Chapter 2

Mr Peddigrew coughed loudly, annoyed that he was being made to wait. He insisted on wearing his black silk gown as though he was a Victorian Headmaster, its very existence screaming a kind of old fashioned authority, as bizarre as it seemed to the children of St Augustine’s school.

He stood impatiently inside the opened door of Miss Driscoll’s classroom. The light streamed from the long wood-framed windows over the neatly arranged desks and chairs. It was the last week of the school term before the Christmas break, and the room was now perfectly decorated in tinsel, a short plastic tree stood proudly in the corner by the teacher’s desk, silver baubles shone brightly, reflecting the bright winter sun.

A young boy whose name Mr Peddigrew couldn’t remember looked mortified, springing up from his seated position on the long cabinet that ran the length of the room. He ruffled his jet black hair quickly, pulling the long strands of his quiff down over his forehead in the vain hope it might make him disappear. But it was no use. He hadn’t seen the Headmaster enter the room. Nothing could have distracted him from the shuddering ecstasy of his climax. He hastily began to button up his white cotton shirt, rearranging his loose school tie as best he could.

“Oh. Good morning Mr Peddigrew. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there”.

Miss Driscoll looked less embarrassed and made no effort to rush to her feet. The boy’s cock was still on full display, a light brush of smudged lipstick ran neatly along its shaft that glistened with a mixture of Miss Driscoll’s saliva and what had clearly been a significant amount of semen. She held it tightly in her right hand, taking one last moment to delicately lick every inch of it clean.

“So I see. Although I can’t imagine it would have stopped you if you had.”

She smiled bashfully, elegantly rising to her feet with all the easy fluidity of a ballet dancer. Mr Peddigrew couldn’t help admire her brazenness, but he admired her beauty even more. At the age of 28, Miss Driscoll had lost the innocent girlishness of the schoolgirls, she was a real woman of effortless sophistication. Her slender frame avoided the charge of being too thin, but her feminine curves were subtle and alluring.

The longest reaches of her rich brown hair disappeared from site as she pulled her faded green blouse over her shoulders, the Japanese floral pattern on her bra now again hidden from view.

The boy had quickly rearranged his dark polyester school trousers, pulling his now limp cock back into his boxer shorts, and lifting the clasp of his zip to the very top.

She checked his tie, tightening the knot slightly so it covered his top button. She kissed him briefly, breathing in as she smiled, her covered breasts pressing against his chest.

“Shall I still stay at your house tonight?” she whispered softly, as if the Headmaster would not be able to hear from a distance of just a few feet. “Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”

He nodded his head gingerly, his right hand holding his rucksack over his shoulder, his left hand placed firmly on her hip.

“Great. Well it’s time you introduced me to your little brother as well. You’ve been teasing me with the idea for too long.”

They kissed again momentarily before the boy left the room, doing all he could to avoid the stare of Mr Peddigrew.

“Have fun?” he smirked with a knowing look.

“Lots!” she replied, beaming with a satisfied blush that coloured her round cheeks. She returned to her desk and flicked through a large file of notes in preparation for her next class.

“Well I’m sorry to have interrupted, but we need to talk about Molly.”

Her smile dropped, rolling her eyes as if this was the tenth conversation on the exact same topic. She knew that the girl’s pregnancy had upset Mr Peddigrew, and that his ambition to be recognised by the Establishment for his achievements in eradicating the school’s long term teenage pregnancy problem that had once been the source of national scandal, was now under threat.

But she also knew that she had provided the means for the radical turnaround in the school’s reputation. Yes, he was the Headmaster, but the fact that the boys of St Augustine’s had no sexual desires towards their female classmates was entirely thanks to her.

“OK”, she said, rubbing her temples as she sat down behind her desk, her chair swivelling to face him. “What do you want me to do?”

He stood straight, authoritatively and doing his best to not be distracted by her beauty.

“Her parents have replied to my letter. They have said that Molly is going to keep the child and that they have no intention of keeping it secret.”

Miss Driscoll was at a loss to understand why this affected her. Reducing the level of teenage pregnancy was not the reason she took this job. At her job interview two years earlier, she had agreed to helping Mr Peddigrew with his aims as little more than a cover for her fulfilling her own sexual needs. The assurance of a steady and permanent supply of young boys was her sole motivation.

“I need you to change their minds. And find anyone else who knows, and encourage them to stay quiet.”

She pondered the request, seeing the increasing look of desperation in his eyes.

“What’s in it for me?”

Mr Peddigrew looked relieved, he had feared she would simply say no. He thought through his options for a moment.

“How does Deputy Headmistress sound? I could double your salary, you’d be the youngest Deputy Head in the school’s history.”

She seemed impressed as he continued.

“You’d have a bigger office. Perhaps next to the boy’s locker room. I could even have a small bed installed for you. It would be a little more comfortable as you, well, entertain them.”

Miss Driscoll took a few moments to consider the offer, trying to stop herself from biting her manicured nails.

She stood. Her faint green blouse fell over her striped black and white pencil skirt.

“And how do you want me to convince them?”

They both laughed, knowing the answer.

“OK, I’ll do it.”

“Well then, that’s a deal.” He moved towards her, stroking the strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulders, and curling it behind her ears. “Perhaps you could join me in my office during lunch break to celebrate your promotion?”

She smiled, looking into his ageing eyes and breathing in slowly, her breasts rising through the open top buttons of her blouse. She placed her hands on his long black gown and pressing against it to feel his chest.

“Well, Mr Peddigrew, I know how you like to celebrate. I’m looking forward to it already.”

The lunchtime bell had rung and the chattering of hundreds of pupils could be heard as they streamed past the outer walls of the Headmaster’s office on their way to the school cafeteria.

Mr Peddigrew had removed his black gown and hung it perfectly on the hook behind his door. He had informed his secretary that he was not to be disturbed, ignoring her snigger at the news that he had a very important meeting with the English teacher.

He dimmed the lights, the rich oak-lined walls almost disappearing from view save for the small beam of light streaming from the window. He lit two candles on his antique desk, filing away his laptop and photographs of his wife and children. He pulled from the drawer two short lengths of rope, both of which were frayed slightly as if they had suffered years of abuse. He tied the end of each one around solid brass hooks on each corner of the far side of the table, pulling them tightly to check the quality of his knots.

A gentle thud struck the office door, knocking three times in quick succession. He made his way over excitedly, pulling the door open.

He gasped. Miss Driscoll’s hair was plaited tightly in two pigtails that caressed her shoulders. Her pale green blouse and elegant pencil skirt had been replaced with a tight fitting white shirt, gold and navy blue striped tie and a cheap looking grey polyester skirt that had been folded at the waist to at least halve its length - he recognised her clothing instantly as the St Augustine’s school uniform.

“Oh Sophie...” he whimpered, suddenly aware that several young girls were huddled at the side of the door, giggling to themselves as they watched their beautiful teacher disappear into the Headmaster’s office. “You do look wonderful.”

She brushed past him, making eye contact as she stroked his jacket on her way past, turning to face him once she had reached the austere desk, sitting on it with her long legs crossed at the thigh.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” She said softly, maintaining the role play.

He joined her, his hand stroking her naked legs. His heart raced. It had been some time since he had stopped pretending he wasn’t in love with Miss Driscoll. In many ways, she was a threat to his authority and always had been. Each of the 1000 pupils at school adored her, each of the 80 strong teaching staff felt the same. She knew of her power over them, but her humility forbade her to ever show it.

Mr Peddigrew had enjoyed Miss Driscoll as often as any boy had, but their weekly private meetings, he believed, gave him the chance to assert his dominance over her.

“You know what to do.” he said, nodding at the ropes that dangled from the two corners at one end of his desk.

She of course knew exactly what to do, swinging her legs over the desk and lying flat down, even her slender body was too big for it, her hands only just reaching the rope but her legs dropping off the side from her knees. She offered up each hand, which he grabbed, carefully tying her wrists to each length of rope.

He took a moment to gaze at her, their eyes meeting, her long lashes tantalisingly opening and closing with an air of innocence. He reached for his glass which was half filled with single malt whisky and water. He sipped it quietly before placing it back down on the desk.

“You look wonderful.” he repeated, his head almost spinning as what felt like every drop of blood in his body rushed to his cock. He was well into his 60s, but never once in all his encounters with Miss Driscoll had his ageing body let him down.

He looked over her, observing her high cheek bones and delicate English beauty.

But he could not wait. He ripped her cotton shirt open, exposing her lightly tanned flat stomach and embroidered lace bra. She gasped as he leaned down to taste her skin, which was fresh and tasteless. He breathed in her natural scent which was complemented by her subtle, floral perfume. His hands straddled each thigh, pushing her skirt upwards to reveal small lace underwear which matched her bra.

He reached for the candle that was now burning brightly, pouring a thin stream of hot wax over her breasts, which immediately began to solidify into white drops. She shuddered, the pain was gentle and enticing, her hands instinctively attempted to reach her chest but the the rope chafed against her wrists, restricting her movement almost entirely.

“Does that hurt, Sophie?” he asked, staring into her oval green eyes.