‘Yes yes, come in.’ Neill was in bed looking worse for wear, topless with the duvet at his waist, his bleary eyes going straight to Natalia’s shiny leggings and crop-top.
‘How did you get past your mum wearing normie clothes?’
‘Got changed just now downstairs,’ she stood grinning at the door.
‘Why downstairs,’ he frowned, tossing a tissue onto a snowy mountain pile. ‘Come over here then, so I can see you properly. I’m not the Grottweiler.’
‘Well funny, because when I heard you were ill at Christmas,’ she stepped to the foot of the bed, hands behind her back in coquettish servitude, ‘I wished could help you, and now I can, so…’
‘Yes, another fucking cold. Or more like hot, all over, and my throat is pounding. I keep spitting up this vileness from my throat which, granted, may not be unusual for me…’ as he hocked into another tissue. ‘I wonder if it’s scarlet fever.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Climb into bed with Grot-Grandma and find out.’
She laughed. ‘Shall I make you a hot lemon?’
‘Yes please. But use decaf. Chop some ginger from the fridge and add a big spoon of honey.’
She shortly returned with a steaming mug.
‘I cooled it down a bit,’ as she stuck an extra pillow behind his head.
‘Do you think you’re still my pretend girlfriend or something?’ as he slurped it cautiously. She went and plopped belly-first onto the end of the bed, head crocked up on her elbow, as he unapologetically eyed her from head to toe.
‘You look even sexier than you did at the weekend,’ he growled. ‘I mean, just look at your bottom. Roll over a bit so I can see more.’
‘Are you even franker when you’re ill?’ she smiled, ringing up her heels in the air like a dog wagging its tail.
‘Possibly.’
‘So how was last night?’
He sipped again raspily. ‘Well I slunk in and out of Joan’s like a tomcat, riding her like a horse till I was hoarse myself but not till this morning did my throat really see the red. Not as red as I left her quim—’
‘Quim?’
‘What she has between her legs, Natalia. You have a quim,’ he glanced down her hips.
Her foot arched. ‘Wait, wait, hang on. That was the shortest smut story you’ve ever given…’
‘Oh, I do apologise for being so curt, when my job is to talk like a cunt.’
‘So… what position did you do it in?’
He studied her for a second. ‘Doggie style. Almost always, really, with any woman. Best way to go hard at it. Do you remember that chicken I was stuffing yesterday?’
She held her breath.
‘I need you to make a broth from the carcass. That’ll work wonders for me in my sorry state right now. Can you manage it without burning the place down?’
‘Er, yes, I can try…’
‘Boil up the kettle, fill up the biggest pan, bash up the chicken if you need to make it fit, then stick it in there simmering for at least an hour with salt and bay leaves from the spice cupboard.’
‘I should be able to do that.’
‘Dinkey’s been texting about this bloody PTA,’ he clawed his phone from the side table, peering through one eye.
‘Why don’t they leave you alone if you’re ill?’ she frowned. ‘You look like you need to go back to sleep.’
‘Because he needs to know a few things so he can cover it for me tonight. There’s a sheet I have about it somewhere - oh, shit, it’s in my glove compartment—’
‘I can get it.’
‘Car keys are by the front door. Or on the coffee table, I can’t remember which…’
‘Coffee table.’
‘Press twice to open the—’
‘I know, I know. I’ve seen you do it.’
His smile flickered. ‘Photograph them and send them to Dinkey’s email. Write in my voice.’
‘I can do that easy. A few F words and a bugger off at the end.’
‘You got it.’
She waited till he’d fiddled with his phone for at least a minute, then finally tossed it to the end of the bed as his head flopped back on the pillow. As she scooped up his phone, his eyes shot open again.
‘Oh, blasted fuck!’
‘What now?’
‘I’m supposed to be sorting that bloody YouTube video out. The candy jar saga,’ he glared at the ceiling. ‘Joan was telling me I need to fill in a form on YouTube but I forget which reason she said I should choose because I was busy snapping off her bra.’
‘Can I do that? The form, I mean? How can I see the video?’
‘Open the YouTube app on my phone and click the history. If you dare.’
‘I’ll have a look. Just go to sleep, ok!’
Unclunking his car locks with a satisfyingly secretarial smirk, she cast a cautious glance to the neighbouring cottages before slipping gleefully in through the driver’s side, to run her hand along all his wheel, the smooth black and silver interior trim of the captain’s cockpit, before rooting through the glovebox. A couple of bright yellow, City of York parking penalty notices fell out, together with the sheets about the PTA, which she took back to this kitchen table. Then, in his YouTube app, amongst BBC Sport news, a busty red-lipped woman reviewing restaurants, and ‘mind-blowing facts about Shakespeare,’ the video was there:
‘Check it out!! Secret SEX toy falls from a sweet jar at skool’s valentine fair!!!’
The title alone might not have given away the school, thought Natalia - were it not for the comment ‘where is this???’ and ‘thornwood high in leeds!!’ helpfully answered, followed by 67 affirmative replies. Why did Dean or Jenny want bad publicity for their own school? Then again, in pre-Neill days she’d probably have colluded in blowing up the school with half the teachers inside if she could get away with it.
The wobbly, twenty-second footage showed Miss Doris tap-dancing round the vibrator with a look of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, whilst Neill tried his hardest to look concerned amidst a row of laughing pupils, before it froze onto a staring Natalia. Oh, shit! What if Neill’s London friends saw this? The truth would be spelt out in one amateur camera waggle. Best get typing that sternly eloquent YouTube dispute as fast as possible.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoaidmdFnbt
*
Two hours later, Neill appeared at the lounge door tying up his blue dressing gown over his bare chest, pyjama bottoms beneath.
‘Mr Neill, you’re up!’
‘I need some fresh air,’ he grunted. ‘Did you manage to sort it?’
‘All three,’ she handed him his phone as she followed him into the kitchen. ‘For the video I selected hateful and abusive content, said it ‘infringes my rights,’ then put in your contact details and an explanation. I also looked up scarlet fever on the NHS site. Do you have a rash?’
He looked round at her from the kitchen door, loosening his girdle. ‘Do you want to check, Nurse Natalia?’
‘Er, I think it’s something only kids get really. …No! That’s no good for your throat!’ She jumped up and put out her arm as he pulled out a cigarette.
He caught it gripped her midway. ‘I need this. At least one.’ He lowered her arm, nodding to the broth, ‘that needs sieving now. See if there’s some vegetables to go into it.’
He unbolted the top half of the kitchen door as she busied pulling out mushrooms and carrots from the fridge.
‘Use a chopping board!’ he called.
‘I know…’
‘So do I. What you teenagers are like.’
As she arranged the vegetables, she turned to see him puffing his fag out into the garden. Then she kept glancing round, repeatedly, watching as he took a chair from the table, scooped it right up behind her, then sat down and commenced smoking, ashtray balanced on his knee, facing right into her bottom as though she were the world’s most underwhelming, anti-social lapdancer, slicing carrots.
She tutted in amusement.
‘What?’ he blinked.
‘I think my bum is saying the same thing.’
‘Don’t take your eyes off the knife when you’re chopping. It’s dangerous.’
‘So you can keep your eyes on my bottom?’
‘Well you know, I’m thinking that at the weekend I got a bum deal,’ as he knocked his ash. ‘50% bum deal, because I couldn’t see your bottom very well in the grey dress. I had to keep touching it just to see it, and that was hard work for me.’
‘Hard work, was it? So you’d like, what… compensation?’
‘No, an exchange. A re-run. I want to put the fun in refund…’ He rose up behind her, his hot cheek brushing the side of her jaw, his hand grasping her left buttock, as her body lapsed giggling.
His fag-holding hand came round and rolled two mushrooms onto her board. ‘These are both nice and round.’ He tossed the fag into his mouth, and now cradled her bum in both hands, as though beginning a waltz with her, as she tried to centre the knife on a mushroom, her body buckling into laughter.
‘Well, I’m glad such a sick patient as you is up and about so happily…’
‘I’m not quite there—’
His hand came round to poke his fag into her lips.
She plucked it out and fed it back into his. ‘No fag ash in the veg, thanks.’
He stepped away to smoke it in silence, as she moved to rinse a pepper under the tap, glancing to him hopefully, and as she resumed chopping, he came back beside her, filched a piece of pepper, then sat back down in the chair again behind her bottom whilst she fiddled with the hob knobs.
‘How do you turn this on?’
‘You’re doing fine as you are.’
‘The hob.’
‘Hmm? Oh—’ He stood to demonstrate the igniter, swipe another shard of pepper, and sit back down as she tossed vegetables into the liquid.
‘Can I tell you a little secret about last night?’ as he gnawed.
‘Sorry, I’m still doing these, so you’re talking to my arse—’
‘That’s alright by me. It’s actually easier than confessing it to your face.’
‘Confess what?’
‘When I was shagging Joan last night…’
‘Yee-ah…’ She kept turned away, already starting to blush like the pepper.
‘I thought about you. Your bottom.’
‘Oh really,’ she chortled.
‘Only for a very short time.’
‘That’s… disappointing.’
‘Ok, for a short time.’
‘Only that?’
‘Ok, for a… time. The time it took for me to get initially aroused through to the point where I’d come.’
‘And that’s a very short time is it?’
‘About an hour.’
‘Oh. Well that’s ok.’
‘Do you think? Because I’m a little bit embarrassed by it.’
‘You should listen to your top pupil. Never be embarrassed.’
‘Good advice.’
‘My Head gave me it—’
‘Joan gave me head. And I have another confession to make about that.’
‘You imagined it was Ed. Giving you ‘ed.’
‘Ed always gives us Ed.’
‘You imagined it was Claire—’
‘Fantasy indeed to stuff her trap.’
‘You imagined it was Mon’s… mons.’
‘You rude young lady. How do you know that word? No, no and no.’
She glanced back to see him gazing up at the cupboards. ‘But what happened is I almost called her the wrong name.’
‘Jean? Jane? Gym?’
‘One of those. I don’t think she could hear with all her yelping but then I almost started laughing, thinking of the conversation with you that time…’
‘Which conversation?’
‘Any of them. I resolved it by covering her ears whilst I was grabbing her head, and I was left wondering whether I had indeed just shot my load with the wrong woman in mind.’
‘You… came twice?’
‘That’s another thing. That doesn’t usually happen, well, not so close together anyway. She seemed quite surprised and pleased and thought it was all down to her. Oh Natalia - I mean, oh - Natalia’s bottom, I don’t know what to do.’
She laughed. ‘Well I’ll let you off. You are sick I guess.’
‘Exactly. I’m the victim here. Your bottom is preying on my mind.’
‘I tell you what,’ as she stirred, ‘you can look at my bum for as long as you want, which means I won’t be going to school, and I’ll be bottom of the class.’
‘How irresponsible of me. Almost as much as this…’
She felt his hands seize her bottom - thinking how his hands felt like a warm bath she’d just plunged into - but upon a hot jet down her crack she squealed in delight, craning her head to see he was smooshing his mouth upon her buttocks, inhaling her like a pillow. ‘Oh, goodness!’ his croak as feverish with joy as with sickness, ‘if only this was my handkerchief, I’d be better in no time. Have you ever thought about that? About what it would feel like to swap your feral fingers for a man’s rapacious tongue?’
‘Ah, haa…’ she squirmed, suddenly wondering indeed what it would be like, and feeling as though she might die from the overwhelming novelty, she thought to say:
‘The man who hates going down on women is asking me that?’
‘Oh, no, no, Natalia. I’d eat you up like that chicken…’ She felt herself spiralling like the broth steam upon his sudden proclamation. ‘Goodness, it’s the smoking factory chimney of what you’ve been leaving on my fingers,’ as he smouldered against her bum some more, then promptly ended with ‘serve that soup to me before I put you in it,’ and a playful bite as she squealed sideways.
After they’d composed themselves enough to locate ladle and bowls, they retired to the lounge, Neill sitting in the couch by the fire - ‘don’t need that on for a bit, I’m a human furnace’ - and Natalia opposite; he noisily slurping the steaming liquid off a spoon, and making a huge gasp that had her look up in surprise.
‘Bloody hell! This is as hot as, well, hell! What the devil did you put in it?’
She stared. ‘Just salt and bay leaves as you said.’
He took another spoonful with a strained look of discernment. ‘Tastes like Thai or something. You didn’t happen to use the lime leaves, did you?’
She jumped up to the kitchen and returned sheepishly with the packet.
‘Curry leaves, not bay leaves,’ he sighed. ‘Ah well it will probably do the trick. Are you not having yours?’
‘I daren’t now.’
He finished the soup and sat back with his mouth hoffing open. ‘Forget furnace, I’m a fire-eater. Well you made me soup in the end, even it was on par with Ed’s chilli dare.’
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?’
‘Yes. Masturbate for me, right there,’ he pointed, ‘strip off all your clothes and finger your pussy repeatedly to climax till I say stop,’ his pointing finger making small circles. ‘Now that will be making red hot soup.’
She hooted in disbelief. ‘As if!’ …Then, blinking back at that resting face of his, cocky even when he was ill - and lamenting inwardly for a moment how she wished she was brave enough to do what he just said, she added:
‘I don’t really play with my, you know. Like I told you. I play with my…’ she saw him about to prompt her, and said quickly, ‘clit.’
His eyebrow raised. ‘With all the wet you put on my hand last time?’
‘Well, all the wet… comes from there.’
‘And you still don’t play with her? You just steal what she gives you? How is that fair?’
She paused in thought. ‘As fair as how you basted the chicken.’
A wheeze caught in his chest. ‘The basting analogy seems to cover many things. So to speak.’
‘I’m young. I’m only on the garden path with a whole country to behold,’ she imitated.
‘Yes, I said that. But I still think it’s incredibly unfair on the source of the sauce. It would be like limiting a man to play with his helmet all day. I’m going to give you some homework. Do you still have that vibrator?’
‘Ye-eah… I put it somewhere.’
‘Oh you will. You’ll give it to your neglected pussy - the right one, this time - switched on - and leave it in there for half an hour. Have a cup of tea, get some revision done,’ he shrugged, as though talking about a laundry load - ‘then you’re going to paper towel it dry - do not wash it - and bring it back to me on Thursday.’
‘Oh, jeez…’
‘You’re doing that face right now,’ he remarked, as she bit her lip looking away to the Thames painting. ‘That face when you come.’
‘What face. Actually, don’t tell me…’
‘When you bring yourself to orgasm. You look so reverent, and fragile, as though you were Miss Doris about to splutter a sneeze all over me, and just can’t help it as she explodes out of all propriety, out of her senses like an electrified mouse. …Why do you look so aghast, Natalia? It’s like cuddling a Duracell bunny. Having you quivering in my lap yesterday was better than any sex toy.’
Her face twitched all over. ‘So you do like Miss Doris.’
‘I’d sooner put my cock up Worzel Gummidge. It’s the shy girl thing that’s become my fantasy and you’re to blame. Makes me want to strip every stitch of clothing from you and appall your every blushing cell inside and out.’
‘That’s it,’ her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m never wanking on you again.’
‘Don’t tell him that, for goodness’ sake,’ he glared momentarily down his crotch. ‘He’s been even worse since the triathlon. Keeps asking about you and who the fuck you are. When I let him loose at Joan last night he was like a greyhound expecting to come out of his trouser tent onto a beautiful beach he’d caught the scent of, and instead got a run around Wykebeck Green.’
She scoffed in laughter.
He added: ‘He didn’t come, he cried.’
‘Hmm. Funny. Like I was.’
‘What?’
‘My mum was livid when I got back.’
‘Oh, darling? I’m so sorry. What was she angry about?’
‘Looking after the cat…’
‘Goodness. Another neglected cunt.’
‘She told me something even worse about my dad that she’d never said before. That he buggered off when I was born and she didn’t know he was ever coming back.’
‘Oh dear. Come and sit in my lap and tell Mr Twitch all about it.’
She shifted in her seat.
‘Come, Natalia—’ He put out his hand and did that serious beckoning face, where he would blink twice in rapid succession then gaze at her earnestly till her body muscles lifted toward him as though by his telekinesis. ‘That’s it—’ as she nestled into his thighs and his hands swam like spoons over her hip and knee. A tickle in his throat rumbled through them both, which he arrested with a brief cough into a tissue from his pocket. ‘So go on,’ he kissed her crown, as her forehead came to rest against his hot snarly throat, and her cheek happily upon the wisp of hair where the gown crossed his chest.
‘It’s funny because every so often I get these little… moments of curiosity about him,’ as she stroked and studied up close the gown fleece of his arm, ‘like I even typed Anton Molov - without the A, into Facebook the other day,’ she laughed, ‘and then as I was looking through these too young, too old, too weird looking people that were obviously not him, I wondered why on earth I’d want to even find him. When he would so easily be able to find me, and chooses not to. Maybe it’s because my mum keeps saying I’m like him. In moments when she’s angry.’
‘I’m so sorry darling. You know every day I think about that plight of yours I cannot save you from and it frustrates me no end.’
‘Which one, her or him?’ She smiled up to his chin.
‘Both. But you know,’ he sighed, shifting his knees so she bobbed further up his chest, ‘two years till you’re 18 and can leave the town and go to uni, or wherever you wish, may sound like a long time in your pace of life, but in the grand scheme of the world, really is not.’
‘Leave the town? With a man with guts and gall?’
‘If you can find one.’
‘How about Joan’s son?’
‘He’s far too young for you.’
‘How old?’
‘Eighteen.’
They laughed together, as another cough rumbled in his chest, this time a deep wheeze that could not be curtailed without her climbing off and passing him a tissue, and running to refill his water.
‘Thank you.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Increasingly delirious, to be honest. Turn around.’
‘Huh?’
‘Yep. It’s getting to that point where even the sight of your bottom isn’t helping.’
‘Why not go back to sleep,’ she bloomed the maroon blanket over the main couch for him.
‘I think I should. Pull the curtains would you. The light’s hurting my head. What time is it?’
‘One o’clock. Can I, er… shall I, lay with you?’
‘I might make you ill, darling…’
‘Well you’ve just been using my scalp as a microphone.’ She wriggled down into the crack between him and the couch back. Neill’s mouth, upturned to the ceiling, was soon hanging open in a grating doze, as she lay awake with her face in his arm for most of the next hour, breathing him in, enjoying the rare leisure of this Monday, this space between time, birds tweeting outside the half-open kitchen door as the world carried on, whilst she truanted with the rescuer of her truanting - as though truanting was ok, naughtiness was ok, everything was ok - she’ll go home and casually stick a vibrator up her cunt with a cuppa later, just as a buzzing now came beneath the blanket with her laugh of surprise, prising it out from Neill’s pocket before it woke him, and see it was Dinkey on the screen. She fired a text: ‘Bugger off! Sorry!… I’m so ill right now. Can’t think. Need to sleep.’ She put it on silent and tossed it, and lay with her eyes running laps along his bookshelves, playing relay race with a bright yellow spine she made a mental note to climb some time and find out what it was… till her own eyes closed with tiredness, her arm numb, but she wouldn’t move for the world, so will join him in his.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMbq2XuArGY
*
‘Urgh, I’m so sorry Natalia. I’m such a sick boy. Argh, dead arm…’
She climbed off to fetch tissues and water.
‘What time is it?’ he croaked.
‘Just past two.’
He took a few minutes to wake up fully, drinking the whole glass of water and then coughing into several rounds of kitchen roll.
‘Better get a cab sorted for you. Pass me my phone please.’
‘Not till you promise to cover another lesson for me, sick boy,’ she dangled his phone.
‘Ok. I’ll cover whatever you’ve got when I’m back Thursday morning.’
‘That’s PE.’
‘Oh, fuck…’
‘Yoga,’ she grinned as she perched on the table.
‘Double fuck,’ he glanced up from his screen. ‘What do you wear for that?’
‘Leggings like these.’
‘Oh… fucking triple fuck. So I’d sit there, watching you flexing your bottom with tight pants all the way up your crack?’
‘We usually do Downward Dog at the end, yeah…’
‘Dog? What? There’ll be nothing downward about my end by the end. And that counts as teaching?’
‘No, I think that’s gross misconduct.’
‘Who’s she? When does she turn up?’
She giggled. ‘If you really do PE I won’t be able to stop smiling.’
‘Well that’s a bloody improvement! But real improvement should’ve had me amending the girls’ kit to leotards.’
‘I have one, somewhere,’ she mused. ‘A red one. I’d wear it.’
‘What?’ he rasped. ‘A red-hot harlot scarlet one?’
‘It’s from yonks ago so it’s probably too small now…’
‘Quadruple fuck!’
‘I’d find it and wear it if you covered PE,’ her eye glinted.
He screwed up his nose. ‘But what if no-one else is wearing one? You will stick out like a sore thumb.’
‘So will you.’
‘Dear Lord! When did you become so brazen like that?’
‘Since meeting you.’
‘Fucking heavens. Thursday morning… gives me time to pick a murder weapon. What should I put in Miss Barnes’ tea for this to happen?’
‘Sugar. That would scare her enough to make her run a mile screaming. But what if you’re not well by Thursday?’
‘I’m fucking better right now.’
They both laughed, then he fell into a coughing fit. ‘I’m making you more hot lemon—’ she dashed into the kitchen, and as the kettle roared she came back in to see him scrolling through red leotards on Google Images.
‘So what does yours look like?’
She peered behind him. ‘There you go,’ she reached to tap on a seven-year-old girl on eBay wearing a red, buttoned Santa-belt leotard.
‘Oh please,’ he groaned, as she laughed and zoomed on a glamorous, sequin-adorned dancer’s leotard, ‘not quite like that…’ and then landed on a plain, thigh and shoulder-cut design. ‘Pretty much like that. Just standard.’
‘Oh quintuple-fuck, it’s perfect.’
‘Quim-tuple?’
‘It’s a bum deal. Talk about scarlet fever! Go home and find it. I’d better do that cab,’ he pulled his phone back up.
‘Thanks.’ She sneezed into her elbow.
‘That’s it. You’ve got it,’ he chuckled.
‘Wish I could guarantee it. I fancy a day off myself.’
‘Well if you do, come here to the sick man and I can make sure you’re sick.’ He looked up from his phone. ‘Do you want my germs inside you?’
She laughed. ‘Think they already are.’
‘It would have to be long enough,’ he said, casually tapping his phone, ‘my tongue in your mouth for a good few minutes. And I heard that if you play with yourself at the same time then you’ll quim-tuple your chances.’
‘I don’t know,’ she blinked. ‘Considering I look like an electrified mouse…’
‘Come here, mouse,’ he boomeranged his phone to the opposite couch. ‘We have twenty minutes till the cab squeals its wheels, to make little mousey squeal.Lay down, flat down, next to me—’
‘If I catch your cold, what about Yoga on Thursday?’
‘We’ll both be fine by Thursday,’ he yanked her wrist toward him, and her momentary bewilderment is overtaken by her sudden volition to dive into his face, his lovely sweet ill face, her hands sliding into his hot neck, and she realises just how much she longs to kiss him, all hoarse underdog - why? - she feels voracious, chafing her groin upon the safe barrier of his blanketed crotch, whilst he tastes metallic, stuffy, but somehow pleasant, like her own mouth after breathing on a pillow all night, but infused with Marlboro and the lingering heat of the curry-broth. A waft of sweaty hair follicles from under the fresh laundered t-shirt adds to the scent library of Neill, every book in which was welcome, lovely to her.
‘My oh my,’ as they withdrew a minute later. ‘You know how to kiss now, girl, don’t you?’
‘I was taught by the best,’ she finds herself murmuring like a porn star.
‘You don’t seem to mind at all that I’ve got a cold.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ now comes the authentic girlish voice of her heart.
Now she laughs as he knocks her down beside him, his face rising over her, his hand burrowing down her jawline as his mouth feeds down on hers, as though this was a competition for who had the most oral prowess, his tongue pushing inside like a stapler pinning her to the couch, she finds her jaw cranked open to criminal proportion, as her hand now pushes up against his shoulder to try release her nostrils to breathe, but his hand catches hers by the wrist and pins it down, sending her butterflies epileptic, as suddenly she wrenches her face away, gulps, tingles, and sneezes - daintily, but unable to cover it - right in his face.
She looked apologetic.
‘Well, Miss Doris,’ he blinked, still gripping her wrist, ‘sneezing is one tenth of an orgasm. Now put this down there, to your selfish little clit’ - he shoved her hand down between her legs - ‘and give me the other nine.’
‘I did get a Maths lesson then,’ she half chortles, as her fingers rummage down her hem, to that dial of the safe where those butterflies now bang like drums to be released, and he is still gripping her, and she wonders if he knew how much his pressure on her knobby wrist bone alone makes her clitoris spark, surpassing the combination lock like a skeleton key, for that is how her orgasm sparks like an ember flying off his fire, in an otherwise imprisoning position where she can barely concentrate to kiss and wank at once, and she is pulling her mouth away to pant, spasming, neck outstretched; that yellow spine on the shelf catching her eye again, whilst he flickers a smile watching her quivering lip.
‘Now bend the other way and we’ll see if we can make you pregnant just as fast.’
She laughed, pulling out her clammy hand as he gets up, stepping to the window with a protrusion in his pyjamas. ‘Jesus,’ he sighed, ‘I’ve never in my life been kissed like that with a cold.’
‘I need to slip my uniform back on. Are you going to stay looking the other way?’
‘I am most certainly not.’
She sighed, slipped off her leggings, and standing in her bare legs and knickers, she felt his gaze upon her as she turned away to pull on her tights.
‘But you can stay facing that way.’
‘Wha—’ She glanced over in a reflex motion, with a double-take at his crotch where his hand is stuffed and moving as though it were a sack of kittens, and she turned away with a laugh of disbelief.
‘You’re, you’re…’
‘Don’t look. You’re not old enough.’
She was in two minds whether she wanted to. His breaths behind her, she gazed at the fireplace as she fed her smirking face through her school jumper, which once it popped out, saw he was gone.
A few moments later came the flush of the toilet upstairs, and then his tone at the door, with the shine of a headlight through the trees.
‘He came quick! I got him to pull up at the end of the cottages… Thank you, my worshipful, pretend girlfriend, cook, mouse, schoolgirl something or other. You truanted and I gave you a different kind of green.’
‘One more for… bad luck,’ she reached to peck him on the lips, and off she went through the gate.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgQRpWLrYia
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZq6Ik038uI
*
‘Where’s that fucking stick to open the loft?’
‘What do ya wanna go up there for?’
‘Just something.’
She looked everywhere. This was ridiculous. How was she supposed to go into the loft to look for her leotard? It was as inaccessible as a schoolgirl’s quim. But here she was, a virgin impregnated by the seed of the seedy germ-man. She lay on her bed and ran her fingers down where that ten-sneeze tremble had escaped her as easily as fag smoke through a window, all because he squeezed her wrist like wringing a dishcloth inside her neglected cunt. She’d bared it for Ryan but she barely knew it, like photographing yourself on the threshold of a house you’d never seen the rest of. She felt briefly, the tight innards, that he said his cock wanted like the air of the sea, a tide that beckoned and waned. The day was on the horizon, that a boat would batter against her tides, the helpless vulnerability of the ‘doggie’ position she could barely fathom, but for now, she dipped a single oar and spread the waters to the pearl, and gave herself the equivalent of fifty sneezes, as electrified a mouse as she wanted to be, free to strain the most chipmunk expressions to her ceiling, turned on by her fear because she was alone and safe here, imagining being staked on the spines of his cactus before rolling over cross-legged again, as though she’d never thought of it at all.
There was a rap on her door.
‘What!’
‘Open up.’
‘Not right now!’
‘You weren’t at school today. I rang your ‘Ead.’
She sat up. ‘What?’
‘The Geordie bloke, said you weren’t in! So you skived today, did ya?’
Natalia slipped her gown on and opened her door.
‘I’m not well.’ She sneezed into her mum’s face.
‘Cover yer mouth! So where were you today?’
‘I went for a walk instead. I was trying to shake off my cold. But now it’s worse.’
‘Well that were a stupid idea. Did you go out with wet hair too, just to make sure?’
‘No. And no offence but why are you suddenly interested in my school welfare? What does it matter to you?’
‘Cos I wanted to be convinced that new hipster Head of yours was doing the right thing taking away those green cards,’ her mum glared. ‘I’ll be on the blower to him to tell him to bring ‘em back. It’s the only thing that’ll keep the kids in line!’
‘Oh, all PTA now are we! Ring him, I don’t care,’ as Natalia closed her door.
She lay down again and returned a finger to find the tide had come in, in the ten minutes since, to find it plumper, expanded; an alien landscape of knots and creases that kept being blessed by the rains of her imagination but still felt as numb as a Lidocained gum. Time to do her homework? Will vibration bring it alive? As she pushed up the Doris-daunter, she recalled the time she’d tried tampons, its string hanging like a bleached rat stuck up there, but this thing had no string, so how could she put it all the way inside? How would she get it out? Should she text Neill to ask? Half inserted, drilling against her labia, she laughed it back out.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡitrdn3FOBu
*
The next morning she woke feeling like she swallowed a cobweb.
‘My throat is like razors’
-‘I went deep enough then. Who’s going to nurse the nurse?’
‘Lemsip. And you?’
-‘The rest of the witch’s brew! Reckon it’s snotty peak day. Take care honey. With lots of honey. No fags remember! x’
She finally found the loft stick, and dragged down an old box, Rasputin jumping inside and clawing holes in the cardboard as she rummaged, sneezing now from dust too. Flash of red - ah there it was - retrieved from a bag of old silk scarves and belts. Somewhat more vintage than she recalled. She groaned as she unpeeled its musty folds. It was from three years ago when she’d tried and abandoned a gymnastics class, too self-conscious about her boyish frame.
She laid it on the floor, took a photo and sent it to him with a laughing face.
Her phone began ringing.
‘Hel—’
‘Quim FUCKING tipple indeed!’
‘It’s a bit bobbly,’ she laughed. ‘I found a blue all-in-one instead—’
‘No!’ he barked.
‘Bobbly it is sir.’
‘Good. How are you feeling?’
‘Bad. How are you feeling?’
‘I’ll be well enough to go in tomorrow. You get well for Thursday. By the way, good news. The video was taken down.’
‘Oh, phew!’
‘Some busybodies are asking about it, but I’ll get to the bobbl— bottom of it.’
She laughed.
She’d just sealed her own fate sending that picture before she’d even tried it on. Hauling it over her shoulders, it was at least a size too small, but stretched well. She stepped toward her mirror. Wow! It clung round her chest making a berry bunch of pleasing curves from breast to camel toe. But the red colour! It lit her alive like the Truth or Dare cards, setting her complexion, her dark eyes and hair aglow. She bent over. The leotard was low-rise so it came down at the top of her thighs, covering two thirds of each buttock, so she could wear knickers underneath. Relieved her pubis wasn’t stark on display, she thought she’d still take a razor down there in case. The cat weaved between her legs, almost knocking her over.
‘Rar, rar, Rasputin… you rar-rar rascal!’ She sneezed several times and her nose flared up with mucus. Her cold was setting in for sure. Her cheeks as scarlet as the leotard by the time she got to bed, she fell asleep like Neill rasping through an open mouth.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwAEJfvvowx
*
Her mum crowded at the kettle as Natalia boiled up hot lemon the next morning.
‘I got Judy coming round in a bit. So keep out of the lounge if you’re gammy.’
‘What, Stacey’s mum? She’s gammy enough.’
‘Didn’t get much catch-up at the fair. Apparently summat happened after I left. She said a big dildo got on the loose?’
‘Definitely not.’
Mid-afternoon she took a shower, shaved one leg, started shaving round her pubic line, then got out to dry herself - realising she had forgotten to shave the other leg - and jumped back into the shower, laughing.
‘What ya up to in there?’ knocked her mum. ‘Judy needs the bog!’
Natalia came out wrapped in towels.
‘It’s free, now, Judes! Come up! …What are you looking so giggly at? Better not be bunking off school once you’re over yer cold.’
Natalia slipped past wordlessly, locked herself into her bedroom, tied up her wet hair and donned her leotard.
‘Time for yoga practice, Ras,’ who was licking his outstretched leg by her window. ‘You gonna do the cat pose?’
She sat down and flicked through the book she’d bought in Cancer Research back in October. The Book of Yoga, from the Sivananda Yoga Centre, 1983. Bearded waif men in silky trunks and frizz-haired women in shiny yellow leotards, making every letter of the alphabet on a shadowy Colorama. Pages on the ancient history of yoga, muscle charts and handsketched posing yogis sticking out their tongues like gargoyles to circulate blood to the throat ‘meridian.’ This charming book had been her yoga motivation ever since Miss Barnes ceased to be it - round about the same time Neill lost his fuck-spark for her.
She flicked upon a pose she had never tried, for it looked too impossibly elegant. The Headstand. A girl in a white-belted, powder-blue sheen leotard and translucent leggings, balanced on her head, face all hidden behind a dark mop of hair as though hibernating peacefully in her tripod elbows. ‘…Mastering the Headstand requires no great strength, but is more a matter of conquering fear. The key to balance is forming a tripod with your elbows…’ With all the positions she’d mastered, she might as well give it a bash - or rather the floor. Might even get the mucus moving.
It took a few goes, of falling in laughter, with her mum shouting up at one point, but Natalia found, after twenty or so failures, an ability to hold her balance for five seconds, and then eight, and then twelve, as Ras rubbed a wet fishy lip on her inverted face and made her laugh, and fall again - cue another mum heckle right under her ear.
‘I did it!’ she beamed. ‘I’m more flexible than you, you pussy! …Mum, not you, Ras,’ she murmured, tossing the book into her bag as her talisman for tomorrow, whether she dared or not to do that in class.
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7xDLdMp02O
*
‘Did you hear the candy jar video got online?’ Sam said on the way to the changing rooms the next morning. ‘That’s what Mrs Williams is sucking a lemon over! Heard her whingeing to Dinkey in the car park first thing. Even he agreed that the school’s going crazy!’
‘Dinkey-yep-yep-Donk agrees with what anyone says to him,’ frowned Natalia. ‘Anyway, the video’s been reported and pulled down.’
‘Not on Twitter!’ Sam’s eyes shone. ‘There’s a video clip that’s gone viral with tons of retweets and Mike’s dad, the reporter, is being asked to write about it for the Evening Post…’
Natalia’s heart sank. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s on Twatter?’
‘Miss Barnes isn’t here yet, here, look—’ She pulled out her phone and scrolled her cracked screen through hoards of shocked and laughing emojis.
‘Ohh, boy,’ groaned Natalia, expecting to see her face pop up on the video. ‘Wait! That’s not a video, it’s just a GIF of Miss Doris, shrieking on a loop, looking like an electrified mouse.’ She was never so relieved to say those words.
‘Whatever,’ Sam slipped her phone away. ‘Jack hasn’t stopped laughing since!’
‘He will, when Neill suspends him,’ said Natalia as she took out and stretched her leotard like bubblegum.
‘What is the frick is that?’
‘Leotard. Great for yoga.’
‘But it’s red.’
‘It’s fine,’ Natalia coughed, watching the other girls slipping into their black leggings and roomy white polo necks, her heart now flipping at the plan she’d concocted whilst all doe-eyed in dreamy Neill-land.
‘Well, see you in there.’
Natalia lagged by the pegs. There was no sign or sound of Miss Barnes, nor of Neill; just a rising chit-chat in the gym that felt like an audience awaiting this somewhat more emaciated cast member of Baywatch. She took a detour into the toilet for a think, retying her hair-bun three times in the mirror. She pulled out her phone; no new message from Neill. Maybe he couldn’t get rid of Barnes. Maybe he’s trying to unsuccessfully wrestle her into a wheelie bin somewhere in her posh neighbourhood. Maybe he’ll start shagging her midway. Time to revert to the back-up leggings and top. Until she heard outside:
‘Ladies and no gentlemen, no boys but girls…!’
It was the compère to whom no-one compares. But now her heart only raced more. Sheskulked by the loos feeling idiotic wearing her 13-year-sized bobbly leotard for her Headmaster crush, that now looked a garish sickly shade under the fluorescent striplight. How should she make her entry without everyone laughing in the way she would have nightmares about?
Creeping closer, she could hear:
‘Where is Miss Barnes, Mr Neill?’
‘She has a flat tyre.’
‘How come?’
‘Because last night I slashed it, so that this morning I could run around like a headless chicken covering your lesson, of course!’ Neill barked, to a wave of laughs. ‘Now where are the yoga mats? Is everyone here?’
She peeped round the corner to see him walking back into the desk area and putting his phone to his ear.
‘Emma, it’s Neill. You’re on your way to Kwik Fit? Yes, yes, don’t worry, I have it covered. Listen, where are the yoga notes? How do I structure the lesson? Yep… pardon? There are no notes? Oh heavens… talk to the pupils?’ He sighed. ‘No, we can do yoga, no biggie…’
Natalia flew like a flash back to her bag, pulled out her yoga book, and riding off this boost of adrenalin, shot on through to Neill, who was mid-stabbing his phone screen and looking up in astonishment.
‘Here you go!’
He took the book, whilst she took in his scent, all cologney-suited Headmaster again - inducing excitement and fear all at once - as she looked down to see her nipples stiffen right under her own eyes - then glanced up, to see him looking right at them too. He smiled wryly.
‘Go join the class.’
She strutted away with a yoga mat under her arm, just as Alana’s tight bottom breezed past in her black yoga pants, her hands smoothing her long hair up into a ponytail.
‘Oh, hi Neill! Mum said she saw you at the Hare & Hounds!’
‘Ah, yes yes…’
Natalia’s eyes closed for a second, as the rollercoaster of her life took another dip-weave. But as she turned nervously to meet Alana’s passing face, Alana cast her a smile as neutral and as uninterested as ever - just a glimmer of bemusement down her leotard - which she would happily take right now. All the class now gathering in place, any potential jeers at Natalia’s anomalous kit were quashed into a few stares and frowns as Neill, right behind her, announced in a stentorian voice:
‘Right, ladies! I am now fully equipped to start this class, and it will be the best - and only - yoga class I’ve ever been to!’
There was a chorus of titters as the girls took up their positions at their mats, Natalia stepping over to Neill who was fast-flicking the book pages, frowning.
‘Everything ok Neill?’
‘Natalia, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought,’ he groaned.
‘Oh I hope so…’
His eyes raised.
‘I’ll help you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll lead the fricking lesson like the Book Club. Just don’t bugger off and start licking 60-year old women.’
‘Go on then. Teach us yoga,’ he chuckled, handing her the book, and clapping his hands at the mounting chit-chat:
‘Girls, as I am a yoga novice, and intend to remain one! I will be operating under the guidance of this young lady…’ Both his hands pointed sideways to Natalia, who knew the rush of blood to her face would rival the shade of her garb, so she plucked the book from Neill’s hand as he finished: ‘So you may follow her direction, and I will be her watchdog, bulldog, downward dog, underdog kind of sidekick—’ as a giggle fell over the the girls, and and Neill threw a mock-impressed face down at Natalia, who was promptly seated zen-style, with straightened back and palms joined, inviting a wave of imitation across the class.
‘Ah. The posture every class in the school needs, really,’ remarked Neill.
‘We start with a sun salutation,’ Natalia cleared her throat to muster a strong voice over the remnants of her cold. ‘It’s the yoga equivalent of fingers on lips.’
Neill chuckled as he semi-bowed out to lean against the wall, in close enough speaking distance to berate every few seconds a pupil who was falling idle.
‘Lisa! Have you got ants in your pants?’
‘Sorry sir. It’s these leggings. They’re right up my…’
‘Then we bow,’ continued Natalia. ‘Slightly pretentiously to give the impression we actually know our yoga.’
‘Natalia, with those comments you’ll be taking my mantel.’
A sprinkle of giggles.
‘Sorry Neill. I’ll be serious now. We’re all going to do Corpse Pose.’
‘That’s serious is it?’
‘Easiest. Even you could do it, Neill… we just lay here,’ as Natalia flattened on her back, and everyone followed suit, and she felt this was rather perfect - to have the whole class and Neill in the palm of her hand - with a kind of protective balm borrowed from him, against anyone who dared question her scanty attire, which to them, probably looked like intentional colour coding for the proxy class leader.
‘In Corpse Pose, rotate your legs and arms in and out. Feel your weight pulling you deeper into relaxation.’
‘Easy, I did that when I was down with 100 degree fever and banging head,’ muttered Neill.
She chuckled. ‘From here we will do single leg raises. Right one up, hold for a few seconds, then clasp and bring it toward you. And then the other leg.’
‘It’s Barnes who won’t be getting a raise,’ commented Neill.
‘Well she’s flat isn’t she,’ replied Natalia.
‘She doesn’t look it,’ Lisa heckled, as the class giggled.
‘Now double leg raises. Neill, keep the class under control!’
‘None of your cheek.’
‘Not yet.’
As the class lay flat, Natalia sat up onto her elbow to flick a page in the book, splaying her thighs playfully as she looked up to Neill still leaning against the wall, and fired him a wink. He winked back. To magnetise his eye right in the gym - the setting of so much of her misery - was a double-scoop, rib-humming sugar rush.
Sam sprung up, looking bored. Natalia hurriedly recomposed.
‘Now we’re going into the Bridge. Draw up your abdomen and bend each leg into the air in turns, three times,’ as Natalia demonstrated, eyeing a gazing Neill through her airborne legs now, trying not to smile herself out of balance.
Neill’s face went from the assortment of poses back to Natalia’s perfectly svelte one, sighed and shook his head.
‘It should look like this—’ Natalia held up the book to a sea of frowning exertions. ‘Ok enough of that one,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s go to Child’s Pose. Everyone knows that.’
A rustle of bodies turned onto their stomachs and huddled their heads down into their knees.
‘Ah, the most peace ever seen in a High School!’
‘There is something called Laugh Yoga. You’d be good at leading that, Neill.’
‘This is more like mosque worship isn’t it?’ someone’s head popped out to blurt.
‘No-one tell Luxton.’ A chorus of laughs and more popping heads.
‘Now now!’ called Neill, ‘Luxton served the community of Beeston and paid for her ills to be no longer considered a racist.’
‘Will you have her back then, Neill?’ called Alana.
‘Nope, she’s a racist.’
The class fell into more laughter.
‘We are going to perform seven more asanas,’ Natalia took the class through further flexing without further comic fanfare, everyone busy sighing and huffing, and every so often Neill would cast an audible exhale, which Natalia hoped was him being most impressed by her leadership as much as her red-adorned rump, flexing with extraneous grace just for his eyes, the mirror of which her own eyes would regularly seek to watch herself being watched.
Everyone quiet, she felt the courage to smirk: ‘Now the Cock Pose!’
‘The what?’ muttered Neill.
The class hooted in laughter.
‘Anyone want to try Cock?’
‘Only Natalia,’ someone remarked.
They watched as Natalia crossed her legs then balanced herself up on her wrists, raising her bum off the floor. The class attempted to emulate it, most failing and falling in exhaustion.
‘Ok, what time is it Neill?’ Natalia glanced up, still in pose.
‘Ten minutes left darling.’
‘Now for Downward Dog. Easy. It’s basically arse in the air.’
‘She said it not me,’ grunted Neill, as Natalia, with her eye on Neill, rose to standing, and for a moment looked him square in the eye as she bent down, her bottom right up in the air, as she went into the pose, her smug face falling to the floor as she could only imagine what he was thinking.
There were a few moments of silence till the sound of someone letting rip broke the serenity into peels of hysterical laughter.
‘Who just farted?’
‘Rachel!’
Twenty bodies broke from the pose and slumped to the ground with hoots of laughter, whilst amongst the rabble of noise, Natalia still held hers.
‘Is she waiting to fart too?’
Neill cleared his throat. ‘I think they’re waiting for your next pose, Natalia—’
‘I’m about to do it.’
Natalia’s head was bowing further to the ground, knees bending, elbows arranging on the ground, as some pupils started to copy it. ‘Which one is it?’… bending their heads and knees this way and that, then gasping as Natalia suddenly lifted her knees off the floor, her stomach muscles straining as she extended her legs straight, all the way up, into the Headstand.
‘Oh my god! Was I off when we learnt that one?’
‘How did she get so good at yoga?’
‘My nan could do that.’
‘Show off!’
Natalia was wobbling into precision, letting her weight onto her forearms, and now was in a complete perfect parallel to the gym lines, head tucked peacefully at the root, from which her face - reddened by blood flow - managed a wink right at the transfixed Neill, as though her whole body was the cock that swelled in red cotton that hungover morning when he sought out his image within her gaze.
She could hear that sigh from him; that sigh that meant she knew what was happening in his trousers.
‘My… goodness,’ he murmured. ‘Now that is standing to attention.’
Now she was going redder.
‘Where is that weird old hippie book from?’
‘Can Miss Barnes do that?’
‘Her tits would suffocate her!’
She slowly lowered, then star-fished into a heap on the floor. ‘Bloody hell my abs!’
‘Well I think that’s what most of us thought,’ Neill laughed along with the class. ‘Do you want Barnes’ job?’
‘She’s already got it hasn’t she?’ Sam called.
Just then a voice came from behind Neill.
‘Well, well!’
He flashed round. ‘Good grief! Kwik Fit were… quick! With a K obviously!’
‘Yes, luckily. What’s going on? New teacher?’ Miss Barnes both smiled and frowned.
‘Oh, no. The class is improvising. Luckily Natalia had this book and seems to have, ah… swallowed it whole. Well done, class, you may all get changed.’
Miss Barnes edged over to Neill. ‘I did say you could have played rounders, or—’
‘No, no. Yoga’s gone swimmingly.’
‘Is that why we’re in swimsuits?’ nodding at Natalia who was sitting back on rigid arms with her legs splayed like a cocky doll.
‘That’s a leotard,’ Neill replied.
‘Yes. I know. I’ve never seen one that colour here.’ The girls rolled up their mats and began to file out, as Natalia dawdled rolling up hers, to overhear their continuing conversation drifting back to the desk.
‘Helped mark her out as the only one who has a clue.’
‘What, did you supply it?’
‘No, Emma. What do you think I am? Hoarder of teenage girls’ one-pieces?’
‘No. I’m just glad someone’s started out so well on their career while I’ve been careering round on the roads. On my way to the garage after you called, I nearly crashed with another car. It could have been horrendous. I’ve never known anyone to have their tyres slashed in Bramhope!’
‘They were probably slashed somewhere else. Did you drop by a Lidl on the way home last night?’
‘No, I did not!’
‘Steady on, Emma. I’ve covered your lesson and all’s good.’
‘Sorry. Yep. Thanks.’
The boys were now traipsing in from football. Ryan was on the end, slowing as he did a double take at Natalia. She looked away, toward Neill, who caught her eye as he put up his hand to Barnes:
‘Wait, I need to go check something.’ He jogged over to Natalia, who hung casually just as Ryan lingered a final look before he disappeared into the boys’ changing rooms.
‘Pssst. Miss Scarlet.’
‘Yeah?’
He stood an inch by her, as his mouth edged close to her ear:
‘You think you’re cock of the walk now, do you?’
‘No that’s you…’
‘Don’t take that off. Put your uniform over it and come straight up to my office.’
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo36JQJQG9S
*
There was Neill smoking at the window.
‘Lock the door.’
She shut it and turned the keys.
‘Put the keys on the desk. Don’t come near the window. Would you mind telling me what you were wearing for PE just now?’
‘Tell you or show you?’
‘You’re ahead, girl—’
‘You’re a Head.’
‘Indeed. So take all of that off, and remind me just how much you’ve violated dress code today.’
She pulled off her jumper. He watched, puffing his fag as she slipped off her skirt and tights. As they fell to the floor she was now standing restored to her yoga self, hair still up in her bun.
His phone next to her began ringing. She jumped.
‘Ignore it,’ he said, still at the window. ‘So why are you wearing the wrong PE kit today, young lady?’
‘Well, someone said it would be a good idea. Someone said they’d be very excited if I did.’
‘Oh? But now you have a very cross Headmaster. Do you know how hard you make things for him when you violate the uniform rules?’
‘God yes.’
The phone was still ringing.
‘So hard, that I can’t even smack your bottom because the sound of my hand as it cracks against it would be far too loud…’
Her bottom clenched.
‘And the sound that you make as I do it would be far too loud. Doing that five, fifteen or fifty times, everyone would rush here to see Neill bringing back the cane, on the bottom of his top pupil, and all the boys would find it very hard to watch, and all the girls would cry.’
‘Ahh, ha… er…’ Her eyes blinked rapidly.
‘Did you do your homework?’
Now she stared. ‘Ye-es, kind of, it’s in my bag…’
‘Kind of? Do you want to make sure?’
Her mouth fell open.
‘You have until I finish this fag to go under my desk and put it up there.’
She stared for a moment, looked to her bag, found herself rummaging for it, looking to him in disbelief, as he raised his stump of a fag and made a chivvying motion with the other hand, and to her bewilderment, ribs pounding, found herself crawling under his desk, switching the vibrator on its lowest hum, and rooting it under the leotard and knicker fabric, toward what was now a soft, wet mush… she glanced quickly to him. He was now getting up and stubbing out. Not looking at her, he simply said:
‘Three seconds left, or I’ll whack that beatnik book over your buttocks, till either its spine or yours are bent like this fag stump.’
Wide-eyed, with one prod it was swallowed up. No time to worry about how it will come out again, or that it could fall out - now snapped in snug by the bridge of two tight gussets, she stood up slowly, awkwardly, like she was sitting on a humming fridge.
‘Now, up on the desk, and show me the hardest poses. Give me and your yoni a yoga lesson, beatnik.’ He stepped over, swung round his chair and sat down.
She climbed one knee up. ‘The desk is a bit… hard, you know—’
‘Really? It can join the queue then.’
The phone began ringing again. He scooped his chair closer and growled down at the caller display.
‘Tits is after me. Let me get rid of her—’ He snapped up the receiver. ‘Not right now, Beh… what? The reporter? Oh, crikey. Ok, ok, put him on, quick…’
Natalia smiled, now that his attention was distracted, she climbed up onto the desk in front of him, facing the door, legs out straight, and lowered her head and shoulders down into her thighs, leaving Neill to gaze upon her lower spine and bottom, vibrating against his desk.
‘Yes, this is he. You say a writer for who? The Mail, good grief! Yes, we are aware of the video…’
Natalia hesitated for a second, then got up on her feet and rose her bottom into the air, touching her toes whilst her buttocks towered above Neill’s face.
‘Sex scandal!’ he guffawed. ‘Storm in a teacup! This is your job, is it? Hounding headteachers who have enough to do every day, as well as mopping up little pupil pranks, than speak to vultures whose job is to try by hook and crook to denigrate state education?!…’
Natalia slunk into Downward Dog, shoving her bottom right in Neill’s face, as he pushed forward his chair, and continued to bark down the phone, his hot breath right on her backside, defending the honour of the school to a national tabloid whilst a Year 11 girl in a leotard was up on his desk, rubbing her buttock into his face as it buzzed with the vibrator he’d ordered her to put her cunt.
‘I’d like to clarify it was a pupil’s prank, for which he has now been - or will be - severely reprimanded…’
Mid-tirade, he stood up crotch level with Natalia’s jutting bottom, as she chafed herself up and down, the vibration deepening in buzz like an electrode as he thundered now at the reporter:
‘Racism at Thornwood and now sexism?! Pray, what is sexist about free contraception in one’s candy haul and a little something else that keeps you away from the opposite sex entirely? Sounds to me like a revelation for every council estate in Leeds!—’
Natalia sped faster through Cat, Cow, Plank, Plough; in every position her buzzing butt rummaging for his hardness, augmenting its throb to the beat of hers, and now, laying flat on her back, she scissored her legs up on him.
‘I don’t permit anything to print! I shall be speaking to our lawyers, and if anything is published you will find yourself flushed the same way as News of the World. Good day!’
He leaned his body forward to slam the receiver, the thick coil of his clothed erection pushing right against her vulva and stabbing a hot dribble inside her, as he stood up straight again, looking down at her and sighing.
‘Oh dear. How did you get there?’
She was speechless, smouldering, grinning ear to ear.
‘You didn’t do the hardest one,’ he muttered now. ‘The Cock pose.’
‘You are it,’ she whispered, gesturing her ten fingers toward his fly like two flexing starfish.
‘Show me the hardest one, and I’ll show you the hardest one.’
‘Huh?’
‘Do the one on your head and you’ll see the Head’s head.’
She sits up, a wave of nerves arising, grabs and arranges her jumper, sticks her bum in his face and flexes up, uncurling her wobbling abs. She falters - her pelvis is like jelly on a photocopying machine - but then takes a deep breath and retries. As her legs extend upward, the vibration running all the way down to her head, she views the room inverted like a human retina, gasping now… at the first glimpse of his brown-red bulging flesh sac, peppered in hairs, and from it, a heavenward erect flesh pole, startlingly red-mushroom headed, lined with veins like a meticulously sculpted artwork, bulging like her face right now, and she gasps, her abs give way, and she tumbles down, her hand smashing into his keyboard, her bottom somewhere at him, just as he growls:
‘Fuck me!’
Her first thought is, really? - but the urgency in his tone, tells her something is wrong - as her eyes dart to his, staring right at the computer screen which was awoken by the keyboard - his computer had cranked out of sleep and was humming like her groin. And there upon the screen, she stares with him in horror at the video image of the outside corridor, where the figure of a boy was sitting at their door, huddled right up to it.
‘What the f—!’ she whispers. ‘Who is that? Are they fucking listening?!’
Neill was stuffing away his tackle whilst Natalia stared with her mouth flailing like a fish, still vibrating.
‘Is that Ryan?!’
Her legs came to the floor like jelly, dizzy with panic.
‘We’ve got to get you out of here fast—’
‘What, me or this thing!’
‘Get dressed, get dressed—’ Neill stooped to pick up her garments dotted around on the floor, as Natalia stared, watching Ryan arise and tap at the door:
‘Neill. Mr Neill?’
‘Ye-es?!’ called Neill.
The shock made the vibrator slip out with ease into her hand. ‘Well that was easy enough,’ she muttered, then found she had more trouble getting her shaking hands to pull her inside-out jumper sleeves the right way, before she could even put it on.
‘Is Natalia in there? I saw her go in.’
‘There is no-one in here!’ called back Neill. But Ryan’s pained voice continued through the crack like a shy ghost:
‘I, I know she’s in there. I’ve heard you. So let me in… or I’ll call the police.’
28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdal3YPd8ik
Follow The Headmaster's Flame on Instagram at @headmastersflame
ns 15.158.61.6da2
