Six of the Best

'Ah. Mrs Preston. Do come in.'

The Headmaster rose slightly from behind his large desk but the late-afternoon light flooding in through the windows behind him made it difficult for Mrs Preston to see him properly. There was, however, no mistaking his rich authoritative voice.

'It's Dale, isn't it?'

'Delia,' Mrs Preston said.

The Headmaster turned his head to study the free-standing monitor that was set at an angle of 45 degrees on the right-hand side of his desk. With his head turned, the combination of the light from the window and the reflection from the monitor highlighted his profile. He seemed to be frowning. 'Delia?'

Mrs Preston nodded.

'Oh, yes. Your name. Yes. I see what you mean,' he said. And then he added: 'But I was referring to your boy.'

'My son's name is David,' Mrs Preston said.

The Headmaster nodded. 'Hmm. Yes. David, Dale, Delia -- so many Ds, Mrs Preston. So many Ds.'

Mrs Preston laughed nervously.

'Here at Sebastian House we are not fond of Ds, Mrs Preston. D is the initial letter of both dunce and dullard. And here at Sebastian House we do not like dunces or dullards. They lower the tone; spoil the average; ruin the reputation. Is your boy a dullard, Mrs Preston?'

'No. Far from it, Headmaster!'

'And yet I see that last term he got a D in Divinity. D for dunce; D for dullard; and a D for Divinity. Why do you think that might be, Mrs Preston?'

'I can only surmise that The Rector disapproves of his atheism.'

'Hmm. You surmise do you? He's a little young to be an atheist, isn't he? Dale, I mean -- not The Rector. The Rector is old enough to be whatever he wants to be.'

'A little young? No, I don't think so. I would prefer to think that Harry Potter is a little young to be a wizard,' Mrs Preston said. 'And my son's name is David, not Dale.'

It was hard to tell, but she thought that The Headmaster may have smiled.

'Well, I suppose we had better get on with it,' The Headmaster said. He eased himself out of his high-backed leather chair and stepped out from behind the desk.

'That skirt suits you,' he said. 'It suits you very well indeed. I like a nicely-tailored pencil skirt on a woman. Very smart. Although, of course totally unsuitable for this situation.'

'I assumed that I would remove it,' Mrs Preston said.

The Headmaster nodded. 'Assumed, did you? Well, yes. Yes, of course. When you're ready then,' he said.

Mrs Preston reached across her body with her right hand and, slowly, lowered the zip that ran from her slim waist and over her elegant left hip.

The Headmaster watched intently, waiting for the magic moment when all would be revealed.

For a moment or two, Mrs Preston just stood there, watching the watcher, her zip unzipped, but her left hand keeping her skirt discreetly in place. And then, with a slight teasing smile, she lowered the skirt to the ground and stepped out of it. She was wearing black lacy-topped stay-up stockings and plain black high-heeled shoes. But she was not wearing any knickers.

From the smile on The Headmaster's face, he did not seem at all disappointed with what he saw.

'Right. Where would you like me?' Mrs Preston asked.

The Headmaster indicated a smallish leather-covered chair with arms discoloured somewhat by the nervous sweat from many hands over many years. 'If you would be so kind as to bend over that chair,' he said. 'With your feet spread slightly and your posterior towards the light. I like to be able to see what I am doing.'

Mrs Preston took up the position as requested. 'Like this?' she asked.

'Thank you. Perfect,' he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs Preston observed The Headmaster unbuttoning the fly of his tweedy suit trousers and extracting his swelling penis from within. She assumed that the beginnings of his erection were, in part at least, prompted by the appearance of her slim-but-shapely naked backside and she took it as a compliment.

The Headmaster selected a whippy cane of lightish weight from the extensive collection in the umbrella stand and swished it, briskly, a couple of times in the air above Mrs Preston's pale, exposed buttocks. A careful listener would have noted that, in addition to the airy whistle, the cane made a slight shuddering sound as it buffeted the air.

'Ready?' The headmaster enquired. But he didn't wait for a reply. Thwack! The first blow took Mrs Preston completely by surprise. She felt a sudden sharp sting across her buttocks, but then, after a couple of seconds, the sting was partially suffused by the beginnings of a warming glow.

Thwack! A second blow followed. And then a third.

Mrs Preston felt the warming glow spreading across her trim buttocks and down into the crevice between them. At the junction of her shapely thighs, she could feel her labia majora beginning to tingle and swell.

The landing of the fourth blow -- thwack! -- caused her real pain. And yet she could also feel her labia majora continuing to swell and open, exposing her delicate pink labia minora within. Glancing back, she confirmed that The Headmaster, too, was enjoying a swelling of his own.

Thwack! Five. Ouch! Now she had had enough. The pain was beginning to outweigh the pleasure. Or was it? Oh well ... one more. She waited, becoming acutely aware of the sharp contrast between her now hot and stinging glutei and the breeze-cooled surface of her dampening anus and vulva.

Come on, man. What's keeping you?

Mrs Preston glanced behind her once more. The Headmaster was tapping the cane on his now almost fully-erect penis. 'Well done, my beauty,' he muttered. And then ... thwack!

'There. I'm pretty sure that makes six. And now, if you will just maintain that position for a little longer, I will summon Matron.'

The Headmaster placed the cane back in the umbrella stand and returned to his desk, slowly stroking his penis as he went. Leaning forward, he pressed the button on the small intercom unit. 'When you're ready, Matron,' he said.

Fifteen or 20 seconds later, the door opened and Matron -- fiftyish, upright, with a crisp white apron over her white-collared navy blue dress -- entered the study pushing a small stainless steel trolley. Parking the trolley conveniently near to Mrs Preston's striped and reddened bottom, Matron donned a pair of surgical gloves.

'No latex allergies?' Matron asked.

'Not that I am aware of,' Mrs Preston replied.

Matron picked up one of the containers from the trolley and squirted some sort of clear gel-like substance onto a soft cloth. Gently -- but efficiently -- she began wiping Mrs Preston's posterior, paying particular attention to the crevice between her buttocks and to her sweat-glistened anus. Mrs Preston responded by relaxing her anus, and then relaxing it still further when Matron began to probe it gently with her gloved and lubricated finger.

While Matron continued to work Mrs Preston's anus with one hand, her other hand reached under and parted and lubricated Mrs Preston's inner labia. Deftly, Matron's latexed finger located Mrs Preston's clitoris and began to massage it. The effect was almost instantaneous. Mrs Preston let out an involuntary squeal and shuddered with delight.

Matron continued her expert ministrations for another two or three minutes, bringing Mrs Preston to at least two further small-but-not-unsatisfying orgasms.

'I think we are almost ready,' Matron said.

The Headmaster grunted approvingly.

Matron removed her surgical gloves and discarded them into the small litter bin that was attached to one end of the trolley. She then briskly rubbed her hands on a clean cotton towel before donning a fresh pair of gloves.

'I think the small size will be adequate for Mrs Preston,' she said.

Mrs Preston's brain was almost overloaded with sensations, but she did, fleetingly, wonder: 'small size what?'

The answer came almost immediately as Matron removed the sterile packaging from a finest quality silicone anal plug (Size: Small) and smeared its business end with a generous coating of the clear gel. Deftly, the thumb and forefinger of Matron's left hand spread Mrs Preston's glowing buttocks while her right hand gently but firmly worked the plug into Mrs Preston's eagerly waiting anal passage.

'There,' she said.

There, indeed, Mrs Preston thought. It was the first time that she had experienced an anal plug, but, having now crossed the street (as it were) she hoped that it would not be the last time.

'Ribbed or plain?' Matron asked The Headmaster.

'Hmm ... plain, I think,' he said.

Matron reached down to the lower level of the trolley and retrieved a box of foil-wrapped, pre-lubed condoms. 'Shall I do the honours?' she enquired.

'Thank you,' The Headmaster replied.

Matron removed one of the condoms from its packet and unrolled it, slowly, carefully, almost lovingly, down over The Headmaster's erect purple-headed penis. Then, with practiced ease, Matron parted Mrs Preston's puffy labia and introduced the head of The Headmaster's condom-clad penis into the glistening entrance to Mrs Preston's vagina. The Headmaster entered Mrs Preston in one long slow thrust. His penis was not of extravagant proportions but, with the anal plug already in place, Mrs Preston found it satisfactorily filling.

'Ah. Yes,' The Headmaster said.

Meanwhile, with her contribution to the coupling completed, Matron took up a position in front of Mrs Preston and The Headmaster. Reaching down, she grasped the hems of both her skirt and her apron, and quickly rolled them upward until they formed a neat soft roll at her waist. An unseen manoeuvre behind her back secured the roll, leaving her gloved hands free to explore her vulva. (Like Mrs Preston, Matron had foregone the opportunity to wear knickers beneath her outer apparel.)

While Mrs Preston was in no doubt that Matron's performance was first and foremost for the benefit of The Headmaster, she herself found it pleasantly arousing. Back in her university days, Mrs Preston had occasionally enjoyed a mutual masturbation session with her best friend, Hazel. The two young women would position themselves at opposite ends of one of their beds and, restricting themselves to just their fingers, they would hold informal competitions to see who could come first and who could come most. But that had been more than 15 years ago. And, anyway, watching Matron expertly fingering her fleshy, mature, hair-fringed cunt was very different to watching Hazel frigging her smooth, almost girlish slit.

The Headmaster, too, seemed to appreciate Matron's performance. His long, slow strokes gave way to shorter and shorter, faster and faster thrusts accompanied by approving grunts. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, fucking yes! Work that cunt, Matron! Work it, I say! Work it!'

But Matron did not have to 'work that cunt' for very long. Another half a dozen or so strokes from The Headmaster and he was filling the condom with warm seminal fluid.

Matron allowed herself a further few seconds of self pleasure before lowering and straightening her skirts. By the time The Headmaster had withdrawn, Matron was on hand to remove the condom and gently wipe down The Headmaster's wilting penis with a fresh wet wipe.

'Thank you, Matron,' he said.

The Headmaster returned -- with a slightly unsteady gait -- to the high-backed chair behind his desk, while Matron selected yet another fresh pair of gloves and set about wiping down Mrs Preston's nether region.

'Shall I remove the plug?' Matron enquired. 'Or would you like to keep it in a for a little longer?'

Mrs Preston straightened up and wriggled her hips slightly. 'You know ... I think I will keep it there for a little longer,' she said. 'Yes.'

Matron nodded. 'As you wish.' And then, turning to The Headmaster, she asked: 'Will that be all?'

The Headmaster nodded. 'For the moment, thank you, Matron. For the moment.'

After Matron had left, Mrs Preston stood for a moment or two, enjoying the cool air on her freshly-washed pudendum. And then she shimmied -- gingerly -- back into her elegant pencil skirt. 'Thank you, Headmaster,' she said.

'And thank you, Mrs Preston,' The Headmaster replied. 'As you well know, we have a fine tradition to uphold here at Sebastian House and I feel that it is important that we involve the parents in the life of the school whenever and wherever possible.'

Mrs Preston nodded.

'Oh ... and one little thing, Mrs Preston ... if you could perhaps encourage Dale -- sorry, I mean David -- to be a little less militant in his atheism ....'

'Well ... no promises, Headmaster, but I'll see what I can do,' Mrs Preston said.

'Thank you,' The Headmaster said. 'You know ... for the good of the school. Don't want people thinking that Sebastian House is in any way weird, do we?'

'Probably not,' Mrs Preston said.