by Laurel Aspen
SCHOOL REUNION
Year 3
by
LAUREL ASPEN
School Reunion Year 3 first published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks, an imprint of Avid eBooks.
ePub ISBN 9781780802053
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Chimera (ki-mir’a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.
New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Laurel Aspen. The right of Laurel Aspen to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Contents
Ideal Home
Indya
Meek Shall Inherit
Network
Ideal Home
It was a fine spring day, you know, crocuses, birdsong, everyone glad to be alive. Or make that almost everyone, for Chris was too preoccupied to enjoy the sunshine. What was it, he wondered, with Sally? Some girls couldn’t pass a clothes shop without reaching for a credit card, but she just kept buying furniture.
Antique shops, auctions every damn holiday (even on honeymoon!), vast discount barns miles out of town that were full of trailer trash and screaming brats, anywhere would do when she was desperate for a ‘furniture fix’.
‘Craftsmanship, the touch and smell of wood, the contrast between beauty and utility,’ she replied later, when for the hundredth time he posed the obvious question.
‘Yeah, okay, enough already, I was looking for a simple answer not an art lecture,’ he said huffily.
‘Well I don’t need one either, you’re my husband not my parents,’ sulked Sally. ‘Honestly, Chris, it’s just a hobby.’
‘You’ve a good eye for design and the interior of the house looks great, I’ll admit that,’ he said reasonably, ‘but Sal, we’ve only been here a year and we’re not rich; at this rate we’ll be defaulting on the mortgage. We were lucky to get a place in this area at all; lose it and our credit rating as well and it’s back to frontline bed-sit land. There’s no doubt about it, I’m going to have to do something drastic to control your spending.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Sally acknowledged reasonably. ‘Sensible as always, but you know how spontaneous I am.’
‘In which case I’ll have to impose severe penalties to concentrate your grasshopper mind and keep you on the financial straight and narrow,’ he said enigmatically.
‘Penalties?’ Sally echoed warily. ‘What sort of penalties?’
Putting an arm about his beloved’s waist Chris whispered sweet somethings in her ear, and Sally’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth gaping in astonishment. ‘Chris, you can’t be serious!’ she gasped.
‘Oh, I certainly am,’ he responded smugly.
‘On the other hand,’ a slow grin gradually transformed Sal’s prettily freckled features, ‘it does present certain, um, interesting possibilities…’
‘No, no, if you think I’m employing a roundabout way of getting into your knickers then think again,’ Chris said adamantly.
‘Oh really, and I suppose Mr Smug thinks he has a permanent access all areas entry pass to my hot little pussy, does he?’ Sally countered sarcastically.
‘Hasn’t failed me yet.’ Chris was feeling as confident as he sounded. ‘But no, Sally, I mean it, one more unplanned and potentially ruinous piece of expenditure and you’ll be suffering the most stringent of economic sanctions.’
‘We’ll see about that, my lad; personally I’d say you had two hopes - none and Bob.’ Turning on her heels Sally brought the conversation to an abrupt close and flounced from the room. Honestly, she thought indignantly, the whole idea was preposterous. He wouldn’t dare…
How wrong she was.
During the next few months Chris’s inventive system of fiscal penance was, just as he had predicted, and despite her vehement initial protests, employed on several occasions. Whether or not it proved effective in curbing her compulsive furniture fetish is open to some doubt, however. A fly on the wall of the couple’s house during the summer would have been a fortunate witness to a series of interesting events…
‘Hold the door open for me will you please, Chris? Thanks.’
‘What’s in the box?’
‘An office chair,’ replied Sally. ‘Since I’m doing so much more work from home these days I decided to get a decent one, to save me from backache when I’m sitting at the PC. There, that’s it,’ she placed the flat-pack on the floor of their makeshift office space. ‘Right, now hang on to the box while I unpack the pieces.’
‘You mean it comes in kit form?’
‘Amazingly, yes; even at a hundred and twenty pounds a throw I’m afraid there’s an element of do it yourself.’
‘Nice colour, I like blue, is it hard to assemble?’
‘Not really,’ said Sally. ‘The main thing is the hydraulic ram, see, press this lever and the squab adjusts up and down.’
‘Gosh, an hydraulic ram, just what I’ve always wanted.’
‘That’s quite enough double entendre from you,’ she admonished lightly, but smiled conspiratorially; if she could distract her husband with a spot of fun in the bedroom - or lounge or kitchen, Sally wasn’t fussy - he just might forget to impose the dire penalties he’d promised should she break their boring new regime of fiscal prudence. ‘No reason why we can’t play something else, though…’ she suggested seductively.
‘I don’t recall us sitting down and planning to spend more than a hundred quid on a chair,’ Chris said, missing her sexy pout.
‘All right, all right, no need to nag,’ she said sulkily as her nascent escape plan was effortlessly thwarted. ‘I freely admit this was an unplanned purchase.’
‘And so there’s a consequence to be paid.’
‘There is?’ she said nervously, feigning ignorance in a hopeless last-ditch attempt to duck responsibility.
‘I’ll bet no one else in the road, probably no one else in this boring street, has such a unique method of dealing with overspending,’ Chris grinned wolfishly, stood upright and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘Who knows what takes place behind lace curtains? Mind you,’ he added, ‘as a means of stopping your irresponsible shopping habits my plan’s been something of a failure.’ But at the time ultimately more enjoyable than I first feared,’ said Sally reflectively, ‘and it’s become almost akin to a christening ritual for any major new purchase,’ she added.
‘True,’ he agreed, already looking more cheerful. ‘By far the best way to emphasise the trouble a promiscuous purse can cause is for you to bend over the offending piece whilst being punished. Remember when we got that beautiful antique cherry wood chest of drawers?’
‘I’m not likely to forget,’ grumbled Sally, shivering not altogether pleasurably at the recollection. ‘As I recall you took off my skimpy little knickers and hung them on a hook behind the bedroom door.’
‘Yes, that was a particularly pleasant prelude,’ mused Chris.
‘The main event being me, stretched across the top, clinging on to one end, bare boobs pressed to the cold wooden surface - I
can still smell the polish - tips of my toes barely touching the floor.’
‘And didn’t you put up a struggle first?’ Chris winced at the memory. ‘Kicking my shins, shouting so loudly I’m amazed the neighbours didn’t call the police. Thank goodness middle-class folk “don’t like to interfere”, although God forbid you ever really should get attacked around here, no one would bat an eyelid! It took quite a fight to force you into position and dish out a dozen strokes of the cane.’
‘Too right, and you really laid them on.’ Now it was Sally’s turn to grimace at an unhappy recollection. ‘By the time you’d finished my poor posterior was a mass of angry red stripes, absolute agony where they overlapped.’
‘That should have taught you not to kick and struggle, young lady; anyway, once you’d calmed down and stopped sniffling the thrashing certainly produced the requisite reaction, you were sopping wet.’
‘I suppose you did at least kiss your bottom better,’ Sally sighed dreamily. ‘I wish we could simply skip the nasty stuff and cut straight to the good bit. As I remember you then sweetly kissed most of my body, and took your time over it. You wouldn’t let me get up, though.’
‘You didn’t need to get up, I did…’
‘Mmm, long hard and from behind,’ Sally reflected licentiously. ‘Sometimes a girl likes a touch of class, but on other occasions a bit of rough’s just the job. Getting my poor bare bottom beaten is not my idea of fun, but a masterful shafting from the rear, pinned down and helpless, you ramming your prick home so fiercely it almost lifts my feet from the floor, now that really pushes me over the top.’
Blushing at the graphic honesty of her soliloquy, Sally felt herself rapidly moistening in her panties. They stood for a moment, silently absorbed, each mentally replaying the memory from their own perspective.
Deciding to gamble her fate Sally took a chance, sidled seductively up to Chris and whispered huskily into his ear, ‘You know that rude recollection’s quite got me in the mood…’
‘No need to convince me,’ replied her beau enthusiastically, ‘but let’s have a shower and a drink before we get down to business. Red wine all right?’
‘Great.’ Perhaps she could distract him after all, Sally thought, ever hopeful.
‘Okay, I’ll get it.’ If she thought he was going to forget about punishing her good and proper she could think again, Chris mused.
‘Lovely,’ said Sally a few minutes later, sipping from a brimming glass of Merlot, her butterfly brain already drifting towards another reminiscence. ‘Then of course there were the beds.’
‘Beds, plural?’
‘Indeed. We felt we owed it to our guests to at least road test the one in the spare room I’d bought on a whim.’
‘How considerate of us; as I recall it was certainly a thorough trial.’
‘I don’t recall any trial,’ said Sally, with a sulky pout, ‘more an on-the-spot penalty, with you cast in the role of draconian judge, jury and executioner.’
‘Ah yes, a thorough over the knee spanking first.’
‘Which went on for bloody ages, until my entire bum and the backs of my legs were ablaze.’ Sally sounded righteously indignant.
‘A touch cruel, I admit.’ Chris remained unrepentant. ‘However, you’ve got to admit the grand finale went someway to make up for my early over enthusiasm.’
‘Oh yes, I lay on my back wearing nothing more than a velvet choker while you teased me with that wicked little whip we bought on holiday in France.’
‘Ah, the martinet,’ Chris said fondly.
‘That’s it, there I was, tightly gripping the bed head, legs spread, body open and vulnerable to your slightest sadistic urge. Of course, I could have escaped at any moment…’
‘But chose not to, why?’
‘Trust and lust. I trusted you to do no more than sensually sting my bare boobs with those biting little leather thongs. I love the way you always pause between strokes to let the sexual tension build, very considerate, stroking the whip gently across my nipples and labia one moment, bringing the stinging tails swooping fiercely down the next. It takes a lot of self-control for me to let you punish my pussy and tits, I’ll have you know.’
‘Arousing though, isn’t it?’ Chris knew he was on safe ground.
‘Yes, for both of us apparently.’ Eyes sparkling at the recollection Sally leant across to kiss him. ‘That bulge in your chinos must be really uncomfortable.’
‘Almost as much as it was then, but if you recollect I found a way to cure it.’
‘Later, young man, later; remember, anticipation is the key. I think it’s high time we had that shower, and perhaps yours should be a cold one.’
Naked together beneath the cascade of hot water it was Chris who prompted the next reverie. ‘You did say beds?’
‘Absolutely, the second time was when I unilaterally took it upon myself to replace the master bed, or as it turned out, the master’s bed.’
‘I tied you to the mattress, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, and tightly, you bastard,’ Sally confirmed. ‘Even though I begged you to show some mercy and let me off.’
‘No way,’ said Chris, shaking his head, ‘we’d just come back from a boring party up the road, if I recall correctly.’
‘I wasn’t bored, you were,’ retorted Sally. ‘Or more likely, jealous.’
‘You were talking to that guy in the kitchen for ages.’
‘So you punishing me for spending too much was just a cover up for a bad attack of the green-eyed monster,’ announced Sally triumphantly, secretly flattered.
‘Ah yes,’ responded Chris, unabashed at having been so easily found out, his head filling with pleasant images. ‘I tied you facedown, on that occasion. Spread-eagled with silk scarves, I can still recall the fragrance of your perfume and the sensual pleasure of lifting that expensive party dress to reveal your pert posterior, framed by seamed black stockings and a lacy suspender belt.’
‘Hardly subtle, I was wearing “fuck me” stilettos as well, buggers to walk in but boy did they get you going. You literally ripped my knickers off!’
‘Hang on, your imagination’s running wild; I cut them off, and they were a tiny thong, not knickers.’
‘The feeling of helplessness was delicious. I almost forgot why I was there and abandoned myself to the moment.’ Breathing heavily, Sally employed a bar of soap between her legs with perhaps more vigour than was strictly necessary.
‘Three plump pillows lifted your hips nicely.’
‘Yes, and you certainly made then wriggle and dance with that crop.’
‘Ah yes, the crop, best of all disciplinary devices: soft or severe, solicitous or sadistic, mild stimulation or a thorough thrashing.’
‘When you’ve quite finished waxing lyrical,’ Sally interrupted. ‘Mind you, it’s true, after what seemed an eternity on the receiving end, and at the severe end of the scale, I was begging to be seen to. God, it took three days before the weals faded. Oh look, now the towel’s got a bulge at the front.’
‘Into the bedroom with you, at once,’ laughed Chris, slapping Sally’s naked rump as she ran across the landing.
‘Whoa, not fair, we haven’t started yet, I’ve still got to choose what lingerie to delight you with.’
‘I’ll choose the underwear, and the shoes,’ Chris said firmly. ‘You get on with applying the war paint.’
‘My, who’s the dominant one? Okay, but I get a say in what you wear as well.’
‘Fair enough, Sal, what’ve you got in mind?’
‘Something suitably masculine; black jeans and a T-shirt to match will be nice. Which reminds me…’
‘Of what?’ asked Chris.
‘Give you a guess.’
‘Another item of furniture?’
‘Correct. In fact, the kitchen table I ordered as a surprise. You wore a black T-shirt when you carried it in from the van. It showed off that six-pack stomach and the short sleeves emphasised your biceps. I got damp at the mere sight.’<
br />
‘Yes, well, I told you all that working out in the gym was worth it. Wasn’t that just after I’d got the tiger tattooed on my shoulder?’
‘And I was still plucking up courage to get this rose done above my breast; anyway, no sooner had you put the table in the kitchen I found myself lying on top of it.’
‘You provoked me, Sally. You said I was soft.’
‘Only to tease you because the effort of carrying it in had made you sweat.’
‘Solid oak, I’ll have you know. Besides, poking your tongue out at me was the final straw.’
‘Before I knew what had happened you picked me up and I was flat on my back with my knees pulled up to my boobs.’
‘A very effective - albeit completely involuntary - posture; holding your legs with my left hand I could spank you bottom and thighs with my right.’
‘And you did, you rotten sod! My wretched bot was soon sore all over and that was before you pulled down my white knickers.’
‘Yep, all the way to your white ankle socks,’ Chris concurred. ‘I’ll say that for tennis, the sportswear’s bloody attractive.’
‘And painful, you used one of my plimsolls to tan my hide.’
‘Starting as I meant to continue,’ he confirmed unapologetically.
‘Fortunately, for once, you weren’t too severe.’ Sally was unable to resist the hint.
‘Too impatient more like, the sight of your red bum and that glistening slit peeping from between those damp curls was too much, I couldn’t wait to stand in front of you, spread your legs, and…’
‘I think that’s when I knew it was going to work out between us.’
‘Happy days.’ Chris’s manner abruptly became businesslike. ‘Right, young lady, I’m ready and you’re still dithering, as usual.’
‘But Chris, don’t you want to talk about when we replaced the sofa, the blanket chest, the coffee table?’
‘No, that’s enough. This is happy memory overkill. I’m developing nostalgia fatigue. Back to the future; I’ll see you in the study in five minutes sharp.’
