She dreamt she was in a swimming pool and Neill was there in his trunks. He grinned at the other side waiting for her, but she couldn’t move. And then he walked across the water, and kissed her, and oh god here comes the tirade of butterflies and those inescapable feelings, the taste of his cigarette scent and the thought that it’s just a dream, for the Headmaster cannot, must not, kiss me.
‘I know Sunday is a day of rest! But you’ve been asleep for a hundred years whilst I’ve cleaned the whole house like Cinderella!’
‘Aren’t I Cinderella and you the wicked Stepmother?’ she murmured back.
‘You’re many things now, aren’t you?’ smouldered his voice now into her ear. ‘Little Red, Goldilocks… Lion’s kitty, or caught up by the fox, all wrapped up in the wolf’s den? Like a fly trussed up in a spider’s web, hmm?’
‘I’m a mole in hibernation,’ she grunted.
‘Oh and breast of all, dirty Doc’s managed to squeeze you in this morning…’
She opened one eye. ‘It’s not those that need the TLC right now.’
The hand drifted to her buttock. ‘You’re right, these poor spank-virgins-no-more, got quite a surprise didn’t they? Did you know that when a bottom gets spanked for the very first time, from then on it belongs to the spanker?’
‘Oh really.’
‘Come on. Tomorrow you’ll have to be up and at school over an hour ago…’
‘School?’ she groaned. ‘What’s that?’
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*
Sunlight was twinkling into the living room as she sat drinking tea with her feet up on the table, a delicate scent of roasting already emanating from the kitchen as she stared idly watching Bargain Hunt, remembering the drama of yesterday that took place in this very spot, and how different this moment was, Neill pottering around like the Badger again, or rather, Mrs Tittlemouse, sweeping around the fireplace to the point of unbelievability that the same man bent and walloped her bottom like Hitler’s Furies.
‘You missed these—’ She leaned to complete a line of peach pits.
‘I’m not doing all the cleaner’s jobs. It’s a Sunday but I might even try my luck if I can rebook my bitch for tomorrow.’
He stood and jabbed at the landline phone, then in a few seconds put it back down. ‘I’ll try later. Goodness, you’ve eaten all four peaches!’
‘They were rock hard when you bought them. Soft enough now to neck all four.’
‘You mean I missed a quadruple-sucking spectacle? What a waste of my money was that? At least put them in the semen-tary.’ He popped them one by one into the ashtray then busily wiped the spot beneath them.
‘That ashtray looks hilarious now. Literally the pits.’
‘Not as good as it looked yesterday between yours. You are the perfect table for it.’ He sighed and sat down by her, pulling her feet into his lap.
‘Do you forgive me for what I did Friday night?’
She thought he meant to say last night. ‘What, buggering Joan?’
‘That.’
‘Did she ever say no, or stop?’
‘No.’
‘And do you forgive me… for lying about falling down the stairs?’
‘Of course darling,’ he squeezed her toes.
‘Well, thanks. And how long do I… stay here for?’
‘Stay a few more days then you can go home…’
‘Oh-k—’
‘To get even more of your stuff.’
She giggled and heeled his thighs. ‘But I can’t stay in here with the curtains drawn all the time, can I? When we go to school tomorrow, I’ll be walking in and out, and your old blind and deaf neighbour and other people might see me?’
‘Yes. So here’s the plan. You’re my daughter, Natasha Neill…’
‘Rr-ight.’
‘No French kissing on the driveway. Don’t hold my hand till we’re in the car and down the road and then you can hold anything you want. I’ll drop you at the bus stop five minutes from here so you can get the… wait, I looked it up—’ he shifted his hip to pull out his phone, ‘38 to Killingbeck.’
‘And then a nice lift back at hometime from my Headmaster?’
‘We wish. You’ll have to get the 38 back to the bottom of Crabtree Hill, then the 12 bus takes you back up this way. Goodness, I feel bad, but really I can’t take you to school and back in my car.’
‘It’s fine. I’m used to buses, silly! Don’t forget, in my family we don’t even have a car.’
‘Ok,’ he sighed, squeezing her ankles as he arose. ‘You can use the key under the stone for now. Even by peasant wagon you’ll get home before me most days, as I tend to get trapped doing various tasks past 4pm.’
‘And what about my mum asking about Sarah’s parents?’
‘I still have to figure something out.’
‘Are you wondering which Sarah in the school to bribe with fags or cunnilingus?’
‘No, I’m wondering which mother of a Sarah to bribe with fags and cunnilingus.’
‘We could get Ed to call her up withheld,’ she giggled. ‘He does killer impersonations.’
‘Sure,’ as he stepped over to the window, aAnd first we’d have to tell him the withheld secret that you’re 16 just before killing him.’
‘I’d love to see the look on his face if we did.’
‘Tell him or kill him?’
‘Both.’
He sighed as he looked out over the front garden pond. ‘Lovely day today. Wish we could go somewhere like Oulton as we did with Ed and the gang. Do you fancy an incognito walk before you develop DVT?’
‘Bit risky isn’t it?’
‘Certainly. DVT can be a killer.’
‘I meant the walk. I’ve never heard of a 16-year old getting DVT.’
He glanced at her. ‘So you packed all your school books in those two bulging bags you brought back? Do you have any work to do for tomorrow?’
‘Don’t know. Been out of the loop since Wednesday.’ She flicked the channel.
‘Coursework? Revision?’
Her yawn ended with a smile. ‘Am I literally Natasha Neill then, dad?’
‘You know what I said about keeping up. If you’re staying longer then I need to crack the whip on you to rewrite that C- essay at least.’
‘It was only C- because I spent all my time practising the Yoga cockstand for you. I’ll rewrite an A* easy. Just not on an easy Sunday morning. It would be blarr-sphemy, as you say.’
‘Blah-sphemy. Southerners pronounce it like you do. And it’s now the afternoon.’ He squinted at the TV as he walked past. ‘Songs of Praise? You’re serious about Sundays then?’
‘Oh, they’re gonna do Shine Jesus Shine! We sung this in primary school!’‘
The landline started trilling behind her.
‘Pass the phone over please. And turn that cacophony down—’
She pulled the handset over from the table behind, and shifted over on the couch as he sat down next to her to answer it.
‘Hello! …Oh hello, is that Mrs Highgate? Yes, yes, I…’
Natalia side-eyed his lap, smiling, drew a breath and then stretched like a cat across him; stomach into his thighs, her hair hanging down over the armrest as she watched the churchgoers begin the first verse. Her bottom wriggled softly into Neill’s approving free hand that came to caress a radius of flesh of the small of her back as he bumbled along talking to Mrs Highgate.
‘Oh, the usual! Dishwasher, worktops. Floor. Tables. Hoover everywhere. Bed linen once a week. Putting all the rubbish out. I have my daughter staying with me at the moment so there’s a teensy bit more mess—’
His hand rubbed her back slowly as he talked about rebooking their slave, for his cottage, their cottage, a teensy-bit-more-mess-with-her-cottage, as she rolled over her hip, inviting her belly to be tickled, and then arms flung up by her head, elbows dancing by her ears, she sacrificed her arched rib bones to his taking, leading to the flattened underside of her breasts, of which he would glimpse as much as his roaming palm would care to circle-shift the fabric.
‘So I must call her direct, yes? Do I have a pen? Erm, yes I’ve a pen somewhere—’
Natalia spied one on the table and stretched to reach it, braced by him for a moment like a trapeze artist upon a white coiled telephone wire, as she uncapped it and handed it to him.
‘Yep, sorry - I’ve, ah, got my cat in my lap - she won’t get off. Kind? Oh, rare. Don’t know what it is. A beautiful, rare breed…’ continuing as Natalia smiled up demurely, ‘it’s a she. Her name?’ He glanced at the pen. ‘Pilot. Her name’s Pilot. Yes, funny name. Wait wait, I need a notepad—’
They both looked to see nothing on the table, then Neill fixed his eyes on his pen-resting hand on her stomach.
‘I’ve got one. So now for the cleaner’s name? Dahlia, ah, how beautiful! Means a valley, and gentle, slenderness—’ He poised the pen nib to the skin of Natalia’s stomach - the tickling of the sharp fine point making her jerk madly and cover her giggling mouth - as he tautened his hold on her, muttering ‘077… yep,’ she bracing herself to endure the skin inscription with the odd cringe, till the whole number was written up the bony rib space between her breasts; he unshrouding her nipples on the last digit as her fish-wriggling stopped and her eyes closed.
Now something hard and plastic poked into her lips, and her eyes opened to find he was casually dangling the pen into her upturned mouth, rattling behind her front teeth with a ‘bye bye, Mrs Highgate,’ and put down the receiver, withdrew the pen, and pulled Natalia up to sitting, her hair all buoyant, face beaming as he purred at her.
‘You’re such a cute little kitty. I am very lucky to own you.’ He pulled her into his lips as she moaned to a sweet, soft, three-second kiss.
‘But you have no idea of everything I am going to do to you.’
Dunking her back down again like a witch, he swept her t-shirt all the way off her head as she hurriedly drew up her arms, then tugged her knickers straight off down her legs and held them up in the air.
‘These are just as awful as the last pair. Let’s send them flying, Pilot—’
He tossed them forward straight into the fire, just as the congregation on the TV quietly erupted:
‘Blaze, spirit, blaze! Set our hearts on fire!’
He shifted her body, gripping at her naked vulva as though she were a stack of books in his lap. Then as he took up the phone receiver again, he poked the pen back in her mouth.
‘Straighten up so I can read this number… and hold this for me. Lips round it. Suck it through the entire call. Don’t drop it or else.’
‘Flow, river, flow! Flood the nations with grace and mercy!’
Her heart raced and her stomach crackle-popped like her knickers on the fire, just as a grin of self-consciousness took over and the moment his call was answered - she dropped the pen.
‘Oh fuck—’ she muttered, craning her head to see where it went, just as Neill began his call.
‘Hello, Dahlia—’ he was looking disapprovingly down at Natalia and shaking his head. ‘It’s Neill at Fir Cottages.’ Phone held between his cocked ear and shoulder, he clasped her with both his hands as if this thing laying across him was truly his, and to be dealt with shortly - ‘Mrs Highgate at the agency says you can start tomorrow for a two-hour clean and to arrange a time direct with you? Right, right—’
She writhed in silent giggles in his tightening grasp as he concluded the call.
‘Fabulous, Dahlia, darling, thank you.’
He put down the receiver and launched her up by the neck again.
‘Oh dear,’ she smiled.
‘Oh dear oh dear.’
He slid her off his lap, as he reached for the remote to flick off the TV. She stood naked, wringing her hands.
‘Find the pen, find some paper, and come back here.’
She went to rummage at the corner desk and returned.
‘Crouch at the coffee table, take the Pilot pen into that paw of yours and you’re going to write some coarse work for me alright.’
Her hand flew to her face to as she broke into a squeal of laughter. ‘Did you know, Pilot is the name of the dog in Jane Eyre?!’
‘Natalia,’ he sighed. ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’
‘Ha, um…’
He patted the seat. ‘Come sit back here.’
She sat back down, as he took her face in his hands, and she composed herself at his stone-serious face.
‘Now. Are you ready to do exactly as you’re told?’
She blinked and nodded, her pelvis filling with a strange sensation.
‘Lay back down.’
She dropped back, as he took her knees under his hand. She held her breath to catch his words.
‘You know I’m going to spank you, don’t you?’
She stared and nodded as though under a spell.
‘And where do you think I’m going to spank you?’
‘On my… bottom?’ she whispered.
‘On your bottom,’ he whispered back. Suddenly her bum felt like it had fairy dust swimming around it.
‘And why do you think I’m going to spank you on your bottom, Natalia?’ as his hand brushed down her inner thigh.
Her breath searched for an answer. ‘Because I’ve been… uh, naughty?’
‘Yes, you’ve been naughty. But why your bottom?’
‘Uh… I don’t know. It feels, nice?’
‘Nice for whom?’
‘Ff.. for you.’
‘For me?’ he frowned.
She blinked. ‘No, no, for me.’
‘You like to be spanked on your bottom, don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ the word rushed out with a tremble.
‘What?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes… Mr Neill.’
‘So ask for it. Properly.’
‘Mr Neill, please spank me. On my bottom.’
In one swift movement he stood up, gripping both her ankles in one hand and levering her legs into air like a beer pump, and she half-yelped in anticipation, her eyes like saucers as his other hand leapt back in the air - and then came crashing down sharply right on the underside of her buttock - back and forth, back and forth, as though slapping a face, one side of her groin to the other.
In between squealing on every one, she stared to watch his face from this angle, his pugnacious furrowed brow in deep concentration as though playing a hard game of squash or tennis - like he’d said was how the best spankers do it - briefly glancing to her face as though in satisfaction of her grimacing, writhing; she clocked fourteen before she lost count, then seeming as exhausted as she was, stopped and dropped her legs with a flop to the couch, as she coiled up wincing.
‘Off the sofa, Pilot—’ he clicked his fingers. ‘Down at the table,’ he pointed, as she rolled off and slumped there, groaning.
‘Natalia. I don’t smack your bottom twenty times for you to hide it from me. Raise that pen, and raise that hot red arse to me while you write: 'My cunt belongs to Mr Neill’ in a race against the cock. Are you ready?’
She gave a stifled hoot of disbelief as she pulled herself up over the table, taking up the pen, inclining an eyebrow to the sound of him unzipping his fly.
‘Fill those lines as I fill my cock full of come. When you’re finished don’t move. Just raise the pen. Time starts now.’
Half-dazed, she began waggling the pen along the lines as fast as his groans and sounds of chafed flesh behind her, whilst her still-smarting bottom tingled tears of suspense of being watched, her words growing bigger and bigger to fill each line quicker - then just as she reached the last line - she could hear him erupting:
'Ohhh… god, yes…. oh, fuck—’
Her hand shot up with the pen - just as he jumped to standing, right beside her - his helmet right at her knuckles - and shot his warm load right over her pen and her wrist.
She stared at it.
‘Well that was close,’ he panted, stuffing himself away, and swiping the sheet from in front of her, he sat back down.
‘That was a lot,’ she giggled, ‘literally—’
She held up the pen barrel where a festooning white ooze Tippex-corrected ‘PILOT’ into ‘LOT’.
‘Well you might be Pilot but you’re still not drooling. Raise that bottom again, put that pen back in your mouth and start licking it, doggie, like there’s no tomorrow.’
Following his orders, he was pushing some button deep inside her and she could feel her indignation, or reluctance, melting like an ice cube in front of the fire. But what was he going to do next? Spank her again? Her arse was buzzing sore enough.
She felt the paper flutter down between her knees, then his hand came to reach for the defiled ashtray from the table.
‘Suck that pen till your cunt cunter-signs that cunt-tract in drool. You’ve got till this cigarette finishes or I’ll spank you harder, throw the lines into the fire and make you write it twice. It’s dribble or double, doggie.’
Her heart pounding, she thinks she is going to win this, and she’s going to suck, because as he seemed to glean, it made her body feels sensational, like a river was flowing through nooks and crannies down to where it would spring for her one-man audience whilst she faces away. But now, like a stern exam invigilator, he steps in front of the table - puffing his cigarette, and looks down at her.
Her eyes flicker up reluctantly, and the pen falters from her lips.
‘Oh kitty—’
He reached down to lift her chin, as she breathed faster in self-consciousness now, the pen clattering to the table as her head drooped.
‘I thought we’d trained you on this. Remember how we did it so well?’
He cupped her cheek and wriggled his thumb into her mouth.
Jesus God. As if his warm thumb was supposed to set things straight again, she felt like she could die and explode and leak in embarrassment and horniness all at once. She hesitated for a moment, then their eyes connected, and she found herself with no choice but to suck this fleshier option, his thumb, hard and contentedly, setting off a curious corresponding fire in her cervix, this alignment of wrong-rightness in the peach pit of her stomach. And there he was, still puffing his fag with his hand penetrating her face like some proxy fag-cock, oh god, the humiliation was seeping out of her like smoke.
‘What a good little Cock Pilot. I want you to suck just like that.’
How did he get her bent over his table like this, taking his orders so naturally? She almost forgot she still had the number of a cleaner written across her breasts down there somewhere. After a few moments, satisfied, he withdrew his thumb and brought the pen back to her mouth.
‘Now try again. On and on till I say.’
After a moment of staring into his eyes, sucking the pen, he turned to throw another log onto the fire so it blazed up again, then moved back behind her, and she, trying to glimpse down between her legs, feels his fingers scoop at her groin.
‘Well well, you’ve suck-seeded. You could have put out my fag with this. It’s Sunday after all, as you say - to baste or taste, which would be more blarrrs-phemous to do?’
She feels his hair against her lower spine; nose and cheeks suddenly at her buttock and his warm mouth and tongue flash a big lick upon her vulva, so exquisitely sensitive now as she moans out loud in surprise.
‘Do not let that pen down. Exam’s not finished.’
He retreats his face and she feels in its place, a sudden contact of a finger, unwavering, pressing on her vagina and pushing inside.
She gasps and flinches in a mix of panic and horniness, his finger pushes in and out twice more, as she instinctively clenches, makes a sort of whimpering sound that signals to stop, even though it also feels like he’s literally touching that burning spot.
‘I’m going to make you come till you shoot that pen out like a rocket—’
The pen clattered out of her mouth.
‘Not again!’ He exasperated.
‘Roll up the paper,’ she suddenly says.
‘Pardon?’
‘Roll up the paper... put it in my mouth. I’ll shoot that… like a rocket… where darling Dahlia will never read it.’
‘Fair enough.’ He reached for the white sheet, scrunch-ended it into her expectant mouth, then his hands returned to her behind, one higher and one lower, his fingers roaming her vulva as she lapsed into the swing of it now, holding the paper between her teeth to moan outwardly with this new permission she’s given herself to not only participate but to lead an idea.
‘Nnngh, nh-my goh—’
‘Now where to put the pen?’
His finger rubbed round her anus, as she murmurs in surprise, to now feel the hard end of the pen playing there, and she flinches, just as he carries on stimulating the rest of her vulva, and this small strange injection hangs there just inside her anus, doubtfully at first but with a new and arresting feeling that projects a tiny current of something exhilaratingly debasing into her; the unwelcome probe carried with the familiar sensations of her well oiled clit as he massages it like a machine.
The crackling fire in front, and the crackling juices of the roast that now could be heard from the kitchen, accompany her sounds of her wetness slapping - she, a roast more central to the chef’s attention right now - feels pleasure surmounts her shame of the sounds her genitals are making, or that he is making them make, and a deep, almost guttural sound escapes her throat, paper end growing sodden in her mouth… as she loosens her lips around it, it hangs stuck to her inner lip as his hands remain stuck to hers below.
Her body shudders, violently ripples - her head curls down and her torso rocks - belly indents into the table edge, as she groans into full effusion, her arsecrack pen-stand shooting the Pilot like a plane from her bottom, or rather - crash-land clattering to the table, and as that ring has loosened, the ring of her mouth tightens, gripping the paper and pushing her neck forward with an almighty PHOOO!
The damp paper horn launched like a giant white fag and perished in the flames.
‘Fuck, what a shot! Write yourself a certificate for PE!’
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*
Enclosed behind the shower curtain, the only backstage retreat it seemed she had, oh god, why was she smiling so serenely after all that? She needed hours alone to simply process, breathe, and if she was becoming Neill’s live-in lapdog she didn’t see much chance of that going forward. But what would she prefer? To go back to that fortnight of doldrums when she almost considered walking on a train track to meet her maker, or be on a sexual frisson freight train with the one person she likened to the Almighty himself?
What occurred downstairs felt like a door, mysterious and scary, opening up with a daunting discoball of ecstasy. The orgasm she’d had was bigger than any she’d ever given herself. Her anus had even played a shitty pen topper along the way. She noticed that as soon as she was silent, obeyed him, sucked and bent over for him, her pelvis flashed a thunderstorm. Why such an irony? Was it something demeaning that made sexual matters exciting? It was as though Neill knew exactly how to touch that spot in her, corner her taboos like a flashlight on a mouse, tickle and kiss that mouse till it squealed into a frenzy, exploded and died and entered heaven. He excavated something in her that she didn’t know she wanted him to dig for. He stretched her out for it, needled for it, surgically extracted it, then together they weaved it into a thread of colours.
He was playing a perverse pedagogical role play, after everything he’d said about not liking schoolgirls, was he a liar or a convert? Now downstairs she could hear him clattering the plates for their Sunday dinner, which he would serve with wide-smiled Neillian gaiety and darlings and genial talk of school tomorrow whilst the stern, intimidating, bottom-thrashing, pen-poking Other Neill was hung up in a cupboard till next time.
There was a rap on the door.
‘Natalia, are you ok darling?’
‘Yes! I’m just… washing numbers off my tits.’
‘I need a wee,’ he chuckled. ‘May I come in please.’
Some courtesy from Mr Pen Pusher.
‘Dinner’s ready.’ He came, urinated and left without so much of a waft of the shower curtain.
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*
Sitting down for dinner at the kitchen table, she found it impossible to look at Neill without smiling. The events of their sacrilegious Sunday had flooded her illustrious feelings to a level that overflowed her cup.
‘Natalia. You’re very giddy. If that’s what happens when I smack your bottom then I think I should do it every day,’ he sighed, wine in hand. ‘Potatoes are almost black on one side. Chicken’s a bit dry. That’s what we get for basting you instead of the food.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t ejaculated into this pineapple juice while I was in the shower.’
‘No, but that’s a good idea for next time, Miss Worse Mind than Mine.’
‘But am I really?’ she smirked.
‘I knew it when I first met you. When you made that joke about the Food Tech lady’s orgasms. I knew I’d finally found someone as dirty as I am.’
‘What! It was just a silly joke. Wasn’t meant to be raunchy.’
‘Of course not. When something it’s natural it’s also in your blind spot. Behind every single one of your blushes is this raging pervert and I, road-raging up behind you, see it for you…’
‘Raging perv—!’
‘The way you’d chafe your thighs together like a repressed Victorian whenever I mentioned spanking or doing what a man says. You’d chew your knuckle and your eyes would drop and rise like you were worried your salivating cunt would be seen through your clothes.’
She stared. ‘To the spanker, as you called yourself, doesn’t everything look like a nail to a hammer?’
‘I haven’t spanked a woman in years. I’d been waiting for the one who really wants it. Any other woman I’ve known who’d been subjected to what I’ve done to you over the past few days would have ran a million miles by now.’
She eyed him as she cut a potato. ‘How do you know I won’t once I’ve eaten this grub?’
He chuckled. ‘You talked about my spunk covering the letters on the Pilot pen as though you were observing a solar eclipse through your bedroom window. You see sexual vulgarity with a kind of nonchalant wisdom that makes it as beautiful and light as a passing breeze. And, as necessary as the air its gives us to breathe. That’s why you’ve always astounded and mesmerised me.’ He sipped his wine.
‘Yeah, maybe, but we’ve barely done anything yet, I—’
‘Ha!’ he suddenly cried out, wine hoisted in his hand. ‘We’ve barely done anything, she says, after her Headmaster clocks up a weekend of deviance that would make Anaïs Nin blush. We’ve barely done anything. That says it all, young lady, that says it all.’
She blinked to the window behind him and back to his face.
He leant forward. ‘So what are you implying, Natalia? It’s not… enough?’
She paused. ‘Well tell me this. You speak of subjecting Joan to all sorts of misdemeanours. Aren’t we just the same?’
‘No,’ he said with immediacy.
‘How so?’
‘Well first, the things we do are very different.’
‘They’re both led by humiliation.’
‘Do you feel humiliated?’
‘Come on. You pulled my top off and wrote on my body, flogged my arse, ordered me to bend over and write lines, came on my hand, had me suck a spunky pen then fingered me till I came—’
‘God that sounds good. Say it all again and I’ll come in your pineapple juice.’
‘But, the point—’
‘Ok, ok. Joan…’ he sawed a chicken breast, ‘is a woman of delusion, like so many of the damn things are. She enacts a delusion and I shatter it. For a start, she will always refer to sex as making love. When I use the pertinent verb fuck, she ignores it like a relative in the room she’d rather not engage with, but she knows all too well, or perhaps prefers to evade, the fact that I purely want to fuck her, and a pure fucking is all she gets.’
‘Does it matter which words you use, if she gets what she wants?’
‘Oh but she doesn’t. There was one night for example, a few weeks ago, where she had this scene set up for me to take her shangrilah lavender oil and lovingly smother her thighs as if I were marinating a slab of pork hours in advance of getting to finally eat it. When I suggested I use the oil to fuck her up the arse she gave me a look like a monk who’d farted in a monastery and went down on me purely to stave off my pursuit of her anus. Not even you stoned on a Fruit Pastille lolly sucked that fast and keen.’
‘So what is so different about me from her?’
‘She doesn’t seek truth in life but the prettifying of a facade to keep not her womanly self, but her idea of a woman, satisfied. Subjecting her to a sexual experience - well, nowhere near as creative as the hell to buggery you have inspired—’
‘Inspired,’ she chuckled.
‘Shush!’ he raised his hand - ‘…that may be more intense and ferocious than her incense sticks had bargained for, and leaves her looking perhaps as happy as you when you came on my tongue when you were strung up like this chicken and nearly asphyxiated me - but actually, she gets furthered into delusion, whereas you go deeper into truth and ecstasy.’
‘Well I can’t speak for other women. I’m barely one myself.’
‘And yet you have more a womanly pudenda than Joan.’
‘Huh?’
‘She’s shaved.’
‘Oh.’
‘So the irony is her cunt looks more like a pre-pubescent’s than yours,’ he frowned as he ate. ‘Why do women do it?’
‘Thought you would like it, with your porny take on the world.’
He swallowed and pondered. ‘No. Call me traditionalist but women are supposed to have hair.’
‘Not on their legs, though?’
‘Well, you know, there’s a line.’
‘A bikini one?’
‘Getting a pube in your mouth has always been part of the deal. Shagging a lady who looks like a footballer isn’t. Speaking of shaving, have you been using my razors in the shower, you little tyrant?’
‘Oh, sorry. Add overpriced pink female razors to your next shopping list please,’ as she raised her glass. ‘Then I can make myself look like Joan of Stark just for you.’
‘Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough you being sixteen without you actually looking lo in the morning.’
‘Hmm. Nabokov. Another Vladimir. Tretchikoff, Putin… I can’t get away from the Russians.’
‘Are you still Googling your dad then?’
She hesitated. ‘I’m leaving it for now.’
‘You’ve got a lot on your plate. Literally. Eat up and you’d better have an early night for tomorrow. Have you texted your mum today?’
‘I did this morning.’ She reached for her phone. ‘I asked her if she let Ras back in last night and she says she kicks him out all night, every night.’ She sighed. ‘That’s how our last cat got run over. I think she’d rather he did.’
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘No.’ She slid her phone over to him.
‘Just send her a text to say all is good and you’re going to school tomorrow.’
She forked her untouched broccoli gloomily. ‘Haven’t you ever had a cat?’
‘Not until you.’
‘An actual furry animal.’
‘No darling. I know how important pets are to teenage girls. Well, if the amount of times I’ve had girl pupils plead me to authorise absence notes to grieve their hamster’s heart attack or bunny’s boo-boos goes to show.’
‘Let’s hope I’m not next to plead you for that.’
‘Write a note like you did in there and I would no problem.’
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*
It had been another night of sleep so deep, she’d blacked out from the moment she’d been dropped from the arms of her professed ‘pet carrier’ - the same arms which now pulled her by the wriggling ankles down the sheet, gripped them up his shoulders as she laid on her back, and bounced her against his trousered crotch.
‘Wakey wakey! I’m taking you all the way! To school, that is!’
‘All my mum ever gives me is a rap on the door,’ her juddering face slurred.
‘Not from your Headmaster,’ as he threw down her legs, turned her hips and pinched her bum till she squealed. ‘Clearly gentle doesn’t work with you. We’ve only got about twenty minutes. Get showered and dressed if you want time for a cup of tea.’
The car windows were licked with frost as Natalia shivered into the collars of her fur coat in the back seat.
‘Feels even c-c-older out here in the sticks…’
‘Come sit in the front darling on the heated seat.’
‘That just makes me feel like I’ve wet myself,’ as she pushed her head through the seats.
‘Feels like?’
She toppled like a snowball int the seat with her legs around the gearstick.
‘Well I know I have a fast car but it almost beat me to your virginity. Clearly as dark as its owner.’
‘Not as dark as this morning,’ she shivered. ‘Can’t we turn round and go back to frotting in bed?’
‘Mid March now so it’s will be getting lighter all the time. Won’t be so harrowing getting up and coming home in fifty shades of grey. And remember!’ - he tousled her hair - ‘it’s two-week Easter holidays in less than three weeks!’
‘Will you whisk Joan off for an exotic getaway again?’
‘I’ll whisk her wherever she wants to go - alone, and paying! …So look, there’s the bus stop I’ll be dropping you off from tomorrow,’ he nodded as they whizzed down the lane. He glanced to her, sitting with her teeth chattering. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to the prospect.’
‘I-I-I’ll be ff-ine. U-Used to b-buses remember.’
He turned the aircon to full blow. ‘Really is quite nippy this morning. I’d better save my usual fag out of window for a bit later. Just for you.’
‘We’re getting closer. I’ll slump down.’
He pulled up. ‘Here we go. Daren’t go any closer. Wipe off some of that mascara before Mrs Williams sends you up to me.’
‘And is that a risk to come see you?’
‘Makes you look rather sexy, so most definitely. Hop out now honey, there’s no-one about. Have a good day.’
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*
Laura was throwing a crooked smirk across the table at form.
‘Have you seen a ghost?’
Natalia thought she could ask her the same thing.
‘You’re staring like a mental patient. You’ve been off ill?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Just weird being back. Feels like I’ve been off for weeks, somehow.’
Williams waddled by. ‘Ah, Natalia! All better?’
‘Yes, miss, thanks.’ She wasn’t sure what brand of illness she’d been classed under, so kept her lips sealed, as well as her eyes averted from Ryan at French that morning. She wriggled her back, rubbed her front, and her hand to her lips; all the places that had been blessed by Headmaster honey since his accusation that ‘you must be shagging him,’ as if she could erase the blobs of defilement that would show up like a UV light under his stare.
Breaking out after lesson, she caught sight of Neill from the staircase window, pulling out a fag amidst a vigorous exchange with Francis and Noble, cradling it in those spanking hands as he cupped to light it, with a soft frown on it as if it was a naughty wayward little fag, that was going to be consumed by him, glow alive in his hands before he stubs and stamps it to the ground six minutes later.
Did he know how much of her heart he held like the fag between his lips, able to snuff out any time to later pull out a new one? Was hiding under his wing, submitting to his safekeeping, meaning she invested far too much of herself into him? Would she have the strength to live if he just dropped her like the fag end he would shortly stubbing out right now?
He was heading back in. She turned quickly, and bumped straight into someone. ‘Oh—!’
It was Alana.
‘Oh, sorry! Oh wait, it’s you! I just have to say…’
‘Y-yeah?’ stared Natalia, feeling she’d be forever nervous of her since her mum came into the pub.
‘I just lurve your coat,’ Alana stroked her arm. ‘I’ve gotta ask where you got it!’
‘Oh! Er, the Corn Exchange. One of the boutique shops there you know, my… uncle bought me it.’
She laughed. ‘For real! You mean your boyfriend didn’t?’
Neill was coming through the door, just as Natalia laughed along, both in horror and pleasant bewilderment that Alana thinks she even has a boyfriend.
‘Off we go to lessons, girls!’ Neill breezed past.
Goodness. Was that really the man who rolled up his sleeves to wank her like a cow in front of his fire yesterday and turn her into a human stationery holder?
‘You should come out with me and Aisha. Show us the spots we’re missing!’
‘Oh?’
‘And you have to teach me that amazing upside down thing you did in Yoga class! When did you get so good? I practice every week and I’m nowhere near.’
‘It’s actually much easier than it looks. I can teach you,’ Natalia smiled.
‘It’s a deal. Put your number in my phone now!’
Did she really just make friends with Alana? From that conversation onwards, it was like her visibility had been restored from non-existence. There she was again, flashing her a pearly smile as they filed into Geography an hour later. Natalia’s smile dropped as she sat down with a sudden fear. Was she suspicious of her? Did she know who bought her the coat? Did she see her look nervously at Neill earlier?
Mrs Clayton later popped in for a word with Mrs Tracey.
‘Yes, he’s not left for lunch yet, he’s in his office,’ she chirped as she went back out, making Natalia suddenly remember - she had no money for lunch! Her hand shot up quicker than it had yesterday at the coffee table.
‘Miss, can I go to the toilet?’
She hastened to Neill’s door. As she knocked, she wondered if it would have been safer to borrow money off someone. Laura? She’s always skint. Alana - bit early request from her new friend and way to make her regret giving her phone number?
‘Come in!’ Neill boomed.
She opened the door with apologetic eyes, as he enthused:
‘Well well, Natalia Molova! I haven’t seen you for a long long time!’
‘Yeah, erm—’
‘Come in. Close the door.’
‘I just forgot to ask you for some—’
‘Lock it.’
‘Er—’ She hesitated, turned the key, then came to the desk.
‘I just—’
‘Sit down. Pass me the keys.’
She sat, sighed and slid the keys over. ‘Lunch money. I don’t have any lunch money.’
‘Goodness. So abrupt. What happened to our good chats about life, literature and lipgloss lushes?’
‘Er, well, sorry. Neill, I need to get back to Geography—’ She glanced to the door.
‘Is everything good at home?’
‘Yeah…’ she smiled, ‘yes, very good. Neill, I just need—’
‘Does your daddy treat you well?’
She sighed. ‘Um, yes. Very well.’
‘Does he spank your bottom when you misbehave?’
She shifted in her seat, a grin starting. ‘Yeea-ah… maybe.’
‘When’s the last time he spanked you?’
‘Oh, Neill… I—’
‘Is the kind of thing you do to deserve it? Repeatedly turning away when someone is speaking to you?’
‘Ah… ha. Well. Yesterday, you… he, spanked me over the couch, for not holding something properly.’ She was blushing like it was their first meeting.
‘I see. Well that’s fine, that can be learnt. Do you think he’ll spank you tonight? Have you done anything naughty?’
‘Nn…o… maybe. I don’t know.’
‘So what did you come up to politely ask for?’
‘I need some lunch money, er, please, Neill. And to get back to Geography before Gluetooth wonders where I am.’
‘You haven’t left your phone downstairs have you?’
‘No, no, it’s in my pocket.’
He frowned down. ‘What pocket? You normally keep it in your coat pocket, I recall?’
‘Not since Dr Fondle came on the scene… it’s on the lowdown.’ She pulled it out of the hem of her tights.
‘Oh! Good girl.’ He raised a finger, then picked up the phone, as Natalia watched his tongue curl round his lip in waiting. ‘Lisa - how are you? Listen, I’ve caught hold of your pupil Natalia coming back from the loos just in case you wonder where she is. I’m using her for an important errand then I’ll be sure to send her back when we’re done. Yes, yes. Ok bye.’
‘Right, Mr Clever Clogs. Hardly lowdown, but…’
‘Pardon?’
‘We need to be careful remember,’ she whispered.
‘You need lunch money, and I need to teach you how to hold something on the lowdown. Certainly. Well, you already proved to be most useful pigeonhole. Do you fancy a stint next as carrier pigeon?’
She looked blank.
‘Come round here.’ He scooped his chair back.
She tensed. ‘Neill, whatever you’re thinking…’
‘You know I’m starting to think you don’t have a mind worse than mine after all. Do you know how disappointing that is?’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘Now come round here so I can see if you wiped your mascara off.’
She got up and walked round to him.
‘Step right here,’ he nodded between his thighs and his desk.
She drew a breath and stepped into the spot as he gazed up at her and remarked:
‘Oh, you didn’t,’ looking simultaneously disapproving and impressed. She fluttered her eyelashes, smirking back at him - just as he took hold of her knees, swivelled them toward him, then promptly gripped them - pushed them up into the air, and in one deft move - flipped her onto her back over his desk.
‘Nei—!’
One tug at the back hem of her tights together with her knickers brought them down to mid thigh, her naked bottom wriggling against the desk wood as he bent her knees back so her genitals were completely exposed to him like a roasting bird.
‘Neill…ff… fuck…!’
‘You’re so hasty! Don’t you know you’re only 16, and I, young lady, am still technically spoken for?’
Her hands flew to her face in disbelief.
‘You’re rather wet,’ he rubbed a knuckle over her clit and labia, unseen behind the stretched hammock of her tights gusset like a medical curtain between them. ‘Goodness, girl. Looks like you’ve been pooling all morning. Do all of you pubescent females walk around with a pond between your legs?’
‘I… c’unt answer that.’
‘Have you been thinking about your Headmaster in lessons?’
‘Er, n… maybe…’
‘Have you been playing with this?’ He tapped her clitoris.
‘Not… not today…’
‘And this?’ His fingertip wiggled inside her labia.
‘N-no…’
‘And this?’ His finger brushed down to her anus.
‘Oh! No…’ she giggled.
‘Now listen. Do you need something in here’ - the same finger now shot to her mouth - ‘to stop you making too much noise when I do this…?’
From his other hand he slid his middle finger into her vagina.
‘Uhh! N-No…’ she pant-whispered.
‘Are you sure?’
There was a knock at the door. It shot through her body and pushed his finger back out as she tried to bolt upright.
‘Not right now!’ he gave a stentorian call, as his hands went back firmly to her knees. ‘Keep these wide open.’
‘I should have just texted you to leave money in your pigeonhole,’ she sighed.
‘Far safer to leave it in yours.’ He opened his drawer and pulled out a medium sized Pritt Stick.
Her head craned up, her eyes widening. ‘Glue?’
‘Hold this, doggie—’ It landed sideways in her mouth. Her head fell back, eyes rolling, her vaginal walls pad-padding as though applauding along with him.
‘Now where was I. Ah, lunch money…’
She was feeling helplessly ridiculous, but somehow redeemed by his serious intent to carry on, which she found in her situations now with him, was to look into his eye as though learning from that seriousness, as he now drew a five pound note from his wallet.
‘Mmmgh.’
‘What?’
She wiggled up her jumper and showed her breasts.
‘Oh. Fair enough.’
He put it away and brought out a fifty.
‘Mmm-mmgh.’ She covered one breast.
‘Fine.’ He pulled out twenty five instead.
Her eyes are laughing, then widening as he began rolling the notes up.
‘Nnggh god.’
‘Smaller than a tampon isn’t it?’
‘Nhng-eye don’t wear thuhm.’
His finger is pushing inside her again, then his phone rings.
Her head falls back again. ‘Ohnh goh—’
He snapped up the receiver. ‘Yes? Yes, yes…’
He is looking down, fingering her pussy as he talks, as though he were prodding sage stuffing, or a dentist preparing a filling, whilst she makes the quietest panting she could, salivating round the gluestick now - he slapped the phone back, piggybacked the rolled notes on his finger - for all his frisson and gall, he’s remarkably deft with his fingers when he wants to be, so caring to a virgin, she quietly applauds - a dentist who takes the time to care about the patient whose tooth he’s drilling - as he now says:
‘All done.’ He raised her back up as the glue stick dropped to the table.
‘Shame you dropped it. I wanted to send you back to Gluetooth with Glueteeth.’
‘I feel like I’m at the dentist. I’m half expecting to have to swill mouthwash now.’ She frowned.
‘Oh, mind worse than mine after all!’
‘Oh, shit—’
‘Not a shit. A wank. To wash your mouth out as you suggested. But no swilling. You can be the patient and plughole in one. I’d better make this quick. Goodness, only ten minutes of Geography left! Down, down down—’
He pushed on her shoulders so she was kneeling on the floor, face to his shiny belt from which he unbuckled and pulled out his cock, bouncing eye level at her before it’s suddenly whizzing in his palm.
‘Good job you showed me your tits. Because I’m harder than the desk already—’
Flesh-flashing in her face like a fast-forwarding video, every few seconds he’d smooth his hand slowly up and down the shaft for a detailed view of its bulging, veined formation in his hairy hand, pointing it toward her before he whisked it into a frisson again, his breath escalating.
‘Open your mouth—’
She parted her lips and caught the helmet upon her lips - lightly, momentarily - laughing and falling off, then catching it again, putting her tongue out like a frog as he continues whipping it, then pauses again, ‘more in, more in’ - as she holds it further in her mouth, thick, warm and big - then she gags, and comes away - and wipes her mouth, glancing round at the door, then back again… and the inviting hard flesh makes her longs for it all to herself, without this pressure, this rush, but at the same time, makes it alluring to her in its brief visitation for he is already squeezing its bursting bright end, stifling that familiar grunt…
‘Catch it. Catch it all,’ he panted. ‘Are you ready?’
Oh good god. She only came up for lunch money.
Half hesitating at the sound of voices down the corridor, she parted her lips like a dying fish.
‘Never mind Pritt Stick, I want to send you back down with PVA. Wider, wider than that or it will go everywhere—’
In the daze of the next few seconds his warm spray was landing on her tongue, oozing at her philtrum like warm ice cream and down her chin. She widened her mouth quickly before it blobbed on her uniform, but the unfamiliar way it filled her mouth, made her cough like a first-time fag, and gag like toothpaste gone too deep - clamping her mouth shut as her fist flew to her cheek, and a final spurt decorated her sleeve.
She swallowed, opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue - half-rebukingly at him, as he gazes from his collapsed heap in his chair.
‘You are such a fucking good catch.’
‘And you are not a well behaved Head.’
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*
Five minutes left of Geography. Best go straight back there, then the toilet after. She rubbed and folded over the wet blob on her sleeve. Try to prickle-walk normally.
‘All ok Natalia?’ Mrs Tracey smiled.
‘Longest loo trip ever,’ sniggered Sam as she sat back down.
‘Yeah, yeah, Tracey knows. I had to run an errant. Errand.’
‘Two minutes of quiet working before we finish, please!’
‘Errand for who in the middle of a lesson?’ Sam scrunched her nose.
‘Just, something boring.’
She caught Ryan looking over. She hunched over her workbook and crossed her legs. Big prickle.
‘Year 11s are first for lunch today,’ cheered Laura on the way out. ‘Wanna come with me?’
‘I’ve got to go to the loo first…’
‘What, again! What is wrong with your bladder?’
‘Nothing, I just feel a bit—’
‘Sick? Again? Are you pregnant?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Natalia eyed Ryan two feet away behind them. She didn’t need his suspicions fed by snoopy Sam right now. But she needed three fingers to grasp and retrieve the Queen from her quim. He put it in deep. How can she pay old Hilda with a note that smells like doughy cunt?
‘Can I borrow your Impulse spray,’ Natalia caught up with Laura in the middle of the lunch queue. The cheap nasty one that Natalia hated, would be a godsend right now.
‘Sure. Keep it, it’s nearly out.’
Hilda even gave the note a long sniff. Oh, good God.
Bit of a different kettle of fish for a Monday, she thought, than the usual elusive-busy-Neill day, pining in the corners of the IT suite for the meaning of life. Think how maudlin she’d been in Art last time, wondering if she’d ever get to see Neill’s cottage kitchen again. Now she had the taste of his spunk on her tongue as she perused a book of pervy Balthus paintings that looked just like how she’d sat provocatively in this chair before he taught her the Drool of Thumb.
‘What the heck is that,’ Sam scoffed.
‘Balthus paintings. Found it in the library…’
‘Proper sleazy. You can see her knickers up her skirt.’
‘Seems tame to me.’
‘How old are those girls? They look about nine!’
‘It’s just artistic license,’ Natalia flapped the book shut, ‘but totally fits interiors, they’re all in rooms. I’m going to create my own interpretation. How did your Hepshite sculpture park visit go?’
‘Didn’t. Mum and Dad were busy losing their shit. Dad stormed out again.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Is that sympathy? I guess you don’t have that problem.’
‘My dad walked out when I was five, which hardly makes it better.’
‘Oh. Soz.’
As they were walking out at hometime, Sam was still behind her.
‘How come you’re going home this way? Have you moved to Crossgates?’
‘Oh, no, I prefer going home down York Road now. Sick of the 91 bus.’
Sam was annoyingly nosey today for someone who she didn’t even want as a friend.
‘Bit round the houses?’
‘Well I go see my friend up in Colton too.’
‘Boy?’
‘No.’
Bugger off, Sam. Natalia walked two bus stops up the road to avoid her and everyone else. All the while she was concocting a plan of how when Neill gets home. She wanted to go downstairs on him like he did so easily to her. He said he can’t cheat on Joan but there he was doing outrageous things to her, and she wanted more time to exercise flair and prowess than the chaotic chance she had earlier. She wanted to unzip his trousers and take him by surprise. She could do it as he sits on the couch by the fire. Or the kitchen chair?
After a series of mishaps missing the first bus, the second one driving past her - then alighting at the wrong place and walking to the wrong street - she’d normally be tearing her hair out and muttering swear words at passers by. But she was redeemed enough by the sight of Neill’s cottage - his car wasn’t back yet - and the feel of the white stone as she slipped out the key and let herself in with a smug sigh of relief.
There was a faint scent of bleach, the cleaner must have been. She went straight to change her clothes, brush her teeth and make a cup of tea, and whilst waiting for the kettle, found herself laying back on the couch imagining she’s him, watching herself over the table. She slipped her hand down her leggings: ‘Have you been playing with this…?’ she prods her own clit and smiles, rubbing herself into triple ecstasy - until she scrambled upright upon the sound of the key in the front door.
It poked, trying, and trying - and then gave up - with a rap on the door. A not so pleased sounding rap. Oops, she hasn’t removed her key!
‘Sorry… coming!’
She pulled it out with a gasp of breath to see gorgeous Neill looking slightly alarmed at her whirlwind, Gonzalez-style landing of her hands round the white wood.
Wordlessly, he pushed in, closed the door behind him, softly took her face into his hands as she stumbled back, and delivered a sweet kiss, his tongue just pressing gently against her. The man who’d shoved twenty five quid up her cunt then sprayed his spunk in her mouth at lunchtime was making her body shake like a maraca just by pecking her on the lips.
‘Did you have a nice day?
‘Yea’ - she croaked, ‘Yes.’ She felt like she had eight hearts, all tapping excruciatingly gently, like she could be knocked down with a feather.
‘A nice lunch?’
‘Ha. I did.’
‘Good news today,’ he began, as he followed him into the kitchen. ‘We’re finalising the grant this week. Phil’s over and wants to take me out with Joan’s web whizz brothers to toast its signing.’
He emptied his pocket of his fags, coins and receipts onto the counter, as she backed up to the kettle, eyeing his fly.
‘Oh, wow. Amazing,’ she smiled.
‘Million quid for Thornwood with a free website on top, almost in the bag - whilst my little kitty is thoroughly in it.’
His eyes went intently on her, whilst hers were nervously fluttering at him, wondering whether she could kneel here to surprise him, or get him into the living room. Either seemed impossible with a body that was frozen like a Hepshite sculpture.
‘Are you ok?’ he frowned at her. ‘You’re like a little mouse hiding something?’
She folded her arms and flashed another smile. ‘No, no! Er, sorry that I left the key in, I’ll put it back under the stone—’
She motioned to step past him.
‘It’s ok, I’ll go do it,’ he stood in the way at the bin. ‘Looks like the cleaner came but she doesn’t know to put the recycling out, so I’d better take this for the collection tomorrow. These are the very boring things adults have to think about, by the way,’ as he foot-pedalled the swing-lid.
‘Oh! I can take it?’
‘No, no… besides, I have to check that no local village boys have stuck crisp packets in there.’
‘Can I make you a… tea?’ A tea would get him sitting down. (Blowjob after putting the bins out? Was that how the boring life of adults was remedied?)
‘Yes please.’
A few minutes later he came back in to find her rummaging for the teabags, and reached over her shoulder, breath tingling on her neck. ‘I need a large one. Make mine in this,’ he pulled out a tankard-size, lettered Coney Island mug handpainted with a ferris wheel. ‘Are we out of the Borough teas? Oh! I bought some Teapigs Strong Earl Grey from Waitrose, do me one of those.’
He’d put down a plain white mug for too, but she had her eye on another mug that had appeared from behind where his Coney Island one had been pulled from - with the Scrabble letter ‘R’ on it - and fancying that it had a nice thin rim to sip from, she reached for it.
Spying dust inside the mug, she moved to the sink to wash it out, but her elbow knocked his tankard mug - which fell to the stone floor with a sharp crack and shattered into at least four bits.
‘Oh, shit!’
She gasped down, then back at Neill, who had just picked up his mail from the side, and stared down at the floor in surprise.
‘Oh my god, Neill, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t…’ - she attempted a giggle, for now he was struck like a statue - ‘sentimental, was it?’
‘Did you do that on purpose?’
‘No!’
There was silence as he frowned at the floor.
‘I remember now. It was from my first trip away with Rose to New York.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry. Is that a good or bad thing? I don’t kn—’
‘Are you going to pick it up?’
‘Yeah of course!—’ After a reflex twinge of her knees, she hesitated.
‘Well?’ He had a faint smile on his face. ‘Bend down and pick it up.’
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