Jane hardly remembered how she came to be involved with Lashings. It had been three or four years ago now.
A perfectly judged turn across the oncoming traffic took her blue BMW into a service road leading to a handsome terrace of houses with impressive colonnaded entrances. The houses were set back from the main road and shielded by a line of mature trees. As Jane knew only too well, the respectable exteriors were misleading. At least two of these solidly panelled front doors kept the activity behind them a dark secret.
Jane found a residents’ parking space and used it. She was about ten minutes late, according to the dash display. If the client was here Vanessa would still be entertaining him with drinks. She ran up the few steps and let herself into the corridor hallway. It was not nearly as imposing as the one at her home, being mainly occupied by the stairwell. Maybe it was more welcoming to apprehensive punters. The poor dears, she crooned to herself as she closed the door softly behind her and made her way to the basement.
There she found a note from Vanessa, the soul of efficiency as ever. Jane, honey, low-down on tonight’s shrimp. This one’s something special. This is Raymond’s first visit to us, but I think he’s been around. Anyway, he’s got a thing about being punished, despite being in the business himself. Hence the impressive wig and gown. You’ll look lovely in them. See you afterwards, honey.
It was typical of Vanessa’s ironic approach to the business to call them ‘shrimps’. Not to their faces, of course. The men who got to hear about this place and the particular services on offer were usually well-connected and well-off. Shrimps were men who wanted to be dominated by women, usually punished into the bargain, craving the sensation of being treated like dirt. They paid handsomely for their thirty minutes of pain and humiliation, their darkest fantasies brought to life by dominas like Jane.
She absorbed the information in the note as she changed into a black basque and stockings. The scarlet gown and wig were hanging up behind the door of the dressing room. She had never used this costume before. She looked at the effect in the mirror and added the wire-rimmed spectacles which, she was relieved to discover, were of plain glass. They gave her a frighteningly intellectual appearance and the cloak added authority. She felt powerful. She wasn’t so sure about the full-bodied wig, which was tight over her springy tresses.
A red light above the mirror winked on. Immediately she felt the adrenaline rush that always preceded a session. Sometimes she would visualise a figure crouched on the floor before her, begging for mercy. Yet she looked forward to the commencement of such scenes. When did she become like this? Or had she always been a woman who gained pleasure from inflicting pain?
It was time to move next door and await the penitent Raymond. In her killer heels she moved down the short corridor, atmospherically lit with a pair of fake wall-torches, and pushed open a door that was distinctively marked with diagonal lines of rivets.
The lighting inside was low. There was no reflection from the black-painted walls. She could smell floral air freshener: soon it would be submerged by the saltier odours of sweaty, chafed flesh.
Knowing that her victim was genuinely sweating with anticipation gave her a kick, even if sometimes the smell was overpowering. After a good session Jane expected her labia to be well-creamed. She rarely felt any pity for her victims. Instead, she sensed their longing for pain.
Everything seemed to be in place. Sometimes the other girls borrowed important items like the nine-tailed whip or one of the leather school straps, carefully graded from light to severe. These were kept in a special wall cabinet between the frames. This evening there were no gaps; even the canes, kept innocuously in a wrought-iron umbrella stand, had been replenished.
Jane heard sounds approaching along the corridor: Vanessa’s encouraging blandishments, the other voice more hesitant. There was a slight pause before the man entered. He was thinning on top, clean-shaven, probably in his late fifties. His face was well-rounded, from too many client lunches, she assumed, but otherwise he was not unpleasant to look at.
Then he saw Judge Jane. His jaw dropped open and his eyes, adjusting to the sight of a gowned figure in a dungeon, were drawn almost as wide. He stood his ground uncertainly.
‘Raymond is your name?’
‘Er, yes. I mean yes, ma’am.’
‘Close the door, Raymond, and get undressed.’
Jane adopted her character right from the beginning. That was how most shrimps expected it to be.
‘You know where to go? Good. Hurry up, then. We don’t have all evening.’
Raymond darted for the small screen in the far corner. He obviously knew the ropes; he was peeling off his suit jacket as he went. He looked as if he’d come fresh from the office.
‘Do I take everything off, ma’am?’ An anxious face popped up from behind the screen.
‘Everything.’
This was greeted by a soft whimper. She seemed to be pressing the right buttons, Jane congratulated herself. She switched on the ceiling spots that illuminated the two punishment frames, one in the shape of a St Andrew’s cross, standing against the back wall.
He re-emerged holding both hands over his groin. They always did that, as if it gave them a sense of security.
‘Hands on top of your head, prisoner at the bar!’ Not much to hide there. The man’s white, fleshy body was almost entirely hairless. He must have been plucked or waxed. A few stray wisps of pubic curl sprouted from the very base of his penis but his belly was quite smooth. It reminded her of a piglet. She wondered what his wife thought of it.
‘Look at yourself in the mirror.’ He turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall with the figure of the judge behind him. His prick began to stiffen within seconds.
‘Now, I gather you have been before this court on similar charges before,’ Jane said in a loud, hectoring voice. Whatever volume his reply might be, she would tell him to speak up. In her stilettos she was an inch or two taller than him and he was beginning to cower already. ‘Keep your hands on your head when addressing me.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am. What are you trying to say?’ She moved closer to him, letting the gown part to reveal the sculptured contours of her lacy basque and stocking tops. ‘Speak up so I can hear you.’
‘I think it was for being a Peeping Tom, ma’am.’
‘A Peeping Tom? I don’t think I am quite familiar with that expression. Perhaps you could explain.’
‘I... I suppose it means looking through windows at night, those with the curtains open at least.’
‘To what purpose?’ She would make him squirm. She could tell Raymond was enjoying being made to feel small. She went over to the wall cabinet and selected a studded leather paddle. This produced a good, loud report when delivered flat against ample buttocks such as he had. He eyed her nervously.
‘To watch women getting undressed, ma’am.’
‘Getting undressed, did I hear you say? Only getting undressed, just taking off their clothing? Surely you hoped to see a good deal more than that? Come now, a bit more frankness if you please.’ She struck him a wristy shot, coming from slightly below the overhang of his white cheeks.
Raymond let out a gasp and straightened his posture, arching his back and bunching his bottom in the aftermath of the stroke. She immediately gave him a backhand across the side of his buttock. He yelped in surprise.
‘Ow! I am telling you the truth.’
‘No, I don’t think so, Raymond. I wonder if that’s your real name? Never mind. If I need to know I can find out. Anyway, you are due further punishment, aren’t you?’
Two more sharp thwacks with the paddle. She could see him stealing quick glimpses in the mirror. Despite his protests the shrimp was enjoying himself, she was sure of that. He was beginning to feel totally subservient. The first few strokes always established who was boss. If they were too hard you could turn them off. So it was best to break a shrimp in gently unless he was a real hard case. Now it was time to up Raymond’s pain threshold a little.
She gave a few quick strokes with the paddle, to which he hardly made any objection. Raymond’s cheeks were beginning to look decidedly flushed. His prick was standing out rigidly and she saw that his balls were completely hairless, emphasising their pink fleshiness.
‘Now go over and stand by the mirror.’
She watched him waddle across the room. Very few of the men who came here seemed to retain any pride in their bodies. At times she felt she wanted to go on and on hitting these lumps of flaccid flesh. Maybe they might be knocked into better shape. It seemed to make perfect sense at times, even when her arm began to ache with administering such relentless punishment, blow after blow, until the tethered shrimp began to howl.
She selected a fresh birch switch. Then she shook it to remove the excess vinegar. This was one of the specialities of the house. The birches were cut and made by a farmer Vanessa had got to know. Fresh supplies arrived each week and they were kept in a green acid jar with an inch or two of vinegar to keep them supple.
You could always tell if a previous client had been birched. The pungent, slightly sickly reek of vinegar and fresh birch sap hung in the air for hours. The smell soon overpowered the air freshener. Jane smiled secretly to herself as she swished some more. The birch smell set her pulses racing in true Pavlovian fashion. Maybe it was the same for the shrimp.
‘Okay, Raymond, punishment time now. Hands down to touch your toes. Hurry along. What are you waiting for?’
‘It’s my back, ma’am. I really can’t bend over. I’d go into spasm for days.’
‘Och, the poor delicate wee laddie.’ She adopted a broader demotic, moving swiftly over to him and grabbing him by one ear. ‘In that case we’d better have you over the whipping stool.’
Jane led him, protesting and feebly trying to free his ear, to a high padded stool. The idea was that the offender bent over the seat with legs at full stretch, his wrists tied to one of the horizontal spreader bars.
‘Okay, Raymond, get that glowing arse in the air. Stretch those legs, there’s nothing wrong with them. Reach down and hold on to the bar. Make it sharp!’
He looked utterly defenceless, with his bald patch and his podgy hips, but she felt no pity. Instead she preferred to imagine what his pale flesh would resemble in a few minutes’ time when the birch strokes had begun to chastise it. Already she could visualise the delicate red tracery that stood out sharply before fading to create the scarlet glow of birched buttocks. She was beginning to enjoy herself. This one wasn’t putting up any kind of struggle, so with luck there would be no broken nails to attend to later.
She slipped her arms out of the gown and threw it over a set of stocks in the centre of the floor. The wig followed it. Now she felt free and unconstrained. A few more flourishes with the birch, sending its ferny twigs hissing through the air, and she was ready for action.
But instead of hitting him with it, she twitched it in front of his face. Then, moving round, she trailed its sharp twigs down his back. She felt him shuddering in anticipation. So she did it again, but this time, when she reached the cleft between his buttocks, she gave a flick that sent raw signals to the sensitive nerve ends around his anal ring. His hiss of indrawn breath told Jane she was doing the right thing.
‘Now, Raymond, I hear this is a repeat offence. You understand that your punishment must reflect this in its severity.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the voice squeaked up from near the floor. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. Fifty strokes of the birch it is, then.’
‘Fifty?’ This time it was a shrill cry as the head came up.
‘I shouldn’t do that again. You could put your back out.’ She pushed his head down again, gently but firmly. ‘Keep count. If you try to cheat we may have to start all over again.’
Jane ran a hand gently over the small glowing patch on each buttock. The advantage of the high stool was that it stretched the skin tightly, making the surface more sensitive to every sensation. Raymond winced at her touch. Removing her hand, she stepped back so his head hung more or less beside her stockinged thigh. The hand holding the birch went up to shoulder height and then she struck.
The essence of a successful birching, she had discovered, is to hold the spray of twigs for a few seconds against the skin after each stroke, ensuring the sharpness of the sting does not dissipate immediately. The first ten strokes were quite light and Raymond was only reacting with a slight wriggling.
‘How many?’
‘Ten, ma’am.’
‘Good. Forty to go. I’m just beginning to warm up.’
This time the arm went higher and the hiss was longer, giving tantalising warning of each stroke. She angled the strokes to fall diagonally across the man’s naked buttocks, the ends snaking round to bite into the tender areas at the gluteal fold. His mouth was wide open as he tried to raise his head. She pushed it down and held it there while switching him across his back.
‘How many?’
‘Twenty-five, ma’am.’
She released his neck and walked round to the other side so that subsequent strokes would cross the previous diagonal. The curve of his buttocks was now taking harsher punishment, as his sharp intake of breath showed. He began to struggle again, so she put one hand on his fleshy neck and held it there. Small sections of twig were now lying around the stool on the floor, testifying to the increased force of her strokes.
‘How many now?’
‘Forty, ma’am.’
‘No, you worm. Thirty-nine. For that we may have to start all over again. Are you ready?’
‘No, please, no. I’ll never lie again, I promise.’
‘Good. Your punishment is beginning to have some effect already, but we really must finish it in style. Stand up.’
Raymond raised himself shakily. He tried ineffectually to hide his jutting member. The purple head glistened with its own oil, bobbing as he stood up. It was quite an impressive sight now it was fully erect. His hands went instinctively to shield it.
‘Hands on your head again.’
He obeyed hesitantly.
‘Now get ready for another dozen. Some to the back and some to the front.’
He looked at her in genuine horror, obviously unable to believe anyone could possibly want to strike at his magnificent erection. Well, this self-satisfied legal eagle was going to learn a lesson or two about dispensing justice.
She struck him three times across the back, giving her arm full sweep this time. Swish, swish, swish in quick succession. He cried out shrilly at the last one and tried to reach down with one hand, then he saw the backhand stroke on its way, too late to avoid it. He shrieked as the birch raked the back of his hand.
‘Keep your hands on your head or I’ll repeat the dosage!’
Now Jane had him totally at her command. When she struck him in the groin the shrimp went into a crouch, leaving his arse exposed. After a swish or two she could reverse the process as he tried to tuck in his beetroot-coloured buttocks. He now cried out at every stroke and tried to move away out of reach.
She grabbed his upper arm and gave him a succession of strokes across the lower belly. He jerked and howled but after each one remained limply in her grasp, making no attempt to struggle free. It was as if the shrimp were encouraging Jane to take total control and tread him into the ground. Treat him like dirt; do unspeakable acts on him. She was well into her frenzy and could feel the telltale signs of liquid warmth on her thighs.
By now she had lost count of the strokes and couldn’t care. She was going to make this shrimp look like a lobster before the night was out. She kept a firm hold on his upper arm and beat him with increasing savagery all over his back and arse. At last he began to howl with a mixture of agony and genuine terror.
‘Mercy! Mercy!’
She heard it faintly through the drumming of her own blood. Restraining herself, she took a couple of deep breaths and lowered her arm. Her breasts and abdomen were running with sweat.
‘Had enough?’
He was gasping for breath and couldn’t reply at first.
‘I certainly have. Good God Almighty, you gave it to me.’ He moved gingerly over to the mirrored wall. ‘That was far harder than I normally receive from you ladies.’
Jane snorted derisively. ‘You’ll survive. Birching marks fade pretty quickly.’
‘I really don’t see how you would know unless you’ve been on the receiving end.’ He grimaced as he ran a hand over his haunches. While he went behind the screen again she pressed the green button that connected with Vanessa’s flat. She was down in two minutes.
‘Jane, darling, I just have to see you in that cloak,’ Vanessa said on entering. As usual she was on a perpetual high.
‘Absolutely wonderful. I said it would suit you, didn’t I?’
‘So where did you get it - and the judge’s wig? They look like the real thing.’
Vanessa let out a shrill peal of laughter, as she was joined by the once more dapper Raymond. He held out his arm.
For a moment Jane was nonplussed. Then she realised.
‘So they’re yours!’
‘Yes, my dear, they are indeed,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘And I hope you never have to encounter me when I’m wearing them, because it would mean you were in a great deal of trouble! Although, of course, I’d be happy to recommend some excellent defence counsel if need be.’
Vanessa pealed again on cue as Jane handed over the wig and gown.
Would I make the grade then?’ Jane asked, feeling light-headed.
‘Well, in some ways you were admirable, my dear. But I certainly wouldn’t come to you expecting a light sentence.’ He took her hand and slipped a large note into it. ‘So make absolutely sure I don’t get off lightly next time, eh?’
I know it’s a cliché, but I’m sure my heart did really skip a beat. He was in a far corner of the room talking to an adoring trio in neo-punk outfits and my attention was drawn to him by the incongruity of the group. The women had day-glo hair while Douglas was immaculately turned out in a pale blue blazer and twill slacks. Still the matinee idol, I thought, even though he was my side of thirty.
We had been at drama school together, but we seemed to be heading in totally different directions. I took classes in tap and voice while he had immersed himself in classical drama and Alexander technique. After we qualified our careers had taken very different directions. In the last few years I had been mainly in the West End playing supporting roles in musicals. I had noticed Douglas’ name coming up mainly in local rep.
I sidled over to join the group. Gratifyingly, he recognised me immediately and recollected my name, Arlene, without a moment’s hesitation. Not that it was Douglas’ style to come over all luvvie; he just seemed slightly taken aback to see me. It must have been all of five years and unfortunately we hadn’t parted the best of friends. In short, a brief and unexpected final-term romance where he made all the running had come to an equally unexpected end as I was swept off my feet by a director who promised me stardom.
However, that was all in the past. From our initial exchange of glances, perhaps there might be something worth rekindling. He admitted he was currently unattached and, just like myself, not working. It had been several months since Douglas’ last substantial part - a supporting role in a country house whodunit - and he was clearly worried about going stale.
Well, to cut a long story short, we both had a few drinks and became inseparable for the rest of the evening. We shared a taxi ride, since we lived only a mile or so apart, during which the following exchange took place:
HE: ‘This has been great fun, Arlene. Why don’t we meet up again soon?’
SHE: (with a sloshed attempt at coyness) ‘Whatever for, Douglas my dear? Surely you don’t still have designs on my body after all these years?’
HE: (hastily) ‘I was thinking more in terms of professional progress. We could try some improvised scenes together, work on character development, keep our hand in so that we’re still fizzing for auditions. Good idea or not?’
SHE: ‘Not bad as far as it goes. What sort of scenes did you have in mind, bearing in mind that our repertoires do vary quite considerably?’
HE: ‘Mm, good point. I’m keen to try out something lighter, extend my range. All I seem to be offered are naff parts where I strut about the stage looking woebegone or faintly chuffed depending on the turn of events. How I long for some contemporary drama, or something sensationally Gothic or...’
SHE: ‘Douglas, this is where I live. Here’s an idea I tried out once before with a girlfriend. Tomorrow evening I’ll phone you. Whatever book you’re reading when the phone rings, that’s what we’ll use for our improvisation.’
HE: (aghast at my nonchalance or possibly that final glass of Bulgarian Merlot) ‘What a splendid idea! You really are an amazing girl, Arlene...’
Well, the girl escaped eventually with his phone number. And sure enough, the following week, we spent a very pleasant afternoon at my flat rehearsing a scene from some humorous novel about academic life. At least, he thought it was a great laugh. For me there were too many wordy diatribes and the female lead was a man-hater with a sharp tongue. This was a part that stretched my resources rather too far.
I had thoughtfully provided a bottle of vodka as an aid to relaxation after our theatrical exertions, possibly as a prelude to those of a different kind entirely. I decided it was needed much earlier in the scene. With a glass of vodka and blackcurrant in hand I became much more at home in the part. Unfortunately, as experience should have taught me, one glass led to others. And improvisation somehow slipped into the background as Douglas and I picked up the threads of the time we had spent apart. Of course, we lost track of the time.
When Vera returned from work at quarter to six precisely she became even more tight-lipped than usual - a facial feat I had thought impossible. True, the living room furniture had been rearranged to suggest a fountain in a college quadrangle. But the idea had been to return everything to its exact location before she returned. We had marked them on the stripped pine with crosses of sticky tape.
Douglas retreated in confusion, pursued by Vera’s acid glare. We just had time to confirm that I should choose the next book and he would phone in two days’ time. The same arrangement, but this time at his place.
A rainy afternoon two days later saw me cradling a copy of Jane Eyre in one hand, sprawled over Vera’s precious moquette cushions. I had arrived at the chapter where Jane begins her life as a governess at Thornfield Hall. The strange situation in which she found herself helped me to retreat into my own private world where I could identify readily with the heroine.
Jane was just going out on a cold winter’s afternoon to post a letter. As the sun is setting she comes across Mr Rochester who has suffered a fall from his horse on the icy road. Of course, neither has met the other before. She tries to calm the horse, but fails. So she has to take Rochester’s weight on her shoulder as he limps over to remount. They talk briefly and he then points to the riding crop lying under the hedge where it had fallen. Jane goes over and hands it to him. And then the phone rang:
SHE: (as if awaking from a dream) ‘Who is it?’
HE: ‘Title and chapter please. No cheating now.’
SHE: (after a moment’s incomprehension) ‘Douglas, you caught me in another country entirely. I’m reading Jane Eyre.’
HE: (camping it up) ‘My dear, Rochester’s a role I would just kill for. You were definitely reading a scene where that angst-ridden hunk appears, weren’t you?’
SHE: ‘I’ll say. I just happen to be at the chapter where Jane and he meet for the first time. It’s made for us, wouldn’t you say?’
HE: ‘And how. I’ve always fancied myself in riding boots. I trust you can find something authentically early Victorian to wear?’
SHE: (with a pout) ‘Fear not, I shall make an entrance that will be quite unforgettable. I’m sure I’ve got some fake Laura Ashley number that will do.’
HE: ‘Good, I’ll expect you mid-afternoon at The Wharf. Ring my bell and take the lift to the top floor.’
SHE: (suggestively) ‘Sounds tres romantique. Looking forward to getting down to some serious work with you. We’ll do the whole scene from the point where he falls off his horse.’
HE: ‘Can you find your way over here or shall I come and collect you?’
SHE: ‘Only if you arrive on horseback, Mr Rochester.’
The next day was bright and clear. As I set out towards Douglas’ penthouse overlooking the marina the sun was already sinking and I was glad I had brought a warm coat to cover my rather thin costume. Phrases from the description of Jane’s winter walk ran through my mind. Odd, since trees and hedgerows were in notably short supply in that part of town. The flat was part of a converted Victorian warehouse with an impressive stone frontage now warmly glowing in the reddening sun.
As I stepped from the lift at the top floor I undid the buttons of my winter coat and rearranged my Regency-style decolletage. This had been achieved with the use of a chiffon scarf tied around the bust instead of a bra. It would surely catch Douglas’s eye the moment he opened the door.
Difficult to know whose jaw dropped the more when we confronted each other. For his part Douglas had somehow found a chestnut-coloured riding cloak and top-boots which, together with a canary yellow felt hat sporting a feather, made him the spitting image of Jane’s saturnine employer, Rochester.
He beckoned me in but did not take my coat. I was at first blinded by the ruby light pouring in through a series of small windows on the far wall. There was little furniture in the open-plan apartment and this had been cleared away to leave a generous acting area. The dominant feature was a white-painted, cast-iron spiral staircase leading through a hole in the ceiling to an upper level. From this room, presumably the bedroom, a faint light was already discernible.
I was curious to give Douglas’ loft a thorough inspection, but the poor soul seemed edgily impatient to get started. He kept sending nervous glances in the direction of the windows as if checking the state of the sun.
Both of us had marked the appropriate pages from which the scene would be improvised so there was no reason for not getting on with it. I would have preferred to block out the moves beforehand but already Douglas was stretched out on the stripped pine floor just as if he had been newly thrown from the saddle. He went straight into character:
HE: (gritted teeth) ‘Confound it, this is the very devil. What to do now?’
SHE: (meekly) ‘Are you injured, sir?’
HE: (indistinct mutterings to himself accompanied by grimaces of pain)
SHE: ‘Can I do anything for you?’
HE: (noticing her for the first time) ‘You must stand to one side. (to the dog) Down, Pilot! (to himself) If only I can rest a moment on this stile.’
SHE: (approaching nearer) ‘If you are hurt or want help I can fetch someone from Thornfield Hall. I cannot think of leaving you alone at this hour, sir, till I see you are fit to mount your horse.’
HE: ‘I think you should be home yourself. Where in this neighbourhood do you reside?’
SHE: ‘Just below, the house with the battlements.’
HE: (craftily) ‘Oh, so you must know whose house it is?’
SHE: ‘Yes, it is Mr Rochester’s, but I have not yet met the owner.’
HE: ‘Can you tell me where he is, perhaps?’
SHE: ‘No, but I am told by his ward that he will return any day now.’
HE: (under his breath) ‘Ah, the governess. I think you may help me a little if you will be so kind. Could I perhaps lean on your shoulder to approach close enough to catch the horse’s bridle. (rising) The animal seems in far better fettle than I.’
SHE: ‘Here, take my arm. I am stronger than you might imagine.’
HE: (miming) ‘Ah, at last I have the bridle. Now perhaps you could find the whip that flew from my hand. In the grass under the hedge?’ (indicates the floor-length curtains)
SHE: (at the curtain where, to her surprise, there is a riding crop half-hidden) ‘Is this what you seek, sir?’
At this point Douglas clapped his hands authoritatively and suggested we break. Still in his cloak, he poured us each a glass of wine and we drank, with mutually admiring glances at the wall-mirror. There we could see our new selves, a handsome couple, dramatically lit by the dying sun. Despite the scene having finished it still felt like Charlotte Bronte’s world where women must be compliant and men, in the most polished fashion, forceful and dominant.
As this thought crossed my mind, Douglas slapped his impressive boot with the ‘whip’, just as I imagined Rochester would in a fit of impatience. He suggested we play an alternative version of the scene with Rochester as a more unprincipled character who has designs on a lone female in a remote place. One glass of wine doesn’t usually make me so reckless, but I somehow felt quite safe with Douglas. So we tried it as he suggested.
Instantly Douglas became transformed, striding up and down as though he had forgotten all about the original Rochester’s sprained knee and looking me up and down with smouldering eyes. It was a powerful performance. Minute by minute the room was becoming gloomier as the sun sank below the horizon. I cowered in fairly authentic terror as Jane, hoping to appeal to Rochester’s better nature by my maidenish good sense.
Out of the shadows he strode towards me and grabbed me round the waist. With only token protest I found myself dragged towards the spiral staircase, now bathed in ghostly luminescence from above. I felt more and more like Jane than my usual self. These thoughts were rudely interrupted as Douglas, with a flourish, removed the loosely tied scarf and, in almost the same movement, lifted the dress over my head.
I gasped at this unexpected turn of events, managing only a feeble ‘Fie, sir!’ or something equally unimaginative. My arms instinctively crossed in truly Jane-like modesty across my chest. Rochester came towards me, brandishing the mauve chiffon and, as if in a dream, I watched him quickly but lightly bind my wrists together. As we approached the staircase I thought I knew where we were going next.
But I was quite wrong. We did not climb to the upper level. Instead, I was now tied by the sash to an upright of the corkscrew stairwell. Rochester had me at his mercy, until, that is, such time as I decided to untie his artistic bow...
ARLENE (or is it JANE?): ‘What’s happening, Douglas? Are we rehearsing for a porno film, or what? What does this lead to? (inconsequentially) I need more direction.’
DOUGLAS/ROCHESTER: ‘Be silent, Jane, and listen. Through pressure of distant business I was unable to interview you when you applied for the position. Now I intend to remedy that omission.’
ARLENE: ‘What exactly are you on about?’
ROCHESTER: (darkly) ‘Listen to me, madam. I am, after all, your employer and it is my ward you have in your care. I am concerned that Adele should be firmly kept in hand so that her education is sound.’
ARLENE: (catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, standing naked except for bikini pants in a shaft of silver light) ‘Why have you tied me to this - tree, Douglas? It’s a staircase anyway, er, sir.’
ROCHESTER: ‘Now watch closely, Jane. If you ever find my ward inattentive to her lesson, this is what you must do.’ (At this point Rochester slaps Jane smartly a few times on the outside of her thighs.)
JANE: (recovering quickly and rather smugly) ‘Well, sir, I foresee I will have no difficulty in administering this reprimand.’
ROCHESTER: ‘But this is just the beginning, Jane. My ward, I hear, makes frequent grammatical errors because of her French upbringing. This may be pardonable in a mere child, but now she is to be prepared for her place in society such lapses are less and less to be tolerated. I trust you will note this most particularly.’
JANE: ‘I will, sir. And what form of punishment, do you consider, should I give Adele for this fearful crime against society?’
ROCHESTER: ‘You did well to ask, Jane. I hope I can take this opportunity to teach you how the discipline should become more severe. It must be given to her on the hindquarters. Forgive me, but I must speak plainly on this matter, Jane.’
JANE: ‘I begin to understand, sir. But surely you don’t intend to make a governess submit to such humiliation here in this lonely place?’
ROCHESTER: (melodramatic) ‘Madam, I must insist you yourself receive the same punishment in order to learn this lesson well. It is essential that you experience a caning in the flesh. I am surprised that you are so uninformed about this aspect of maintaining discipline in the young. A lesson from me will stay longer in your mind, I guarantee...’
I wasn’t entirely sure what would come next. I’d heard of women enjoying corporal punishment from a partner, but I’d never dreamed of letting anyone actually do it to me. Now I was faced with a choice: either I free myself by untying the scarf or I let Douglas have his way. Would he really do it?
My mind was made up quickly. Douglas put a warm hand on my shoulder and ran one finger down my spine. In a second I was tingling. Looking down, I could see the angry blotches where he had slapped me. Now they excited me, a sign that my body could express hurt and anguish. I felt a strange need to be taken further, up to the point where I existed only in the intense pain passing from him to me. In such suffering Jane would surely discover the truth of her feelings.
The next thing I felt was a finger being hooked in the flimsy elastic of the bikini pants and down they slipped. I had become wet and increasingly aroused. I remembered how we had briefly been lovers those years ago.
Was my excitement at the prospect of making love to him again or at the idea of receiving pain from him? Or was I no longer thinking as Arlene but had become immersed in my role as a latter-day Jane? It was a distinction I had no leisure to muse on as Douglas subtly but firmly eased my hips towards him, away from the ironwork behind me. My back was arched and my cheeks made more prominent.
During this manoeuvre I felt the pants fall to my ankles. Instinctively I stepped out of them. Douglas instructed me to spread my legs more and keep them straight. I heard him removing his cloak and then a whistle as he tested the riding whip in the air. I shivered.
He came closer and ran one hand lightly over my buttocks, pausing just fractionally in the cleft. The tingling spread more intensely. I knew what was to come, yet all I could feel was half-eager, half-fearful anticipation.
There was a pause and I stole a quick glance over one shoulder at my image in the mirror. I was entranced at the figure so strikingly lit from above: quite a stage picture. I was beginning to admire my finer points, enhanced in the dramatic shaft of light and shadow, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye Douglas’ arm upraised. The crop quivered in his hand.
Despite this forewarning the first stroke caught me unawares and he followed it with a second a very few seconds later. When I called out, Douglas only muttered, ‘Stay in character, Jane,’ and slapped his boot with some ferocity.
By number three - for which he graciously allowed a pause of some ten seconds - I could feel the heat spreading, particularly on the right cheek which was taking the brunt. After six I begged him to use the left hand. A mistake, as I had forgotten Douglas was left-handed! He had begun with his weaker arm out of pity, he informed me.
He also quizzed me whether I was taking in this lesson, and whether I could recite exactly which youthful crimes deserved this punishment. Jane had to think quickly if this was not to go on for ever. She still received a further six before the lesson was learned. For the last two or three she pressed her stomach hard against the wrought-iron uprights in a futile attempt to reduce the ferocity of the stinging sensation. Her legs were quivering and rapidly losing their strength.
But, to my surprise, Jane never cried out, although she certainly bit her lip and made a soundless scream or two, and she never thought of releasing herself. She had to submit by nature to Rochester as her employer and also for his strength of will, which was bent on her mastery.
At last there was the twelfth. I heard the knock of the crop falling on the bare floor. Then a figure was beside me, untying the chiffon scarf and supporting me as my legs seemed unable to do anything quite so basic any more.
To my relief the figure was recognisably Douglas, despite the top-boots. He cradled me in his arms, crooning words of endearment and comfort, saying this was a fantasy he’d dreamed of acting out with me. He’d planned it so the sunset would form a backdrop to our role-playing. Then we kissed deeply and with a mounting passion.
I was once again myself, and the only way was up that winding stair and into the light of the room above. It might not be the bedroom, but this was the best way I could think of to find out.
I noticed that, ever the gentleman, Douglas allowed me to go first. His eyes, I’m sure, were feasting on the angry redness emanating from my buttocks.
The small bedroom was bathed in the last embers of the dying sun, one wall being almost totally occupied by a half-moon window. I gingerly sat on the edge of the single bed. Rochester was struggling out of his riding gear and turning into the Douglas I remembered from our student days. He had put on a little weight and his chest was more hirsute than I remembered, but he still looked very fit. He came close to me, wearing only his boxer shorts.
DOUGLAS: ‘Are you sure about this, Jane? I mean Arlene.’
ARLENE/JANE: ‘How you do presume, sir! As you know, I am a maiden still and unversed in the wiles of you men. You must tell me what you want of me.’
DOUGLAS: ‘Arlene, for heaven’s sake. Can’t we drop this now?’
ARLENE/JANE: ‘No sir. I find it a real turn-on and I want more of it. Are you going to remove those linen under-trousers, my master?’
DOUGLAS/ROCHESTER: ‘Oh, very well, Jane. I hope you won’t fall into a swoon at the sight of my manhood.’
JANE: ‘Oh, show me, master. (he does) Why, it is a very large member, and it is pointing at me as if it wishes to tell me something. Oh, sir, where are you putting your hand? Surely you do not have designs on my modesty? (his hand spreads Jane’s legs). Oh, I see you do.’
ROCHESTER: ‘Come closer, Jane, and lie full length on the bed. Now put your hand on my member. Yes, like that. Now you may feel what it is like to have control of your master. My desire and happiness lie in your hands.’
JANE: ‘You are a fancy talker, Mr Rochester, I do declare. What will happen if I take your member and put it here? (she spreads her labia) Would you take advantage of my innocence?
DOUGLAS: ‘Arlene, I need you, really need you. What is the Victorian for stop being a prick-teaser?’ (he enters her)
JANE: ‘Fie, sir! You are importunate. But I just love it. Oh, oh, please don’t stop! Douglas, you beast. Oh, God, that’s wonderful...’
It was the following morning before I left Douglas’ apartment and we had spent a wonderful night together. In his full-length bathroom mirror I looked at myself before getting dressed again in the Empire-style dress. Still visible were the twelve proud stripes, now purplish weals on the surface of skin a little tender to the touch, that I had endured on Jane’s behalf.
This was a part I was sure I would play many times, both on stage and off, but there would only be one Mr Rochester for me.
Jenny’s my best friend, so she tells me everything. And when I say everything, I do mean absolutely everything. I’m supposed to do the same with her, but there are things I feel I just couldn’t tell anyone. Well, not the full gory details, anyway. Like the first time you had a really steamy affair with some fella who made you pant for it. You know, all the things you let him do. And then wished you hadn’t afterwards.
I couldn’t tell anyone that, not the whole story with knobs on. Excuse my French.
But Jenny’s different. She would. I suppose that’s why we’ve been so close. If you met her at first you might think she’s a bit, well, a bit of a blabbermouth. But once you got to know her as well as I have you’d realise she wouldn’t betray your confidences. At least, that’s what I used to think.
I met her for a snack lunch at Lafayette’s a few weeks ago and I could tell she was bursting to let it all spill out. Jenny had called me the evening before, but didn’t want to tell me over the phone. She was just getting me on tenterhooks, if you ask me. But, as it turned out, it was well worth waiting for.
As I munched my way through a camembert salad baguette Jenny let fly, occasionally looking around to see if anyone at the nearby tables was overhearing.
‘I’m telling you, Jill, this mustn’t go any further.’
With my mouth full I must have mumbled something that she took as agreement.
‘Have you ever had your bottom smacked?’
The explosion of crumbs from my mouth followed by a coughing fit surely must have indicated not.
‘For heaven’s sake, Jill, there’s no need to be quite so uptight about it! And try not to cough so much - you’re making people stare in our direction. If you’re going to hear the rest, you’ll need to exercise a lot more self-control.
‘Well, it all happened about a week ago. I’d just finished this delivery in a back alley off the High Street, when I came back to the van to find a warden standing there. Of course I was furious. I’d barely been away three or four minutes and there was a card in the windscreen like usual.’
I had better explain that Jenny runs her own part-time business doing rush deliveries for pharmaceutical supplies to chemists and other shops in the town. When she started it was to pay for this correspondence course she was doing in alternative therapies. She was really dead set on becoming a hypnotherapist. It seemed a crazy way of trying to support herself, and I told her so at the time. So did her boyfriend, Mike, but it only made her more determined to do it. And then she ditched him for no reason I could make out. But there’s no need to go into that.
The point is that’s why Jenny was parking her van at the back entrance of this shop. She stuck this card on her windscreen saying it was an urgent delivery. If that didn’t work she could usually charm her way out of getting a ticket. Jenny has a shock of raven hair and makes heads turn. But this time she got the shock.
‘When he turned around I was amazed. Jill, he was gorgeous, really my type. Dark and soulful, with a hint of moodiness. Dressed in shirtsleeves; it was a warm day. I could see he had good muscle definition. He was just about to start writing a ticket. So I had to make my move fast. On balance, I thought the direct approach might work best. Luckily I was wearing my black stretch jeans - you know, the ones that make my bum look really cute - and a short leather jacket over a body. I came up really close to him so he could get a good look at my tits under their thin layer of purple lycra.’
I tut-tutted at this dreadful flaunting of herself in front of a complete stranger. True enough, Jen had a beautiful figure. She had shown me her breasts one evening when we were back at my flat, and since then we had been to the sauna together a few times. She was quite open about it. They were full and round with pronounced dark areolae. She admitted they were her pride and joy, and I have to admit I felt envious. We were both in our late twenties, but Jenny always made me look like her kid sister. Whenever she thought she could get away with it she went without a bra. This was presumably one of those special occasions.
‘I could see he’d noticed right away, Jill. You know when there’s that electricity in the air. The street was deserted; it was almost like being together in a room. He lowered the pad of tickets and put it into his shirt pocket with a smile. Then he pulled down the peak of his cap and stood up to his full height. I could feel those dark eyes focusing on me from under the cap. It made me feel very small.
‘“You’ve overstayed your welcome here, I’m afraid, miss,” he said, with just a faint twitch of the lips. “You know what that means, I imagine?”
‘“But I did leave a note on the windscreen explaining that I was making a delivery. An urgent delivery,” I replied.
‘He gave me a quizzical look. “Is this your van?”
‘“Yeah. I run an express delivery service. I do it to pay my way through college. I’m Jenny, by the way. The other wardens usually give me a bit of latitude.”
‘He took a few moments to absorb all this. I may have been fluttering my eyelashes to make sure he was paying full attention. Then he pushed up the peak of his cap and gave my chest a more deliberate scrutiny. He craned around to the side and looked me up and down. The street was still pretty quiet.
‘“Well... Jenny, we’re in a bit of a pickle here. You’ve infringed the relevant section of the road traffic bye-laws by parking on a double yellow line. Absolutely no exceptions are made in the regulations, as I’m sure you must know.”
‘He said it as if by rote. I couldn’t think what to say next, although I’d wriggled my way out of similar situations in the past. He dug into his pocket and produced the ticket pad again. I began to panic.
‘“But surely there’s no reason why you have to go ahead and book me. Can’t we settle it in a friendly fashion?”
‘“How do you mean, a friendly fashion?”
‘He shot me a quick glance and then looked away. He knew only too well what I meant. To my relief, I saw him slip the parking tickets back into his shirt pocket. But then he reached into his trouser pocket and brought out a key ring with two Yale keys on it.
‘“What are those for? You’re surely not going to lock me up.”
‘“No, Jenny, I had something else in mind.”
‘I had been quite prepared to let him have a quick grope in the van, but I didn’t like the look of this. “So what are those for?”
‘“They unlock my office, which is fortunately only just around the corner,” he said quietly, taking me by the shoulder and speaking close to my ear. “There you will receive such a spanking that you will never be tempted to try this little escapade again.”
‘I think I must have rocked back on my heels with surprise. He smiled secretly and raised his exquisite eyebrows. I couldn’t decide what to say to rescue my composure. I was just left gasping, Jill. Can you imagine? But then he produced his ticket pad again and I had to think quickly.
‘“How long will it last?” I asked for some reason.
‘“As long as you can last.”
‘“And what kind of spanking? Am I to get the cane or what? Will I have to bend over? I’ve never done anything like this before.”
‘Luckily the street was still deserted.
‘“Since it’s your first time, Jenny, I’ll spare you the cane. But this will be something more than just a hand spanking. Decide right now or I will go ahead and write the ticket. Do you have a choice?”
‘He produced an official-looking biro. A parking fine would have wiped out most of that week’s takings. I meekly nodded my head and made sure the van was locked. He slipped a folded piece of pink paper under a wiper and told me to destroy it afterwards. Then I followed in his footsteps.
‘The room was almost bare, apart from a desk and a couple of tubular metal chairs. It was at the top of a flight of stairs in a grotty building with other offices off each landing. It was stuffy: the window looked as if it were jammed shut. Emulsion was flaking off the ceiling. Thinking about it later, I should have realised this was not really the kind of place the council would have used for its employees.
‘But my mind was on other things. I was to be punished like an errant schoolgirl. Would I have to take everything off in front of this total stranger? Would he really spank me on the bare bottom? How else was I to be punished? What was really in the mind of the warden whose smouldering gaze I sensed burning into the seat of my jeans as I went on up ahead?
‘“Right, Jenny. Let’s get started. Strip to your underthings.”
‘He suddenly became very brisk. He had taken off his cap to reveal close-shaven hair and prominent cheekbones. Then he began to unbutton his shirt. As he peeled it off I could see his chest and upper arms were powerful. They were as bronzed as his face and neck. This was obviously someone who looked after his body and had toned it to near perfection.
‘I unzipped my jeans and peeled them off clumsily. They were very tight. Then off came the purple body. And I was desperate not to lose control of the lemon briefs which, although of sheerest nylon, were my last defence. I very nearly hadn’t bothered with them. Now I praised my lucky stars! I stood and faced him with only those skimpy knicks between me and a full frontal. I was shaking in anticipation. Was it fear or excitement?
‘“Very nice,” he crooned, pulling up a chair. “Now, over my knee for your first session.”
‘Hardly knowing what was happening, I found myself being draped over one knee. More precisely, that knee was pushed between mine and I was grabbed and held around the waist by an extremely strong arm. He held my right hand firmly under my tummy. By stretching forward with my other hand I could just about grip the edge of the desk behind him.
‘He could probably have supported my weight all on his own. He jiggled his knee between my spread thighs a few times so I was well balanced. His unyielding muscles made a hard cushion for my shaved mons.
‘The hand slaps were an initial shock. He moved systematically from one cheek to the other, giving each one five or six blows. And blows they were! If he hadn’t held me so firmly I would have ended up on the floor in a heap. As it was, I couldn’t even move my hand to protect my arse from his attack. I had never been smacked before.
‘Jill, you should try it! I can’t describe the novelty of being put over someone’s knee like a child. Soon my buttocks began to hot up. With each stroke he swung his knee to ensure that he got a good angle. I had never felt quite so vulnerable before, so completely powerless. Strangely, I didn’t feel in any danger.
‘Maybe that was why when he released me and told me to drop those panties sharpish I did it without thinking twice. With anyone else I had only met twenty minutes earlier I would have told them where to get off.
‘The briefs joined the pile of clothes on the desk. I was told to put on my slingbacks again, which seemed odd. Wearing them, I realised I felt more naked than before, as if they were a reminder of all the other garments I had so thoughtlessly removed. He seemed to know exactly what I was feeling. My hand instinctively went to conceal my vulva. I felt the brush of velvety stubble as I touched my mons, then I gasped in surprise. My fingers were slicked, readily betraying my arousal.
‘He noticed my surprise and smiled, shaking his head slightly. He pulled me gently down so I was bent right over with my hands on the edge of the desk. It was the most natural thing in the world to arch my back and try to hide my weeping sex from his view. He stood beside me with his backside supported comfortably on the desk.
‘He had on a thick black belt with a stallion buckle just about at my eye level. I concentrated on it. It seemed an odd thing for a traffic warden to wear on duty. With a shock I realised why I knew it was a stallion. The modelling on the buckle was anatomically very detailed.
‘Looking up, I saw he was holding up my leather jacket for inspection and shaking his head again.
‘“This must have cost you a packet, Miss Jenny. I guess you must be doing better with your express delivery business than you’ve admitted.”
‘“It came from a charity shop,” I retorted. “Only the jeans are new, and I’m paying them off through a catalogue. So, you can see I’m not a poor little rich girl after all.”
‘“Maybe not, but you’re going to be a sore little girl in a minute. Even under your knickers your arse was going pink. Now they’re off we’re on to the bare bum, Jenny. And with this.”
‘He held up a broad leather strap, almost square in shape, stiff enough to support its own weight. Around the edge was a line of studs which gave it a professional look. He held it in front of my face and I could see that in the centre was a cross-shaped pattern of small holes. Somehow, I didn’t think they were there for decoration. I made the mistake of asking. He smiled cruelly.
‘“Decorative? They sure are, as you’re about to discover!”
‘He came round and ran a finger idly down my spine, continuing into the cleft between my cheeks and as far as my ring. I wriggled and moved my haunches away from his probing finger. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the muscles moving in his dark torso with its sprinkle of chest hair. Then I saw him raise the strap.
‘Jill, I couldn’t believe the noise it made. Nor the throb of pain that followed. Again and again the inevitable thwack, until the flash of pain seemed to herald the sharp report of the next stroke, like lightning as a prelude to thunder.
‘I wriggled and yelped as the soft flesh of my arse was pulled in all directions by the studded leather. I sensed from his occasional grunts that my persecutor was stepping up the pressure. To my amazement, the pain was gradually reducing to a blanket of intense heat. It was now at its hottest between my thighs, where the leather had not reached. The warden stopped for a breather.
‘“So how do you feel after being given a good leathering, Miss Jenny?” he asked. “It is the minimum I give out. Persistent offenders receive a much harsher treatment.”
‘“I don’t think I would ever become a persistent offender.”
‘“Let this be a warning then. You have taken your punishment well. I think we can just about pretend that ticket never existed. Now spread your legs and keep that back arched, Jenny.”
‘Now I knew he meant business. And he could hardly fail to see how aroused I had become. I could smell my own musk, mingling with the sharp fragrance of the leather in that small room. God knew who was next door, and what they must be thinking!
‘“Now, Jenny, we need to get down to business.”
‘“What business? You said I’d paid my fine by now.”
‘“Strictly yes, but I’m now offering you a bonus.”
‘I stayed silent. His hand was running lightly over my chafed buttocks and with increasing frequency the fingertips brushed my swollen labia. I shuddered with each growing wave of pleasure. He must have known he had me primed, but I wasn’t going to beg him for it.
‘I heard the sound of that stallion buckle being undone and his trousers being swiftly removed. They were placed over the back of a chair. I turned to see black boxer shorts being removed and a quick flash of bobbing dick amongst a thick mass of dark hair that spread up his firm belly.
‘“Face the front!” he ordered me. “Miss Jenny, at last your pain and suffering has been worthwhile. Now for a dose of intense pleasure.”
‘He grasped my thighs firmly and spread my lips wide. He entered me swiftly with a single thrust that made my knees turn to jelly. But there was to be no mercy. He knew I was hungry for it, that the punishment he’d given me had somehow whetted my appetite for animal sex. I know you’ll find this shocking, Jill, but being fucked from behind by a stranger was the most mind-blowing sex I ever had!’
The trollop put out a hand and gently tapped me under the chin. My jaw had dropped open. Then we both gave girlish squeals. Just listening to her description had made me feel very excited.
After they had completed their energetic bout of sex and collapsed in a heap, they picked themselves up off the floor. Then he made her dress quickly and showed her out the door. And that was the last she had seen of the mysterious traffic warden.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind. Despite paying daily visits to that same back alley Jenny never found him again. She even picked up a genuine parking ticket she couldn’t charm her way out of. She asked the woman warden whether she knew the man. She was tempted to mention the stallion belt but decided against it. From what this woman said it appeared Jenny had probably been hoaxed. Occasionally unscrupulous men got hold of warden uniforms and took advantage of young women who thought they could get out of paying. Disgusting, she called it.
Jenny even went back to the scene of her agony and ecstasy, so to speak. It seemed to be mainly an import-export business. She pushed the top door-entry button, which was unmarked. There was no reply. So, distraught and desperate for more of the same, Jenny decided to unburden her problems on me, as usual.
‘Jill, I wondered if you could help me. Well, if you and Guy could...’
‘Go on.’ Although I had guessed what she was about to ask, I couldn’t get myself to admit I had imagined it. She looked around. The adjacent tables were empty.
‘What I had in mind was for Guy to give me a right good spanking. But you would be there to make sure nothing happened. You know, nothing I would feel guilty about later.’
‘Jen, I can’t really believe I’m hearing this! You expect me to persuade Guy to beat the living daylights out of you while I sit and watch?’
‘Join in if you like. No, I’m joking! Honestly, Jill, you’re the only friend I would dare even suggest the idea to. It would just be like a reminder.’
‘A reminder?’
‘Yeah, of the excitement I felt while being spanked by the stallion. It felt so wonderful afterwards. Maybe I’m a masochist.’
‘Maybe? A racing certainty, I’d say.’
‘But I was so at peace with myself, in touch with my karma, I suppose. There would be nothing more, I promise.’
‘And your karma is the only thing that will get touched. My Guy isn’t going to be any stallion for you, my gal.’
I softened when I saw how depressed she looked. ‘Okay, I’ll ask him and see what he says. But I shouldn’t cancel any long-standing engagements if I were you.’
To my surprise, Guy was keen to give it a try. I say surprised because he’d never before suggested we do anything remotely like that. But his sexy, sleepy grey eyes quite lit up at the prospect. He wanted to finalise the details at once. And for Guy that was a novelty. He’ll always put things off until the last moment if he possibly can.
Anyway, we decided to invite Jenny round for her session at my place the following week. Guy still holed out with his dad, and Jenny’s studio flat had thin walls. I knew about that from the times I had stayed over. It was really difficult to get to sleep with the noise of offstage passion in the next flat.
The next problem was what to use - the instruments of her pain, so to speak. I’d phoned her but Jenny was evasive. She wanted it to be a surprise, she said in a dreamy voice. At times she could be infuriating. All I could think of was a ping-pong bat or a wooden hairbrush.
But one day, walking past a charity shop, I saw just the thing hanging in the window. It was a traditional carpet-beater made of cane, beautifully twisted into a trefoil shape, and it had a long handle. With barely a blush I walked in and bought it. The only trouble was they didn’t have a shopping bag large enough to hide it in. I took a taxi home and ignored the inquisitive looks the driver gave it.
I need hardly have bothered. As soon as Jenny came through the door I could see she had something with her, wrapped in corrugated cardboard.
‘Just arrived this morning by post,’ she explained breathlessly, unveiling a pale school cane and swishing it so that it cut the air with a whooping sound. She handed it over to Guy and, with no preliminaries, began unzipping her jeans.
She was wearing no underwear, just white ankle socks. She spun round so we both got a good view of her neatly trimmed pubic fringe and nice little bottom. I could still see very faint stroke marks around the side of the buttocks where her mystery warden must have caught her with the edge of the tawse.
‘What do you think?’
Guy’s look had suddenly become much more intent. He flexed the cane in both hands, testing its whippiness. He could only nod. I was glad of that, at least.
Jenny was raising her T-shirt, and already her white tummy was visible.
‘Hold it right there!’ I snapped. ‘You can leave the rest of your gear on. All Guy needs to see is your chubby cheeks. Understood?’
Jenny looked quite crestfallen.
‘Now, let’s have a drink,’ I continued, ‘and decide what exactly we’re doing here. I want to know what the rules are if I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the proceedings.’
Jenny was about to step back into her jeans, but I motioned her to hand them over. I was surprised at how submissive she had become. She stood, suddenly self-conscious, with her hands clasped in front of her.
As we knelt on the floor and sipped our drinks, I showed Jenny the carpet-beater. I could see she was impressed by the trouble I had taken. ‘So this will be an evening of novelties for me,’ she whispered, feeling the impact of the bent rattan against her outstretched palm.
‘Yes, and it’s time to begin,’ I said, raising Jenny to her feet and taking her towards the low sofa. ‘You’re going to perch your cute little arse over the back of this and I’m going to sit right here for a front row view.’
She hesitated for a moment. Then, with a quick look at Guy, who had the carpet-beater in his hand and was rolling up his sleeve, she assumed the position I had indicated. She leaned slowly over the back of the sofa, her palms flat on the seat.
‘I think we can do better than that, Jen. Give Guy a little bit of help. He wants a nice easy target. It’s his first shot at giving punishment, as far as I know.’
I made Jenny lower herself until her elbows were on the fake leather seat cushion. Her bum stood higher than her head, her frizzled black mane concealing her face. I sat beside her with one leg tucked under. Jenny looked surprised that I was taking such a close interest in her coming ordeal. Truth to tell, I was intrigued at how she would behave once Guy began laying it on. It was a strange situation to be in, witnessing my lover chastising my best friend. And I was determined to be in control of the situation.
‘All right, lover boy, get ready to deliver. Wait for my order.’
Guy gave me a sheepish grin and raised the rattan beater to around elbow height. He held it hovering above her waiting haunches. I felt Jenny stiffen in anticipation. I was close enough to hear her breathing quicken.
‘Okay, let it rip. Ten quick strokes.’
Guy did as he was told. He must have been dying to touch, but he could see me watching his every move. When the last stroke had been delivered, I brushed Jenny’s hair away from her eyes to get a better look at her face. It had gone quite red, but she was smiling in an unfocused way.
‘How did that feel, Jen?’ I asked.
‘It was great. Is that all I’m going to get?’
‘Okay, ten more, and this time give it some zip, Guy!’
And again he did as he was told, bless him. This time we could hear the beater rushing through the air before swatting Jenny’s sweet little arse. As he gave the last strokes she began to grunt as each one struck home. I was consumed with curiosity to see what effect they were having on her backside. So I knelt on the sofa and leaned over the back to have a look.
The ivory of her skin was now smirched with vivid scarlet blotches, a sure sign that Guy’s work had not been in vain. Looking more closely, I could see there were even faint impressions of the pattern of the rattan on her soft flesh. I traced a fingernail over them experimentally. She let out a tiny gasp. I laid my palm on the curve of the angriest looking part. The heat radiating from her was intense.
‘I think that’s enough of that, Jen,’ I said.
‘No! I want more.’ Her head was up and she brushed her hair aside with one impatient hand, giving me an imploring look.
‘What I was about to say, before you interrupted so impulsively, was that it was now time for the cane.’
‘Oh, great!’
Guy swished it behind her and she flinched. I felt for Jenny. She really didn’t know what to expect, but she was determined to go ahead and experience it with no holds barred. The warden incident still gripped her imagination. I had once heard someone describe caning as the kiss of the rod. Would Jenny really be willing to embrace her pain, I wondered, and would she really find pleasure at the end of its long tunnel?
‘Are you sure, Jen?’ I asked her. ‘How many do you deserve then? A dozen?’
She nodded silently and put her head down. But she didn’t stay silent for long. At the first couple of strokes she let out little gasps of shock. Maybe Guy increased the force. Whatever the reason, by the time we got to the halfway point she was breathing rapidly and muttering under her breath.
I asked her whether she was sure she wanted to go on.
‘Yes, yes. Don’t stop! Now I know what the warden might have given me,’ came from under the mane of hair. Her T-shirt had slipped down to partly reveal her breasts. I hoped Guy couldn’t see. Guy resumed his position. He was flushed and there was a definite gleam in his eye as he flexed his wrist and made the cane whistle. Jenny flinched and gasped. I gave him a warning look. He was enjoying this a lot more than I liked. I felt queasy.
Well, what can I say about the rest of the session? It makes me shiver to think about it. Jenny seemed to be in a kind of trance, hardly responding to the strokes. Then Guy began to raise his arm and lay it on. I should have stopped him, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Only with the final stroke did she buckle at the knees, giving a full-throated cry. I was really worried, but she picked herself up and, sweeping the hair out of her eyes, gave me a quick, reassuring smile.
She turned to face Guy and I saw what that cane had done to her buttocks. Dark red ridges had formed in matching patterns on both cheeks, like an erotic bar code. One of the twelve had been off-target, the tip of the cane leaving a nasty bruise on one buttock.
‘Oh, Jen!’ I gasped in horror. When she saw where I was looking she put her hand down to feel the area of flaming red.
‘Wow, that’s really something! My mark of shame. Thanks, Guy,’ she said. And it was he who got the special view as she ran her fingers over the afflicted area and down underneath. Her fingers came up wet and she didn’t try to hide the fact. She gave Guy an inviting look. I gave him one to equal it as I quickly handed Jenny her jeans.
Over the next few days I could sense the ground shifting under my feet. I couldn’t put my finger on what was happening. The punishment episode was not repeated, and none of us talked about it. Well, neither of them spoke to me, anyway.
It was a couple of weeks before I met Jenny again, although we talked over the phone as usual. She called me at work one morning in great excitement to say she had been offered a real job.
‘A store detective!’ I gasped in disbelief. ‘What kind of qualifications do you need for that?’
‘You need to be alert and sharp-eyed. Bit like a squirrel, really. It’s only three days a week. I don’t wear a uniform. I have to mingle with the crowd and watch for shoplifters. It can be boring, but when it gets busy you hardly know which way to look!’
We met up a few days later and she told me all about it. The day before she had made her first kill, as she put it. A young woman in jeans and a puffer jacket. She and another woman detective took the culprit up to a special room at the back of the store and made her take the jacket off. There were half a dozen secret pockets in the lining. She had pinched loads of expensive lingerie, even a cashmere jumper, and was already through the checkout when Jenny pounced.
‘So what happened?’
‘We had her on video, fortunately. She was charged, but not until we checked she hadn’t anything stuffed up her knickers.’
‘Jen! You’re joking!’
‘I thought it was a bit extreme. Not according to my superior. Women customers get up to all kinds of tricks in the cubicles, apparently.’
She had a fund of stories to tell me, and I was glad to see Jenny more like her old self. I hoped she had forgotten all about the fake traffic warden and this unhealthy masochistic streak she had revealed to me. And, of course, to Guy.
But, unfortunately, the talk returned to the caning evening and she wanted to know when we could do a repeat. I just couldn’t go through it again. So I told her that neither Guy nor I wanted to repeat it and she dropped the subject.
Another week or so passed. One night Guy was round and he tried to get me to borrow the cane from Jenny so he could give me a taster. He got quite shirty when I reacted with horror, admittedly a little exaggerated, but I wanted him to know this was a road we were not travelling.
Next thing he’s suggesting we should see a little less of each other. I was taken aback. Our relationship wasn’t madly passionate any more, but we had been together for a couple of years and friends considered us as good as married. I had to find out what was behind it.
Guy wasn’t very forthcoming at the best of times, but I soon made him feel ashamed of his behaviour towards me, and he eventually confessed all. Jenny had been in touch with him and asked whether he enjoyed caning her and would he like to do it again? That was just before he asked me if I would. Always the gentleman, our Guy.
Anyway, they hatched a little scenario between them. She told him about the interview room at the department store and he agreed to go round one afternoon when she was on duty. He was there in the lingerie section talking to Jenny when he got cold feet about the whole escapade. He said he was going to leave right then. She told him he wasn’t and suggested he looked in his jacket pocket. What should he find but a matching lace bra and panties Jenny must have planted when she had hugged him.
Naturally, my blood was boiling by now. I could see the way Jenny’s mind was working. She had been tricked by the fake traffic warden, so she was getting her own back with something equally devious. If Guy kicked up a fuss he would have been in worse trouble. I saw his predicament without feeling in the least sympathetic.
They went up to the interview room. She locked the door and closed the porthole. Guess what she had rolled up in cardboard in one corner of the room? She told Guy they often used it on younger shoplifters who considered it a better option than being taken home by a police officer. I didn’t believe any of it. But he swallowed her tale.
In a trice she was out of her kit, telling him to pretend she was the shoplifter. He thought briefly about it, he told me, before agreeing. Of course he did. He had nothing to lose and the chance to eye up Jenny’s cute little arse for the second time. And he certainly gave her her money’s worth this time, with her kneeling Islamic-style on the floor, even by his own account. His only concern was that her yelps would cause someone to investigate, so she agreed to bite on his belt to stifle the cries.
All this went on for a good twenty minutes and Jenny was red raw. She then flipped over and lay on her back with her knees spread, the randy little cow! I suppose I can hardly blame Guy for it. He did seem upset and even glad he had confessed all. I sent him away and told him not to phone. I would call him when I was ready.
Now I’m awaiting Jenny’s call. I shall be interested in hearing her version of events. I shall suggest she comes around as soon as possible with that pale, whippy cane. She seems to have got quite a taste for the kiss of the rod. But, believe me, she will also feel its bite when I give it to her. If this is the only way to keep her in check, I must learn to be cruel to my best friend.
The car turned off the country road at a wrought-iron sign. It bore the Gothic-style inscription Witchwood. A long, tree-lined drive obscured any view of the house until the last moment. There were already two cars pulled up on the gravel in front of a well-preserved Georgian facade. The driver continued on round to the left as instructed.
He got out and took a closer look at the house from the back. It was a hot afternoon in early summer and he was glad to be able to stretch his legs. Through the tall, narrow pointed windows he could see that a small flat had been created within the later Victorian wing. This was definitely the place. He peered in through one of the mullioned windows but could see no sign of anybody.
‘Mr Dimarco?’ A young woman in her twenties stood before him, hands on hips. She was dressed in jeans and a plain cotton singlet, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Her dark, ringletted hair was partially held in a ponytail. ‘Hello, I’m Jane. Glad you found us.’
‘Hello. Why don’t you call me Dino?’ The broad-shouldered young man removed his sunglasses and gave her a keen look from piercing grey eyes. It was a move that was usually effective with women. This one, however, gave only a slight smile.
‘Shame, I’d hoped you might be called Tarzan.’
There was a second’s silence as he assessed her reply.
‘I get it. Well, Jane, this is quite some place you’ve got here. Much grander than I’d expected from the ad. It looks as if you’ve been carrying out some restoration work. How long have you been here?’
‘Nearly eighteen months now. And still the work goes on. The west wing is just completed, where the flat is. If you want I can show you around. I chose the colour schemes.’ Jane ran her fingers nervously through the tight ringlets that framed her small-featured face.
‘Yeah, I’d like to, Jane. I’m working on an assignment in this area for the next few months, did I mention that?’
‘You’re a photographer?’
‘That’s right. Publishers approach me for a picture portfolio on a particular theme. For coffee table books. Gites in the Dordogne, capanne in Umbria, that kind of thing. It seems to sell and they keep on commissioning me. So I’m not complaining.’
‘It sounds very exotic. What brings you to the Home Counties?’
‘Barns. Or rather converted barns. People seem to like turning them into a rural retreat. Lots of people dream of doing it, according to my publisher’s research. So a picture book is needed pronto.’ He practised his confident smile. ‘Before a rival gets in first.’
‘I’m not surprised. Mind you, I think I could convert a barn in my sleep after the problems we’ve encountered with this pile.’
The girl’s well-modulated vowels, usually a sign of an expensive education in Dino’s experience, led him to believe there would still be plenty in the bank. So why rent out the flat?
She eyed him up frankly and he gave her a similar treatment. The jeans were fashionably tailored, tight-fitting. Her nails and make-up looked too good for doing plastering and painting. The embossed calf-length boots hardly looked everyday country work-wear, either.
‘Shall we go?’ she demanded, one dark eyebrow cocked. With a finger she drew one ringlet away from her face to look at him more carefully.
Despite its Gothic exterior the converted west wing was quite intimate in scale. They entered by a small porch to the rear. In the diminutive hall they were faced by four or five doors. They both paused. The man felt his pulse begin to race in the silence.
‘Which room would you like to see first, Dino?’ She stood closer and smiled up at him. Her breast brushed his forearm as she moved past him. Her attitude was quite different to the cool, appraising manner she had adopted outside. She was definitely acting provocatively.
‘I think the bedroom.’ He paused for effect. ‘If that’s all right by you.’
‘No, I think we’ll start with the living room.’ She turned on her heel, then pushed open the door immediately before her.
The room was surprisingly spacious, with a sofa and two matching leather armchairs. The view was out to the front drive and beyond to a line of trees shielding the house from the road. The girl turned and faced him, standing against this rural backdrop.
Holding his gaze, she raised one leg and then the other to slip her boots off. Unzipping her jeans, she eased herself backwards on to the couch to free her legs from them. As she stood up again Dino saw that she was wearing pale blue pants, just visible below her T-shirt. And that was all.
He had lost the initiative. He could only stand in front of her, speechless.
‘Cat got your tongue, Dino? I think we’ve seen enough of the living room, don’t you?’
She stood up, discarding the jeans. Impulsively, she reached out for his hand and pulled him back into the hall. Suddenly they were in a smaller room dominated by a brass bed and a fitted wardrobe with mirror doors. Facing the foot of the bed was the long, pointed window he had noticed on arrival.
Within seconds she had unzipped him and pulled his chinos and underpants down to his knees, pushing him back on to the bed. She peeled off the white singlet in one fluid movement. She dangled it above him, dropped it on to his face then stepped between his legs. She stood with both arms stretched up above her head, emphasising her slight, boyish figure, then lowered both hands to her hair, which she released from its decorative band and shook free.
‘Now, what else would you like to inspect?’ she whispered, reaching down to unbutton his shirt and run her fingertips across his smooth chest. ‘Or are you satisfied with what you’ve seen?’
She pulled his clothes down to his ankles. She spread his knees as far apart as they would go. He grunted in surprise. In the confined space created she did a mini-strip, easing the thong down her white thighs to the floor. Then she toppled forward on to him. Holding his wrists, she pushed his feet free.
He tried to take her slender body in his arms, but was unable to do so. She held one wrist pinioned above his head, the other by his side. Her face was only inches from his. He felt the ticklish sensation of her bush on his thigh. She was rubbing it against him.
She proceeded to lick him from the side of his chest across his ribs down to the beginning of his pubic fringe. His rod had responded without further encouragement. Its tip brushed her ringlets as she moved her head up and down. She was surprisingly lithe, almost like an athlete.
‘Cat got your tongue again?’ she asked with a look of innocent inquiry. One finger was now circling the purple bulge of his glans, going teasingly towards the tip before retreating down the length of his shaft, dragging the side of a sharp nail in its wake.
Dino reacted instantly to the pain, but she was ready for him, restraining him by holding on to one wrist. He was released as she slid further down. The next minute his urge to resist was diminished as she took him delicately between her lips, kneeling on the floor between his thighs.
She looked up and watched his face with a level gaze for reactions of pleasure. She held his shaft playfully between thumb and forefinger and twitched it across her full lips. He groaned uncontrollably.
Reaching round to the back of her neck, he took a handful of her mass of curls. He slowly but firmly pulled her head back and away as he eased himself up into a sitting position. She looked at him through eyes misted with desire.
‘Er, I need to put something on first. It’s in my trouser pocket.’ He tried to sound in control.
She bounded free and, with a giggle, threw his trousers up to him. The next minute she was up on the bed beside him, like a naughty child, her chin on his shoulder as he applied the condom.
‘Now, you’re going to get what’s coming to you,’ he said with his lazy smile. His hand went down between her legs and he rubbed the slipperiness of her folds with two fingers. Her eyes closed as she groaned softly and he felt her subside against his supporting arm. He had regained the initiative.
Within minutes they were joined. Initially she fought his entry but soon he was deep into her. His insistent rhythm was instantly picked up. Her thighs rubbed his hips as she scissored him. Their indrawn breaths were briefly synchronised. Then her long moans began, cutting across the counterpoint of his thrusting.
They started as barely a whimper, becoming louder, guttural and percussive, as he mastered her. They were given full voice as she arched her back and her arousal reached fever pitch. As the man felt himself on the numb point where release was imminent he stopped, trying to delay its coming. But she, with one hand gripping the small of his back, ran the nails of the other down his left buttock. He opened his mouth wide in soundless pain and thrust savagely in uncontrollable retaliation.
Their coming together was unforgettable. The man was in the grip of some fierce power that shook him like a doll. His arms lost their strength. The girl gave several high-pitched whimpers before silencing herself with the back of one hand as she came. She lay silent for a second, her eyes half-closed, then she smiled and reached up to kiss him on the forehead.
Then the doorbell rang. He swore. But she only smiled secretively and pushed him gently away. ‘That will be Homer. Make yourself reasonably respectable before you let him in, please.’
‘Who the hell is Homer?’
‘He’s my husband. It’s his money I’ve spent on this place. American money. It was his idea to let out the west wing. Try to keep him talking for a few minutes while I make myself decent. I’ll be in the living room.’
With his mind in a whirl Dino pulled on his chinos and shirt, then opened the door. Homer was around twenty years older than the girl and, to his credit, didn’t try to hide it. His hair was already beginning to grey and thin on top. He was dressed in lightweight tweed-effect plus-fours with an open-neck check shirt. He held a mobile phone at his side.
‘Hi there! I think you must have already met up with my wife, Jane. I’m Homer. Welcome to Witchwood. Do you like what you see?’
The older man’s smile was full and sincere. Did he really not suspect what had been going on? The young man didn’t for a moment believe he was the first. She had seduced him with a confidence and finesse that betrayed expertise.
‘Er, yes. Very much indeed. It’s quite a place you have here. The improvements must have cost a fortune.’
‘Indeed they did. And the land, too. Did Jane mention that I breed thoroughbreds in the fields at the back? By the way, where is she?’
Dino sought a delaying answer, but then, as if on cue, Jane came out into the hall, immaculately dressed once again, her ringlets back in a ponytail. She smiled at her husband in a conspiratorial way.
‘Honey, it’s Sara for you.’ He extended the phone in her direction. ‘She said it was fairly urgent, so I thought I’d bring it over. You left it on the porch.’
‘Silly me! In this pile you need to take a mobile everywhere you go,’ she said to Dino as she squeezed between them to take the call out in the open air.
Turning down the offer of tea, Dino Dimarco returned to his hotel to pack. By lunchtime the following day he was comfortably settled into the cosy flat. He had happily paid a very modest month’s rent in advance. He mentioned this to Jane as he left, but she shrugged it off.
‘Don’t worry, Homer knows what he’s doing.’
Most fine days Dino was out quite early on the shoot. He always looked for unusual light conditions so he was often away early or back late. There were few chances to talk with his landlords, especially the extraordinary Jane. Perhaps she was avoiding him out of embarrassment. Or else she had work that took her away for most of the day. Occasionally she went off with Homer but more often on her own, in a bright orange sports car that must have cost a fortune. So it was not until the weekend that they came face to face again.
The doorbell rang early on the Sunday evening and there she was, wearing only a man’s striped shirt and a pair of leather espadrilles.
‘Jane - what a surprise. Would you like to come in for a drink?’
She shook her head impatiently and pushed her way past. ‘Hasn’t Homer told you of our little game, Dino?’
As she headed for the living room, he noticed she had a hank of white cord rather like a clothesline in one hand and her mobile phone in the other.
‘Er, I suppose so. Yes, of course. Now I remember,’ he prevaricated.
He and Homer had met up by arrangement the previous morning at the stable block to the back of the house. Dino knew very little about horses but had listened with interest to the finer points of breeding as Homer explained patiently. Clearly this was the fulfilment of a lifetime’s dream for the American. He had made a fresh start after spending thirty years clawing his way up the corporate ladder, as he put it with a modest chuckle.
His interest in horseflesh had come from his German mother, who had taught him to ride while still young. When his second wife died, and with his children grown-up, Homer decided to move to England, where he was already part of a consortium of stud farm investors. He had met Jane at a race meeting three years ago. At that time she was a semi-professional jockey looking for an opportunity to escape. From his account it was mutual attraction at first sight despite the difference in their ages. Soon afterwards they had found Witchwood and managed to buy or lease the surrounding land. They worked for owners, taking in their yearlings and training them. Homer’s dream of his own racing stables had happened and now he had a wife who loved riding the horses.
‘So Jane goes out to visit owners and see their new foals?’ Dino had enquired. ‘She must spend a lot of time on the road.’
‘But she always returns at night. That’s something we agreed on from the outset. She has her independence, but there are conditions. She knows that.’
The abruptness of the reply had made the younger man decide on a change of tack.
‘So you take young horses and turn them into champions. Nothing to it?’
‘We achieve it by a mixture of kindness and coercion. But first we have to break the yearling so he will accept the rider.’
‘A struggle between man and beast? I’d love to try photographing it.’
‘It takes a long, long time, I’m afraid. You wouldn’t find it that interesting.’ Homer had chuckled to himself. ‘It’s an unequal struggle.’
‘Unequal? Does the horse never win?’
‘Not in my experience. They know who the master is. It’s the natural order of things, you see. It can be the same between men and women, too.’ Homer had looked at him penetratingly for a brief second. He somehow made the observation seem extra significant.
Homer was on the surface a contented man, but in a remote corner of his mind he must have been curious about his new wife’s activities. Dino had wondered whether he should tell Homer of the extraordinary encounter the day he arrived, still fresh in his memory, and risk destroying the man’s peace of mind, or continue to be two-faced. He could not deny he had been hoping for a repeat performance...
His reverie was rudely disturbed. Here she was, standing in front of him only partly dressed. But why the rope?
‘So, are you ready? Let’s go!’ Jane’s eyes were flashing and her raven ringlets showed signs of disorder. It was a startling transformation. She quivered from head to foot. A whimper that mingled apprehension and eagerness escaped her lips as she stood impatiently in the middle of the room, sneaking anxious glances through the window, like the first time she had grabbed his hand. ‘Quick! We mustn’t waste time! Homer is waiting.’
‘Where are we going and why are you half-dressed?’ Dino was able to appreciate the surprising muscularity of her pale legs as she strained to be gone from the room.
‘The stables. Didn’t Homer tell you?’
‘He said that men and women were always competing for mastery. Just like with the horses you train,’ he ended lamely, not having previously considered the implications of the analogy.
‘Well, come on then!’
She pulled him out of the house and round to the stable block, which was on the far side of a five-barred gate. A line of horses’ heads turned to observe their approach. She pulled open the door of an empty stall. The straw had been changed, he noticed. Jane threw the hank of rope to Dino. Then she pressed a key on her mobile. She stiffened as she heard a voice respond.
‘What must I do now, master?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Oh, God, not that! Yes, I think he’s strong enough.’ She pressed the secrecy button on the mobile and turned to Dino, her dark eyes flashing fire. ‘Please help me! That’s Homer. Now it’s what we call breaking-in time. He listens over the phone.’
‘Listens to what?’
‘Didn’t he tell you all this? Every so often he tells me I’ve overstepped the mark. I need to be restrained and taught a lesson. I go too far, you see.’
‘How far is too far?’
‘Well, our little fling in the flat last week, for example.’
‘He knows about that?’
‘Yes. I told him.’
There was a pause. Dino’s mind reeled in disbelief.
‘You see, Dino,’ she continued, anticipating his question, ‘we have this agreement. He allows me my head, but then he tells me it’s time. Time for me to remember who’s master.’
‘Just like the horses. He said they must learn to respect their master.’
‘Exactly. Well, if you understand the way Homer’s mind works you’ll not be surprised by all this.’
‘So what do I have to do?’
‘For a start, you have to tie my wrists together behind my back.’ She shivered slightly in anticipation.
‘Some kind of control freak, uh? Is that all?’
‘No, there will be further instructions as we go along. You will need to hold the mobile so I can talk directly to Homer and he can hear me. But you mustn’t ever speak to him. This is between him and me. You’re just the facilitator. You must do exactly as he says. I hope you don’t mind: I did warn you.’
He began to tie her wrists. The mobile lay on the feed basket, next to something leather.
She whimpered. ‘Tighter! That is how the master requires it to be,’ she shouted, her head turned towards the mobile.
When he had finished, she turned to face the entrance. Through the open top leaf a shaft of evening sun entered the stall, bathing her standing figure in a golden light.
‘Now strip me. You will need to tear the shirt to get it off. Make it sound as violent as you can.’
He gaped at the prospect. What kind of crazy world was this where a man got a thrill from hearing his partner being willingly molested?
‘Help me. Oh, mercy!’ she shouted melodramatically.
He hesitated. She looked at him and in a whisper said: ‘It’s okay. Go on, you’re doing great.’
He put both hands inside the neck of her shirt and pulled them fiercely apart. There was a slight tear as the first button went, but he knew greater force would be needed. A series of hard pulls tore the two sides apart. He pulled the ruined garment back over her shoulders. She made whimpering noises whilst giving him a small encouraging smile. She stood facing him with her small, pink-tipped breasts exposed. Now all she wore was a pair of white briefs.
The exertion was making Dino sweat. He held up the mobile to her ear and Jane listened once more to her instructions. ‘Yes, master, on the floor. On my front. He will tie them tight.’
She kneeled down, almost losing her balance. Her pale skin looked golden in the sunlight. Her pubic bush was plainly visible as it sprouted in profusion to either side of the gusset.
‘Are these to come off, too?’ Dino asked.
‘Yes, now, hurry!’ she gasped.
He put one hand inside the waistband at the back and the other to the small of her back. He tugged suddenly and felt the elastic give. Moving round to her hip, he tugged again and she gasped at the suddenness of the movement. The side stitching was almost gone. With two hands he finished the job. The briefs hung down from one thigh only. Her pubic hair was revealed as a black shield below her belly.
‘Now, quick, put me on my front and bind my ankles together, but make sure they are crossed.’
Leaving some slack between the wrist and ankle ties, Dino did as he was told. He was beginning to enjoy having mastery over this young woman who, if she were to face him on level terms, would probably give as good as she received. According to Homer, she was still a tireless horsewoman.
Now she lay trussed at his feet, her legs stretched out but slightly bowed because of the way her ankles were tied. He knelt beside her, holding the phone to her ear.
‘Okay, now hog-tie me.’ Jane’s voice was muffled by the straw. ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘Link your wrists and your ankles, right?’
‘Right, but pull me back up into a kneeling position first.’
The hog-tie was quickly achieved by taking up the slack in the cord behind her back. Jane knelt facing the light, her arms thrust back, her pelvis pushed forward with her thighs splayed. She was panting and moaning as he did it. It was a position that caused a woman to be at her most vulnerable.
‘Yes, master. I understand.’ She listened attentively, her eyes unfocused. Her thighs strained to hold her trunk upright.
For all Dino knew Homer could be just outside the door, getting a close-up view. He was past caring. He reached down to the scrap of cotton that still clung by the elastic to one of her pale thighs. It came away with a loud, tearing sound.
Jane squealed, partly in surprise but partly in genuine pain. He noticed that the action had left a dark red line on the inside of her taut thigh. Instinctively he put his hand down to touch. As he did so, the back of his hand brushed her springy bush. It was sopping wet with her juices. He gasped with surprise.
‘Dino, the bridle!’
‘Where?’
‘Hanging from the feed basket, behind you!’
He picked up the piece of leather strapwork with puzzlement. The restraint had a dull glow that signified careful treatment and the bit was of highly polished chrome. It looked too small to fit on a horse’s head.
‘Hurry. I can hear him coming!’ The tendons on her neck stood out as she strained to see what he was up to. ‘Put it on me, quick!’
Dino was aware of the horses in the nearby stalls becoming restive. He himself could hear no human footsteps. He strained to fit the black leather straps over her head. As he fumbled with the buckle at the back he heard whinnies of recognition coming from not too far away. Sweat broke out on his brow.
‘Slip the bit into my mouth, then go! Thanks for your assistance, Dino.’ Her eyes narrowed as she strained to see if her husband was coming through the door.
‘But what will he do to you?’
‘Never mind. It is as we arranged. He must reassert his mastery. Now go!’
Feverishly he slipped the chrome bar between her teeth and tightened the strap.
‘Okay?’ The question was foolish. How could she answer? But she nodded exaggeratedly as if to make doubly sure there was no misunderstanding. Her gesture was unnervingly like that of a horse turning mettlesome.
Clearly it was time to leave; his role was over. What kind of a freak was Homer to get his sexual kicks like this? No wonder they lived in the back of beyond, so that no one could spy on them. Well, almost no one.
He dashed out through the door. He was blinded by the sun setting over the roof of the opposite stable block, but coming towards him was a striding figure. Homer passed him with a grunt. Dino noticed the other man was wearing riding boots and, as he turned in through the stable entrance, he slapped one leg with a riding crop. The door was pulled shut with a bang, but the top leaf remained open and attached to the wall.
He went back to his car and picked up his camera. Just as Homer had instructed, Dino had loaded slow mono film. As he walked back towards the stable block he could already hear the slap of the leather shaft followed by a shriek and faint moans and cries. He could imagine Jane’s strong haunches, marred by the dark lines made by the cropping she was receiving. He realised the bit was strangling any words she might have been trying to form. The image was already making him hard, and the thought of her paleness in the shaft of sunlight.
Taming a woman with a crop: there was something incredibly gross about it. But she seemed to derive considerable excitement from it. And, Dino suspected, he was going to get his share of kicks as well. He came closer and heard her quick breathing and the whimpering she was making despite the bit between her teeth.
Once Homer had finished with her the slate would be wiped clean and she could start to ‘go too far’ again. Which was just fine by him. But first he had to concentrate on the job in hand. In the distance he could hear horses becoming restive. He had to creep into the neighbouring stall, which was empty, and cautiously take his pictures over the divider without Jane seeing him. Homer would have her positioned by now.
Not quite as artistic as restored tithe barns, but it would pose its challenges. He had to try and take each shot as the stroke fell, thus hiding the sound of the shutter motor. Dino could develop the prints himself in a friend’s darkroom and slip them to Homer without his wife knowing. That was the deal. All for free. That was why Homer had specified a photographer as tenant. And now Dino knew why the rent was so low.
Two hard strokes in quick succession, and a piercing shriek came from the other side of the wooden divider. Dino could almost smell her musky juices, imagine her taut muscles straining at those bonds he had tied. He realised he was sweating in anticipation.
Dino silently manoeuvred himself into position and peered over into the next stall, camera at the ready.
-oOo-