School Reunion Year 1

by Laurel Aspen

  ‘Well,’ enquired Julie, as she adjusted her hat and moved towards him, ‘what do you think, Mr Thirty-Two Today?’

  ‘I think,’ said a very appreciative Rob, recovering his voice and taking her in his arms Hollywood hero-style, ‘you’re the horniest girl I’ve ever met.’ During the subsequent, long and lingeringly kiss he ran his hands over her body, reacquainting himself with its many manifest delights: firm breasts, trim waist and a deliciously shapely bum. Lingeringly he slid his hands down her thighs and caught his breath. Yes, no doubt about it, the telltale shape of suspenders.

  ‘Since when,’ he enquired critically, ‘did a WPC’s uniform include high heels?’

  ‘Since I didn’t think flat-footed would have quite the aphrodisiac affect I intended,’ replied WPC Christie.

  ‘With you I don’t need an aphrodisiac,’ he said honestly.

  ‘Clever lad, that was the right answer,’ grinned Julie. ‘But hey, we can’t have you groping an officer of the law, I shall have to arrest you.’

  With a flourish she produced a pair of handcuffs and dangled then in front of his face. Julie’s plan was simple; get the bracelets onto the young doctor then drag him into the bedroom for a lengthy ‘interrogation’. But although he pleasurably replayed the moments many times in his mind afterwards, Rob could never honestly say what possessed him to act as he did next. Cherish her as he did, perhaps her headstrong nature was dictating events once too often. Of the two, mutual friends probably would have named her as the more assertive, yet on this occasion he suddenly became unpredictably masterful.

  ‘I think not, constable,’ he said firmly, and before Julie knew what was happening it was she who was handcuffed and being propelled towards the lounge.

  ‘Hey, that’s not part of the plan,’ she protested petulantly, genuinely shocked.

  ‘Not part of your plan,’ he responded, in no mood to change his mind. ‘Wearing a police uniform for your own private pleasure sounds like a disciplinary offence to me,’ he continued sternly, sitting on the sofa while Julie, her wrists firmly fastened together, stood awkwardly before him. ‘I’ve just made a citizen’s arrest.’

  ‘Disciplinary offence?’ echoed Julie, puzzled and pouting, something about his emphasis on that particular word putting her on her guard.

  ‘Disciplinary,’ he confirmed firmly, and before she knew it she was facedown across his lap. Dangling helplessly, protesting vehemently, she soon discovered what any of the criminals she’d apprehended could have confirmed; you can’t escape from handcuffs.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she gasped, distinctly unamused and struggling, pointlessly, to get up.

  ‘I suppose I should formally caution you,’ Rob said gleefully. With her wrists firmly secured she was going nowhere, and he was in no hurry. ‘Anything you say is more than likely to be completely ignored while your knickers are taken down and your wicked bare bottom gets a thorough spanking,’ he stated formally.

  ‘What?’ she squealed. ‘Oh no, this has gone far enough. I mean, a joke’s a joke and, yeow!’ Her high-heels flew involuntarily up into the air as an admonitory palm loudly, unexpectedly, struck her perfectly positioned hindquarters.

  ‘Rob,’ she yelped, looking over her shoulder at her beau, a note of anxiety entering her tone, ‘you surely don’t expect to continue with this? You don’t really think you’re going to spank me?’

  ‘No,’ he replied coolly, but her relief was short-lived, ‘I know I’m going to spank you.’

  ‘Oh, you sod, no you can’t!’ Julie resumed her fruitless attempts to get free, rediscovering in the process just how strong her boyfriend was. ‘Why would you want to?’ she asked plaintively.

  ‘Because…’ Rob paused reflectively, ‘because you must be punished for discrediting the uniform.’ This was blatant rubbish, he knew; she’d only worn it to please him, and at his behest, too. ‘And because I can.’ That seemed to ring true, although not without an element of risk; get this wrong and he could end his birthday girlfriendless. ‘Quite simply, it’s time I took charge for a change.’

  The last point struck a chord with the upended girl dangling over his lap. Julie usually took the lead in their relationship. After all, she’d been the one to chat Rob up in the first place. Come to think of it, it’d been Julie who invited him out and then led him to her bed. Her body gave an involuntary tremble at the pleasure of the memory. He’d certainly acquitted himself with honours.

  ‘Come on, then, if you think you’re hard enough,’ she challenged.

  ‘Oh, I’m hard enough all right,’ Rob stated determinedly, and then Julie, who wasn’t wearing her truncheon, could feel something very similar to it increasingly swelling and pressing up into her tummy.

  Responding to her unwise challenge, Rob grasped the hem of her skirt and slowly began to pull it to her waist. What a magnificent vision, and he’d been right, she was wearing stockings; sheer, black and totally the opposite of the industrial strength tights WPCs usually sported. Their dark welts were pulled tight over dusky thighs by the straps of a lacy suspender belt that perfectly matched the ruinously expensive white knickers encasing that superb bottom. Framed thus, Julie’s delicious derriere had never appeared so gorgeous. Although she complained that her hips were too broad, the twin peaches of her cheeks too pronounced, Rob’s palm had itched to spank it ever since they’d first met.

  ‘I’m going to spank that alluring arse of yours,’ he announced, calmly if superfluously. ‘Spank it hard, and spank it now.’

  Puzzlingly the angry verbal response Rob was expecting never materialised, and instead Julie’s body tensed in mute response. However, contrary to his harsh words he began with care, for Julie was a spanking virgin - but he wasn’t. He knew launching a fusillade of unforgiving slaps would be a sure way to blow it. Rather he started gently, concentrating on the centre of her bottom, spanking over the tightly stretched fabric of her knickers, bracketing each dozen or so slaps with soothing caresses.

  Face down, teeth gritted, Julie was amazed to find her situation far from unpleasant. Perhaps Carly had been on to something when she extolled the virtues of CP as foreplay. True enough each impact of Rob’s palm stung, but far from unbearably. In fact the cumulative warmth currently suffusing her buttocks was already starting to sensually stimulate other areas. Which is why, no doubt, the loss of her knickers came as such a shock. ‘Rob!’ she screeched in surprise, as one moment they were covering her most personal treasures and the next they were dangling about her knees, cool air wafting across her tingling skin leaving her feeling unsettlingly vulnerable. ‘Rob, what are you doing?’ she protested vainly.

  ‘Taking your knickers down the better to properly punish your bare bottom,’ he told her in his best bedside voice. Prudently he pinned her potentially kicking calves with his leg, then resumed the spanking, this time with vigour. A series of largely incoherent gasps and groans escaped Julie’s ruby-red lips as, with heat steadily building in her scalded bottom, she began to wriggle and squirm on his lap.

  ‘Keep still, girl,’ Rob admonished irritably, emphasising his command with searing slaps across the backs of her tender thighs.

  ‘Ow, no!’ Julie shrieked at the indignity, struggling against his unyielding grip. Carly had neglected to mention there would be this amount of pain and discomfort.

  With perfect timing Rob stopped to admire his handiwork and allow the thoroughly discomfited WPC some respite. Contrary to what many might have predicted, the evidence of the spanking was clearly visible on her dark skin, a roseate glow suffusing the flawless expanse of her coffee-coloured cheeks, finger marks faintly visible at the tops of her thighs. Pushing her knees roughly apart he slid his hand between her legs, up over her stocking tops and into the damp black curly hair at their apex.

  ‘Aha, just as I suspected,’ he said, ‘betrayed by your hot little honey-pot. You’re wetter than a rainforest down there, WPC. Indeed, we seem to have put the cunt in constable.’

  Julie could hardly deny the inc
riminating evidence, and besides, she’d no desire for Rob’s fingers to cease their skilful manipulation of her craving clitoris. ‘Mmmm, oh yes,’ she groaned shamelessly, relishing the transition from pain to pleasure as her engorged labia were petted and teased. The glow from her burning buttocks, though fierce, was now flowing in waves through her lower body, intensifying the delicious sensations created by her lover’s probing fingers.

  Abruptly Rob pulled her upright, placing her cuffed hands on the back of her head and forcing her to stand hot and dishevelled in front of him. Rob rapidly undid the buttons of her regulation blouse, tearing eagerly at her almost transparent lacy white bra to free her succulent breasts. Palming then painfully, squeezing each engorged nipple between finger and thumb, he forced Julie, panting and flushed with desire, to even greater heights of arousal.

  ‘Okay tough guy,’ she gasped, ‘you’ve made your point, I’m ready for you.’

  ‘I thought you might have learned to be a little less presumptuous by now, young lady,’ he responded menacingly.

  ‘Please,’ Julie whimpered, ashamed to be reduced to begging but desperate to escape a further assault upon her throbbing hindquarters, ‘make love to me now.’

  ‘I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready,’ he responded evenly, ‘until when you can display your supposed aptitude for obeying orders.’ In no great hurry, savouring each moment of the delightfully tactile ritual, he removed her skirt and knickers completing her humiliating exposure to his frankly lascivious gaze.

  Julie, anxious and atypically silent, nervously returned his uncompromising stare. Naked from the hem of her blouse to the tops of her stockings she urgently wanted to massage her glowing pink bottom, but dare no longer move without Rob’s permission.

  The man in charge grinned wolfishly. ‘Bet you’d like to rub that sore little bum, wouldn’t you?’ he goaded.

  Julie nodded vigorously, no longer so self-confident, unwilling to trust the timbre of her voice. No man had ever reduced her to such a compliant state before; no one had mastered her so completely.

  ‘Well you can’t, but I guess you’d settle for me doing it instead,’ he continued, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  ‘Yes please,’ agreed a much chastened WPC Christie, nodding furiously.

  ‘Well I’m not going to either,’ Rob teased pitilessly, ‘so we’ll just have to let your behind burn and stoke the fires a little longer.’ Ignoring her plaintive complaint at this unwelcome news he began palpating the pained policewoman’s sodden pudenda with one hand while gently patting her throbbing bottom with the other.

  ‘Now then, Julie,’ he said, in a tone which clearly assumed a fait accompli, ‘time to complete your punishment.’

  With a loudly audible, if largely incoherent response, Julie’s body arched with conflicting sensations as two fingers slid craftily inside her wet sex and five more beat a tattoo on the soft under-curves of her gyrating twin moons. A few minutes was all it took before the simultaneous finger-fucking and spanking took its inevitable toll and a shattering orgasm reduced her to a quivering rag doll, moaning ecstatically in the arms of her lover. Who, kissing her tenderly, carried her limp form into the bedroom and lay her upon his big brass bed. Then placing Julie’s cuffed hands on the rail above her head he carefully spread wide her legs, stripped off his clothes and knelt between her thighs.

  ‘And what do you deserve now, constable?’ he coaxed.

  ‘Please sir, please, I’ve taken my punishment like a good girl even though you’ve made my bottom hot and sore and it hurts dreadfully. Now I’d like to be loved.’

  ‘And will you be good from now on?’ asked Rob, extremely and pleasantly surprised, for Julie had never spoken or behaved so contritely towards him before.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she rasped huskily, ‘I’ll be very, very good.’

  ‘Then what do you want next?’

  Julie stared hungrily at his rampant erection. ‘Oh, Rob,’ she gasped, ‘I want your cock, all of it, right up inside me as far as it’ll go. And Rob,’ Julie continued, moaning passionately as she felt the bulbous tip part her nether lips, ‘do it hard; fill me, fuck me now.’

  Which, obligingly, Rob did. Frustratingly slowly at first, making Julie wait as, inch by inch, he slid his cock into her velvet sheath. First tantalising her with slow, shallow thrusts and then without warning, grasping Julie’s super-sensitised behind and brutally ramming his cock home. Again and again her hips rose to meet him as he ploughed his seemingly indefatigable prick the full depth of her vagina. Ultimately timing his coming to match Julie’s, Rob flooded her aching pussy with thick, viscous sperm.

  Back at the flat Julie shuffled on the sofa, clenching her thighs at the intensity of the memory. Beneath her hastily tidied uniform her bottom still glowed, and between her legs a pleasurable soreness reminded the delinquent policewoman of the intensity of their coupling. She shivered with self-conscious anticipation at the thought of the chastisement Rod had promised to visit upon her buttocks the next time they got a night alone together.

  And to think, Julie reflected with a satisfied sigh, she’d set out to dominate him. She wouldn’t try that trick again for a while. This had been quite a day, and if she didn’t share her story with someone soon she’d go crazy. There was only one possible person she could trust to tell something so outrageous; oh, when would Carly be home?

  At that precise moment Ms Carly Grant was shuffling painfully on a much less comfortable seat on the last bus from town. Her knowledge of spanking, or corporal punishment, as ‘Young’ Mr James rather pompously referred to it, had undergone a very steep learning curve not two hours since. But, Carly reflected with a sigh of satisfaction, the trials and tribulations involved had certainly proved worthwhile - extremely worthwhile, in fact. She couldn’t wait to get home and shock Julie with the story, and if she wasn’t in, well, there was a pink, pouting pussy already aching to be filled again by a well used vibrator with Carly’s name on it.

  Earlier that day and only five minutes after Julie had left on her amorous mission, Carly followed her from the flat and set off for work in a different part of town. Past the police station, past the town hall, a short walk though a pedestrian precinct set incongruously with two pieces of sculpture - one modern, one Victorian, both hideous - past the elegant front portico of the town’s only department store and round the back to the staff entrance.

  Carly was even more ambitious in her professional and private life than Julie. She’d been fortunate to be accepted on the Jones Brothers management training course without a degree, having worked hard since leaving school at sixteen with just a handful of GCSEs to her name. Acquiring the necessary retail experience had meant starting at the bottom as a humble shop assistant and laboriously working her way up the career ladder; all the while saving assiduously for the deposit on a rented flat. Only shared, but her flatmate was brilliant and the space was paradise after five years of bedsits. As soon as she’d finished her exams she abandoned the family home to find freedom and fend for herself. If her mother chose to stay with that drunken slob who termed himself her stepfather - but still tried to feel her up at any opportunity - that was her lookout, but Carly was off.

  So far the job was shaping up well. Jones Brothers were a long established firm with a pleasantly old-fashioned, if somewhat paternalistic, attitude to their employees. Effort was recognised and rewarded and workers were encouraged to train and develop their careers within the company, a welcome contrast to the casual hire and fire ethos of most shop work. The wages weren’t brilliant but, Carly reasoned, shop money rarely was and staff discounts, free health care and a bullet proof pension - not that she intended to stay around so long - helped compensate.

  Now, not to put too fine a point on it, Carly fancied ‘Young’ Mr James, the son and heir to the family business, something rotten. Tall, fair, athletic and good-looking he radiated the sort of self-assured confidence available only those next in line for a multi-million pound inheritance. Auspiciously he
was also extremely personable and pleasingly un-snobbish, on Christian name terms with everyone from the loading bay to the boardroom. Rumour had it he’d be a racing certainty to take over the reins from his father Mr Jonathan in a couple of years when the old boy retired, and Carly was anxious to insinuate herself into his affections before that happened.

  Her most immediate problem was how. Without getting too dramatically Dickensian about her predicament, a girl from a council estate was hardly likely to inhabit the same social circle as a public school and Oxbridge educated scion of commerce. James was the forth generation to work in the family business and his predecessors’ wives had all been drawn from the ranks of Sloanes, not showgirls. Thus far Young Mr James remained, mercifully, without a serious partner though there was no shortage of Annabels and Clarissas available to entertain him. Time was clearly in short supply, Carly had to act soon or any chance of upward social mobility she might have, real or imagined, would evaporate.

  Fortunately, by dint of diligent personal enquiry, or what some might call snooping, Carly had found a chink in Mr James’s armour; an apparent penchant for a certain, shall we say, recreational activity, not altogether unknown nor even unwelcome to Carly. Something she felt sure he’d love to indulge in but which he’d probably prefer not to share with the wider world in general and his paterfamilias in particular.

  To be blunt, if people will read spanking magazines in their office it rather behoves them to lock their desk drawer. True, most junior colleagues, arriving early for meetings, are not in the habit of rifling personal possessions, but ambition can be a terrible thing.

  What a capricious, almost Shakespearian twist of fate that the subject of Mr James’s fascination should be an enthusiasm Carly shared. For as we already know, nothing so quickly got her in the mood than, as she so poetically phrased it, a well smacked bum. Carly didn’t bother wasting money on therapy to discover why, to her enjoyment was its own reward and it evoked no feelings of shame. Her previous boyfriend had shown a particular flare for spanking, making sure to intersperse the slaps with teasing caresses of her most intimate parts.