Many thanks for your suggestions. I've incorporated what I can in this chapter and will use some of the other ideas in future chapters if sufficient interest exists.
*
Chloe Hunt was in trouble again at school and this time it was serious. In frustration the petite schoolteacher had inexplicably lashed out at one of her third formers and now she stood before the headmaster like one of those misbehaving tykes. Mr Mason looked exasperated. "If there's one thing you can't do these days Miss Hunt, it's striking the pupils," he sighed, as if she needed reminding.
Chloe stood shamefaced, her career in tatters, her life an abject mess. Mumbled apologies went unheeded. "Come closer, Miss Hunt."
Chloe shuffled forward. She stood face to face with Mr Mason, even though he remained seated. A towering presence in the mould of a 1950's master, he was still able to recall fondly the days when corporal punishment was encouraged. Nowadays, however, there was no excuse. Chloe knew it too, her lapse unforgivable. "It's a shame for you're a good teacher, popular with the students and the teachers.
The words cut like a scalpel. "Is there anything I can do?" she pleaded.
She knew of course that the moment the snotty nosed brat she'd backhanded squealed to his parents she was finished, but she had to cling to something. "Is there anything YOU can do, Mr Mason?" she appealed with doe eyes.
"Oh I think it's too late for that, don't you, Miss Hunt?"
Chloe's eyes filled with tears. "There must be something you can do to help me."
The wily old headmaster rubbed at his chin. "You want me to pull a few strings to get you off the hook, Miss Hunt?"
He seemed to be coming round to her way of thinking, assisted no doubt by Chloe's pretty persuasion. She had been able to twist men around her little finger from an early age. It was a blonde thing. Chloe nodded enthusiastically as he proceeded to lecture her on how he kept a tight ship at the school, how he couldn't tolerate teachers taking the law into their own hands...blah, blah, blah...
Chloe felt like she was drowning in a sea of words, not really hearing and only rousing when the tirade ended. "Sorry?" she queried, thinking she must have heard incorrectly.
"I said come and bend yourself over my knee, Miss Hunt."
Chloe's eyed bulged. He had said those words. It was unthinkable yet she found herself obeying. Mr Mason's lap was firm, ably supporting her belly, her toes stretched for support on the wooden floor, palms flat the other side. She could feel the old man's eyes boring into her body, surveying each aesthetic curve. A tiny whimper slipped from her pursed lips as she waited in anticipation.
A huge hand took hold of her thigh, sliding the tiny skirt up over the peachiest butt imaginable. Chloe shivered all over, breath held tight. Sure thumbs hooked inside the waistbands of her panties, shifting them down to rest on the backs of her knees. As she awaited her fate, Chloe wondered how many other girls had been in this position before, back in the days when such things were allowable – or more recently perhaps. Maybe this was what the old pervert had wanted all along.
She gasped as the warm air of the study brushed over the moistness of her pussy. "You know what happens to naughty little girls," mused Mr Mason.
Though it was a rhetorical question, Chloe felt compelled to answer. "Yes Sir, they get punished Sir."
She flinched as the headmaster's warm hands reached beneath to her flat stomach, elevating so that the sweet young arse plumped up. Chloe held her breath in growing anticipation, a tingle deep in her loins.
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!
"Ow-eeeeeee," she cried, biting her bottom lip. "Ow, ow, ow."
She could picture the satisfaction on the old man's face. And feel it on hers too. For in spite of the numb discomfort in the rose-blushed cheeks, the overwhelming feeling was one of arousal. It was so intense her pussy had leaked a sticky deposit on the headmaster's grey slacks...
* * *
The pretty teacher cried out loud, jolting up in bed as the dream replayed in a mind that had become beset with kinky musings. Thighs rubbing together, her soaking wet pussy from the dream had found its way into reality, her bald lips soaked with cunt juice. "Oh my God," she whispered.
Allowing a brief moment to let her mind un-fog, she fought to disassociate dream from reality. For once, however, her dreams were less bizarre than reality, the events of the previous day reverberating in a troubled mind. Hard to believe, but this time yesterday her life had been following a normal, dare she admit boring, path. In twenty-four hours everything had been turned on its head by young blackmailer Kevin Manning.
Finally composing, she rose from the bed, immediately sensing a numb pain between her legs, courtesy of ex-boyfriend Jack's brutal assault. Tiptoeing to the bathroom she surveyed the smattering of small brown bruises that littered her inner thighs and hips. After a soothing shower, she heard the mobile phone bleep. The text message read simply: It's a hot day, dress appropriately, see you at school, K.
Riffling through the line of hanging garments Chloe searched for something suitable to please Kevin, her hand drawn magnetically to the skirt she'd last sported as a carefree teenager. Peach in colour, it was terrifyingly tiny and she shivered at the thought, wrestling with her better nature. A sheer cream blouse, almost see through, caught her attention and she wondered whether panties and bra were allowable. Locating a little frilly white set in the drawer, the teacher was prepared to face the consequences were she mistaken. Her highest heels, normally reserved for clubbing, completed the look, a look that screamed 'slut'.
The walk to school was an awkward one, not just the awkward clicky heels but on account of a belief that all eyes were on her. It ranged from the parents dropping off the really young ones at infant school, to the pubescent teens who harboured outrageous wank fantasies, to the older ones who issued lecherous grins and her fellow teachers who didn't know quite what to make of this bizarre transition from librarian to hooker.
One consolation was that her first two classes were with eleven and twelve-year olds that still regarded her as an authority figure rather than a sex object. A few gave her odd looks but she could brush it off easily. Miraculously, lunchtime came around uneventfully though she did ensure to keep an eye open for Kevin Manning.
As it transpired, he'd been sitting an exam all morning, out of harm's way. Consequently her early optimism was misplaced as the headmaster summoned her to his study after lunch. What have I done now? She thought. Oh God, he wasn't going to pull her up on these clothes, was he? Chloe trudged along to the office with the previous night's dream playing heavily on her mind. Surely he wouldn't spank her, would he?
"Miss Hunt..." Mr Mason intoned sternly and Chloe found herself almost in tears just at hearing her name. "Miss Hunt...I know you're fairly new at this school but you mustn't let the children take advantage of you."
Take advantage of her? What did he mean? She could feel her cheeks blush profusely and her underarms moisten with the sweat of fear. Oh gosh, he hadn't found about Kevin, had he? Within seconds Chloe's cheeks were radiating a deep beetroot hue.
"Your blouse, Miss Hunt."
Chloe's eyebrows elevated and her mouth formed a round tunnel. "My blouse, Sir?"
"The back of your blouse, Miss Hunt."
Twisting to try to see, Chloe's fingers groped at the buttons.
"Not here, Miss Hunt," he boomed, the words turning Chloe's cheeks even more bloodshot, if that were possible.
Excusing herself with a dainty curtsey, the pretty blonde trotted over to the staff toilet, heels click-clicking on the way. Ensuring she was alone, hastily the blouse was removed, her cute little breasts, held in place by what amounted to a band of lace around the centre, a couple of daringly cut half cups and two spaghetti straps, reflected back from the mirror.
Chloe's face clouded as the cause of the headmaster's irritation was revealed. Some little swine had inked a swastika on the back. She hadn't felt a thing and had no idea how long she'd been walking around like that on her back, the embarrassment prompting a flood of tears.
Before she'd really given the matter much thought the hot tap was steaming and the blouse was being doused, the fabric rubbed against itself vigorously as she strove to remove the offending mark. Regrettably the stain merely blotted and ran, ingrained in the thread. The best she could do was to make it look less like a swastika and more like a shapeless blob of diluted blue. Yet now, not only did she have a stained blouse but a soaking wet one. Suddenly the realisation dawned that the hand dryer was painfully slow and ineffective, little better than using one's own breath. As if to compound the situation, the bell droned to signal the start of lessons.
Miserably Chloe slipped back into the wet and diaphanous blouse that clung to her body like a second skin, revealing her bra and the cleft of her bosom quite clearly. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Looking left then right around the door, the corridor was thronging with pupils moving busily to lessons. She winced as the normally light blouse weighed heavily on her slender frame, the bra having absorbed the excess moisture and rubbing against her nipples, causing them to point accusingly. Memories of a drunken entry into a wet t-shirt contest in Ibiza as a teenager sprung to mind.
When eventually the corridor was adjudged to have thinned out sufficiently, Chloe made the daring exit. Immediately her breasts heaved, squelching together. She prayed that the walk from the toilet to the classroom would dry the blouse, yet the corridor was no heat trap, the opposite in fact. As a chill draft blew through, her nipples throbbed and expanded, threatening to erupt through the front. "Oh my God," she mouthed, fanning frantically with an open palm.
As the classroom door came into sight her stride slowed, not really wanting to arrive, yet already five minutes late. The hum of the fourth formers inside rose like an aeroplane's approach the nearer she crept. Stealing a huge lungful of breath, Chloe executed the entry. The class stopped chattering immediately, a rare first. All mouths were agape at their teacher's damp apparel and eye-popping boobs. "Is it raining outside, miss?" one impish boy chimed.
The entire class erupted in laughter and it was all Chloe could do to bring order. Appealing for silence as the wet blouse clasped at her boobs, she tried to wrest back control, but fighting a losing battle.
It was then, as if to save her further humiliation, that the door pushed open. All eyes turned right, bringing a semblance of relief to the red faced schoolteacher, no longer the focus of attention. It was a short lived relief, however, for in the doorway stood her prime nemesis Kevin Manning. He looked her up and down as if addressing a carcass before speaking: "Excuse me miss, the headmaster wants you in his office now, miss."
