Chapter 03: Before The Desk
[sequel to "the desk" and "under the desk"]
1
Sunday evening was special in this house. They both knew it was "their" time, especially set aside: hang the telly, hang the dishes, hang the laundry - this was important.
Chloe cuddled up to Angela in the soft, pink cotton-covered duvet; and thought to herself how she had never been happier. She had it all: a burgeoning career in IT site management; a pretty semi-detached in town, with the mortgage taking care of itself; a new car outside on the gravel; and most of all, a partner she loved. Angela put out an arm to stroke Chloe's dark red hair as they kissed.
Added to all that, she'd also found a new side to excitement that she'd not known before.
They'd started the evening rubbing skin cream into each other's bottoms: Sunday evening was so special, because Sunday afternoons was when they both submitted themselves for punishment. They'd grown used to laying side-by-side, whilst they waited for the pain and bruising to fade down. This was a time to enjoy each other; to love, after the punishment.
The headmistress at the school they both were employed at, Mrs Petrescu - also the instigator of their Sunday afternoons spent bent over a desk receiving cane, stroke and paddle - had been delighted when she'd found out that her protégées had become a couple, and that Angela was moving in with Chloe.
"Congratulations!"
she'd told them in her office, on the wet Friday morning they told her.
"But of course I hope this doesn't mean that you'll no longer be 'socializing' with me..."
"Of course not, Madam"
said Angela quietly, so nobody outside could hear her use the word she called the headmistress during 'punishment'.
"We hoped you'd approve and let us continue serving you."
"Excellent. A little advice to you two, though: keep it discreet - at least at school, or you'll never hear the end of it. Despite all we do, children can still be so cruel. And more importantly, punishment is my privilege - I don't want either of you thinking you can be the 'top' in your relationship. Understood?"
"
Yes, Ma'am."
"Yes, Madam."
"Good. Dismissed! I'll see you as usual at one o'clock sharp..."
Both of them knew that they could never stop going to see the headmistress - the weekly ritual was a release, a focus for energy: when Mrs Petrescu had gone away for a fortnight in Prague - alone, despite the rumours throughout the school that she had some Czech toyboy waiting for her [there were many puerile jokes about "check-ups"] - they both noticed how agitated they were at missing their session. They had growled at each other like feral cats, argued over a stupid television programme; Angela had even spent one night at her mother's in Biggleswade whilst she sulked over who had first rights on one pair of boots. That went on for a fortnight until the headmistress' return: they had confessed their grouchiness, and were punished extra hard for their transgressions; that night they were the perfect lovers again.
And now, it had been six months since Chloe's shock at seeing Angela servile, dressed in school's gym kit, serving tea at Mrs Petrescu's. A whirlwind time, yes: but a happy one.
"You remember the first day at Ma'am's?"
she breathed to Angela. Recounting and revisiting their punishments was a frequent precursor to making love: nothing excited either of them as much as telling each other how they looked with their knickers down and a tawse across their bottom, or how much they'd enjoyed watching each other take turns to pleasure the headmistress in whatever fashion was demanded.
Andrea giggled.
"I still can't believe your face when I walked in... I knew you'd be surprised, but you nearly jumped off the sofa!"
"And with good reason. How was I to know you'd be standing there in that little pleated skirt?"
"I hoped you'd like me. I'd seen the glances you'd given me around school. Not to mention the ones you were giving me once I'd sat down and it rode up!"
"I didn't know where to put my eyes! If I'd leered, maybe Ma'am would have given me even more punishment..."
They kissed again: Angela's hands slowly danced and stroked her way down Chloe's torso.
"Oh, I remember now!"
Angela said as she broke off the kiss.
"I meant to ask you... who was, umm, Nila?"
"Nila? Did I mention her?"
"Yes, when Madam asked you if you'd had a girlfriend... when you said 'yes' I felt like running round the room cheering!"
Chloe shifted herself slightly: the bruises of the afternoon were wearing off now.
"Nila... well...."
2
Chloe hailed the taxi through the relentless drizzle, and hauled her suitcase and rucksack into the trunk. She dived into the car and fished around her pockets for a piece of paper: she read off it the words
"133, Sherburn Road"
and the car pulled out of the railway station and into the traffic.
This was very much a different Chloe: only nineteen, she'd been a little plumper, and her hair was still down beyond her shoulders then, and in its natural dark blonde - but the world was her oyster. She'd come to this proud Northern city to read English Literature at the university: the morning she'd got her acceptance letter, she'd whooped with delight and ran around the house, waking up her parents and little sister. It had been confirmation that Chloe was Going Places.
And then a whirlwind of loan applications, part-time job applications, and hunting for digs. An advert in the previous year's Rag Week Magazine had put her in touch with an agency in the city; houseshare with three others, all students: only ten minutes' walk from campus. She'd accepted after only seeing two photos: the narrow three-storey townhouse, painted pink and looking neatly cared for, appealed to her.
She'd only been to this city once, in a family holiday many years ago. She'd remembered the tall stone Victorian buildings she was passing: she'd not remembered that many chip shops. And nor, she reflected, had she remembered the weather up in this part of the country...
The driver interrupted her thoughts.
"133 - I think it's just up here on the left. You want a hand with that luggage?"
"Yes, please."
The car drew up to the kerb: despite the rain, number 133 looked exactly like in the photo. She leapt out to go knock on the door as the driver struggled with her suitcase and rucksack.
A short, plump woman, dressed and made-up in gothic style opened the door:
"Yes?"
"Hi... I'm Chloe?"
"Hey, great! Come on in!"
Chloe was ushered inside, followed by the driver, muttering to himself about bloody students...
3
The gothic woman placed a cup of coffee in front of Chloe at the kitchen table. Chloe had learnt that her name was Tammy, and that much work had been required to find two clean mugs, but otherwise she was none the wiser.
Tammy poured out her own coffee and joined Chloe.
