*Go now to www.headmastersflame.com to read the NEXT chapter of The Headmaster's Flame and be updated on new chapters FIRST, on my all-free, dedicated, slick website created especially for mobile phone screens, and you can subscribe your email for a free Kindle book.*
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuwvrPl3BrF
‘Well? Are you a convert?’
‘Just a pervert, still shagging a 16-year old.’
‘Did your cock like its bloodbath?’
‘It’s all under my helmet like some war wound. Crazy really that I thought I couldn’t shag you for a week.’ He rolled her onto the towel again, plotting kisses down her vertebrae with slow sleepy Saturday lips, ‘are you feeling ok, my little strawberry slush puppy? Want some more cream in your strawberry pie?’
‘Fuck me, then, harder… I told you we have free red lube. Harder… it’s like I’ve got an itch down there I want to scratch…’
‘These horny teenagers, who needs the gym? I’ll be fitter than Miss Barnes by Christmas.’
‘Mmm, will we still be together at Christmas?’
‘Five minutes over the table at prison visit. Smuggle me in some sprouts.’
‘Don’t sayyy that…’
‘I’m joking. I hate sprouts.’
She wriggled away and noticed the clock. ‘Don’t you have to be going to London to see your mum? Four hours isn’t it?’
‘Ohh, North London doesn’t take as long,’ he climbed off the bed.
‘Can’t I come? I mean, you showed me to your friends.’
‘Best not. Mum’s a bit poorly right now and it’s sort of awkward.’
‘I could go for a walk on Hampstead Heath and meet the flasher?’
He rolled his eyes.
‘Wait for you in a hotel then?’
‘No hotels, I’m saving money for Easter. Stay here, keep on the lowdown, and read those GCSE guides I bought you.’
‘Can I go for a walk round here?’
‘No, no walk, but one consonant change - I’ll let you wank. You can have ten, how’s that? One for each guide. I’ve shot, what, three loads of my tadpoles balls-deep inside there and the idea of you rubbing and finger-fucking it back up is rather appealing to me. Just don’t go making a mess, Red, what with cat urine, my urine and now your urine taking over my poor cottage.’
‘Can I go in the garden?’
‘Best use the toilet.’
‘For fresh air.’
‘Well that’s an idea. Fetch a handfork from the shed and clear the leaf sludge from the flower beds. …Don’t pull that face Natalia, it’ll stay like that! At least run the hoover round and strip the bedcovers. Since I’ve cancelled the cleaner you’ll have to do some cleaning and you can start with me right now in the shower.’
‘Make you fragrant or flagrant?’
‘Both,’ he hauled her wrist.
‘Better bring me home chocolate! Cadbury’s or else!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡssUj5BvN5a
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdbvpMOLjC6
*
It was almost ten o’clock by the time a bollock-scrubbed Neill finally sauntered off down the sunny driveway. Swallowing her pill with tea at the kitchen table, she mused on his joke about prison. She never gave much thought to where their relationship was going, or perhaps she was avoiding it. Final exams had always seemed light years away, even now, leafing though her exam guides, she couldn’t quite believe she was finally going to leave Thornwood, and a stab of nerves asked what would happen to her and Neill. She took a pencil to Rochester’s words:
‘To live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may crack and spew fire any day.’
She rubbed the pill packet over her lips, its scent of oranges making her lay her head on the table recalling mouthing that clementine. She dug her hand down and dug up the dirtiest things he’d said; in his absence it was usually those things that annoyed her at the time. ‘Spread that sixpence like a stick-up in your mum’s words, and in a jiffy it will all be over, Little Miss Molova… Little Billy goes, and big Willy comes, in whichever hole he wants, n’est ce pas?’ Oh she’d go and come in every spot in the cottage they’d spanked, fucked or licked, and as she glanced quickly to check she hadn’t soiled the stair carpet, she saw no blood, but oh there he was: ready salted headteacher crying down her cuticles.
Reaching for a tissue from her coat on the pegs, something was inside it. Stuart’s business card, mingling now into her finger scents, his sweet, incensey smell that reminded her of church:
‘Stuart Hanley. Operations Manager, Maya’
So much for Yoga on Christmas Island - she hadn’t let on to Stuart, nor Lana nor Aisha, that she doesn’t even have a passport. She’d need to find her birth certificate for a start. She turned over the card where was written:
‘Call for coffee & chat anytime! X’
Better hide that in her journal. She ran upstairs and unslid it from under Neill’s wardrobe. She could write a new entry, but what would she even say? Dear diary, sorry haven’t written but life is so busy and full? I non-stop shag the sexiest man in the world, I live with him, the one who wrote all the lovenotes… as she flicked through them like a bank clerk, then frowned.
Two notes were missing. The London note. And the post-it note, she remembers, that got stuck to the back of it.
Blood filled her face as she strained to think. She’d seen them safe on her bed at mum’s, just before talking to Neill. Then she’d grabbed it all and ran out of the house.
Her chest stabbed with what her mum had said the next day.
‘Thanks for leaving a note.’ … ‘Are you going to London?’ … ‘Do you have bedhead?’
Oh, god! She dropped them!
What else did the London note say? A cloud of panic had to pass till she could recall them verbatim. ‘Be my girlfriend, pretend ok! Leave Leeds for the weekend and escape moany bedhead mum. Draw cocks on as many papers as you want.’ It didn’t say Headmaster, but it said she can fall asleep in lovely Richie’s car. Does mum know the Head’s first name is Richard? And the post-it note… ‘Best for last, I got an upgrade, no more cracks honey, I win again, incinerate me please…’ Nothing much there. So she must know she has a boyfriend called Richie. But what if Uncle Andy chinwagged that it’s Edward?
What to do! Should she tell Neill? She’d die on the spot if he knew she was stupid enough to keep that crummy little post-it note all this time!
She ran to her phone in the kitchen.
‘What can I do for ya.’
‘Morning mother! Listen, did I leave anything? Any—’
‘Any what?’
‘Thing…’
‘Them papers on’t floor.’
‘Oh. Yes. Well you see, I haven’t been totally honest. Sarah’s brother is my boyfriend and I’ve been seeing him for longer than I said. I went to London with him, not Sarah. I’m sorry…’
‘Well well. He’s richer than you say, eh?’
‘Rich - yes, funny, they call him Rich-ie! But his name is Edward. He’s twenty one. I didn’t want you to be cynical about it, I—’
‘So you don’t live with Sarah.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Come on love, I wahn’t born yesterday. What soft lass would live with her mate when she has a rich man swanning her about in his Jag, her hair bleached worse than Darren’s, arse stuck out like she spends most nights bent over his washer dryer?’
‘Mum—!’
‘I don’t really care, love. I got my life and you got yours. But if you flunk your exams cos you’re busy getting up the duff then it’s your own business.’
‘I, I’d better come round and get the notes back—’
‘Save the bother. Binmen’s been. Did you take the last of yer stuff? Daz’s gonna need your room cos I’m not having him busting in at 2am just as my sleeper’s kicking in.’
‘But… didn’t we have a nice time when I came round? We had a sandwich, and tea, and I thought we were—’
‘Nice time you had looking down yer nose at yer bedhead mum you mean, before you swan off drawing willies with your top shagger. Oh aye love, you’re in with the best of ‘em, and best you don’t come round ere n’more.’
Natalia’s voice flailed.
‘Cha-ra then.’
‘But, but… oh wait! I want my birth cert—’
She’d already hung up.
Natalia skittled the phone across the stone floor and sobbed. Then she growled like a bear, flew to her feet and flicked on the kettle. Checking the curtain gap was thoroughly closed, she stood and scrolled through films. Her mum wanted her to stay away. Fuck her! Were these tears even sadness or relief? At least she didn’t have to worry about making up a lie about the Easter holidays.
She stopped on a screenshot of Silence of the Lambs; bloody, blue-eyed Hannibal Lecter looking like Neill last night when he puffed his fag at the back door with jaw and Adam’s apple all stained red in place of where his shaving sores would normally be.
She’d let the boring parts play whilst she went to pour the tea and pout in the reflection of the kettle. Her mum insulted her hair when she looked as sexy as hell. ‘Excuse me?’ she mouthed now, ‘is that because you never found a man who goes for longer than three minutes, Mary it’s-all-over Molova?’ Then she took out the milk, recalling the moment Alana slid her pizza back into her fridge and smugly remarked she’d never thought Natalia would be the first to move in with a bloke. ‘And what are you saying, I’m chopped liver?’ she glared at herself. ‘After I paid for our pizza and cab?…Yeah, I should have said that.’
Sipping her tea, she gazed into the lounge where Hannibal was asking FBI agent Clarice Starling what the unruly prisoner had said to her on her way down the corridor.
‘He said,’ replied Clarice, ‘I can smell your cunt.’
God she’s direct, thought Natalia. I could do with her balls.
Suddenly the knocker went and Natalia froze, cheeks filled with tea.
A longer knock came, followed by the doorbell, as she gulped the tea down. Were Jehovah’s Witnesses that earnest? Did gas men come on Saturdays? Or did Neill know she went over ten?
She dropped to the floor, suddenly paranoid they might appear at the back window. She opened the cupboard and climbed in next to the Cheerios. After five minutes of tea breath against wood, she crept out stealthily toward the lounge, just as Clarice onscreen was crawling into a dark garage.
Slipping from under the table was a thunderbolt of grey followed by a bolting swivel-CREAK!
She almost screamed. ‘Fuck! Ras…’
The catflap flapped back after Ras jumped out.
She bum-shuffled to the curtains and peered out. Grey heads were moving about over the hedge next door; slams of car doors, neighbour getting some visitors. A flash of red car? Or was that cars on the road?
She rang Neill. No answer.
Better strip the bedcovers like he asked, but she daren’t blast the hoover on. He rang back just as she was stuffing the washer.
‘Hi sweetheart, is everything ok?’
‘Someone knocked. They didn’t see me. But I didn’t see them either. So I’m freaked out right now. Hurry hurry back!’
‘Hmm. Funny, I must have had a feeling about it. Keep the lounge curtains drawn and I’ll be back by seven.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj7dEsGpF1F
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDWGE2nSexE
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYOrB9em22P
*
‘Wait wait wait, let me get in, you rascal—’
She’d lunged at him from the lounge door, where she’d perched on the bottom step as soon as she heard the key going. He hauled off his coat as she nuzzled into his jumper.
‘You’re like my little pet again, so pleased to see master, hm?’ He pulled up her face and planted a long, cold-roady-faggy kiss on her lips till she fell giggling, sliding her mouth down his trousers.
‘Nooo—’ he took her arms, ‘let’s get that fire on at least,’ as he stepped over with her clinging to his leg. ‘Ah, it’s all arranged and ready!’
‘I didn’t want to have the chimney smoking,’ she now was mouthing at his belt, managing between his lighting of the kindling to get his fly open and her face into his pants.
‘You’re such an eager little doggie, aren’t you? Let me sit down.’ He laid back on the couch as she starfished on top of him. ‘Up, up… let me see you properly. That’s a nice dress. Where’s it from?’
‘Oh, just Monsoon.’
‘Take it off. I’d rather see your monsoon. Or is it still red letter day?’
She inspected her gusset as it dropped. ‘Think it’s finished. Sometimes it has a last splurge.’
‘And mine was a new pack of fags,’ he patted his pocket and groaned. ‘Find them.’
She went to rummage in his coat and return wielding fags and lighter in one hand, ashtray in the other. He promptly knocked her over his lap, her laughing face landing muffled in the upholstery as his hand sliced straight between her buttocks.
‘Well this is smoking more than any chimney or headmaster. How many times did you wank?’
‘Er… ten! Like you said!’
‘Ten? More like thirty and ten. I can’t normally get three fingers in this easily,’ as he drew out and inspected, ‘I only saw this when I had you sixteen time’s coming. Sort of thick, soupy womanplasm.’
‘Partly your gasm… ah!’ Still holding the items in each hand, trying to scramble upright, her feet may as well be sliding in a puddle on the floor till he finally let her upright with a wet rap on her bottom.
‘Fag then. What’s the delay?’
She placed one in his mouth, lighting it just as she parted her lips for his clammy fingers and sucked without so much a blink.
‘Best girlfriend ever,’ he eyed her through his first puff. ‘Who I’m too hungry to fuck yet. Do you want to continue your game of scrabble, doggie? Lick master?’
‘Yes,’ she tugged his trousers, ‘take these completely off.’
‘So demanding. Very well, show me how much you missed your boyfriend,’ as he peeled off his jeans and tossed them to the rug.
A familiar receipt stuck up from the pocket like an origami erection.
‘Oh, McDonalds! Respectability, subzero!’
‘Give me that—’ he screwed it and threw it into the fire.
‘Where’s mine?’
‘That was hours ago and only because Leon’s touch-screen boards were out of service and the cashier stood there like an uncommunicable bellend. I’m hoping our new CTouch boards don’t turn our teachers into more of the same! But I bought what you wanted, plus some fizzy pop and a reduced Waitrose Paella that goes out of date in 7 minutes. It’s all out in the hall. Pour me a man’s drink and pour yourself some of that girly filth.’
She ran out and rustled back in with the bag. ‘Sprite!’
‘Sprite for a sprite.’ He watched her naked bones contour all over as she strained at the cold sealed lid. ‘Here, let me.’
She sprung off to put the meal in the oven and return with whisky and two glasses. ‘I’m not licking him clean,’ she watched a stream of foam crack down one side of the Sprite. ‘Oh, Cadbury’s!’ she took up the bag again, ‘it’s like a Christmas selection box! Let me have just one now. You’re having your treats…’
‘One. This stuff is enough sugar as it is,’ as he poured her lemonade and flicked on the TV. ‘So what have you been watching whilst not revising?’
‘Hic! …Just The Great British Bake-Off. I’ve been cleaning.’
‘The only thing you’ve been cleaning is around your devil’s doorbell.’
‘Till the devil was really at it. Neill, the person who knocked, I saw a flash of red car, do you think it was… hic!… Joan’s Z3?’
‘Can’t be, she doesn’t know my address. Natalia, you drank half that lemonade too quick and now that Flake is going everywhere. Bits of it are popping from the foil whilst you’re licking it like Augustus Gloop in the chocolate river.’
‘Not my fault. It’s how they’re designed. You have to - hic! - scoop it with your tongue before it all drops.’
‘Get a saucer for goodness’ sake.’
‘Is this the man who pissed and dripped all over that table?’
‘There’s a time for all things, as Shakespeare said. As there is for you. Don’t just stand there with that slutty hair, come hiccyliccup my balls.’
‘I don’t remember that play! But you, Romeo, made a promise you’d - hic! - make me come double my ecstasy on Thursday and make love to me triple the minutes.’
‘How many times did you cry-wank in Gipton then?’
‘Six.’
‘Six? Is that all? We need you crying a lot more than that. Did you include your waterworks when I shagged you with the condom?’
‘Oh, you heard me?—’
‘Seven times two is…’
‘Fourteen orgasms.’
‘And seven times three?’
‘Twenty one minutes of sex. Not much is it?’
‘Twenty one is beautiful. Twenty one is my age minus yours darling.’
‘And it’s the number of rude synonyms I wrote for you in detention.’
‘Well, widen the gap all you like and write more…’
She leaned to grab her phone. ‘Licentious. Prurient. Degenerate…’
‘Are you doing my LinkedIn profile?’
‘Concupiscent.’
‘Come again?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So what are we on… twenty five minutes—’
‘Lascivious. Carnal. Lickerish.’
‘Lickerish? We’re not talking about your sweetshop tastes…’
‘Sinful. Pervy—’
‘They’re rubbish, they don’t count,’ he snatched her phone. ‘And you’re lucky I count any you’ve got through cheating.’ He placed it back on the table. ‘But if you want any hope of something more than three minutes, Natalia, put down that Twirl - I said you can have one chocolate - and get twirling your lips around my Double Decker.’
‘Three minutes,’ she grinned, ‘that’s the maximum time my mum says men go for!’
‘You talked to her about sex? Good Lord. I take it she gave you a most beckoning advertisement of what’s to come?’
‘What’s not to come. Her outlook was as sexy as Mr Khan explaining chromosomes.’
‘Well no offence, but your mum worked briefly in a pub before opting for the high life of benefits. No man with an IQ higher than a beer pump would want to belch their backwash up her beaver.’
‘I came from that beaver.’
‘And I’ve rescued you from it.’
‘But she’s part of me, and I’m part of her!…you implored.’
‘Whilst driving you 224 miles from her.’
‘And back again.’
‘More’s the pity. Point is, a rosebush doesn’t go looking for its likeness in the arsehole of the horse whose shit it grew from.’
She frowned.
‘And you’ll need to be punished for not only going back to her without permission, but for not showing me your texts every day as you’re supposed to.’
‘Don’t need to. She doesn’t want to hear from me anymore.’
‘Really? Show me.’
‘It wasn’t a text, I called her. Pretty much told me to stay away.’
‘What’s made her say that?’ He masked an infinitesimal soprano delight in his voice with a cough.
‘Nothing, she’s just a cunt,’ she paused, ‘who makes hiccups go away.’
‘That old witch cured it,’ he pulled her wrist, ‘and now for the wizard’s wand—’
‘Hic!’
‘Hickory Dickory stop,’ he stuffed her head down. ‘The mouth ran up the cock! …The cock struck twelve—’ he idly flicked the channel, ‘she… found herself… hiccuppy lickuppy suc-king cock, king cock… Blimey, cricket scandal,’ his grip on her neck softened. ‘Steve Smith’s been found guilty of tampering with the ball during the third Test in Cape Town… but oh fuck, please tamper with mine. Sandpaper they used? Christ…’
His sharper attention consumed by the sports report, she nuzzled and nibbled and lightly scratched round his warm, soft sac, relishing warming his cockles in her mouth to welcome him home, with a sporadic shaft squeeze of affection till he was putty enough to have his interrogation returned.
‘So how was your mum?’
‘As mum as ever.’
‘And dad?’
‘As bad as ever.’
‘Did you get a picture?’
‘No.’
‘How do I know they’re real?’
He eyed her, sighed and pulled out his phone, tapped for twenty seconds then turned a picture of a grey-blonde lady in a jacket suit with a toothy smile, and a chap with deep set eyes and widows-peak.
‘Your eyes are from mum and hairline from dad. But that wasn’t taken today,’ as she noticed Neill in the middle looking like two thirds of his current body weight.
‘Sometimes taking photos of family seniors is like implying they might die before you see them again.’
‘Don’t think I’ve ever posed for a photo with my mum, but maybe I should if that’s the implication.’
‘Don’t think I’ve ever had my prostate licked whilst looking at a photo of mine,’ he groaned, ‘but I did tell her I met a lovely girl… one who— oh fuck, is doing what… what the fuck are you doing down there… ahh—’
The oven was beeping. She scooped her mouth over his swollen end and began rapidly headbanging in time to it.
‘Oh, fuck, fuckety hell— HURGH-AHH! …Ah, AH…ah…!’
She stood up mouth-wiping like a satisfied cat as his belly exorcised its last spasm.
‘Jesus. That was not the same girl I took to London. Is that something slutty bestie taught you?’
‘No, I teach her!She’s doing things to Alex that I’ve done to you.’
‘Fuck, I should sack Khan and have you teach Biology. Let’s eat, then I’ll roll you a pain-soothing joint for afters so you can have a turn being a couch-bound, smoking prick Headmistress.’
‘But I have no pains,’ she laughed. ‘Can I run a bath?’
‘Before or after?’
‘Well, after? After dinner.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0MgiCUZz0U
*
Rain pattered on the window as she sunk down watching her food-baby of paella and dark sprigs of the ‘non-blonde end of her’ flash up through the suds. She heaved a sigh of relief for Neill to be home now that darkness enveloped the cottage and the secret that only it knew, of what wicked witch or wizard had fingered its brass knocker earlier. There was the reassuring slam of the dishwasher followed by footsteps up the stairs, a knock on the door, and King Cock pushing through without waiting for an answer.
‘Well this dish looks very nice and soapy,’ King-Cocktail-sausage glanced over mid-stream. ‘Bed’s all remade. It’s spring tomorrow! We lose an hour in bed tonight, don’t you think that’s sad?’
‘I’m making up for it with an hour in here.’
‘Let’s get you out,’ he zipped and flushed, ‘and all nice and cosy on the sofa now, hm?’
‘Pass me a towel then…’
She drew herself up out of the water then stopped as she caught something in his eye as he dried his hands.
‘Wait,’ she bit her lip. ‘I know that look.’
‘Mm?’
‘You’re going to do something to me downstairs. Something that warrants weed pain relief. A punishment you mentioned.’
‘No, Natalia. I am not.’
The glimmer was still there; returned by hers, as he flicked a sud off her hip, smiling, taking her hands she climbed one leg out, followed by the other, she wondering where the towel was, till a swallow in his throat brought her a familiar hollow pang and her vulva crawling on his next words:
‘You’ll have it right here.’
He gripped the arch of her neck, swivelling her back round to stumble-bump against the side of the tub; her wrists gathered in one hand, hair hanging into the water as THWACK! Her scream rang out just before his hand met with her wet buttock, and then clapped hard on the other, and back again relentlessly.
‘Oh, oh my god… Oh shit, oh shit shit shit, Neill—’
Bracing her firmer and higher, her forehead was in the water, then nose, and gurgling yelps bumping along to another and another THWACK as paced and timely a cricketers’ shouts, till she found a way to wrench her head up and out from the water, neck flexed at 90 degrees, panting as he braced her against him, keeping tight hold of her wrists whilst his other hand slid between her jerk-trembling legs.
‘I could fuck you right now,’ he said, ‘as hard as battering ram, right over this hard bath edge, and come in your bathwater, and send you back in it to cool off your blazing bottom, that would be an idea, wouldn’t it?’
‘Y-y-eah…’
He relented his grasp and sighed. ‘But promises are promises, so let’s take you downstairs and—’
‘Make me come now. Please, please Neill… put your hand back and make me come, just one…’
Two fingers slid inside her, another two at her clit, slopping out bathwater that had pooled within, together with new warm juices that had been quickly cooked up like strings of gluten risen by the fast action yeast of spanking, as she tilted her bum from one side to the other, flailing like a possessed mermaid, squeezing on the stout hand of the fisherman before slumping to the floor as though her legs had indeed been spellcast into the weight of a tail.
‘Let’s get you dry, wet little wriggler.’
A big towel was flopped over her and rubbed vigorously into her hair, before he hugged her to his chest and carried her head-sacked downstairs to be deshrouded to some monochrome film playing strings of cosy commiseration. Sniff-blowing water from her sinuses, she watched as he crouched to poke the logs, shake his last drop of Rioja and ask as genteelly as anything:
‘Chamomile tea for you?’
‘Normal tea.’
‘I guess the night is young.’
As though caffeine was the controversy of the night, he busied in the kitchen whilst she lay on her side in a smiling trance - half-shocked that she still could be shocked by Neill, who returned like a tea lady to make better what the master of the house inflicted.
‘I can’t lay on my bum, it’s too sore.’
‘Aww, poor little Jane, all dunked like the witch she is. Come lay over my lap.’
Her face fell gladly onto the cushions, sore stomach muscles spread over his thighs; slow-blinking at the fire as he rubbed circles down her neck and back, bottom and crack, puffing on the joint before he passed it to her.
‘I want you to give yourself to me entirely. Isn’t that what the bad old Rochester says? ‘Come to me entirely.’’
Massaging her sex now softly, so softly that the cat looked on peacefully, whites of his eyes half closed, but so thoroughly, it all began to be one lovely, blurred sensation, her smarting bottom spun out into a new feeling entirely, from the weed, or from the third climax he was machinating with his fingers, like a soup pot of exotic ingredients he was stirring on the cooker of her hot breath, seemingly healing every bottom thrash with a supernatural band-aid.
Now he pulls her sitting up on him, and himself into her, and starts a locomotion that feels quickly all-consuming; she almost fearful for this full body surrender where the orgasms can’t seem to be counted anymore… she is in a fairground chair spinning to the sky, like she has come out of an elevator at the roof of a building and smiling down on her human emotions like tiny pinpricks on the road below. Come to him entirely, he had said, his words like a spell, as she rides the wizard’s wand, murmuring that he is a spanking sex god, and turns her into jelly all the time, but doesn’t realise she must be whimpering for him to say:
‘Open the floodgates. All of them.’
Her prickling tearducts take his invitation and she remembers how he promised he’d lick every tear. Are they both surprised her sobs bring fuel to her gyrating hips? She smiles mid-snivel, for how confident she feels now to push his member as deep as he would, from that time she first examined it here on the couch like a toddler picking up its dad’s spanner in the garage. She would do everything a woman has done to him and better, her smirk dries her cheek - she’d redo every smutty anecdote he’d told her, with her at the helm.
‘Ahh, there’s your last splurge. Give it all to me.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPmbaGx35Q5
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡouCC63VBas
*
His hands that had drubbed and rubbed, teased and squeezed, and finally roosted with hers under the covers for three hours longer than most mornings, were now heartily trowelling the flower bed. Spring sunlight that had long melted the frost, spilled over the patio terrace as she sat stirring a third sugar into a milky white coffee she’d poured from his cafetière.
‘Well, it’s going to be a busy week at Thornwood,’ he stood and poured his own black. ‘Boards are all being taken down tomorrow for the delivery of the CTouch ones.’
‘Done!’
‘I wish it was.’
‘I meant my pill. You told me this morning to take it in front of you every day in lieu of mum texts now. So why aren’t they getting pulled down over Easter?’
‘It’ll be most unusual for your knickers to ever be up.’
‘I meant the boards—’
‘Because I want to spend my holidays spanking you, not the staff.’
She giggled.
‘In fact I think a daily deterrent would be very good for your bottom.’
‘Ohh?’
‘Necessary, now you know where you belong. And if it makes you cry all the better, because watching you gush both ends last night like a dodgy bit of plumbing made me rise again, and again, whilst you had something like a nineteenth coming, beating Jesus 18-1 as he hasn’t even done his second yet, pretty good going for such a contumacious rapscallion as you, hmm?’
‘Bring it on, pugnacious cad.’
Their eyes lingered over their cup brims.
‘I need to finalise the Easter holiday, and reveal all, shall we?’
‘Yes! Yes yes…’
‘Clouds are coming over anyhow,’ as he put his tools away. ‘Come—’
‘Entirely!’
She followed him back in, then hopped from foot to foot whilst he scrubbed his nails in the sink.
‘Show me, show me!’
‘Patience, mademoiselle.’ He went to switch his computer on, then clicked around till up popped a cellulose-style vintage postcard image, of a gigantic white castle with fairytale blue-grey spires.
‘I take it that’s not Bridlington?’ She leaned closer to a little font at the bottom and read out:
‘Château de Challain-la-Potherie, constructed in 1854 in the neo-Gothic style, deep in the Western Loire of… oh!’
‘Exactement, ma chérie!’
‘France?!’
‘Yep indeedy do. Owned by my good friend and will blow your mind, socks and knickers—’
His face dropped as she stared with dismay.
‘But Neill, it’s abroad…’
‘Crumbs, please tell me you have a passport?’
‘No. No, I don’t. Oh, Neill—’
‘Oh, fuck—’
‘How the heck could you forget to check?’
‘Jesus. I thought everyone had one for ID. But I didn’t even think - I always drive over to the frogs through the Eurotunnel and they barely look at your passport. It’s almost like you’re not even going abroad.’
‘I know you’re a brass neck but I never thought you’d book something abroad. Even if I had a passport, isn’t it a huge risk for us going through a seaport, airport or any sort of a port?’
‘No chance we can get you one in time either,’ he groaned.
She gazed at the Château. ‘I’d take a month even finding my birth certificate. That’s why the Maya scheme went over my head.’
‘The teeny travel talk? Wasn’t it any good?’
‘It was interesting. Art Therapy in Belize, things like that…’
‘Something to get Aisha’s hedge-fund mum opening her purse. Where do they put you up on these things?’
‘Hostels, campsites…’
‘Hmph, sounds perfectly safe. Rudimentary and risky, backpacky bollocks for my princess who deserves only the best - ah, you would love Challain.’ He clicked through the images of huge sumptuous rooms. ‘My friends from Sussex got married here in 2015 and I became friends with the American owners when I got sick from too much champagne and they put me up for a week in the Gate House.’
‘Wow! Those stuffed lions! Four poster huger than Oulton’s!’
‘That’s the King’s Room. I was going to chain you to that bed. Such a shame,’ he picked up his phone. ‘I’d better let Sylvia know.’
‘Oh! Darling Sylvia from the email! So you weren’t cheating!’
He sighed.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to say that out loud. Shall we go somewhere else? London again?’
‘Fancied somewhere remote and peaceful,’ he murmured. ‘And I don’t mean Bridlington.’
‘Scarborough?’
‘Romantic, enriching…’
‘Scotland! I bet they have somewhere like that château.’ She pulled up her phone and in a minute was brandishing a photo. ‘Here we go! Dunrobin Castle!’
He looked up from his phone. ‘Bloody hell! The spires look exactly the same!’
‘Let’s go!’
‘Let me have a look,’ he pulled her phone and tapped. ‘Fuck me… three hundred quid a night?’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem for Mr Money. Didn’t you pay for a five-star just to hear me wank through a wall?’
‘Problem is,’ he sighed and tossed her phone, ‘after all that splurging on five-stars I’m flat out broke, partly why I trimmed our shopping lists. Can’t even cadge money out of the school because every penny of the 80k has gone into those boards, even maxed my own credit card to push it through. I got mates’ rates with Sylvia but even that couple hundred deposit I’ll lose because she was saving it for a wedding.’
‘So…’
‘So, we can enjoy Dunrobin Castle on Google Images from a Travelodge.’
‘Join Ed in Wales?’ she chuckled.
‘There’s some fine castles in Wales. And not as far and freezing as the bonnie highlands. Let’s call him.’
‘I was only joking!’
‘He owes me one. Shall I ask him?’
‘Er, ok! Yes!’
Neill’s phone was at his head. ‘Bastard won’t pick up. Probably pissed.’
‘Pissed at you?’
‘Nah just pissed. Let’s take these mugs in, this room is becoming a mess already—’
‘Is that what Ed’s going to say?’
‘Aw! Naw!’ Neill cried as he strode to the sink. ‘He’ll say he’s too hang-in’ to stop ol’ Rich and his bangin’ young cwtch gatecrashing his daffy digs, that he is—!’
‘Your Welsh is daffy awful!’ she laughed, squeezing his waist as he turned and stepped on Ras’s tail again. ‘That reminds me, Neill, of something you did to Joan. You said you once climbed on her collarbones and thrust your cock in her mouth to make her sound like Daffy Duck—’
‘More like how the cat just sounded.’
‘Can we do it?’
‘I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.’
‘What, like I wasn’t for anal? Or the most violent, debut blowjob in history whilst eating my cereal? Or having me piss on your head?’
‘We didn’t do anal. The Cheeri-fellatio I believe I repented for by professing my love for you that day. And Friday I was barely a pisshead, merely a drip. …Ah! Speaking of which,’ he chucked the tea towel over her face. ‘Stay quiet till I signal to you. …Edna! How ya do-en?’
Blustering phone talk on life, work, football and golf ensued till Natalia had straightened almost the entire lounge and the topic was finally broached.
‘So, Edwardy woodpecker. We want to get away for Easter, and, well, I’m also broke. Yeah, yeah… Well, we fancied seeing Wales so we thought we’d swing past and see you. Crash at yours for a night, or seven. Oh? Yes, yes… let me go talk to the missus.’ He muted his phone.
‘Who, me?’
‘Ed’s up for it. Do you mind him being around? He’ll probably be holed up writing and walking most of the time…’
‘Well, do you mind?’
‘Darling I only mind if you mind.’
‘As long as I’m with you, on holiday, away from Leeds, I don’t mind. Might be quite fun?’
‘What, being minded by two men?’
‘He can mind us - do all the cooking while we do the fucking.’
‘Now you’re talking. …Hey, Ed! It’s a yes! Ok, ok, I’ll leave you to it. Talk again later this week.’
He was almost knocked over as Natalia threw her arms around him, ruffled his hair and kissed him all over.
‘We’re going out of the country after all! Amazin’! Amazin’!’
‘Well it’s not the château,’ he pushed her down, ‘but it may be even more amazin’ for you - as you won’t be doing any school work at all. Can’t be taking GCSE Bitesize anywhere near Ed.’
‘Oh my God, I love you—’ She jumped back on him.
‘As long as you work hard this week before we break up.’
‘Break up? With you?’
‘Never you honey.’ He planted a smacker right on her feigned downturned lip. ‘You want that French oral now?’
‘Hmph. Not on a Sunday.’
‘I meant the Daffy Duck, but if you changed your mind…’
‘Oh! Yes! Yes…’
‘Best do it in bed. Or on bed, rather!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCDf7EoFcba
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ9PVWxY3dt
*
She slid down under his thighs like a sordid MRI scan as he straddled over her, pinning her arms underneath his knees, perched up on her chest.
‘This is how it was. Is that ok?’
‘Yeah,’ she gasp-smiled at his soft manhood dangling like a duck at the fair she strained her lips forward to net, but which he held back, pulling up his smooth underside.
‘With you, it’s balls first. Long, long licks…’ His sac sat on her tongue as she licked in vigour till he dipped down his cock.
‘Gobble on the end. Gobble—’
From this unflattering angle Neill was a circus mirror image: huge belly, small head; drooping jowls and hair in hanging clumps - but oh! - there was something inexplicably horny about the force taken by mutual consent as her clitoris and vagina throbbed in imprisoned tandem.
‘This is what will happen when you backchat in Wales, girl…’
Eyes alight, she nodded moaning, lapping up his words as she oozed below, till she gagged, and yanked her head back and off.
‘I want to go deeper and longer than you did to Joan—’ She gaped for it back.
‘We’ll have to stop you gagging like her then,’ he took his fingers to the front of her throat, then pushed again deeper with full fat girth now, as she salivated and rasp-breathed out of the sides of her mouth.
Mid-suck-thrust, the doorbell rang, followed by the knocker.
They froze.
‘Bad enough being disturbed in the office, but here?’
The doorbell went again as he stared.
‘Ahg-you gon-get it?’
He grunted and slid himself up, threw on his dressing gown and sped downstairs.
Natalia slid from the bed, belly-crawling along the carpet of the top landing like an FBI agent all over again, as a Lancashire purr carried on a sound wave up the stairs.
‘Hello, Richard.’
‘Whur… what are you doing here?’
‘Well, I just wanted to talk, really. You know you left me quite abruptly, and I never got an explanation,’ Joan’s voice seemed to ring through the house. ‘I came yesterday. I saw your car wasn’t in but your TV was on, flashing through the curtains when your cat jumped on the sill.’
Natalia glimpsed the back of Neill combing his sweaty hair with his fingers, shielding his naked hairy shins at the edge of the door, and couldn’t help thinking from his choice not to slam it right there and then, that he enjoyed the dubious impression he was giving, and his riposte that would be brewing.
‘What are you, a TV License officer?’
‘Why would a man like you have a cat?’ Joan scoffed. ‘You always dodge-stepped my Tiddles?’
Silence.
‘How do you know where I live, Joan?’
‘Saw a fair few of your admin letters. So… there is someone else, isn’t there? For how long?’
‘Well no offence Joan but that’s somewhat my business.’
‘You never invited me here,’ Joan went on. ‘You barely ever slept over at mine, or stayed the whole night. Was it me or my AirWick?’ she laughed. ‘Biggs found it tossed inside the rhododendrons! And did you… did you oil the door hinge of my bedroom?’
Natalia stifled a laugh.
‘Don’t be ridic—’
‘I spoke to your neighbour. Says you live with someone.’
Now Natalia’s face froze.
‘Your girl he said. So there is someone, Neill? That was quick, wasn’t it? Or was she already here before you ditched me? Are you still married?’
‘Excuse me? It’s my turn for twenty questions, Joan. For this is rich coming from the woman who makes a beeline for Geoff Allsebrook every time she arrives at Thornwood, right from the very first visit!’
Silence.
‘Are you going to deny that? That there’s something going on between you and death-breath Geoff? Not so much daddy’s chum on the golf course as being lip out, double-eagle getting hammered by the old Physics codger?’
Joan was mumbling softly.
‘Ahh, lost for words. Case dismissed on that face alone! Stones and greenhouses, Joan Rawley, never come to my house again, or I have you arrested for trespassing.’
‘To have Hannibal Lecter staring at me through your window along with that creepy grey mongrel?’ she cried. ‘Oh believe me, I won’t!’
The door shut, as Natalia hurried back to lay on the bed.
After a minute Neill came back up. ‘That was Joan.’
‘How dare she call Ras a mong-mmh—’
‘Silence, little lamb. Suck, suck it back hard again. That’s it…’
She tried to steer her mouthful of growing cock with her hands like a stuck trumpet, till he pulled and pinned her hands down under his knees.
‘You want it rough, a full on mouth-fucking, my girl?’
She nodded fast.
He drew it long, deep and slow like a dagger clasped in a sheath, and then, began thrusting quicker, which lost contact with her lips, as her mouth hung open, like a loose fuck-hole, slapping against the sides with Gug-erg-gug-erh-gug-erh - a conspicuous, hollow, plugging and unplugging rhythm in a delightfully humiliating helplessness, obliging her to do nothing other than keep her mouth open and soft; teeth out of the way so she didn’t snag his quest to fuck her mouth.
‘Mm! Mm! Mm!’ her body signalled for a break - as he withdrew, strewing a thick fluid from her throat over her chin and flushed cheek with it.
‘More?’
‘Yes, yess—’
Dipping back, looking down on her completely stoically, as this were the most normal thing in the world - it was his total lack of shame, or interest in any part of her shame, that extinguished hers, turned a dial inside her as it went on… Gug-erg-gug-erh-GUG-erh!… louder and quicker now, she began moaning, from a sensation pricking right at her cervix, from a rhythm that was truly oral sex.
She wriggled out a hand down into her knickers, quivering at the union between mouth-rape and clit-wank, and just as she came, she cured her own gag reflex by another inch, taking with it the last piece of doubt - his cock now sitting sublimely down her throat as natural as two lovers’ hands, or nipple down a baby’s oesophagus, as her tonsils caress his cumhole till it had evacuated its contents as smoothly as fumes from a Z3 engine.
‘Wow,’ she murmured. ‘That was a blur… did Joan come?’
‘Just me and you. Although to be fair you could do with another man fucking or licking you whilst we did.’
‘Or woman.’
‘Or schoolgirl,’ he pulled on his evening trousers. ‘One of your old pikey friends would do, and would rather put their tattle tramp tongues to societal use.’
She giggled. ‘How can it feel so good, a great big thing lodged down your throat?’
‘Are you talking a butterfly chrysalis put down a dead woman’s gullet by Buffalo Bill, or the TV baking programme you confused with the sweetbreads favoured by Hannibal Lecter?’
‘Ok ok, I did watch that film too.’
‘There’s another film that might answer your question. From 1972, first ever porn film with a narrative. Downstairs! I’ll start dinner, you get the fire on.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPYPfTcyIJn
*
‘There it is, you little bugger! Your clitoris is deep down in the bottom of your throat!’
Miss Lovelace cries.
‘Now now Miss Lovelace, having a clitoris deep down in the bottom of your throat is better than having no clitoris at all!’
‘Easy for you to say! Suppose your balls were in your ear!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8kdzptw6Ww
Neill called from the kitchen. ‘Was that Sunday’s Songs of Praise I heard you belting out in the bathroom? Blessed is he who comes?’
‘It’s snogs of praise!’ she laughed, coming up behind him. ‘I French-kissed your cock, Hosanna in the highest!’
She hocked mucus at the plughole just as Neill was turning to sieve a pan of hot potatoes.
‘Well I normally use a splash of milk in the mash, but…’
‘It’s my womangasm, and your fault! …So this film you’ve put on, Deep Throat. Is it saying Miss Lovelace is a freak for having a clitoris down her throat or that Freud knew all women have one?’
‘You tell me, Daffy.’
‘All I know is it felt fucking great, like a bell in my throat was jangling the one between my legs.’
‘Well, all’s bell that ends bell. We made a wet and certainly not weak end to a wet weekend!’ He banged and set down the masher. ‘Except the visit from one!’
‘By the way, you should oil the catflap too, Rich-arrd—!’ She laughed as she bent to stroke Ras.
Neill’s foot promptly propelled his furry bottom through the flap. ‘Just hock your womangasm onto it. I only wish the curtain twitched right at the moment the prisoner chucks his mangasm at Jodie Foster. Now wash your hands of womangasm, mangasm and mongrel, and chop the ends of those green beans.’
Natalia peered at her phone on the side that was flashing a notification.
‘Just going to the loo—’
‘You’ve just been! Beans, now!’
She sighed and pulled a board. ‘So the shaggy-eyebrowed neighbour who you said is mostly blind and deaf—’
A roar of heat came from the oven as Neill swung the door open.
‘Mm?’
‘Your neighbour!’ she spoke up over the clanging of trays. ‘He’s seen me and thinks I’m your daughter.’
‘Bert called you my girl, so it could be either way.’
‘Thank god for Bert’s universal male habit of calling grown women girls. Do you think it’s best to—‘
‘Shit! We’re out of gravy granules.’
‘…Go tell him which I am?’
‘A grown girl or a gravy granule?’
‘Natasha Neill.’
‘Bless you. No need. The only time I’ve seen him was months ago, when I knocked and he took five minutes to stagger to the door with a face like thunder till he realised I was only passing on a misdelivered Kays Catalogue, not delivering it.’
‘But he obviously sees us coming to and fro, so we’d better get the story straight. And you can nosey about anything Joan might have said to him.’
‘Fine, fine. I’ll pop round right now and tap him up for gravy,’ he wiped his hands on the teatowel. ‘Too late to take a Christmas card?’
He went out of the front door as she tapped her Messenger.
It was Anton.
‘Hello, Natalia! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your message till now. What a surprise! How are you?’
She stared for so long, the screen went black. A curious feeling filled her body. She read and reread his reply. What a surprise, he says? How are you, he says?
She typed and deleted, and deleted and typed… Am I your daughter? Are you my dad? Why did you go… god no! Until she sent:
‘Hello! I’m good thanks. So, were you once with Mary Molova? In Leeds?’
She hastened to add:
‘As I said, I’m looking for my dad.’
The typing icon came up. It was for around thirty seconds, but felt like five minutes.
‘Yes, yes. I know :) You are a very determined girl when you want something! Yes, I am Anton Tretchikoff. Oh, Molova… that feels so long ago, so Soviet! Are you in Leeds still?’
Jesus God!
‘Yes… it says you live in Birmingham?’
- ‘Yes’
She wasn’t sure what to write next, then he wrote:
‘Natalia :-) I am busy right now, working shifts. Let’s talk tomorrow.’
She wanted to know what he did for work. She wanted to know when tomorrow. She wanted to know, are you 100% my dad! Should she press call? Was it all a bit much for him? It was a bit much for her. She had to sit down. She needed time to digest, like he did. Oh, god, one parent dumps her and the other that dumped her eleven years ago suddenly appears! Such is life!
She tapped to accept his friend request and nosey in his profile. Thirty friends, all looked pretty normal. Lots of Russian names. Job: Mobile Software Engineer. Relationship: ‘it’s complicated.’ Nothing new there then.
She put it away, heart racing, as Neill returned.
‘Ah, Bisto! Bist before 1975!’
‘How did it go?’
‘Well, I couldn’t quite tell! He had this great big thick smile on his face all the time I was casually jabbering about my daughter in the grey— nay, blue coat with the brown— nay, blonde hair that yes, I did carry over my shoulder into the cottage on a couple nights, oh these teenagers and their parties. Either he doesn’t believe me and thinks I’m a paedo, is a paedo himself, or has a love egg so far up his jacksy it’s making his eyelids tremble.’
‘Maybe all three.’
‘He referred to Joan as a dashing lady seeking her beloved Sir Richard. I told him she’s a BMW saleswoman who’ll slap you on their marketing list with so much as a sneeze as consent. He bared his teeth like a pitbull.’
He pulled up her chin. ‘Now you’re trembling! Relax, fair child! He’s only an—’
‘Undercover cop?’
‘The only thing undercover about him is his tackle. Although if I eat the cheeseboard we’ve got for afters I’ll end up with a paunch like that myself. Now!— Lest we sauce our own meat with Joan’s upbraidings, for unquiet meals make ill digestions… plates, now! The beans are the colour of olives!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3LURJePZrs
She picked at her chicken as she pondered, oh how was she going to hide her dad from Neill? Should she tell him? What if he bans her from talking to him?
‘Eat, Natalia. Or do you just eat cock now?’
‘I am, I am.’
‘You’re not turning veggie like your lushes are you?’
‘No…’
‘Good, because you know I won’t allow it. If mum’s off the scene then I’m wholly your guardian now and you need all the retinol and B12 you can get at your age,’ he rapped his fork.
‘I know.’ She gazed through her Sprite bubbles, suddenly hearing her mum remarking, years ago, about pork pies. That dad loved pork pies… and mum got so fed up of them stacked in the fridge, mainly because Natalia wouldn’t eat them and it meant mum had to bother cooking her something else.
‘Don’t just demolish all the crackers, have some cheddar with them if you don’t like brie or stilton,’ Neill griped after dinner.
‘Too much cheese gives me spots. Isn’t it class photos soon?’
‘Postponed till after Easter. Too much on.’
’I never even got my single portrait from three weeks ago?’
‘Oh. How strange.’ He frowned at the cracker in his hand. ‘Didn’t you say the other day that Ocado delivered my saucisson? A slice would’ve paired this perfectly.’
‘Think it’s in the fridge—’
‘Shouldn’t be in the fridge.’
‘Shoved it in the veg drawer probably.’
‘Ah well, we’ll have it tomorrow.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSnobi4MRnB
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPz98Gh5zGX
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyUuTELjcdn
*
Monday, Monday… so good to me, Monday… all I hoped it would be! Neill’s sing-song into her ear upon waking that morning, rang in her mind as she sat at French in her old form room for the first time since Wednesday. Belly full of pancakes that she’d begged him to make in their dressing gowns, before he’d promptly flipped her in the air between each one and maple syrup found its way from her nipples to her nethers, she looked down at her phone now to see:
‘Come up and kiss me’
She waited till Williams was writing on the board, then typed back:
‘Too risky!!’
He’d suggested not texting her anymore in the school day ‘now that she has friends’ - to her repeated protestations that ‘no-one ever sees my phone stuffed down my skirt, I’m a ninja’ - and that all texts come with protection on par with a man’s gonads - before dribbling and licking maple syrup off his, and eating pancake off his cock stuffed inside like a banana.
‘Come up and fuck me then’
- ‘Stop it ;) ;)’
Then after a car ride together belting out the Bangles’ Manic Monday whilst licking a patch of dried syrup off his thumb joint, he complaining of a small swelling, she bounded out for the bus stop doing a BJ lump in her cheek back at him, feeling badass cocky.
‘Piss on my face’
- ‘Hahahaha x’
‘Later then’
Cocky enough to know that Williams ushering her over at the end of lesson wasn’t to do with her phone, but not badass enough to still fear what her pursing lips were about to spout.
‘Natalia. You’re not in our form anymore, I see.’
‘Yes,’ Natalia pursed her lips back, tying her coat girdle like staunch Neill in his dressing gown to Joan. ‘A clerical numbering issue.’
‘Hm. Also, I checked with Becky and you weren’t in the sick room last Wednesday morning, yet you wrote your name in the logbook. Where were you really?’
‘I… was in the sick room’ - was all she could think to say. ‘She’s lying.’
‘Natalia. Accusing staff of lying is quite serious. It leaves me with no choice but to defer to the school governor about my suspicions.’
‘Suspicions? Of what? Check with Becky again, please. I’m sure she’s forgotten.’
Luke was waving for Mrs Williams’ attention, as Natalia bolted to Reception.
‘Becky—’
Becky looked up from her papers in surprise at Natalia marching straight into the private desk area behind the screen.
‘Williams says I wasn’t in the sick room on Wednesday, but I was. Tell her I was.’
‘Oh, I don’t remember you coming in at all? I saw your name here,’ she slid the logbook over, ‘but I crossed it out.’
Natalia grabbed a pen. ‘Rewrite it please.’
‘Huh?’
‘And tell Mrs Williams I was in the sick room on Wednesday…’ Natalia looked around, then added with a quivering lip: ‘Or I’ll tell the Head you’re having an affair with Alex Morgan. I have a photo of the CCTV at the Valentine’s Fair.’
Becky’s jaw dropped to her chest.
‘AndI can vouch that his girlfriend Alana Reynolds’ nails are sharp.’
Becky’s mouth clapped shut again.
‘Go on.’ Natalia crossed her arms and nodded to Becky’s phone, tapping her foot to stop herself from keeling over at her own gall.
Becky picked up the phone as Natalia’s heart poked through her ribs.
‘Hello, is Anne in the staff room? Can you put her on, it’s Becky…’
Becky appeared to wink at her. Natalia tried to stop her eyes from bulging.
‘Hello Anne… I’m calling about Natalia Molova. About last Wednesday, I made a mistake… yes, yes…’
She finished, put the phone down, and smiled.
‘Er, right! Thank you—’
‘It was you with Neill in the next cubicle, wasn’t it?’
Natalia, mid-turn, found her face caught on Becky’s like a wriggling fish on a hook.
‘Always knew something was cooking, even just in his forehead whenever your name is mentioned,’ she tittered, a glint growing in her eye.
‘I, I don’t know what you m—’
‘Here, take these biccies up to him next, you’re in there often enough,’ Becky held out a half eaten pack of chocolate Hob Nobs. ‘He thinks I don’t know he steals them from my desk, the daft beggar!’
The corners of her lips raised, causing Natalia’s to do the same as she stared down at the Hob Nobs like a gun placed in her hand.
Faintly nodding at her, Becky lowered her eyes to her paperwork as a bewildered Natalia slunk away.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzYDjSz0RLs
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJSgxO1J0mM
*
She sat wondering whether to tell Neill about the bizarre bombshell she’d just had with Becky when her phone vibrated in her skirt. She waited till Noble was writing an equation on the board then read:
‘Come snog me NOW’
Oh god Neill. She turned her phone off and wriggled it back down her skirt. Neill was texting with more gay abandon than she expected and her big smiles risked making Noble look over.
Noble looked over. ‘Alright Natalia?’
‘Sorry sir… just itchy.’
‘Itchy for the CTouch!’ he bellowed. ‘These are being pulled down tonight!’
‘Whuh?’
‘Last lesson using the old boards! We’re finally going state of the art!’
She really was itchy in places she couldn’t have people CTouched. She dropped by the toilets for a good scratch before Geography, and then heading up the stairs, heard steps behind her and turned. Nobody was there. Must have been the other girl from the toilet. But when she turned again on the next set of steps, she caught a glimpse of blue.
There was the sound of a familiar throat-clear. Smiling, she went on till she’d reached the third floor and a warm hand came round the back of her neck.
She was pushed into the door of a nearby empty classroom. The hand gripped tighter and pulled her backwards just as the door clicked closed. Backwards, all the way… till supine on a cushion of elbow, a man-mouth covered hers and sweet smokey tongue wrestled her tonsils whilst her blood barged from one end of her body to her other. God, he could still make it do that. Oh, god…
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeSrua7Km1V
She couldn’t read a word Mrs Tracey was writing on the board. All she could hear was the last five minutes of what flowed from the blue ghost’s throat to her jaw. I love you baby… I can’t wait to take you away. Away from here, again - you’re going to like that, aren’t you? Yes, oh yes you will. Show me on your fingers how much. I liked it when you were my doggy at the weekend. Be my little doggy proper when I get home. Do not have any clothes on… Then she’d slipped the Hob Nobs into his pocket like a fat, oaty erection that correctly concluded the act of tongue mating and he’d purred good girl! as though she’d pilfered them from Becky herself.
Her brain was a washing drum of Headmaster, long-lost dad, and the busty receptionist busting her, tillfinally lunch came, and Alana was coming out of Business Studies with dirty laundry to add to the spin.
‘Hey, Lana! Coming to the canteen?’
‘When!’
‘Now?’
‘I said, Wren! What’s his surname, Kitchen?’
‘Huh…?’
‘The brochure you saw in our kitchen that time I brought you round for pizza,’ Alana rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not stupid. You’re BSing about your boyfriend and that’s why you won’t show me a pic.’
‘Wow. Why does it matter to you?’
‘Because I won’t be taken for a fool! I thought you were better than those lowlifes you used to hang out with. In fact, one of them told me today that you bullshit just to hang out with us!’
‘Sam?!’
‘Whoever the one with rat’s tail hair is.’
‘He’s real, of course! I did get Wren off the brochure cos I didn’t want to tell you his real name. It’s Edward.’
‘So why won’t you show a pic? Because you can’t! You—’
‘I’ll get one,’ Natalia blurted.
‘Hmph.’ Alana swished off as Natalia looked after her in dismay. Losing the last of her appetite, she spent lunchtime punching away her English homework in the IT suite.
‘Ok, Natalia?’
‘Yes, Mr Clarke.’
She pressed print, sat back and smiled, just as her phone buzzed.
‘Check this OUT! Love you x’
It was a video clip from Neill, of funny multicoloured buildings of Portmeirion, an ‘Italianate village’ in Wales. Nice colours, like an oil painting. She clicked onto Facebook. Still nothing since Anton yesterday said let’s ‘talk’ tomorrow. Talk, or type? And when? About what? What was the protocol for finding your estranged dad on Facebook? Hello, can we continue please? It’s been eleven years, time to chat? She didn’t want to sound demanding. Or should she?
She pulled out the oil paints in Art and chose a table away from rat-tail Sam. Miss Patrick hovered around the tables and cooed in surprise when she came to Natalia’s.
‘Inspired by Balthus, and Tretchikoff’s The Green Lady,’ explained Natalia. ‘She’s naked but she’s also from another world.’
‘And smoking, I see!’
‘Inspired by the smoking caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland.’
‘Goodness!’ As Miss Patrick moved on, Sam wandered over.
‘You deleted me off Facebook, Alice.’
‘No, I removed a worm-tongue from my friends.’
‘Hmph! How did you get to move form anyway?’
‘Clayton put a good word in for me because of my high Food Tech grade. I suggest you go work on your Art one.’
‘What’s that?’ she stared down. ‘Mrs Cheng as a porn star?’
‘Something you wouldn’t understand. Now scram.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPLQ3Hsqmev
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTbXhbRDVxU
*
She can’t wait naked for him, surely. Jehovah’s, Joan or even Bert wanting his Bisto back might have little doggy foul the floor. She’ll put on her dressing gown, pick up the post from the doormat with her teeth, and whimper on all fours with her bottom wagging as she heard the key in the door.
‘My… you’re such an eager little doggie, aren’t you?’ He took the letters from her mouth and plopped them on the table, barely with his coat off before she was mouthing at his belt. He clicked his fingers. ‘Why have you got that on? Strip.’
She slid off her robe as he pulled off his tie, tied it around her neck and taking hold it like a leash, walked her along to the fireplace as she jumped her tongue repeatedly at his balls bulging at his fly zip like breast cleavage from a dress.
‘Good doggie! But we’re going to have to teach you to be polite, hm?’
She sat back and whimpered, tongue out.
‘Yes you may, doggie.’ Leash pulled tighter, his fly spread wide, he bounced out his semi-erect penis and testicles in her face. ‘Lick, just like the poem, doggy. With a long, long tongue. That’s it. You’re so pleased to see master, hm?’
‘Mm, mm!’
He sat down. ‘Doggie, fetch! Fags. Whisky.’
Tie tailing behind her, she brought them to the table.
‘You’re a clever doggie so you can pour that for master. Fag, yes - now light it. And back to your job.’
He casually tore open one of the letters as she slurped a smile up at him. Casting his eyes down the paper for a moment, he frowned.
‘LinkedIn?’
‘Ooopsh.’
Her puppy eyes met with his stare over his stomach hair. He’d just read the bank statements he never reads.
‘£19.03 the dollar conversion was,’ he boomeranged the paper to the table. ‘Funny, that’s the year Jack London published The Call of the Wild. The story of a collie that gets kidnapped, a true classic honouring the spirit of rugged perseverance and man’s intimate relationship with dogs…’
He jerked the leash forward so she fell back to the floor, then wrapped the tie taut around the table leg, drawing her head right to the wood as she choke-laughed in surprise.
‘Neill, Neill, wait! I’m soh—! Urh—’
‘Hush puppy. Doggies don’t talk.’
He took the statement, screwed it up into a ball and pushed it inside her mouth.
‘Paws on your head, doggie. No bone for you.’
‘Whagh?’
‘For every pound you’re going to get a pound right on the buttock. Belt time, I think…’ He began tugging her bottom round.
‘No, no!’ She spat out the paper. ‘Not belt, please Neill—! I won’t be able to do PE tomorrow, I’m still sore from Saturday spank, I—’
‘And what do you suggest otherwise?’
Blinking back over her shoulder: ‘Er, a fuck?’
‘What, up your arse?’
‘No no—’
‘Well it’s hardly a deal Natalia. I’ll be fucking this anyway,’ a fingertip wriggled at her labia, ‘and I prefer to whip you rotten to make it drip like the hose tap before I do.’
‘Wait, I have an idea! Look in my bag… I have something for you.’ She watched him huff. ‘Please, please! It’s just over there,’ she strained up half-strangled, pointing.
He arose and and heaved up her bag with an exaggerated groan. ‘Where on earth do I start in this sack of bric-o-brac?’
‘Look inside my planner,’ she gasped, pivoting back round. ‘I redid the essay.’
He eventually pulled out and unfolded two printed sheets of A4.
‘Another sample essay question for Jane Eyre. Good gracious, Natalia. English essays are not exactly an aphrodisiac.’
‘But read it!’
‘The question is,’ he read:
‘Examine the following extract where Rochester declares his love for Jane. How does Brontë represent conventions of marriage in the nineteenth century?’’
‘And your answer:
‘Rochester expresses his love for Jane in the language of his clause ‘come to me entirely.’ We can find clues in the etymology of ‘entirely,’ meaning ‘wholly, completely, fully,’ as in the period Jane Eyre was written, marriage was a union of husband and wife as one person, ‘one flesh and one blood,’ and in law too.’’
He eyed between her legs. ‘Period, blood. Are you saying Jane and Rochester were as kinky as us?’
‘The criteria, the cloh—clause analysis—’ she croaked, holding the tie an inch from her throat. ‘I did what you said.’
‘Oh. Very good. Well claws down doggie - and don’t move a muscle whilst I read the rest. Spread, do you hear? All the way, Yoga splits-style. If it’s not an A* then I’ll belt one on your backside.’
‘Yes, yes.’ She stuffed the paper ball back in her mouth.
‘Time starts now.’
What a time for her cunt to start itching again.
Neill sat and lit up a fag, his eyes scanning to and fro, then flickering up.
‘Got fleas, doggy?’
‘Nuhmgh-uh.’
He would go back to reading, occasionally stroking his cock hanging shamelessly out of his trousers, and she can’t help thinking oh, for that right now - or a banana right now, anything to give it a good old chafe, she was salivating both ends and this felt longer than the war film.
‘Ok.’ He stubbed out, as though he’d timed the essay exactly with his fag and tossed the essay onto the table. ‘It’s A* alright.’
She squealed and wriggled her legs like a dynamo.
‘Doggie gets a treat doesn’t she? Doggie want a bone?’
She nodded eagerly as he crouched down and untied her neck, as she sat up, then fell back not realising how numb she was.
‘Spit that paper out and sit on your knees,’ his cock levelled into her face. ‘Pant, doggie,’ as the tip rubbed across her puckering lips. ‘Wait till master says, remember.’
Saliva dripping; stomach rumbling.
‘Oh, naughty doggy. Drooling on my floor. You’re obviously hungry…’
‘Mmmyes, yes! Mm—’
‘So go into the kitchen and fetch that sausage from the fridge.’
‘Mm-oh.’
Rubbing her neck, she went and came back looking dubiously at the stiff, cold Bonbouffe Truffle Saucission in her hand.
‘Pull off the label and you’re going to warm it up. One way to make you remember it doesn’t belong in the fridge. Sit, face the lamp, and shove it right into your own veg drawer.’
She arranged her arse up in the air, head hanging with hesitation, holding the hard cold sausage lined with lumpy white tracks like a gun to herself. She saw him, upside down, sitting ogling her with his own spasming red-top sausage in hand like a butcher’s wet dream. The dirty old delicious bastard.
‘Good. Up, right up. Keep that right up your cunt.’ He glanced at his phone. ‘Oh, shit, I’ve got to take this. Fuck that sausage whilst I talk. In and out, twice as fast as the clock tick, or it’s belt and welts. …Hello, Clarkey, how it’s going there? All the boards down, any disasters?—’
She had no choice but to fuck a sausage like something off Eurotrash whilst he was clicking up another fag and yakking with Clarke for what must have been ten minutes. A sausage wasn’t as pokey as the pens she’d fucked of her own volition in the office show she’d given him that time, but somehow this cold fat meaty tampon wafting the scent of garlic upon Clarkey’s faraway goofy ‘hurh-hurh-hurh!’ made her soul ache, as well as her wrists and knees, for the call to finally end.
He breezed up behind her, yanked out the sausage and brought it round to clasp its greasy end into her cupped hands. Then he took hold of the tie choke and buckled her backwards - right onto his cock - pushing deep and fast into her pussy as she erupted into moans of relief punctuated by his.
‘God, this cunt feels good,’ as he slows. ‘Talk about a charcuterie starter. I’m not going to rush, I like this too much. You peel the skin off that sausage and eat.’
She fumbled to find the skin, pulling it down sceptically with her fingernails as she bobbed and nibbled in a slow rocking motion.
‘Swallow what you’re eating,’ he said a few moments later, ‘and then you’re going to put that back in your mouth and suck hard whilst I fuck hard, dirty bitch.’
Her mews ascended into sausage-muffled shrieks, balls slapping the waft of cock, cunt and slimy meat, as she contemplates the vileness of doing this with anyone else, and the subtle vileness of it even with the almighty Neill, who had sat and read her essay and would probably never understand how much that turned her on… to have his attention two ways, to love her from brain to cunt, and his honesty that it was an A* made her adore the thumb lodged in her anus as if he earned that stake; earned the right to overpower her, and goofy Clarkey - and the whole of Thornwood, and Leeds itself - and inject himself and his middle-class food tastes into the whole of Yorkshire as he gasped, she gasped, and he held himself there as if to marinate his cock in truffle saucisson too.
He fell back onto his chair, as she lay equally shattered opposite, and rather parched as a queef slowly released from her.
‘Bonbouffe, I think it said. Now go cancel that LinkedIn.’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYSckde9SGD
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp3NI8NnuMc
*
She was fingernailing fat out of her teeth as she watched him pour a glass of Chardonnay at dinner.
‘I got a call from Ofsted today,’ he frowned. ‘They’re coming back tomorrow to speak to me with concerns about the inspection. On a day the new boards are being delivered, it’s going to be chaos.’
‘That’s a shocker.’
‘Yup. They say they’ve received info that the estimated grades were bungled. And some new Woke Officer is reviewing my language complaining I said ‘Downs Syndrome’ instead of ‘learning disabilities’! What the fuck!’
‘I was referring to your drink. You never have white.’
‘Oh, yes. The only stiffie left in the house.’
‘Shit, so do you think someone in the school said something?’
‘Not sure. Everyone was on my side, even Williams. But I remember working on the estimated grades one time over at Joan’s when she leaned in and queried something and I was too busy groping her tits back to listen. She must have said something to Ofsted, it’s far too fishy after what happened with her yesterday.’
‘Would she have had time since yesterday?’
‘Oh, I can imagine she had it prepped to go. It’s been nearly two weeks since Humpday Dumpday.’
‘What a cow! Surely they won’t downgrade the school?’
‘Guess we’ll see.’ He forked his tagliatelle dismally.
‘And you saved telling me all this till you’d tied me a table leg, threatened to belt me, and put a sausage up my cunt whilst nattering to the IT technician who’s known me since I was 11?’
‘It was you who put the sausage up there. It was you who handed me the post in your mouth and showed me a Bark-Lick-Hard. And I wish I’d known you at 11 when you were more brat-wurst than hot dog and I never wanted to banger.’
‘My god!’ she squealed. ‘You’re so good, I love it! But not sure about calling me a dirty bitch.’
‘I was only working the analogy darling. Would you rather I call you a sausage dog?’
She bristled. ‘I didn’t like the tied up knobby bit at the end of it.’
‘That’s just where it was linked in!’ he wheezed with laughter. ‘So any success?’
‘With what? It finding my G-spot?’
‘Finding your dad.’
‘No. It wasn’t him.’ She poured more Sprite. ‘Let’s talk about something else. What are we going to do in Wales?’
‘What aren’t we going to do in Wales. You’re going to get violated so rotten you’ll come back bow-legged, your jaw so loose from facefucking that you’re speaking Welsh, salivating over everything in sight, unable to think clearly because you’re picking your fucked-out brains up off the floor.’
‘Ah, so same as home then. All whilst Ed’s writing with a quill by candlelight in the next room?’
‘Fuck him. You’ll get to be my girlfriend in public and I’ll adorn you with so much attention you’ll be fed up of me by the end—’
‘Doubt it.’
‘We’ll go for lots of walks, pubs, villages, castles, I’ll teach you how to drive…’
She squealed. ‘Really?!’
‘Well I promised you didn’t I?’
‘You mentioned it as a joke, on the London drive.’
‘I promised you and you know I keep my promises. I’m your Maya scheme, bitch.’
‘My god! I’ll be your dirty bitch all holiday!’
She reached and stuffed three pieces of truffle saucisson in her mouth as they both cawed in laughter.
‘Wait!’ she stared, mouth full. ‘What are we going to do with Ras for Easter holidays?’
‘Take moggy to your mum’s?’
‘No way. She’ll kill him.’
‘Let me phone-scroll pussycat prisons …Moggy Motel, best in Bickerton… blimey! £14 a day which will cost almost two hundred quid! We’re better off taking him with us.’
‘Really?’
‘Nah,’ he mused, watching Natalia’s excited face drop again. ‘We’ll lose him in Wales. Let me have a think. I know someone who loves cats and will probably have him.’
She danced off upstairs with his glass containing the last inch of white wine.
‘We’re going to Wales for Easter! Can’t wait <3’
Updating her Facebook status might kill two birds with one stone: show Lana her life is real, and remind Anton to message her. If this really was her dad she’d reached out to, he really ought to message again first.
Five minutes of warming the toilet seat later:
‘Sweet!’ - commented Aisha - ‘North or South?’
She hesitated.
‘South. Pembrokeshire.’
- ‘Ooh beautiful!’ - Loveheart from Aisha.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoafOw8us8S
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFebUzMRp66
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo3KvtEC3ir
*
Her indignant demand of sex during menses seemed to have signed his daily permit to climb aboard her spine like a clockwork cock-twerk, shaking himself into her like a fountain pen blotting her saliva into the mattress before she even knew what day it was. Whilst weekends would prefix this with long lazy spooning, school mornings would find her bottom yanked to the ceiling like an army drill.
‘Up!—’ he slapped, as she fell forward bubbling last night’s juices like some cum-fermented sourdough starter that had to be fed twice a day. ‘Can’t be late for Toffsted!’ Then foamball-gagged, screwed and sting-slapped she shot the ball knocking one of the framed botanical pictures sideways and fell off the bed altogether.
‘Did you have that unicorn ball stashed under the pillow?’ she mused at breakfast.
‘Yawn once more and I’ll stick it back in,’ he banged closed the kitchen door. ‘Magic bean, and off we go! What a good idea putting you on the pill was, I save so much toilet paper.’
He turned to see her stuffing a square of Regina Blitz down her knickers.
‘What?’ she blinked. ‘Cheaper than pantyliners.’
‘I was just thinking I need kitchen roll down my pants today too.’
‘In case you shit them, or get raped by a male officer this time? Besides, didn’t being held at cumpoint secure the grading?’
‘Unfortunately when they have evidence of something serious, the backhanders go by the wayside. Right! Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends… allez! Or chivvy, chivvy in English!’
‘Oh! That reminds me—’ she turned back to grab her folded English essay from the table.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF55ekSItbe
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPzoxVqAVRW
*
No Stuart at the bus stop since the Maya talk; she wondered whether he’d finished all his talks. Then she found herself wondering if she’d ever perform sausage sex for him. Was he vegan? Would Quorn do?
At form class, she watched Lana’s mouth non-stop moving to Aisha. Her head, too. Did Neill choose Natalia because she didn’t rabbit on like a motormouth like every other teenage girl? He was the motormouth instead. He’d probably have Lana ballgagged 24/7. Shit, why did she tell her yesterday she’ll get a photo of her fictional ‘Edward’? Maybe Ed himself would pretend to be her boyfriend in Wales?
Whilst Lana and Aisha went on to English, Sam appeared outside form.
‘I have something to show you,’ Sam pulled Natalia’s arm.
‘What? Get off—’
‘Come into the loos.’
‘What! Have you grown a pube?’ she grumbled on her way in, then watched Sam pull out her iPhone and scoffed. ‘What are you gonna do, make me add you back as a Facebook friend?’
Sam held up her screen, as Natalia’s mouth fell open.
It was a photo of her yesterday, seized in Neill’s arms, puckering down at her just before the classroom door had closed.
A glimmer of a smirk came first - then she swallowed - into a tightening throat as she lunged wildly at the phone.
Sam held it up high.
‘Sam! Fuck’s sake, put that down before anyone sees! Oh—’
A Year 9 girl was coming out of a cubicle. She gave them a blasé stare as she washed her hands then left.
Natalia stared back at Sam. ‘Oh! You were the creeper behind me in the loo yesterday!’
‘Amazin.’ I knew it. I knew he were a paedo. But with you, I can’t believe it!’
‘You fucking—’
‘So you’re having it off with him or what?’
‘It… was just a silly moment, it’s nothing—’
‘I saw you on Friday, getting out of his car at the Paki shop on Roman Road when I was staying with my Unc Trev. I thought at first it was an Audi but then I saw the silver circle. Audis have four circles—’
‘Oh well done Jeremy Clarkson, now give me that—’
‘I’ll show everyone! I mean it!’
‘Put it down or I’ll rip your fucking head off! Neill will rip your head off!’
‘Gimme twenty quid and I won’t show anyone in next lesson.’
Natalia stared, then thrust her hand into her coat for the lunch money he’d given her this morning.
‘Here. Are you gonna promise you won’t show anyone?’
‘Not today!’
The door squealed open. It was Laura.
‘Oh there you are! Are you coming to English?’ She stared at their red faces, then at Natalia’s sweaty hands clasped over Sam’s. ‘What are you lesbos doing?’
‘Just coming,’ Sam pocketed her phone as Laura went back out.
‘Why are you being so awful?’ Natalia urged. ‘I can explain it—’
‘Just removing you as a friend, ta very much! And don’t tell Mr Neill, or I’ll go straight to Mr Dinkey. Same tomorrow, slag!’
Huge throat lump; legs like jelly, Natalia’s mind was in overdrive, as heavy as a computer as she dragged up two flights of stairs. Damn right she wouldn’t say anything to Neill who already had Ryan under bribe. Sam was just a girl, easier to manipulate. Natalia was Neill’s proclaimed heinous genius, and after how artful she’d been with Pavlova-gate, surely she could square this away herself?
She arrived at English where the board was crashed face-down over the floor, a stressed Coleman sweeping screws with her high heel, pupils laughing.
‘Step around this, step around! …It will be cleared soon! Hand in your essay homework before you sit down!’
Natalia unfolded her essay from yesterday. Then she turned with it into the corner.
‘Oh, shit.’ Neill had already marked the essay.
She grabbed Jenny. ‘Can I borrow your Tippex, quick.’
‘Soz, I don’t have any.’
‘Essay, Natalia?’ Coleman bleated.
She groaned. Even with Tippexed, what Neill had drawn would be visible through the paper: an ‘A’ scrawled inside a huge loveheart, the two top bumps of the heart spiked with hairs, enthroning a fat penis emitting a stream of stars.
‘Sorry miss, it’s been spilt on in my bag. Can I reprint it and bring it at lunch?’
Jenny promptly plucked it out of her hand. ‘Looks fine to me!’
‘Jenny—!’
The essay was raised over to Coleman as she scooped it into her pile. ‘Right now, settle down! Work from your Anthologies today!’
Natalia fumed at Jenny, then came to Coleman’s side. ‘Miss, my cousin drew something on my essay, sorry about that—’
‘Away from the board, for health and safety! Back to your seat, Natalia!’
She sat down realising she’d forgotten her PE kit. But that was the least of her priorities.
‘I’ve forgotten my kit, and I don’t feel well,’ she said squarely to Luxton in next lesson.
‘Heavens, two excuses at once!’
‘I don’t care.’
Luxton stared.
‘Are you going to send me to the Head?’
‘No,’ Luxton frowned, ‘not right now. He’s dealing with enough.’
‘Damn right he is.’
‘Sit down,’ glared Luxton. ‘Sit down right now and not another word.’
The girls filed in for netball as Alana came by.
‘Sorry hon if I upset you yesterday. First day of my period, and I took it out on you.’
‘Oh! Oh, it’s ok Lana,’ Natalia hoped her shining tear duct right now didn’t suggest she had a secret she really, really wanted to tell someone about - the picture Lana wanted, how ironic; that would make her faux-apologetic, big blue eyes bulge so far out of her head she could catch and eat them.
‘Thanks,’ Lana nodded.
The girls played. Sneering Sam would catch Natalia’s eye every few minutes and Natalia, shifting in her seat after three sneers and counting, called out to Luxton:
‘Miss! I’m going to sit in the sick room,’ and getting up without waiting for an answer, made her way to Reception.
‘Hey Becky. I’m sitting out from PE but I need to sit in the sick room for real this time.’
‘Is everything ok, love?’
Natalia’s face crinkled as Becky unlocked the door.
‘Hey, chuck. What is it? Has Neill done something?’
‘What? Becky…’
If Natalia wasn’t sure yesterday that Becky was inviting an agreement to protect each other’s love interest, the back-rubbing she was now doing as she sat on the hard narrow bed in the sick room - Natalia casting a sceptical, mid-snivel sideward glance - compounded the utter weirdness of what was now confirmed.
‘I, I don’t know what to say, Becky…’
Her eye fell down her huge, slithery cleavage that squished up against her - the two freckles Neill had mentioned, she found herself staring into like the eyes of Medusa, whilst a warm scent of Kenco mixed with Christmassy winter spice hugged her nostrils and made another tear prickle, imagining smuggling sprouts into jail for Neill at Christmas for him to frown and say he hates sprouts.
‘I’ll lamp him if he’s done something. He’s not still seeing Mrs Muscle?’
‘No—’
‘Or the slutty Headmistress?’
‘Becky!’ she laughed. ‘No!’
‘Of course, I can’t talk. But even a double crosser can hope they’ve got a keeper.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper and stroked Natalia’s hair behind her ear. ‘Never think twice about age gaps, love, if they make you happy.’
Sheer absurdity of the situation was fast composing Natalia as she wiped the last of her tears on her sleeve. ‘So,’ she blinked, ‘how come you like Alex so much?’
‘Because he does things to me that my husband would think belonged in a circus,’ she whispered, as Natalia stifled a hoot of sniffly laughter.
‘Becky…! I’m blushing.’
‘Oh, women like me at the menopause, they don’t get drier, they get wetter. Only teenage boys match how horny I am.’
‘Really? That’s not what I heard?’
‘Whatever you’ve been reading is nonsense.’
‘So what things?’ Natalia grinned.
Becky glanced through the door to make sure no-one was waiting at Reception, then continued:
‘I had him round mine when hubby was away. He strung my arms behind my back, laid me on the bed and golloped my lady garden till it was running like the beck in a downpour.’
‘Oh my god Becky,’ she squealed. ‘Did he come in your tea?’
‘No, no, on my face!’
They laughed.
‘It was heaven,’ she sighed. ‘When you’re young, it takes time to understand these things. I’d wager your best intimacy will come when you’re older.’
‘Well,’ Natalia shrugged. ‘I already have, actually. What you just told me, I did with Neill.’
‘Really?’
‘It was Neill’s idea, you see. I told Alana, she told Alex, and he did it to you.’
‘You’re joshing?’
‘No!’ she giggled.
‘Flipping heck! I knew he was a right one in the bedroom, that look in his eye! Or that might be the fact he’s always looking at my boobs, daft sod!’
Natalia stifled a hoot of laughter.
‘Seriously. My husband’s only ten years his senior but with all his meds he’s lost his libido ten years earlier. Have your fun, love, have your fun, just don’t get your heart broken.’
‘We’re… we’re in love.’
‘Oh! Well,’ she exhaled, ‘don’t lose him!’
Natalia bit her lip. ‘Can I tell you what’s happened, Becky.’
‘Go on.’
‘Someone I know has a picture. Of me and Neill kissing. She’s blackmailing me for money, and threatening to tell Dinkey.’
‘Who?’ Becky whispered.
‘Sam. Sam Pollock.’
‘Just tell Neill for Pete’s sake. He’d have that weasel sorted. Can’t he confiscate her phone?’
‘He allows phones in schools, so not really. And I can’t tell him at the moment, he’s stressed enough with the officers.’
‘Yup, he’s in with them right now. Signed in ten minutes before you came, sour faced old swine.’
‘A woman?’
‘Two middle aged men. Good they’re not checking the school today, what with the boards being down and every classroom in chaos. Neill should have arranged that over Easter.’
‘That’s because he wants a filthy undisturbed fortnight with me.’
Becky giggled a big sumptuous, velvety giggle that made Natalia want to sink her face right into her rippling freckly tits.
‘Listen,’ Becky whispered. ‘I could go now to the changing room and rifle through Sam’s bag.’
‘No good. She always puts hers in the locker.’
‘Oh, tosh. I’ll jimmy it open. Do you know which it is?’
‘God,’ Natalia gazed, ‘you’re brazen when Ofsted are in! But it’s too late anyway,’ she nodded at the clock. ‘They’ll be coming out.’
‘Let me keep thinking then.’
‘Can I borrow a tenner for lunch? I’ll pay you back.’
‘Not with cash you won’t.’
‘What, you want to know what we did last night?’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘Well. It’s called Sausage Dog. The time he ties you to a table leg, by the…’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6E0lLfwxf1
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡufyM53FkUw
*
In the canteen queue with Lana and Aisha, talking about Wales and Thailand, exams and eyeliner; past regrets and life ambitions before they’d even reached the hot counter, she suddenly missed her lonerdom when she didn’t get so much face-ache. She kept glancing around to check Neill wasn’t passing through and think she was becoming an oblivious, motormouth lush herself.
Text at afternoon form:
‘Hey honey. You looked happy in the canteen. All good in Clayton’s hood?’
He saw her being an oblivious motormouth lush.
- ‘Yes! All ok after officers? x’
‘Hope so. Won’t be home till late darling. Boards delayed till 5pm & will take hours installing.. Have to be there for this one’
- ‘ok sir love you ;)xx’
‘Love you darling x’
Now to tackle that wet-weekend weasel in last lesson.
Sam had her head sunk down so far in Food Tech she couldn’t throw Natalia even the smallest sneer. At first Natalia wondered whether something had ousted her ransom. Had Sam accidentally wiped her phone? If only! But then she saw their graded projects lay in front of them, and Sam’s D may as well be a dunce cap next to Natalia’s A*.
‘I can help you on the next one, Sam.’
‘Get lost. You don’t care.’
‘Look, about the picture…’
‘I said get lost.’
‘Have you shown anyone?’
‘Twenty quid again tomorrow.’
‘God. I mean, what else do you want? To get you to delete it?’
‘Just cash. I’m saving for something.’
‘For what? Driving lessons? I can teach you. After the holidays. You see my uncle is—’
‘No,’ she frowned her head up, ‘I want Vaporflys. Or Vapor Street, haven’t decided.’
‘Vapor-whats?’
‘Trainers, eejit. Nike.’
‘How much are those?’
‘One fifty new with tags.’
‘That’ll take me days to pay!’
‘Bring me it in the holidays.’
‘I’m going away!’
‘Bring me the whole lot before Friday then.’
Natalia fumed down at Sam’s bag, wedged between her ankles like her life depended on it. She wished she could wedge Sam’s mouth down like Mrs Salisbury and cunt-suffocate her whilst she deleted it herself. Put these pikey tattle tramp tongues to societal use, as Neill said. But something else could come in use…
‘What about my fur coat. It’s from Harrods.’
‘Did Mr Neill buy you that?’
‘Keep your voice down. …What does it matter? It’s worth £500, you could buy both pairs of Nikes!’
‘Wouldn’t get an hundred for that coat on eBay before fees. It pongs of an ashtray and mum will go livid when it stinks out my room waiting to sell.’
‘Girls! Enough chatter!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR8CqhgvD7s
Natalia wrung her hands all the bus journey home. She’d checked her Messenger for the tenth time that day, still no further message from Anton. She saw he was online, and couldn’t resist writing:
‘So do you still like porkpie?’
He was typing back, success already. He sent a big smiley face, that wasn’t as big as hers when she read:
‘Ahh you got me! We must talk, Natalia. Tomorrow? What is your number?’
She wriggled in so much glee she had to smile a sorry when she kicked the bus seat of the man in front. If her dad works in phone software, maybe he knew how to hack into someone’s iPhone? Send Sam a virus that wipes her content? She laughed with the absurd thought, gazing at the Metro the man was reading, an advert under his thumb:
‘Sell Your Gold for Cash! Great price and fast payment. Hassle free, safe, and no postage costs!’
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡePqECsjSRG
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAn5iDCsnrQ
*
Neill texted he was on his way home at 6pm, by which time she’d had two hours of imaginary conversation with her dad, feeling rather grown up wearing a mint-green, silk nightie that she’d pilfered from her mum years ago, hoovering the lounge like a 50s housewife.
‘Hey,’ he kissed her briefly, his eye falling curiously to the nightie shimmering down to her feet.
‘Boards all up that quick?’
‘Blasted things didn’t arrive.’ He sat kneading his eye with the heel of his hand. ‘Spent over an hour on the phone to some arsewank at DPD, left Clarkey in the end tracking them down. I literally can’t take any more setbacks. I need a drink.’
She poured him one in silence.
‘Everything ok, honey? Luxton told me today you’ve been acting repugnantly. I almost told her it can’t be as repugnant as her scissoring with Bailey.’
‘Scissoring?
‘When two lesbians slot their cunts together like a child forming a swastika with Barbie dolls.’
‘Yeuch. No, it was just chaos today in English.’ She took up her tea. ‘Coleman nearly tripped over the old board and shrieked like a banshee.’
‘That might have been me shrieking upon my cold-sweat interrogation.’
‘Dare I ask?’
‘It was sombre. I wriggled more than you tied to the table leg yesterday, but Ofsted belted me raw. I’m feeling that our Good grade as got as long left as your anus virginity.’
‘Hmh.’
She spied his wallet on the side, housing the purple edge of at least three twenty-pound notes.
‘Can I grab some more money Neill, in case I forget tomorrow morning?’
‘You’ve spent the last twenty I gave you today already?’
‘I had to get a present for Lana. Her birthday.’
‘What were you able to get hold of in Killingbeck? A tower of Happy Shopper pavlovas?’
‘No, but I need to go to the chemist. I had an itch that’s got worse and I can smell my cunt from here—’
‘Is that why you’re wearing a curtain?’
‘I must have thrush, I need one of those sticks you put up there - what are they called again? Makes white stuff drip out of you. Begins with a P…’
‘Save your money, I have one of those.’ He pulled her into his lap. ‘Come closer - smells good to me. Put it on there, that’s it,’ he chafed her silken crotch over his fly. ‘Rub it on my cock, back and forth, that’s it. Better?’
‘Feels quite nice…’
‘I’ve heard that if you rub tea on there it will help.’
‘Sounds cunning, if it lingers…’
‘Ye-ep, it will.’ He lifted her over to her office chair, laid her back on it, and threw up her nightie.
She smiling, watched as he whipped open his fly - then laughed with surprise as he flipped her onto her stomach.
Stuffing his half-limp cock into her, she reached back to pinch herself open for him, as he retargeted; the coil of his cock unwound, and began hardening upon rapid short shrifts to her gasps that confirmed his full entry.
‘Go on,’ he slowed, ‘sip some tea…’
She pulled her teacup and drank, just as he swung round the chair entirely and her face was now at his cock.
‘Oh—gghhh!’
‘Hold the tea in your mouth… There we go. Lots of tea onto my cock… now back we go—’
He swivelled her back and rutted once more, directed her to sip, then swung back round into her mouth, again and again, to her staccato series of ‘Ohs!’ like a bus stopping and starting.
‘Working?’
‘Mm… mm—’
Spinning for ten rounds, she exclaiming how dizzy she was getting and he, that she is his Russian roulette and doesn’t know himself which end will he shoot in - till he blasted her head forward into the chair leather, massaging her back tap drip of semen up the avenue to the forbidden fruit.
‘Ah, there’s your Canesten Combi. If you farted now, that’s what you call a wet whistle. Do you want to be my little whistleblower?’
‘Let’s not talk about whistleblowers,’ she staggered onto her feet. ‘I feel sick!…I can’t walk straight…’ She fell her face down over his wallet, stroking it slyly.
He picked it up and paddled her head with it. ‘Are you becoming the Artful Dodger for real!’
‘Didn’t I hit the jackpot on the teacup ride?’
‘Natalia, don’t be indelicate, you’re my lady—’ he smoothed her silk gown back down to her ankles. ‘You make it sound like I pay to get you on your back.’ He picked out and rifled through £130, muttering, ‘that should be enough to get Ryan’s next oil tomorrow. Thank god we can pay to get him off our back, eh?’
‘Yes, Neill.’
He picked up, sniffed her knickers and tossed them at her.
‘Put Canesten, Cadbury’s, cum mops and cunt cream and whatever else you need on the Ocado delivery for tomorrow.’
The knickers fell like a cuff on one wrist as she spun them round in thought. …Sell your gold for cash! Those cufflinks from his wife, the ‘ugliest cuffs he’d ever seen,’ in his drawer upstairs that he said ‘are worth something.’ Worth saving his bacon alright, rather than sprouts in the pen for Christmas. What’s another spanking if he finds out, but a celebration he’s still around to give her one?
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVUN8iFXo02
*Go now to www.headmastersflame.com to read the NEXT chapter of The Headmaster's Flame and be updated on new chapters FIRST, on my all-free, dedicated, slick website created especially for mobile phone screens, and you can subscribe your email for a free Kindle book.*
ns 15.158.61.19da2
