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Chapter 2 The rest of the afternoon was fun, the old fairground rides were enjoyable , the steam engines hissed and puffed easily as the smell of coal brought back such vivid memories of a blissful childhood. However, Margaret's derriere throbbed in the close humid heat of that summer day, and she was glad to be wearing a flowing, light dress that caught the breeze to cool both her mind, which was racing and her glowing, rosy buttocks. That night , as she laid in bed , exhausted from the day’s happenings, her husband as usual was deep in sleep, his snoring filled the closeness of that warm night, her soft cheeks still throbbed. Hidden in the thin cotton nighty, her hand strayed to the soft open valley of her thighs, her fingers felt the gentle throb and sensitivity of her new awakened desire, a lost latent wetness greeted her exploring hand, as she brushed and swirled over the long dormant nubbin of her heat. She remembered, as she laid there, that two or three years ago, having been invited by her to an Anne Summer’s party. The wine had flowed far freely that night, and it had been such fun and she had come home with a monstrously large vibrator that in her drunken state had seemed such a good idea at the time. On waking that following morning after the party , with her head banging with the after effects of the prosecco consumed, she had hidden it in the bedroom, and had completely forgotten the episode, until her trip to the living history museum, where her bottom had been lashed with the tawse and a new found sense of joie de vivre had consumed her, reigniting long lost desires. The next day, her husband went into town in the car, to run errands. Panic however consumed Margaret’s thoughts. Where had she put it, where was the damn thing. She knelt down by the side of the bed and pulled out boxes and suitcases , the dust made her sneeze. She rummaged and searched, her pulse racing, her thoughts going into overdrive; had her husband found the damn thing. She stood, put everything back under the bed and then she vacuumed, maybe the cupboards above the wardrobe she pondered might yield success. Margaret teetered on a chair pulling down neatly ironed piles of bedding, by now her heart rate was positively galloping, her hands quivering. Where was it, did the grandkids find it when they were running amok, using granny’s old clothes for dressing up, grabbing items out of the old wooden ottoman. Her boxes of shoes caught her eye, would it be in there? The neatly stacked boxes were lifted out of the wardrobe, and then one box felt lighter than the rest, on opening it ,the vibrator was there, thank god! Rolled in tissue paper, Margaret felt the familiar shape of the 8 inch thick black beast that in her wildly inebriated state she had no recollection of buying. What must her have thought? She pulled it out and turned the control dial on the base, and it gave an ominous tell tale buzzing noise as it came alive . “thank god thank god thank god” Margaret said out loud, her heart rate dropped as relief washed over her, the secret of that night had been safely hidden after all. She knew her husband would be gone for a couple of hours, Margaret laid on the bed to get her breath back, as her mind went back to the visit to the schoolroom. She let the vibrator nuzzle to the soft wetness of her desire. She played with the rotary control, and giggled , as the thing nearly escaped her hands, and buzzed and whirred when turned up to max. “No way” mused Margaret , this thing was not going to get inside her. The beast as she now named letting the toy letting the head nuzzle in the her soft pink lips, as she toyed easily with it, letting the ridge veiny shaft rub over her lips, and across her clitty. The month before the evening talk passed easily, a week away in Spain with her husband when the grandchildren were back in school, gave her skin a lovely bronzed sheen. Margaret had announced to her husband that on the night of the talk,she was having a meal with some girlfriends, an activity she actually regularly undertook. This little fib felt deceitful, as her husband never questioned it, merely offering to give her a lift but she countered saying it was her turn to drive, something her friends of a certain age regularly do for each, when they go out as gang. Margaret had barely slept the night before, her mind racing, again her well manicured fingers started to caress her swollen clitty, this now familiar activity, soothed the ache of her unmet need. She had already sorted her clothes for the talk, a simple well tailored dress, knee length with a sash tied at the waist in a cool cotton fabric. Her best lingerie, that she kept at the back of the drawer, matching lacy bra and knickers, nothing too unsubtle, as she genuinely had no idea how the evening would unfold. She decided she would wear her hair up, to radiate an almost studious aura of academic interest, and carry a large notebook. The big car park was almost empty as she drove in, a smattering cars parked close to the main entrance. Not wanting to seem too eager, she checked the time and sat patiently checking her makeup, a little mascara almost made her eyes come alive, as she reapplied her soft red lipstick, and then opened the car door. A charming young lady maybe a student greeted her at the entrance to the museum, as she explained why she was here, “ah this is popular quite a few people have already arrived “ she informed Margaret” you know where you are going, its the old school room” Mixed emotions filled Margaret's racing mind, she had dreamt a few nights ago she was the only one there, and had willing submitted to the rubber soled slipper and then the tawse, before her face was pushed hard onto the desk and taken with an briskness of efficiency that made her orgasm, with a delicious warm flood of desire washing over her inner thighs. The big old oak door was open, the low murmur of polite chatter filled the evening air, 12 or 15 people, some seated at the old desk, others in small groups were chatting, mainly women but a couple of men were present. She found a desk unoccupied and sat down, opening her still empty note book and smiled warmly, her seat was about half way down from the large red leather topped table, not too far back, not too close to the back either, just about right opined Margaret. Then he appeared, the School Master, she recognised him immediately , draped in his flowing black gown, as He stood on the raised dais at the front of the school room. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight” His voice was rich and sonorous, as he talked about how the museum was undertaking outreach work to connect with a wider, more diverse community. “Too bloody right, all kinky spankers here” Margaret said under her breath. The School Master had used a number of interesting props for the talk, all designed in their own way to humiliate and shame wayward pupils. The archetypal dunce's hat that many assumed was an urban myth, was only banned in England and Wales in 2010, he informed them “Who wants to wear it…” and silence fell over his audience, as he walked slowly been the neat rows of desks……………………”did anyone ever wear one as I as I can see we have a more mature audience here tonight” A hand shoots up, a woman in her mid 50s, “Sir I have been naughty , put it on me” she said in a coquettish playful manner breaking the awkward silence, as the School master beamed, and placed it on her head “ now go and stand in the corner” he replied, and surprisingly she stood up and walked into the corner………………”like this Sir,” as she buried her body into the corner of the room by the black board. Margaret watched this stranger’s easy confidence, with the school master, her skirt was a little short, thought Margaret, more suitable for a party or nightclub than an academic lecture. “Sir, the dunces hat won’t stay on my head,” as she shakes her head and it falls to the floor, a gentle laughter rises from the watching audience. “It was the same last time” the voice of the School Master booms across the seated heads, “over my desk, six of the best, just like last time Sheila” This women teeters in her heels to the old oak desk and drapes herself over the well worn red leather top, her skirt rises as the glorious curves of her buttocks are nearly revealed. “Now” the School Master's voice booms, “knickers down Sheila” . At this Margaret’s mind races, as Sheila’s white cotton schoolgirl knickers are pulled down to her knees by the knowing hands of the School Master |
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thanks, good you enjoyed,
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1 post 4/25/2024 4:12 pm |
I like this story
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