A Perfectly Smackable Arse

This is kinda long, but worth it I hope, and very different from my previous stories. I wanted to explore how you would bring yourself to ask for punishment and how a caring person might respond to a request for masochistic punishment. The female character is very strong despite needing punishment but it's from a male perspective. I've never done that before - hope it works.

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One advantage of being a headmaster in a London primary school (same as a principal in an elementary school back home) is the never-ending supply of pretty young mothers to look at. I came to England as a teenager and grew up here so my accent's kind of faded, but with enough of a mid Atlantic twang to arouse interest - I've always found it strangely attractive to the ladies, useful when flirting! Anyway, I've been doing this job for twenty-five years now and every September a new, younger set of mothers arrives with their little ones in the mornings. At the end of the school day they wait for their children in the playground in animated groups chatting and laughing dressed in anything from smart business clothes to tight jeans and tee shirts. Personally I like the summer best when many of them are in strappy tops showing off their tans.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happily married but there's no harm in looking is there? Well, maybe there is, but more of that later.

This year had been an exceptional year. There was one particular group who always met together and were very keen to support their youngsters. They quickly got themselves involved in all the events we organise and ended up running the PTA. They were all exceptionally attractive, three blondes, two brunettes, one very curvy redhead. Figures ranged from stunningly well endowed to slinkily sexy. They were great organisers and loved getting everyone else to join in. Always first on the dance floor at the school family discos they arranged, dragging their husbands and children with them, or anybody else they could grab - including me! (I didn't fight too hard but had to show a sense of decorum in front of the kids.)

We were nearing the year-end and Helen Williams the PTA chair had arranged a thank you barbeque for the PTA committee at her house. Helen was the slinkily sexy one, short blond hair big blue eyes, a tight slim body, and no tits to speak of but with the most attractive curvy hips blending into a beautiful backside. My wife and I were invited but she had already arranged to go out with friends so I went alone. Bring a bottle the invitation said. I took a couple of bottles of white Grenache, I didn't know how sophisticated their tastes were, and whether they'd like the meatier reds or full flavoured Chardonnay I usually preferred but the rose wine was very gluggable and went with most things. I also took half a dozen bottles of Shepherd Neame strong beer - I'd really grown to like good English real ale. It was mostly for me but I guessed some of the men would appreciate it, though from what I'd seen they mostly drank lager.

The evening was a great success with about a dozen people there. It was mostly women though, (just the way I like it!) with only three of the husbands there, Helen's husband Greg was one of them, and naturally the men were cooking the meat on the grill while the women did everything else. They were bustling backwards and forwards into the kitchen while the men drank beer and occasionally prodded the steaks and burgers. I alternated between both groups, the Shepherd Neame went down surprisingly well with the men but eventually the women claimed me to ask about the white Grenache which was also going down a storm.

"You're a bit of a dark horse," Greg called over as I sat with the women, "an American who's a connoisseur of English beer AND Californian wine!"

I laughed, "No," I said shaking my head, "I just know what I like."

It was a warm evening and as dusk descended we all sat outside in the garden. The kids from all six families were splashing in an inflatable paddling pool and running around with water pistols, squealing and laughing until it was time for bed. All the kids were staying at Helen and Greg's, excited at the prospect of the sleepover. After a few minutes they were all carried back down scrubbed clean and brushed up, pyjama clad to say good night to the grown ups and kiss their daddies.

With the kids away the adults settled down too, sitting around on the patio, the dying barbeque grill glowing faintly red to one side and the stars winking into life as the bottles and glasses clinked and laughter and chat continued.

"Look at me, I'm soaked," said Helen, glancing down and picking up the hem of her tee shirt. She'd been the target of several squirts from the water pistols, "I'd better go and change."

"No, leave it," said Greg laughing, "we can have a wet tee shirt competition." and he picked up a discarded water pistol and gave his wife another squirt. He hit her full in the chest and it immediately became apparent that she wasn't wearing a bra - it also became apparent that her very tiny breasts had very prominent nipples, or maybe that was the cold water?

"Anybody else?" said Greg laughing as he turned the water pistol in the general direction of the women. They all squealed and shrank back.

"Greg!" Helen scolded, "That'll do!" It was very clear who wore the trousers in that house Greg looked embarrassed and just for a second the mood fell. The alcohol had worked it's magic though and Helen flattened her now very wet tee shirt against her stomach and thrust her tiny breasts forward and said "Well, I wouldn't win anyway!"

Everybody laughed, relieved. "No, that'd be me," said one of the brunettes proudly thrusting her very well endowed chest forward.

"No contest Judy!" said the other brunette who was nicely drunk - the English call it 'tiddly'. The tiddly brunette was called Anne, "you could give some to all of us," she continued. The men laughed and the women giggled.

Then Judy glanced at me, "Careful, we're embarrassing Mr T."

"Oh God!" cried Helen, folding her arms across her chest. "I forgot you were here - ohh! I didn't mean that! Oh dear, this is soooo embarrassing."

I laughed too, "don't worry about me," I said, "I'm just enjoying all the scenery."

"A Connoisseur of beer, wine AND women!" Greg called out waving a half empty bottle of Shepherd Neame in my direction, " is there no end to this man's talents?" He grinned a little drunkenly and took another pull at his beer - it occurred to me it was probably a lot stronger than he was used too.

I smiled, I'd better keep this low key I thought but didn't want to spoil the mood. Besides, I WAS enjoying the scenery! The moment when Helen had thrust those tiny breasts forward through that wet tee shirt had definitely stirred something down below.

"I just missed out on being a sixties child," I said. "You know, the Beatles, Woodstock, Jimi Hendrix, hippies, free love and all that; but I guess I grew up with a pretty liberal outlook, and when you've been around as long as I have," I said, trying to sound dignified and mature, "you get to appreciate many of life's more..." I hesitated looking for the right phrase "attractive aspects."

"Oooo!" came a chorus from all the women, and they glanced at each other grinning.

"Well, I don't think these aspects are all that attractive," said Helen looking down, laughing, and flattening her tee shirt against her chest again. "I wish I'd got more."

I immediately realised my faux pas. The Shepherd Neame had affected me as well as Greg. "No, I didn't mean that," I cried, "I wasn't talking about... just, well," I took the plunge, "breasts!" They all laughed.

"So are you an leg man or a breast man?" called out Greg, still waving the bottle, clearly drunk and pleased with his own joke.

"Greg!" There was a distinct warning in Helen's voice.

"I'm a leg man myself," said one of the other husbands. He'd been sitting quietly in the corner up till that point. Every body turned to him, "What?" he said, looking round, embarrassed at the sudden attention, "I just like legs, that's all. Nothing wrong with that is there?"

"Well, you obviously didn't marry me for my other more 'attractive aspects' then did you?" said Judy laughing and shaking her enormous chest again.

I thought to myself would I ever live that phrase down?

"Yeah, well," said her husband from his quiet corner, "you've got good legs too, the other's a bonus."

"Martin!" Judy's tone was genuinely shocked, but she laughed too and the chorus of 'oooo's' erupted again from all the women.

"So come on then," said Greg, turning to me, "what do you like? What's your missus like?"

"I've seen her," said Anne, the tiddly brunette, "tall and blonde."

"Very attractive," said Helen, "I've seen her too." Helen was being the diplomatic host, trying to steer the conversation to something less controversial for my sake but Greg was not to be denied.

"So," he said, what is it makes her so attractive then? Legs? Buzoooms?" He suddenly switched tack, "All those women in the playground after school, what draws your attention then?"

I looked at him carefully, but then decided he was too drunk to be divining my thoughts. He was living his own fantasy. But then Martin piped up again. He too had been getting quietly drunk in the corner.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind that, all those women hanging on your every word. I'd have your job any day... well, cept the bit where you have to deal with the kids though."

Seems like Martin too was living the same fantasy.

"I like bums," interrupted the curvy red head. The alcohol was getting to them all now. "Nothing like a tight male bum."

"Mary!" the other women all chorused, laughing at the same time.

"Come on," said Mary, "you're all the same. It's not just me. Be honest!"

"No, alright then," said Judy, "I guess we all look around."

"Well, I know Greg does," Helen said.

My turn to be diplomatic, another attempt at mature and dignified. "I guess we all do," I said, "and you're right, the playground is full of attractive women at the beginnings and end of the day, and of course I look, we're all human. But..." I said cutting off the chorus of 'ooo's', "you don't have to own the gallery to appreciate the paintings."

They all looked at me appreciatively, a couple of raised eyebrows, and I might just have dug myself out of the hole I'd made earlier. After all I would have to face their kids in school next week.

"A philosopher sir, well put," said Greg, slurring his words, "very well put..."

"Yes," said Helen "and it's nice to know we're appreciated."

"But..." Greg pursuing his point like a typical drunk, "you still haven't answered my question. Are you a breast man or a leg man?"

"Yeah, come on," said Judy mischievously, swirling her wine round her glass, "you've gone so far, put us out of our misery."

I looked down, at my beer, shaking my head, "You're persistent, you lot," I said and drank the last of my pint. "Ok then," I said, "if you must know I go with Mary."

"What men's bums?" giggled Mary, quick as a flash. Another hole I hadn't seen.

Nothing for it now but to give as good as I got.

I shook my head and tried a wry smile, "I prefer figures to faces," I said, "I like good legs, breasts of ANY size - so it's got to be a woman Mary to answer your question," but as I said it and looked across at her it was Helen's glance in my direction that caught my eye, "but the thing that really turns my head," I continued is a great backside. There's nothing like a nice smackable ass, or 'arse' as you English say, in a pair of tight jeans." I caught another movement from Helen as I said that last bit, she seemed to lurch forward in her seat.

The chorus of 'ooo's' was quieter, more thoughtful and I wondered if I had gone too far, maybe let a little too much slip.

"Smackable eh?" mused Greg, quietly for once, "yeah, good description. You're not into S&M are you?"

I nearly spluttered into my beer, but it seems no one else took it that way.

"I know what you mean but that let's me out," said the red headed Mary who was as well endowed in the backside department as she was up top.

"On the contrary," I pressed on, reckless now, "size doesn't really matter, it's the shape and how it fits in with the rest of the figure." I nearly said she'd got a great bum but just pulled back from the brink, at least I'd avoided being personal so far. Besides, the best backside there by far was Helen's... and tonight she was wearing tight jeans. As I looked around Helen was still looking straight at me.

"Besides," I continued determined to move the conversation to a safer area. "We all only see our worst points. What makes us attractive is not any individual 'asset'," I raised my glass in Helen's direction, a mock toast, "but the way we are, how we laugh, a sudden smile or the light in our eyes. It's the changes in us, the way we move that makes us attractive..."

The schoolteacher in me was coming out fiercely now, "We've all got assets we're proud of, others we're not, or characters traits that we may be ashamed of. We should all learn to appreciate our good points and feel less guilty about ourselves, celebrate the differences. Enjoy all aspects of our personalities." I raised my glass, "here's to humanity, and all our differences."

Their laughter was warm and genuine, there was a chorus of "hear, hears!"

"Sorry," I said, "that was getting a bit heavy."

"You're a very good person," said Judy a little slurred, "a very good person."

There was another chorus of "hear, hear!" and more drunken clinking of glasses.

I smiled a little, "don't be so sure," I said, "we've all got our weaknesses." Thank God they didn't know mine I thought to myself. And then I looked at Helen. She was still looking straight back at me in a peculiarly distracted manner.

"Scuse me," she said, at last looking away. "I think I heard one of the kids," and she got up and hurried into the house. I thought it was a bit sudden and was worried I'd said something to upset her.

After that the conversation dwindled and when Helen came back I made my excuses and called a taxi. "I've enjoyed tonight," I said.

"It's been a great night," Mary called from across the patio, "my place next time, but you can bring some more of that white Grenache and you can tell us some more of your secrets," and she added, "in vino veritas," and waved her glass at me.

"And some more of that Shepherd Neame," added Greg.

"In vino veritas indeed" I said to Helen, "I hope I haven't made a fool of myself."

"Definitely not," Helen smiled up at me. She'd recovered from her distraction. "It was nice to hear what you said about women... you know," she pulled her tee shirt taut again and grinned. My stomach lurched. "And the other things... about feeling less guilty."

"Thanks," I said, not quite sure what she meant.

"We'll definitely have to do it again," she called from the open doorway as I walked towards my waiting taxi.

A couple of weeks later and it was the last parents' evening of the year. Parents' evening always went on a bit and I usually ended up locking up the front door, as the caretaker didn't like to stay too late. I didn't see many parents personally, only those that requested it, or those whose kids were in trouble and I asked to see - there weren't too many of those; but I always stayed around till the last parent had gone in case there were any queries the teachers couldn't deal with.

This time however, I'd had a request. My secretary told me Ella Williams mother had asked for an appointment with me after seeing Ella's teacher. Ella Williams mother was Helen Williams, the chair of our PTA and my hostess of two weeks back.

"No Mr Williams?" I asked, wondering if I had stepped over the mark at the barbeque last week and she wanted to say something in private. "Did she say what it was about?"

"No, just that she wanted to see you and would you mind if she came after seeing Mrs Matthews at 8:30."

That would mean nearer 9:00pm, Mrs Matthews was very talkative and her appointments always ran late. "Ok" I said and made a note in my diary.

I sat in my office, end of term papers scattered across my desk. 9:00pm came and went. There was a knock at my door "come in" I called expecting to see Helen Williams but it was Mrs Matthews.

"I'm done" she said, "I expect I'm the last as usual, sorry."

"That's ok," I said, "have you seen Mrs Williams, she wanted to see me after talking to you. Did everything go ok?"

"Yes," she was puzzled, "she didn't say anything to me. Ah," she brightened, I think she went in the loo." She gathered her bags, "right I'll be off then. See you tomorrow."

I held my door opened and watched her walk down the corridor. I heard the front door latch slam and then Helen Williams walked round the corner from the direction of the ladies' toilet, she looked flustered. "Oh," she said as she saw me, "I'm sorry, I'm holding you up, perhaps it can wait until tomorrow." She turned to go. I got the feeling that if I hadn't been in the doorway she's have sneaked right past.

"No, it's alright, honestly, come in." I stepped back into my office and she followed me in a little hesitantly.

"Have a seat," I said, indicating an informal group of armchairs in the corner of my office. I sat with her, "How can I help?"

She looked like she'd been working late before coming to parents' evening. I knew she worked in the city, something in finance; she was dressed in her office outfit, a tailored pinstripe trouser suit with a white blouse underneath. She looked stunning but uncomfortable and fidgeted with her handbag. I waited uncomfortably too; this was definitely about last week.

"Oh God," she said at last, "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" I asked, butterflies in my stomach.

She looked up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes slightly wild. She had big blue eyes, very blue. "It's about last week," she said, immediately looking down again.

"Ah," I said, "I thought it might be. I'm really sorry; I stepped way over the mark. Not the sort of things you expect your child's teacher to be talking about."

"No," she said, "no, it's not that. Well it is, but not what you think." She looked down and fiddled with her handbag again. "Oh, God, I don't know what you'll think of me, but I've got to say it. I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it."

"What then?" I was puzzled now, and still a little worried. "Look, don't worry, just say what you want. If I've upset you or any of the others on the PTA you've got a right to say so, if it's anything else, well, I've seen and heard most things in my time."

She took a deep breath, "ok," she breathed, "ok," and looked up at me. "Well, first, thank you for those nice things you said about... well..." she opened her jacket a little, "my breasts, you know..." and she looked hastily away

I was amazed... this was not at all what I'd expected. She pressed on, unable to stop now that she's started.

"... I know you didn't say it directly about me, you said 'ALL breasts, big or small' but I know what you meant and Greg was drunk and being such an arse... you were just trying to stop me from being embarrassed... and that's not all," her voice petered out and she looked up seeing my surprised expression. "Oh God! I'm sorry... I knew I shouldn't have come."

"No, don't worry, really, I don't mind." I was beginning to recover my composure, and it seemed I wasn't going to be in trouble after all. "You said there was more?"

She took another deep breath, "ok, ok" she said trying to bolster her confidence. When she breathed in like that her nostrils flared magnificently, she had a beautifully sculptured nose. "You'll kill me, I know you will, you'll ask me to take Ella out of school..." she was almost in tears.