Winter Sunshine (1)
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Friday, 18 October
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The old Jaguar sped along the main road, the harsh noise of its engine echoing off the stone walls of the row of cottages on the edge of Eastbrook. It quickly climbed the steep slope of the hill, its headlights cutting through the early morning mist. Past the neat rows of new houses overlooking the village nestling in the valley, then past the golf course, the reservoir, past the ragged hedgerows and out through the fields and farms of the downs.
The engine growled as the headmaster shifted into second gear and twisted the steering wheel, taking the tight left near the Fox and Hounds. As he turned into it, the low winter sun momentarily blinded him and he reached forward, pulling the visor down to shield his eyes. There was a copy of today's Eastbrook Echo on the passenger seat beneath his briefcase; he'd got into the habit of buying a copy every Friday morning on his way into the school. He religiously checked for any evidence of stories about the school but so far it seemed that young Jenny Coombes had kept her word. The unsettling episode with the young journalist had made him think though. She'd seemed confident that she'd found plenty of evidence of misconduct at the school, and after talking about it with one of the governors he'd decided to bring an old colleague in to conduct an independent audit.
He was a little earlier this morning. He had a busy day ahead and wanted to get an early start. At the top of his agenda was a meeting with the Reverend Green and his daughter, Faith. He'd seemed very keen on getting her into the school and with the school finances the way they were at the moment they needed all the paying students they could accommodate, so he was keen to make a good impression.
The Reverend turned out to be a round, jolly-looking fellow with red cheeks and small, round glasses perched on his stubby nose. His daughter wore glasses too but where he was large and round, she was small and slight, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She sat quietly, her dark eyes peering at him beneath her blonde fringe, as her father explained why she was looking for a school partway through the academic year.
"We've just got back from Africa, you see," he explained. "We've lived out there for years, most recently at a Christian mission in Ghana. But my wife's mother isn't well. That's where she is today, at her parent's house in Brighton. They're both in their eighties, you see. Health's not getting any better, so when a vacancy arose at one of the parish churches there we decided it was best to come back, so we could be near them."
"I see," the headmaster said, warming his hands on his cup of tea. "And so young Faith needs a school."
"Yes indeed, and we've heard good things about St Catherine's, very good things."
"Well it's a lovely day now that the fog has cleared," the headmaster said gesturing towards the window. "Let's take a walk and you can both have a look around, and we'll see if we can't come to some arrangement."
Walking down the path towards the river, the reverend gently grasped the headmaster's arm, slowing him down whilst Faith strolled on ahead of them, chatting to one of the prefects.
"Listen, " he said. "The thing about Faith is that she's grown up in a world of churches and all-girls schools. She's spent all her teenage years in remote areas of Africa without satellite TV or facebook or twitter or any of the things that seem to so preoccupy teenagers these days. As far as I know, she's never even had a boyfriend. Of course, there's nothing wrong with innocence and purity but I do sometimes worry that she's a little too innocent."
"You worry that people might take advantage of her?"
"Yes, you know although she's eighteen she's still my little girl," he chuckled. "That's one of the reasons we were so attracted to St Catherine's. I understand this is quite a traditional school."
"Yes, we very much believe in a classical education without any of the distractions of modern life. So, for example, there's a ban on mobile phones from Monday to Friday and access to the internet is strictly controlled."
"I see, very good. And what about boys? I bet some of your girls must be tempted to sneak out in the evenings to meet boys at the local pubs and clubs, eh?"
"The nearest village is Eastbrook and that's only a small place. Just a couple of pubs, no nightclubs, but even that's a two mile hike through the fields. The nearest decent-sized town near here is Burfield, but that's miles away. So the girls tend to spend their weekends here."
"I see, so less chance of them getting into trouble, eh?"
"Indeed so, reverend. Take it from me; this school is ideal for young Faith. You can be sure that no-one's going to take advantage of her here."
---
Later, when he was driving home, the headmaster realised that he'd forgotten to 'phone his old friend, Helen Feldman. He'd been so preoccupied with making the arrangements for young Faith that he simply hadn't had time. It wasn't ideal, but in the end they'd found that the only spare place was in a dorm with Vicky Amery. Vicky had only been with them a couple of months, but she already seemed to have acquired a reputation as something of a bad girl. Never mind, perhaps some of Faith's innocence would rub off on her. As for Helen, he'd just have to remember to call her later, after dinner.
---
"Please, Helen, don't stop," Phil moaned as Helen slowly ran a fingertip along the taut, oily skin of his cock.
Helen smiled as she teased him. She so enjoyed tormenting him, he was the perfect submissive, such fun to play with. Her boyfriend was naked and spread-eagled on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied to the corners with some of her brightly coloured silk scarves. She often wondered what made her so dominant in the bedroom. Was it all those skills learnt in her years of teaching spilling over into her private life? Or was she simply born that kind of woman? The kind of woman who enjoyed controlling a classroom of schoolchildren as much as she enjoyed bending weak men to her will.
She found men such simple creatures, so easy to predict and control. Women were much more complicated, their minds a complex swirl of emotions and thoughts, their bodies full of erogenous zones. Men, however, seemed to have only one big erogenous zone she thought as she watched Phil's thick cock swaying in front of her, begging for her attention.
"Now now Phil, you know the rules, what's rule number one?" she said sternly.
"Ladies first," Phil said.
"Meaning?" she replied, running a finger along the underside of his straining prick.
"Oh God, please," he groaned, struggling to answer as she toyed with his straining shaft.
Helen smiled, recalling a cartoon she'd seen the other day of a large switch entitled "Male Blood Flow" with two settings: "Brain" and "Cock". It was true: even the most intelligent of men seemed to have so much trouble answering a simple question when aroused.
"Come on, concentrate!" she said sternly, tightly squeezing his swollen balls to get his attention.
"You must always cum first, mistress," Phil gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily as she grasped his shaft between her slick fingers and used her thumb to massage the engorged purple head.
"That's right; I cum first, second and third. And you cum only if you're very good. Very good indeed, understand?" she said, squeezing his balls again until he nodded, a hoarse whimper escaping his dry lips.
They both looked towards her dressing table at the sudden intrusive noise of her mobile phone ringing. Helen cursed under her breath as she tottered towards it a little unsteadily on her black stilettos. They were the highest heels she owned and she generally only wore them in the bedroom, they were simply too impractical to walk any distance in. She couldn't imagine making it down the stairs in them without breaking her neck. They completed her classic 'Mistress' outfit; a tight-laced corset which did wonders for her figure, waspishly squeezing her waist and lifting her ample boobs emphasizing the generous swell of her cleavage; a pair of sheer stockings, lacy elbow-length gloves and a tiny pair of silk panties. Of course, all of the clothing was a perfect midnight black.
"Yes?" she said briskly, picking up the phone before settling back on the bed.
"Hello Helen? It's me, I'm sorry if this is a bad time," said the voice on the other end, sensing her impatience.
"Oh, headmaster, what a surprise! How nice to hear from you."
"Yes, well sorry to ring you so late but it's been quite a day here. I've been thinking about calling you since the conference. I seem to remember telling me that you're between jobs at the moment."
"Yes, that's right," Helen said, a little puzzled. "My new position at the Napier girls school in Edinburgh doesn't begin till March so I'm having some time off to indulge my hobbies at the moment," she said, her thumb and forefinger circling Phil's throbbing shaft and slowly sliding up and down its considerable length.
"Right, right. Well I was wondering if you'd consider doing me a favour. One of our history teachers, Mr Sanders, has been taken ill. It was all quite sudden. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping us out for a couple of months?"
"Oh! Well it's good of you to think of me but there must be dozens of history teachers who live closer to you than I do."
"Yes, but I need someone I can trust. I honestly think you'd be the best candidate."
"Well, you know it's too far for me to commute so you'd have to put me up there," Helen said, holding the phone to her ear as she absent-mindedly continued to stroke Phil's eager prick with her gloved hand.
"Well that's not a problem; there are plenty of spare rooms here. And there's another reason I thought of you. You see I've also been thinking about reviewing the disciplinary system. I could ask one of my teachers, or maybe getting one of the board members to do it but I think I'd rather have someone who's independent. Someone with a broad range of experience but who's not directly connected to us."
"A disciplinary review? Now that does sound interesting," she drawled, making Phil whimper as she moved her hand a little quicker, gripping him a little tighter. The precum spilled from the tip of his cock causing a little damp patch in her glove.
