me," I said, "I'm just enjoying all the scenery."
"A Connoisseur of beer, wine AND women!" Greg called out waving a half empty bottle of Shepherd Neame in my direction, " is there no end to this man's talents?" He grinned a little drunkenly and took another pull at his beer - it occurred to me it was probably a lot stronger than he was used too.
I smiled, I'd better keep this low key I thought but didn't want to spoil the mood. Besides, I WAS enjoying the scenery! The moment when Helen had thrust those tiny breasts forward through that wet tee shirt had definitely stirred something down below.
"I just missed out on being a sixties child," I said. "You know, the Beatles, Woodstock, Jimi Hendrix, hippies, free love and all that; but I guess I grew up with a pretty liberal outlook, and when you've been around as long as I have," I said, trying to sound dignified and mature, "you get to appreciate many of life's more..." I hesitated looking for the right phrase "attractive aspects."
"Oooo!" came a chorus from all the women, and they glanced at each other grinning.
"Well, I don't think these aspects are all that attractive," said Helen looking down, laughing, and flattening her tee shirt against her chest again. "I wish I'd got more."
I immediately realised my faux pas. The Shepherd Neame had affected me as well as Greg. "No, I didn't mean that," I cried, "I wasn't talking about... just, well," I took the plunge, "breasts!" They all laughed.
"So are you an leg man or a breast man?" called out Greg, still waving the bottle, clearly drunk and pleased with his own joke.
"Greg!" There was a distinct warning in Helen's voice.
"I'm a leg man myself," said one of the other husbands. He'd been sitting quietly in the corner up till that point. Every body turned to him, "What?" he said, looking round, embarrassed at the sudden attention, "I just like legs, that's all. Nothing wrong with that is there?"
"Well, you obviously didn't marry me for my other more 'attractive aspects' then did you?" said Judy laughing and shaking her enormous chest again.
I thought to myself would I ever live that phrase down?
"Yeah, well," said her husband from his quiet corner, "you've got good legs too, the other's a bonus."
"Martin!" Judy's tone was genuinely shocked, but she laughed too and the chorus of 'oooo's' erupted again from all the women.
"So come on then," said Greg, turning to me, "what do you like? What's your missus like?"
"I've seen her," said Anne, the tiddly brunette, "tall and blonde."
"Very attractive," said Helen, "I've seen her too." Helen was being the diplomatic host, trying to steer the conversation to something less controversial for my sake but Greg was not to be denied.
"So," he said, what is it makes her so attractive then? Legs? Buzoooms?" He suddenly switched tack, "All those women in the playground after school, what draws your attention then?"
I looked at him carefully, but then decided he was too drunk to be divining my thoughts. He was living his own fantasy. But then Martin piped up again. He too had been getting quietly drunk in the corner.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind that, all those women hanging on your every word. I'd have your job any day... well, cept the bit where you have to deal with the kids though."
Seems like Martin too was living the same fantasy.
"I like bums," interrupted the curvy red head. The alcohol was getting to them all now. "Nothing like a tight male bum."
"Mary!" the other women all chorused, laughing at the same time.
"Come on," said Mary, "you're all the same. It's not just me. Be honest!"
"No, alright then," said Judy, "I guess we all look around."
"Well, I know Greg does," Helen said.
My turn to be diplomatic, another attempt at mature and dignified. "I guess we all do," I said, "and you're right, the playground is full of attractive women at the beginnings and end of the day, and of course I look, we're all human. But..." I said cutting off the chorus of 'ooo's', "you don't have to own the gallery to appreciate the paintings."
They all looked at me appreciatively, a couple of raised eyebrows, and I might just have dug myself out of the hole I'd made earlier. After all I would have to face their kids in school next week.
"A philosopher sir, well put," said Greg, slurring his words, "very well put..."
"Yes," said Helen "and it's nice to know we're appreciated."
