Rebecca

Thank you to everyong who reveiwed, it makes my day, some good feedback is wonderful especialy having never written anything before!
Sherazade- You appear to have the exact same taste in men and I do- Orlando was Rebecca's choice, but the rest of them- oh yes please. Clive Owen is another personal fave. Jason Isacs good freinds with my parents when they were younger, so my crush is a tad awakard. Patrick Marber is my dream man and absoloute fave playwrite. You know Dealer's Choice is on in London at the moment? I've also got a sighned copy of his play 'Don Juan in Soho.' Closer is my abosloute faveroute play ever written, ever! What a long reply!!

With no further ado- The spelling is shockinly bad as I didnt have time to spell check, at least I update relativly fast, right? Excuses Excuses Evie.


I looked into the mirror and a pair of green eyes blinked back at me. I leaned towards the cold surface and exhaled, fogging up the glass. I drew a small heart, then wiped it off feeling chidish and silly.
I survayed my reflection critically, the glanced at my watch. I was going to his office at seven thirty, or there abouts, giving me half an hour to make myself look totaly gorgous. Holden had only seen me either smokey and pub grimey, coverd in oragne juice, wet from my bath or tear stained.I was determinded that tonight he would see me looking amazing- the only problem was that we wern't going out to some cool underground jazz club, or romantic intimate restraunt. Infact we wernt going on a date, he was going to talk me trhough the finer points of 'The Night of the Long Knives, germany circu 1938..' Well, that was the idea- in practice I hoped that it would be a little differnt.
But still the problem remained, I couldn't arive in a short silkey cocktail dress, and so my outfit had to say 'I just threw this on and coincidently I look completely amazing.' I ran a brush through my long wavy dark hair, and absent mindedly aimed a hairdryer at it whilst thinking about clothes. I smiled in the mirror, my hair hung down to my waist in gentle waves. Its the one thing that I like about my apperance. Opening my wardrobe I begin to look at myself even more criticaly. Stnading there in a topshop bra and knickers I start to find fault. Built in a hour glass, I began to long for the willowy slim limbs and ironing board boy chestthat I saw in magazines. I sighned. Oh well, curvy's what I've got and curvys what I'm stuck with.
Usally in the evening we wander around in tracksuit bottoms and school hoodies, but I feel that this evening is time for a little more flesh, so I put on a pair of tracksuit bottoms (trackie bums) cut high up on the thigh. So what if it's october? They'll be heating in the office. I opt for a couple of brightly coloured vest tops, a pair of Ugg boots and a skinny cable knit jumper, then I line my eyes with black kohl and put on some pink chanel lipgloss. No need for blusher- I spend quite enough of my time flushed with embarrasement with him anyway! Then I grabbed my file and school bag, locked my room and headed down the stairs.
I stood outside Holden's office, shivering slightly. The glass panes in the windows rattled in the wind and I had started to regret my choice, these shorts might make my legs look even longer, but I was fucking freezing. I knocked impatiently on the door for the third time, shifting from one foot from the other and starting to get really annoyed. I was just rasing my fist to knock again when the door was opened. I stood frozen with my fist in the air.
'Miss Jones, on time. Well well, what a nice change.'
'Mr Holden, less than a miniut and already I'm experincing your razor sharp wit. My luck really is in tonight.' I laughed, and then walked into the office.
'Do come in.' He added sarcastically.
I looked around the office. It had changed since the last head of sixth, which isn't entirely suprsing as she was a sweet old woman who was fond of anything pink or frilly, rather remonisent of Professor Umbridge in Harry Potter. Now things were considerbly more masculine. The desk had been moved to have a view of the country side, simmilar to that of the dining room. Two large cracked leather sofas were against each wall and there was a large open fire.
'Care to sit down, Miss Jones? Unless you'd be more comfortuble standing...' There it is again, the great wit. He gestures to the leather sofas. I cross him and sit cross legged infrout of the fire, slip off my ugg boots and begin to warm my sock clad feet agasint the fire. Holden looks mildy shocked, as if he doesn't quite know what to do. Sitting down isn't entirely comfortuble, but Alice lent me some Aloe Vera cream which really helped. I look over to the kettle in the corner of the room, I smile widely and meet his eyes.
'Cup of tea?'
'Sir.'
'Acutally I'm ok with you calling me Rebecca. Or Miss if you want to be formal.' I add faesciously. He doesn't look pleased.
'Sorry sir. Shall I put the kettle on?'
'Miss Jones, extra curricular or otherwise, this is a lesson, now if you will kindl get off the floor and sit in a more approriate mannor we will begin. Where is your text book?' This threw me, I thought that history tutoring was a euphamisem for ravaginly wildly on his study floor.
'I don't have it, Sir.'
'Why ever not? Your at a private history tutorial.'
'I thought... I thought that after this afternoon...' I faltered.
'Never assume, Jones.' He handed me a practise exam paper. 1999 A level hisotry, a year above what I had learnt. What the hell am I meant to do with this?
'You have an hour Jones.' He turend around and went to sit at his desk, ignoring me.
An hour later I look over my paper. I've done a good job, at least in the circumstances. I had spent the whole hour drawing a picture, a rather good one acutally. It showed Mr Holden on a throne wearing rather Hitler-esque facial hair, ordering around my A-level history class, making them fetch ancient mythological objects such as unicorn horns. A level art obviously payed off. As I handed it to him (safly hidden in the exam paper) I started to feel a tremour of fear. Mabey that was a bad idea? Mabey he wouldn't see the funny side. What am I saying, of course he won't see the funny side!
'Sir.. I'm going to need to take that back.'
'Don't be ridiculous Jones.I'm going to go to supper, and then I will see you back here before lights out, when I will have marked this. Now go.'
Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I going to do?
I quickly form a somewhat ill thought through plan. I stood, conceled in the shadows of the corridors until he left his office to go to supper, then I sprinited down to reception and, pulling down my tops as I ran, flirted and badgered the handyman to give me the skeleton key, then, knowing that time was off the essence, ran up four flights of stairs (my school is very keen on stairs) to the office. Desperatly out of breath I put the key in the lock and slip into his office. It takes me a minuit to locate it on his desk and then pull it out of the exam paper. But hang on, if this is gone, what am I supposed to have done with the hour? Right, I'll take out one of the sample asnwers that they keep on record, copy it out and burn that picture. I scribble out most of the points that candidate 766860 makes in her history practise paper and the jam it back into the file and secreete it in the filing cabinate, I nonchalontly kick the drawer shut and then pick up my picture. I can't quite belive that I'm going to get away with this. I turn around to take one last look at the picture. Its a pitty that I can't keep it, but if he were to find out, the concequences wouldn't be worth it. I'm just about to chuck it into the fire when I hear breathing behind me. I spin around. Oh crap.
In frount of me, seeming taller and more intimidating than ever stands Mr Holden. I quickly crumple up the picture, but before I can throw it in the fire he catches my arm roughly and pulls it out of my hand.
Oh shit. This is really really bad.
When he invites me to sit down this time, I don't dare to try sitting on the floor. I delicatly perch on the cold, slippery leather of his sofa.
'I don't quite know what to say, Jones.'
'I have that affect, Sir.' Seriously, Rebecca, Engage brain, the use mouth. Please, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Engage brain, then use mouth.
'Sorry, sir.' He looks at me disparingly.
'In fifteen minuits you manage to break into my office, open a confidential fileing cabinate and file, not to metion failing to disguise doing so, and now you've got the nerve to be cheeky. You really are somthing else, Jones.' I nearly say thank you, but I'm learning my lesson. He sighs deeply.
'You'll have to be punished. And its such a shame,' He uncrumples the picture I drew. 'This is really rather good. I wouldn't have minded that you couldn't do the test, I just wanted to see how much you knew.'
The irony of this situation isn't lost on me, I just want to cry.
'Are you going to..' I falter.
'I don't think the cane is quite right on this occasion.' My face lights up. He sees this and smiles cruely.
'Oh you'll still be punished Jones. Bend over the desk, shorts and knickers down.' I walk, head hanging, to the desk, and still with a hint of a wiggle, slip my shorts and knickers down to my ankles. Then I bend over. My poor backside is only having a seriously bad week. I'm just contemplating wether to watch Ugly Betty or America's Next top Model when I hear a sound almost as sickening as the swish of the cane. The quite clink of metal, a belt being undone.
Fuck.
Surely hes not going to belt me? Thats so.. weridly almost paternal. My Dad hadn't ever hit me, but he used to take his belt to my brothers when they came home from boarding school to bad reports. There both at Oxford now, So I guess it worked. I'm thinking about Oxford when that all too familar sound rush of an impliment flying through air meets my ears, and a second later the feeling hits my arse. The leather is differnt, it kind of burns, more deeply. Another swift crack of hard leather, lower down. Another, once more, evenly strapping the whole of my still marked backside. He is methodical, if somewhat sadistic about the whole thing. It seems he takes pleasure in perfect pain. I manage to stay quite for a few but after a couple of miniuits I'm crying out, with hot tears rolling down my cheeks. One particuarly hard one catches me off guard and I put out my hands to defend my poor flaming backside.
'Hands out, Jones.' I sobbed,
'What??'
'If your hands are where they shouldn't be, they will also be strapped.' I shakily held out my hands and he brought the belt whistling down across my palms. Then, sobbing harder, I am guided back across the desk. Three more brutal strokes rein down on my backside, and then he relents. My skin throbs, and I can't quite bring myself to move, when a hand gently runs over my arse, stroking the red skin. Then up my thigh, and, Oh God, between my legs. I gasp as he traces a finger over my clit.
'It seems that you are in contradiction, Rebecca.'
I inhale sharply as he rubs my clit a little harder and slides a finger into my tight pussy.
'How so, sir?' I gasp.
'Your wet face suggests that you didn't enjoy the experince, and yet, your wet elsewhere, which suggests that you did enjoy the experince.' I don't know quite what to say, I'm shocked myself, how could I enjoy such a thing? I turn around to face him, and lean up to kiss his lips. He contines to touch me and I whisper in his ear,
'Please Sir, Fuck me.' He smiles.
'Well as you ask so nicely. I presuem you have.. Before.'
'No sir. Acutally I'm a..'
'A virgin?' He sounds almsot acusatory. As if a virgin in a catholic school was such a shocking thing.
'Yes! There isn't anything wrong with that, now is there?' He continues to kiss my neck. 'Calm down Rebecca, you needent be so defensive of your maidenhead.' He started to nibble my ear lobe which made me nearly pass out with delight, instead I leant against the desk.
'So sir?' As I spoke, the bell rang out, declaring prayer.
'So Miss Jones, If we are not in prayer we shall be missed. Besides, a wanton girl like you needs all of the prayers that she can get. For now I shall simply say that you will clearly require more history tutoring.' I wince as I slide my shorts back on, and my Ugg boots.
'Clearly, Sir.' I laugh, despite myself, and then, daringly as people are starting to walk the corridor on the way to Chapel, I lean up on tiptoes and kiss his lips.
'See you tomorrow.. Jacky.' Then I run before he can spank me, or take house points for calling him by his first name.