Chapter 2
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Posted:Apr 9, 2023 9:12 am
Last Updated:Apr 28, 2024 10:05 pm 1481 Views
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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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Mountjoy's spanking musings
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Posted:Dec 8, 2022 8:18 am
Last Updated:Jan 4, 2024 9:47 pm 4191 Views
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Chapter 1:
“Thank God !” exclaimed Margaret, the last week of the long school holidays, Milly and Oliver, her two grandchildren had been so good , she had dutifully looked after them whilst her worked.
Her car pulled up outside her ’s house, and the two 10 year old , non identical twins, rushed out and jumped in. Liz, her waved from the front window.
“Where too granny, where are we going?” asked Milly.
“Well, as its our last day before you go back to school, I thought we would go the open air museum, they have a steam fair working this week, with lots of rides that granny remembers well from when I was your age”
Seat belts on, Margaret headed out of town.
”The steam fair does not open until two” she informed both “ but we can have a look around, there is so much to see"
The pulled comical, almost sullen faces and then Margaret said ”we can then have an ice cream before the fair starts”. Smiles and cheers came from the back seats of the car.
An hour later, after taking a tram ride around the site, they all alighted outside the old Victorian School, which had been lovingly restored, it was taken down in the centre of town and rebuilt painstakingly here brick by brick.
They entered the school room through a heavy old wooden door, the windows high in the almost church-like room, giving it a coolness in the heat of late August.
Simple desks were arranged in rows, and at the front stood a man, in a long school masters gown talking to a group of . In his late sixties, Margaret opines to herself, he is bound to be a retired teacher as well, her sixth sense told her.
The parents and and grandparents stood back a little, letting him show the how the pupils of yesteryear used to have to write on heavy slate tablets using chalk.
“Go on, go and listen, it sounds very interesting” Margaret said as she sat at one of the benches to rest her feet, and she checked her phone and sent a photo to her of the , riding on the old tram that ran around the site.
The School Master was telling the how the pupils were disciplined. He held the audience of young faces with ease, as Margaret glanced up from her phone to see the swish of a long whippy black cane, as the School Master arced it through the air and hit the top of an old school desk.
A little shiver ran down Margaret’s spine, as she strained to listen, and then stood and moved forward. The School Master then picked up a thick leather two tailed tawse. It had two tails of leather and he went onto explain how it’s called a Lochgelly Tawse,and was made in Scotland and clearly He knew His stuff as he showed the how the leather tails had rounded edges so it did not draw blood when it strikes. The listened intently, as the tales of the Victorian school room are revealed.
By this time Margaret joined the huddle of families as they looked at the well worn and well used tawse, which glowed with a wonderful chestnut brown patina.
One little boy asked ”did it hurt”, the older adults laughed knowingly, as the very charming School Master squatted down, and held the boy’s gaze ”it was used for very naughty but it was so cruel, the were routinely hit with it, for the most minor of things, maybe for a silly spelling mistake” he said softly.
Margaret looked down at her own two grandchildren as they gazed on fascinated , school was a different world back in the 1950s she mused, thinking of her own childhood, when she was given the slipper across her buttocks for being cheeky in clas., She was ten years old. The heady mix of emotions , humiliation, pain, and a certain frisson of excitement that as a 10 year old she could not comprehend at the time. She had felt a strange stirring, and that night for the first time, her hand strayed gently between her open legs.
“Right , break time” The School master stood up and smiled……………” I hope you enjoyed, and for those of you a little older, I hope it brought back many memories, school days were the best time of your life”
“Granny, Granny can we go on the fairground rides”, as Margaret was brought back to the present day away from her long forgotten reminiscences.
A little flustered ”yes of course, I will be along in a minute, I will see you both by the Helter Skelter” . She tried to look out of the school room windows, but they were too high, all she could see was the top of the merry go round, and the sound of the steam engines powering the fairground.
The school room emptied, the hungry, the parents and grandparents followed, as Margaret found herself picking up the Tawse, feeling how heavy it was, and she tapped it playfully over her hand. The feelings washed over her like a tsunami, as she was almost lost in her own reverie, she subconsciously crossed her legs and gently squeezed her thighs, as she felt the tremulous flutters build deep again within.
“I can see you have an interest” the School Master interrupted her thoughts as he tidied away the props, Margaret blushed, her soft English rose features turning her face a soft crimson hue.
“They were only really used it in Scotland……………..you had it easy” he said smiling, as he let her keep hold of the tawse, her well manicured fingers ran down the length of this long strap of cruel leather.
”I only had the slipper” Margaret volunteers “but I was not a naughty girl” a soft smile breaks out across her face “ I always used to talk too much in class.” She glanced around and saw that they were only two people left in the old Victorian classroom, the School Master and His errant supplicant.
“I am sure, like all little girls you were a chatterbox ”He said softly as he made easy conversation, “they still make then today” He said………………….”collectors want them, genuine old ones sell for hundreds of pounds”
“Really” Margaret felt again a shiver run down her spine , conscious her nipples were stiffening and hoped they were not visible in her thin cotton summer dress.
“Would you like to experience what it was like, how it was administered to school , it was still used in Scotland in the 1980s, you know” as he walked over to the big old wooden door and turned the old key in the lock, the heavy wooden door creaked in its hinges, as the door was locked.
“Brace yourself against the desk” He said, swiftly seizing the moment, catching Margaret unawares, as she heard a newly assertive tone in His voice as she stammered in protest” I…..I..I am a married lady with grandchildren” her voice had a delicious uncertainty to it, something he has heard many times before
” hands on the desk, you naughty little schoolgirl” he said, ”but….but my grandchildren” Margaret retorted, her voice more plaintiff now, and then for some inexplicable reason she acquiesced , and tried to gain control ”just one lash of this thing” her mind still raced, as she forgot the name of the tawse, as her hands gripped the side of the desk.
“Brace yourself, open your legs” He commanded, as she instinctively slipped into the compliant little schoolgirl mindset, just as she used to do all those years ago. Bending forward, her eyes gazed down at the old pine desk, decorated a myriad of incoherent graffiti written and scratched on it.
Then she felt the bottom of her dress lifted and hitched high over her hips, her pretty white Marks and Spencer lacy knickers were on show, hoping the flush of heat and the wetness did not betray her obvious arousal.
Then the tawse swished through the air and landed just below her buttocks on the back of her thighs. Margaret let out a cry of pain, as the two tails of dark brown leather struck ,her hands gripped the edge of the desk, as the rich chestnut oak patina of the leather slapped her tender skin with brutal efficiency.
Her heart raced, as her fingers braced her body, as she quivered, her voice was tremulous, “another, one more” she said softly, her voice barely audible, as her legs open a little wide and she pushed her derriere back, as the heat of that first strike radiated through her body.
The tawse arced in the air, as that second strike was administered with the same ease, the sound of leather on skin echoed in the empty row of neatly arranged old school desks.
This time the strike was over the fullest curves of her buttocks, the sensation was sublime, “I have to go, the ” her voice quivered with panic now, her mindset back in the reality of the day, as she stood, her derriere hot, her pulse still racing, as she explained“ I do really have to go”
“I do an very interesting adult only talk once a month here in the school room, it’s in the evening, please come” as he placed a small business card in her hand” its all on this card, you would be most welcome, “ His calm measured tones soothed her obvious panic, as He lead her to the door of the schoolroom as she clutched the small business card and placed it in her hand bag. The School Master opened the door, and Margaret slipped out, the heat of the midday sun hit her body, as she felt so alive under the azure blue sky of the is lovely British summer day.
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