I had sat in the reception area not five minutes when I began to hear the moaning.
The room itself was not ten yards long, with a lush burgundy carpet and mahogany panelling. On the far wall sat a grate, cut square into the mahogany, painted to match the dark wood colour. It was there the moan drifted from. I stood up, looking about back into the porchway, where two giant tropical plants stood sprawling out over the white tiled floor in ancient, chipped porcelain flower pots. It definitely wasn't coming from outside. Moving slowly towards the grate the moan got louder. I looked to its left at the covered passageway, its curtain thick velvet. I briefly considered pulling the bell by the curtain that I had signalled my arrival with, but they had told me when I'd phoned that one ring would be enough.
Tentatively placing two hands either side of the grate I pressed my ear against the cold metal. The moan echoed around the duct and into my ear. It was urgent, broken up by panting, a cry of sheer delight. I shut my eyes as the sound took on a deeper tone, straining in places but settling into a rhythm. I swallowed as the illicit thrill of being the voyeur crept over me.
She would cum soon.
My mouth broke into a smile as my mind played over the scene. Where was she? In a hotel room, next door, spread-eagled on a bed with a man, her lover, fucking her roughly- or no - man who wasn't supposed to be her lover... lying back, legs wide, the pillows cushioning her bouncing head, raven black hair spilling over it, her arms thrown backwards to the corners of the spread - or better tied, restrained to the bed posts as her assailant stands over her on all fours like a wolf, ferociously pounding his thickset prick into her eager, open-
"Mr O'Neill!"
The voice startles me. Shaking me away, the moan has vanishes.
"Sorry, Sir, I did ask three times."
"I, um... sorry."
"No need to apologise, Sir. I'm Polly." She smiles.
Polly stands in front of the velvet curtain, dressed in a black skirt ending a little below the knee and a pink blouse that's cut off at the shoulders and done up to barely cover her breasts. The thick rimmed black glasses hide her lovely cheeks a little, though her face was framed by her long brown hair. The pen being tapped against her cheek complimented the clerical look. But it's her lips... her mouth is wide, but her lips are thick and full, no hint of cosmetic treatment, a smooth pink gloss applied to them... All of a sudden I see Polly under my desk in my office, putting those beautiful lips to work.
The receptionist continued her introduction. "I am glad Sir dressed as asked. A suit is always required by a gentleman for... entry."
"And leaving?" I smiled.
Polly merely smiled back, there was a faint crackle as she shifted the weight on one leg and her nylons, dark brown and sheer rubbed together. Her toes were visible through the material, framed by cute black mules with a kitten heel. The overall effect was one of complete arousal, at least on my part.
"What you did, Mr O'Neill was above and beyond, Natalie was delighted to get her handbag back, one wonders if there are any white knights left on the streets of London. We were all delighted that you acted so heroically."
"It was really nothing..." even now I'm still a little embarrassed at my own actions. Pulling down muggers in the high street was not my forte, even for a man in his mid-twenties... however that was how I'd met Natalie. The lovely red head Natalie. The lovely red head Natalie who had given me a card with a phone number whereupon I'd been given directions to this place. A front door made of solid mahogany to the side of row of bright, white Georgian houses in Paddington. I looked down and realised that my shirt was the same colour as the carpet. "So what happens now?"
Polly smiled with those gorgeous lips of hers again. "Mr O'Neill... your reward will take you on a journey that I think you'll enjoy. That is, as long as you keep an open mind."
"OK, I'll give it a go... It's Paul, by the way."
"Paul." Polly nodded.
"So it's like a spa, massage and sauna is it?"
"Maybe... if you like... We'll see what happens."
"And when it's over do I come and find you? Sign out or anything?"
"You'll find me inside, Paul..."
Before I had time to open my mouth, Polly had pulled the curtain to one side.
"You wait here. When the curtain opens again merely walk straight in."
SCHOOL
I'd briefly thought about doing a runner... as lovely as Polly was, she didn't give away too much information. What lay beyond the curtain? I pushed my wallet deeper into the suit trouser pocker.
As the curtain had pulled back I'd expected a room like a VIP nightclub area. Maybe some red padded seats in leather with a small bar, people drinking champagne they couldn't afford, that sort of thing, but this was odd. For a start the initial impression I received was one of overwhelming artifical light. Having left the low afternoon rays of winter behind me in reception, this was like approaching a set of floodlights head on. My eyes slowly adjusted as I made out standard strip-lighting, with white plastic ceiling tiles.
I collided with the first table, a chair screeching abruptly on the floor as I displaced it. It was then I took in all the furniture. This was a school classroom. Not a Victorian style boarding schoolroom with wooden desks and a huge blackboard, but as I remembered school. Plastic chairs dotted around various tables, some mismatched in height. At the far end a door marked 'Playground'. Behind me hung a whiteboard next to a map of the world, in front of that stood a broad desk with black metal legs and a dented wooden surface. Walking over to the desk I sat down in the chair looking to see if there was any clue as to what I should be doing. To my right was a drawer and inside that a brown folder.
Taking out the folder I leaned back in the chair and briefly imagined being at the head of my class, trying to control them, watching them struggle with questions, argue about homework. The thought of another life made me smile and I opened up the folder. Inside was a single sheet which read 'Personal Record: Melanie Bush.' Instead of being a list of grades, it read like the vital statistics for a Playmate of the Month - Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Blue. Height: 5'6". Measurements: 35-23-35. Age: 21. Disposition: Sweet.
I read the last word out loud as the door opened at the far end of the classroom and in she walked.
Melanie's profile had not done her justice, satchel slung over her shoulder, a finger innocently tucking her blonde locks behind her ear she walked towards my desk. Her white blouse was untucked from the flirty, pleated blue skirt that barely covered her black suspenders, clipped as they were to black stockings, her legs crossing as she walked, stiletto heels clicking on the floor. Despite the uniform, she was no schoolgirl, the fullness of her breasts, barely held in a simple, black bra gave that away. The sway in her hips, the gleam in her eye, over 18 and x-rated.
I had not said one word by the time she dropped her satchel on my desk and her aspect changed in an instant from temptress to doe-eyed angel. Hands behind her back, she bit her bottom lip and then said "Hello, Sir. Sorry I'm late."
I smiled, so this was the role I had to play, teacher. The thought amused and excited me. As I was in charge I got to ask the questions.
