Category Archive: school for grown up girls

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Advent Day 5: Fantasy Monday- Dressing Up

*This is very rude.  Sorry about that. It just popped out of my head. If you don’t know what to say  and you are a girl you could nip here and tell me what you think of this fantastic rewrite of Practical Magic where Hugh Jackman now plays the role of Gary. *

Fantasy:  imagination, especially when extravagant and unrestrained.

It was the sudden sensation of skin. The moment where the lace ended and the pale skin shared its warmth with her finger tip, that was altered everything.

Her mouth opened as she pushed her lover’s lips apart, forcing them to yield, tongue inside the girl’s mouth.  She pushed her back against the wall, her hands leaving her thighs and running up her back into the long brown hair of her lover.

They kissed furiously, each with a thigh between the other’s legs, skirts riding up creating an obscene display of lust. She found herself pushed and turned so that now her back was against the wall; her legs forced apart, her back arching as her bra was pushed down by the neat hand of the woman she wanted.

It was wanting. It was not supposed to be. Wait. They should have waited but it was too much.

They had dressed for him as a joke, a surprise, the clichéd grown up school girls in tartan skirts and stockings sat waiting on his bed. They had not thought it through, they had not spoken to each other about how they felt but when they were there, in his room they forgot all that they should not do.

When he came in this is what he saw.

Two women, one with long brown straight hair that reached almost to her waist, one blonde with curls that fell below her shoulders kissing as though they were all that was in the world. Both had short tartan school girl skirts on, blouses in disarray and stockings that he could see clearly as they stood thigh in between thigh, the blonde had her handunder the other girl’s skirt, reaching for her knickers, the other her hand in the bra of her friend.

He did not speak, no words occurred to him, he saw two adult school girls and his chance. He took both.

He threw his clothes brush on his bed as he passed it on the dresser and was with them in a moment.

It took two steps to reach them and a moment of standing so close that they held out one shaking hand to rest against him but refused to stop, they kissed as though it was all they had dreamed of their whole lives, little whimpers escaped, murmurs of desire that had no words.

So open were they to the wanting it took little to move them to his bed and remove their knickers while they stood, damp little wisps’ of fabric, easily dismissed.

He sat and took them side by side over his left leg, clamping then securely in place with his right. He watched them kiss still, faces to the side, pale skin on his white sheets, hands holding each other in front and the brunette splayed her other hand behind her, the blonde clutching her skirt.

He watched them as he lifted their little skirts. His sigh shook as he tucked them into their waist bands, two bottoms before him, pert and tempting above dark stocking tops, moving a little as they writhed on his thigh.

All he could think was one word, naughty.

At first he spanked lightly, an alternating steady pace that made each girl smile and push harder against his thigh with the foreknowledge of each impact; four cheeks turning a delicate pink, thigh pushing out a little.

As the spanks grew harder each girl gathered small lines on her forehead, consternation but their lips still touched as the sudden exhalation they made sounded like the gasps of hunger they made for each other.

When he stopped he explored each bottom with his hands, they moved for him, opening, backs arching, offering. He pushed the heel of his hand up and over each bottom, central, feeling the invitation and the warmth.

This time he reached back and found the smooth varnished wood of the clothes brush and as he brought it up he tightened his leg down t capture his targets more securely.

The struggle he envisioned soon happened. With the opening strike the girls stopped kissing as the first victim cried out in less than a second her friend understood. They turned their faces down towards the bed as they held hands and started to feel the pain. Each hot impact made the recipient struggle. The room was full of sound, his brush made a quiet crack as it slapped each bottom, making it shake and as it did each girl squealed and tried to move away.

He watched the dusky rose turn crimson. He felt the struggles rise and recede as each girl started to accept him, not each other as their path to liberation. He did not spank equally now, no pattern or rhythm. He gave each girl what she could take and what she needed. He watched their faces and felt the tension in their bodies, reading them, orchestrating them.

Their hair mingled as they lay finally, forehead to forehead, with their bottoms swollen and burning and their skirts breaking free – he dropped he brush to the floor and stroked their thighs, a moment of peace.

“Kneel in front of me, on the bed.” The first words he had spoken were obeyed as the girls presented themselves. He unzipped his jeans and knelt behind them. They kneeled with their heads down and their bottoms up, the skirts matched the red of their bottoms, the stockings seeming to outline his area of interest, a confirmation, an agreement. He noticed how they had placed their legs, each, without a word or a glance had their knees apart, a welcome for him.

He knelt behind the brunette and placed his hardness in her. He went slowly in, giving her time to adjust to the unusual entrance and listening to her exhale as she accepted him inside her.

A measured pace as he pulled in and out, the tight warmth of her and the warmth of her cheeks as he pushed in making him concentrate on being slow, deep, steady. He reached around and found her, touching her until he felt her jolt in a burst of pleasure that pushed her hard back against him.

Gently he pulled out and kneeled behind the blonde. He could see her arching her back, a sign of a brief loss of submission so he held her cheeks apart making her duck her head down with shame so her bottom was offered to him and entered her with a gentle push.

He held her hips and pulled her against him, knowing how her bum hurt and how this reminded her. Her skirt brushed against his stomach as he pushed in hard, he paused as he watched the brunette find her way down to lie under them both between their legs. He could feel the moment her lips found her friend. The pleasure was so intense, so shocking that she tried to jerk away but to do so forced him deeper inside her. He held her firm rocking in and out, a smooth siding motion. Beneath her her lover ran her tongue around her folds and when she could stand it no longer kissed her swollen button with an intensity that made her scream and writhe, pushing angst him that held her so firm and hard that he exploded inside her.

PS maybe look here to see what made me think of this.

PPS Look what Ephemera wrote about me and the blog and Anastasia too 

 

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She Should Get Spanked

I would understand why she would get spanked. That would make perfect sense to me.

I just don’t understand how I can be totally innocent and dressed like the demure girl I am and I still get spanked.

It makes not one jot of sense.



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Fantasy Monday

They had been lovers for some time. She still found his imposing stature and demeanour to be so desperately attractive that it could make her forget herself. Watching him when they were out together she found herself distracted from her conversation and let the coquettish flirtation with her new acquaintance, that had so amused her for a few brief moments, flicker out and die.

The man she flirted with was intrigued at first, and then realizing that he had all but disappeared from her awareness, smiled at a friend across the room and excused himself, leaving her to her own thoughts. Her lover saw this, caught her eye, and tutted at her. Blushing, she lowered her eyes and quietly gasped a breath, and experienced a feeling somewhat short of shame.

Two hours earlier she had sat at her dressing table with her lover standing behind her, his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulders, his eyes on her face in the mirror. He was ready for the party and looked dashing in evening dress, and normally the difference in their clothing, her in stockings and a slip, hair all done up, would have made her rest her small hands on his and lean back for a kiss. But there was no time, and there was tension in the air.

She flicked her eyes at him with annoyance.  When he told her to remove her slip and role her stockings down to her knees she whimpered pettishly.

“But you will muss me all up,” she said. “I just need five more minutes and I’ll be ready, and if we do that I’ll have to start all over again.”

She slammed a perfume bottle on the table.

‘Men can be so thoughtless, so utterly useless. They have no comprehension of the pressure we are under. I have to look good. I have to be seen as good enough for him.’

The fear she felt about the evening, about bitchy comments from ladies who saw their age difference  and the difference in their status, her with no money and no family and him with her and not their own daughters.   Those ladies assumed her to be a nothing, worse than a nothing, she was an interloper, a thief, a cuckoo in the nest.  Those ladies and their vicious   whispers preyed upon her, a Greek chorus around her while she dressed.

She sat still. He stood still. There was a brief détente before he came to take her into the mood that he chose for her.

That is how she found herself, naked but for her stockings and a bow in her hair, in the half-light of the schoolroom. Their relationship had its quirks; that they had a schoolroom was simply a manifestation of their particular type of love.

He stood in the half-light of the single shaded desk lamp, cane in hand, and watched her. She shivered a little in the cold, but he knew it was the embarrassment more than the chill in the air. He watched as the haughty defiance left her,watched it become the honest fear of another’s judgment, and finally reach a more permanent truth.

All she felt now was the shame of being seen this way by him, the only true source of authority in her life. When he saw the change, he called her forward and positioned her, bent over his wooden desk, breasts on the smooth wood, light against the dark.

Soft instructions about how apart to place her legs and how to arch her back whispered like moths in the dark, and gathered along her flushed cheeks and made them glow even brighter.

A light hand on her back, he swept into her rounded bottom with a cane. The pain was only mercy, as it drove all except thoughts of him from her mind. She called out with each stoke, and each time he let her, never forbidding her the release. Line did not cross line, but rather sat close to one another, expertly placed by the man who knew just how to impress her.

And it was this moment they both remembered, when he tutted at her hours later. She dipped her head and bit her lip. The ladies passing shook their heads in unseen disapproval at the beautiful young woman, dressed in her finery  who did not notice them and only had eyes for her lover.


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Strict Teachers Required


I have homework. Piles and piles of it.

So if I am quiet then it is because I am trying to be good and get it done.

It would be far easier if there were a weekend school for grown up girls like me who have homework.

I really mean this. Please could someone open one and I will sign up. I will wear a uniform and everything.


It will need super strict teachers though. I sometimes need a bit of persuasion to get on with my work*.

*See the fact that I am writing this now rather than doing my work but lap top is going off now.

So, really… does any other girl need this level of support?

Are there men out there who would see themselves as willing to lend a hand?

I am not going to do it. I just want to know if there are any other people that are nodding and saying, “That would help.”

Your answers would make a busy girl smile.

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A Horrid Moment

This picture makes me shy.

This is just how it feels- that moment when he decides to pull down your knickers and you can’t do anything or say anything because he ignores you if you whine and if you squirm and stamp your foot a bit all it gets you is being told off even more.

Can you imagine what he is saying as he does this?

I am pouting as I write this and I have butterflies in my tummy.

I shall be good for a little bit I think.

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