Old School

Suzanne pulled the suitcase from under the bed. She had been meaning to go through it for some time. It wasn't locked but the catches were a little stuck before they snapped open.

She smiled as she lifted out her old school blazer. Here were all her school things, including the uniform; books, framed photographs, reports and certificates; a sporting trophy or two. The case had come with her when she got married, and somehow never got emptied.

Mike seemed to have kept a good deal of stuff for which they would never find a use; all sorts of books and toys that he thought their own children might like, but they had two girls under ten, and neither seemed interested in model railways or military history. Perhaps there was something worth keeping in here.

She found a grey pleated skirt under the blazer, and held it up. How could she ever have worn such a thing? There was a tie, a hat and a scarf, with one or two bits and pieces. She looked at the skirt again. "I bet I could still fit into that," she thought.

Moments later she had whipped off her top and pyjama bottoms, and stood in front of the bedroom mirror, wearing only the skirt. With her tongue to her lip she sucked her tummy in as she strained the zip at one side and fastened the top button. There.

She turned in front of the mirror and admired the effect. The pleats swished as she leaned a shoulder to look at her long legs and pretty pert backside. When she last wore the skirt she hated its length and tried, as often as she could, to keep it hitched up, but now she was taller it looked scandalously short. Much shorter than anything she wore these days, even though she had great legs.

"That is so 1980s," a voice came from the door.

Suzanne squealed, and grabbed her top to cover her naked breasts.

"Too late, I saw them," her husband grinned mischievously.

"Mike, you startled me."

"You want me to knock in our own bedroom?"

"My mind was elsewhere, it's funny," she shook her head. "For a moment I felt like you were my little brother or something."

"Thanks a lot. I think I'm right about the skirt, though."

"I was just going through this case." Suzanne pulled on her top, but left the skirt.

"Hey, is this your school things?" Mike turned the case.

"Leave it alone, there's nothing to see."

"Can I read your diary?"

"I don't think I kept one."

"Love letters from boyfriends?"

"Nope."

He rooted hopefully. "Gym knickers?"

She slapped his back. "Nothing whatever to interest you."

Mike pulled out a framed photograph. "And who is this studious girl?

She snatched it from him. "I hate that picture."

"You look kind of big."

"Yes, well, I was carrying some puppy fat."

"What kind of puppy, a Great Dane?"

"Shut up." She smacked his arm.

"Old English sheepdog."

"Get out."

"Airedale?"

She pushed him towards the door. "Out!"

Mike worked at the computer in his study. Everybody knew not to disturb him in there. A knock came at the door.

"Come in," he called over his shoulder.

After a few seconds the knock came again.

"It's open?"

He stopped typing. The girls were with their grandmother, so it must be Suzanne. Perhaps she had her hands full? But then, he realised as he went to answer, she wouldn't be able to knock. He swung open the door.

Suzanne stood in the hall, fully dressed in the school uniform. She wore the grey skirt and blazer with crest; a white blouse with a tie; and white knee socks with black shoes. Her hair was tied in bunches on each side, and a straw boater completed the look. Mike laughed. That's why he loved her; she was always doing crazy stuff like this.

"OK, I was wrong. That fits you perfectly."

She kept a straight face but didn't answer.

"My Suzanne. You're adorable."

"Please, sir," she spoke in a shy thin voice. "My name is Suzy."

Suzy? She hated to be called that; she said it made her feel about fifteen. Only her mother still used it.

"Miss Bolton sent me here, and told me to give you this."

She handed him a folded piece of paper. Mike looked bemused. It appeared to be a page torn from an exercise book. Suzanne had written something in neat tidy script. She waited expectantly. Mike read the note.

"Headmaster," it began, "I am sending Suzy Atkinson to your office-" that was her maiden name, nice touch, "-because she refuses to behave. She constantly disrupts the class and requires disipline. - Miss Bolton (History Senior)"

Mike nodded sagely. "You misspelled discipline."

"Oh, please, sir," Suzanne lisped slightly. "Miss Bolton wrote the note."

"Then I shall see her about it. Well, er, Suzy, you'd better come in."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The would-be schoolgirl brushed shyly past. Mike looked out into the hall as if he expected it to be a school corridor lined with classrooms. What the heck, he didn't have much to do this afternoon. He shut the door firmly.

Suzy stood with her hands clasped demurely in front, twisting one foot as she looked about the office with clear apprehension.

"Now then," Mike took his seat at the desk. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"It's not fair, sir. All the boys keep looking at me."

"And why would they do that?"

She hung her head shyly. "I don't know."

"There must be a reason."

Suzy sighed, and rolled her eyes. "They want to see my chests."

"Your chests? Oh," Mike cleared his throat. "I see."

Suzy thrust her breasts proudly. They pushed open the front of her blazer and strained against the blouse. Mike couldn't tell if she was wearing a bra.

"They say mine are the biggest in the class. Caroline Evans says hers are, but I've seen her in the changing rooms and she stuffs her brassiere with tissue. Mine are real," she said fiercely. "See?"

She pushed her breasts closer. Mike felt himself flush. Somehow he wanted to look away.

"Yes, that's very nice, Suzy. Um, you're standing a little close."

"Go on," Suzanne said in her little girly voice. "Touch them. Then you'll see that Caroline Evans is a liar."

"No, no, I believe you. You can, er, put them away."

Suzanne stood and looked at him, and then leaned over. "Mike," she said in her own voice. "I'm 34-years-old for chrissakes, we've been married for ten years. Now fondle my friggin' tits."

Mike was a bit disconcerted. The uniform seemed to cast a spell, its purpose as much as to say "Keep Off", the uniform defining the wearer like a policeman or soldier, and he certainly had no interest in schoolgirls. Yet he felt a guilty rush as he cupped his hands under his wife's breasts, as if he were touching the forbidden.

He jiggled them comfortably and felt their weight. She was wearing a bra after all, in plain cotton like one worn for training or sports. He tentatively thumbed the nipples, and felt them stiffen.

"Ooh, no, Mr. Lane." Suzy backed away. "My mummy says I must never let a man do that to my chests."

Mike was confused. What did she want? He had felt, sucked, played with her tits thousands of times. She had teased him, smothered him in their fullness, masturbated him by pressing them together and sucking him off, he had tit-fucked her many times, sprayed spunk all over, she loved it, and now she wouldn't let him feel her nipples outside her clothes?

He began to get it. The uniform made Suzanne into this whole other person. This wasn't his wife, mother of his children, the sometimes wildly lascivious sex kitten that could keep him up all night with mind-blowing sexual creativity. This girl -- Suzy -- was most probably a virgin.

"Quite right, too," he blurted. "So what is the problem in class? Have the boys tried to touch you?"

"No, sir."

"Miss Bolton tells me you disrupted her lessons."

"The boys try to look up our skirts."

"Do you let them?"

Suzy nodded shyly. "Sometimes."

Mike felt himself becoming aroused. "What do they see?"

"I don't know," Suzy giggled. "I always wear knickers."

"Perhaps that is what they want to see."

Suzy moved her toe, swinging her leg a little. She stood in front of him and began to waft the hem of her skirt playfully. Mike caught a flash of white panties.

"But, sir, why would the boys want to see our knickers?"

Mike's voice was husky. "Because they aren't supposed to."

"Even so, it can't hurt to look, can it? You wouldn't mind."

Suzy took the hem of her skirt and lifted the front, showing him her tight knickers in all their glory. Her dark bush showed slightly through the white cotton.

"After all," Suzy continued, "it's just like being at the beach, and nobody minds there."

"No, but that is when you are wearing a swimming costume. Your knickers are private. I mean, you shouldn't show them. Be showing them."

Mike had almost lost his train of thought. He stared at his wife's legs, in the long white knee socks, her smooth creamy thighs, the tight white knickers under the grey pleated skirt, and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"You like to look, don't you, sir? All the boys do, so it can't be wrong, can it?"

"No, Suzy, you mustn't. Showing yourself there is something very private that only mummies and daddies do."

Suzy reluctantly dropped her skirt down. She was an amazing actress.

"Miss Bolton said it was wrong. She said I had to be punished."

"Yes, Suzy, I'm afraid that you do."

Mike stood up. His erection caught him by surprise, and he quickly adjusted his trousers, but Suzanne had clearly seen.

"I know what to do," she sighed.

Mike gasped as she bent forward, hands on her knees, bottom pushed out. The pleated skirt rose up, showing a tantalizing glimpse of the white knickers. God, Mike didn't know when he was last this excited.

"That's right," he said sternly. "You keep your head down, and think about what you've done."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"I think you are going to be."

Suzanne glanced up at that. What was he up to? Mike put his hand to her head and pushed it back down. She felt a thrill through her body.

She stood bent for what seemed a long while. Mike was behind her. Was he looking at her arse? She wiggled suggestively.

"Be still," he ordered.

There was the sound of a drawer opening and then a brisk: Swish! What was that? Suzanne's long hair had fallen over her face as she kept her head down, and now she felt her skirt being rucked up. She moved her feet apart slightly, knowing that Mike would enjoy the view.

Swish-CRACK!

Jesus Christ, that hurt! Her buttocks stung unbelievably. What the hell was he playing at? Suzanne shot upright and grabbed at her backside, hopping foot to foot and rubbing herself furiously through the knickers. Mike held what looked like a riding crop.

"Bloody hell," she said. "That hurt."

"I'm sorry, Suzy, this is more painful for me than it is for you."

She doubted that, but in fact the sharp sting on her buttocks had now eased to a warm tingle that sat deep inside. She rubbed her bottom some more, and pouted. "Well, just watch it."

"Bend down again, please. This isn't over."

Without thinking, Suzanne bent down again. She felt as if she was in a dream. What seemed to be a game was now something real. Was Mike still only acting? She thought he was going to give her a light spanking, just for effect, but this was-

Swish!

Ow! Ow, ow, ow.

The second was just as painful, but this time he stopped her from rising with a firm hand. Her arse was on fire. Even through the knickers the whip felt like it cut. Bent forwards her muscles were stretched taut, and this time the sting seemed to travel further and last longer.

Swish!

She gasped at the blow. Each stroke seemed to overlay the last, so that as the pain faded to a tingle it rose sharply again. Yet now that she was ready, the pain was not as strong, or as unwelcome.

"Did you want to say something?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped. "Sorry, sir."

"I don't think you are."

Swish-CRACK!

"Oooh-ooooh," she groaned. "I am, sir. I am sorry."

"I think you need a sharper lesson."

Sharper than this? What did he have in mind? Suzanne wondered if she should stop this now, but in fact she was quite enjoying it. She gasped again as Mike grabbed the top of her knickers and rolled them down. She felt herself laid bare, with naughty bits exposed. Helpless, vulnerable.

Suzanne bit her lip. Was he going to whip her bare arse? That could be dangerous, leaving a mark. She trembled a little, waiting for the blow.

Her cheeks felt raw. This was more than she bargained for, she never thought of the pain, just...what? What did she expect? If she wanted him to use his bare hand was the crop any worse? Where had he got that from, anyway? He didn't ride, and she was pretty certain he had no previous experience with this sort of thing. Neither had she, come to that.

What was taking so long? She was tired after bending all this time. Her buttocks now throbbed with a dull ache, yet the tingling sent delicious waves of heat deep inside her stomach. Come on, then. What was he waiting for?

Suzanne realised with a shock that she was actually looking forward to it. She craved that intense stinging pain. How odd.

"Suzy, you may pull up your knickers."

He had been playing with her. That sweet anticipation. She straightened, with a little difficulty. The knickers were bunched at her knee, and as she slid them up, she felt their comforting coolness soothe her throbbing backside. She gingerly rubbed her cheeks.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you learned your lesson?"

Suzy nodded.

"And you won't be naughty again?"

She shook her head side to side.

"Good. Now, you've been a brave girl. Would you like a lollipop?"

Suzy smiled a little and nodded shyly. Mike unzipped his fly and sat on the edge of the desk.

"That's good. Reach in here and see what you can find. I keep a nice big lollipop in there just for you."

THE END