by Sam Anthony
“Well, hopefully, it will get her off your back for a while.”
“It doesn’t solve my problem, though. I still don’t know how I’m going to murder the little bastard and get away with it.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. How about poison? Place an apple laced with strychnine on his chair before the lesson.”
“Fruit! He wouldn’t be seen dead eating fruit.”
“Nice choice of words. Okay, what does he eat?”
“Crisps.”
“What else?”
“That’s it, just crisps. Cheese and onion flavour. I’ve never seen him eat another thing. He snacks on them slyly in the lesson. I know he’s doing it because of the stench and the chomping noises. He knows I know he’s doing it, but we’ve come to an unspoken agreement: I turn a blind eye to it and, in return, he makes my life a fucking misery.”
“That seems fair.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to choose your battles. Preventing the consumption of potato-based snacks during the lesson isn’t the hill I want to die on. Litter, on the other hand, ...”
“Litter?”
“He leaves his empty packets stuffed behind the radiator.”
“Isn’t that a fire hazard?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, new plan. Place a packet of cheese and onion flavoured crisps laced with strychnine on his chair before the lesson.”
“Hmm?” thought Mia, unconvinced.
“It can’t fail. He finds the crisps, eats them, poisons himself, dies. Job done.”
“You could be onto something here. I’ll give it some thought.”
Ollie took out a glass and filled it with water. “What sort of graffiti?”
“Huh?”
“What does Wayne carve into his desk about your sex life?”
“I’ll tell you.” Mia retrieved a notebook from her schoolbag. “I’ve kept a record of a few of the choicest ones. Some of these were gouged into the desk, some were written with indelible marker-pen on the wall outside my classroom, and some were scrawled inside textbooks.”
Mrs Fairfucks likes to suck cock!
Ollie nodded. “Pithy. And true. Unfortunate misspelling of your surname, though.”
“I suspect that wasn’t an accident.”
“At least he put ‘Mrs’. That sounds almost respectful.”
“Hardly. What about this one …?”
Fairfax is a whore!
“That’s blatantly untrue. You’ve never had sex for money, have you?” Ollie winked.
“Not since university.” Mia winked back.
See me after the lesson for a free BJ
“That one was on the wall above my door.”
“Do you get many takers?”
“My head of department expressed an interest.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I laughed it off.”
“Arsehole! Want me to rough him up?”
“Please do, but wait until after my performance management meeting.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“I’d do it if you asked me to.”
“With all due respect, sweetheart, you’re a lover, not a fighter. You couldn’t rough up an octogenarian.”
“Man or woman?”
“Either. Here’s another one …”
Fairfucks is a c*nt
“I don’t know what to say, love. No one should have to put up with that sort of abuse.”
“But look how he wrote it. He’s actually put an asterisk instead of the u. What’s that all about?”
“That is weird. Perhaps he didn’t want to offend you. What’s for tea; I’m starving?”
“One more graffito and I’ll see what we’ve got in the freezer.”
Maths is shit!
“That’s not even about you.”
“But it’s the one I take most personally. It hurts more than all the others put together. He carved that into the desk last Monday. I work my socks off trying to educate that boy about the beauty of mathematics, and this is the thanks I get. I’m failing, Ollie. I don’t mind him hating me, but it saddens me that he hates maths too.”
“You mustn’t beat yourself up, love. You’re a great teacher. It’s not your fault if he doesn’t want to learn.”
Chapter 33
Friday 10 October, 2003
O’Connor living room, 7:30 p.m.
Fiona walked into the living room and bent over to pick up her slippers.
Steve looked up. “Where’s Ava?”
“She’s gone to a friend’s house for tea. They’re working on some project together.”
Steve’s heart rate doubled. “What time will she be home?”
“Around ten.”
“What time is it now?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“What do you reckon?”
Fiona puffed out her cheeks. “We’ll have to be quick. Two hours at the most.”
“Go and get your gear on, then. I’ll dig up the keys and unlock the room.”
“Any requests?”
“Those shiny high heels and stockings.”
“Hold-ups or with a garter belt and suspenders?”
“Surprise me.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, no … those black nipple tassels too.”
“Okay, I’ll see you down there in ten minutes.”
As Fiona tried to walk past him, Steve grabbed her arm.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry. I’ll see you down there in ten minutes, sir.”
“That’s better. And make it five.”
As Steve located the trowel and headed for the garden, Fiona called after him. “Don’t forget the new toy.”
“What?”
“The one that came in the parcel.”
◆◆◆
It was just an average, common-or-garden, run-of-the-mill sex dungeon. A four-poster bed, a sex swing, medieval stocks, a rope noose and metal handcuffs hanging from a wooden beam, a throne, and a chest full of the usual implements of pleasure and torture: vibrators, dildos, whips, paddles, floggers, blindfolds et cetera. There were mirrors behind the bed, more mirrors on both sides of it, and even more mirrors above it on the ceiling. A rotating video camera on a tripod dominated the centre of the room.
◆◆◆
Steve used the three keys to unlock the basement door, hands shaking with anticipation. He switched on the lights, checked the memory card in the camera, and selected his favourite flogger from the chest. He speedily changed into his black-tie suit and patent leather shoes that he kept down there for their sessions, and then he waited – breathing hard – for his wife to appear.
He didn’t have to wait long before he heard quick footsteps on the wooden stairs and a timid knock on the door.
“Sir, please may I enter?”
◆◆◆
Afterwards, as Steve removed the noose, untied the restraints and handed Fiona a silk robe, she said, “You know this is all for your benefit, don’t you? I don’t really enjoy it.”
That was a massive lie. She absolutely loved it. She’d climaxed five times although, for the sake of decorum, she pretended it was only once. But it wasn’t just the sex; she adored being his focal point, the centre of his attention. This was when she felt closest to her husband. The time when they could both express their primitive desires.
Her heart sank when he replied, “I feel exactly the same, love. It’s just not as much fun as it used to be.”
This – coming from Steve – was the truth, and Fiona knew it. In spite of his efforts to inject variety into their sessions, and her amenability to go along with his increasingly bizarre requests, they were still becoming repetitive and dull. Their regular sex life was almost non-existent already, and now their kinky sex life was heading the same way.
Fiona, no longer in character, kissed Steve on the cheek. “I’m going for a shower,” she said.
Steve watched Fiona as she exited the basement ro
om holding the silk robe out behind herself so it didn’t come into contact with her smarting bottom. She reminded him of a Victorian noblewoman in a bustle dress.
Once the room was tidy, and the sweat and other body fluids wiped away, Steve removed the memory card from the camera and put it in his pocket, ready to watch in private the next time he had the house to himself. He triple locked the door, replaced the ginger hair on the doorknob, and trudged upstairs and out into the garden to re-bury the keys.
He might have been happier had he known that Fiona, still aroused from the abuse and humiliation she’d recently received, was masturbating in the shower.
Chapter 34
Saturday 11 October, 2003
The pub, 9:29 p.m.
“I don’t like the way she looks at me,” said Fiona as she set down the glasses.
“Who?”
“Mandy.”
Mia stole a glance at the sweetly smiling buxom barmaid. “What do you mean?”
“As if I’m old, overweight and frumpily dressed.”
“I think that’s just your imagination, Fi. She looks at everyone that way. Maybe it’s her eyesight. She’s probably too vain to wear glasses.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” Fiona sat down gently and winced.
“Just ignore her. What’s our conversation topic for tonight?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said Fiona. “It’s free will.”
“What about it?”
“We haven’t got any.”
“That’s nonsense. Of course we have,” said Mia definitively, before doubting herself. “Unless I’m not understanding it correctly. What’s your definition of free will?”
“Having the ability to choose our own behaviour. Are you two absolutely certain that you’re in control of your thoughts and actions?”
“Yes.” Mia folded her arms. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. What shall we talk about next?”
“Not so fast. Have a large gulp of your mojito. Serena, have a large gulp of your cranberry juice.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Mia emptied the glass.
“How many have we had so far? Three?”
“This was my third drink, yes.”
“Okay, make your stomach digest that gulp you just took.”
“What do you mean?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, but you aren’t making any sense. My stomach does that on its own. I don’t have to make it.”
“So, you don’t have any control over your stomach?”
“No. It works automatically.”
“Fair enough. Forget your stomach; make your liver process the first drink you had this evening.”
“I think you might have had a stroke, Fi. You’re talking bollocks.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we have no control over the behaviour of our liver or our stomach. They work on their own.”
“Agreed. Well, it’s the same with our brains. The brain is just another organ in our body, going about its business without any instruction from us. We don’t control it, we merely notice what it’s thinking. It isn’t us creating thoughts, it’s us becoming aware that our brain is having them.”
“Bullshit! I decide what I’m going to think.”
“Do you, though?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, try this. Don’t think of anything for the next thirty seconds. If you’re in control of your thoughts, that should be easy. You too, Mia.”
“Starting when?”
Fiona glanced at her watch – a birthday present from Steve. “Starting now.”
Serena managed to think of nothing for nine seconds, then a puffin popped into her head. A single puffin standing on a clifftop, staring out to sea.
Mia thought of nothing for only four seconds before she found herself remembering a dream from the night before. A dream she’d forgotten until that moment.
“That’s thirty seconds.” Fiona pulled her sleeve over her watch. “Were either of you successful?”
They both shook their heads.
“That wasn’t fair,” said Mia. “It’s impossible to think about nothing?”
“It shouldn’t be. Not if you’re in control of your thoughts. I don’t know what either of you were thinking about, but I do know that those thoughts popped into your head against your will. But maybe you’re right. Perhaps it is impossible to think about nothing. So let’s try something else. Think about this table. Nothing else, just this table.”
They tried. They succeeded for a few seconds. Then extraneous thoughts intruded.
“Any luck?”
“No,” said Mia.
“Only for a while,” said Serena. “Then I couldn’t help thinking about other things.”
“Exactly. You can’t help what you think. Right, I’m going to give you a minute to ponder, and then I want you to tell me the name of an animal.”
“Any animal?”
“Yes, it’s entirely your choice. Go.”
Out came the watch again.
A minute passed.
“Stop. Mia?”
“Elephant.”
“Was that the first animal you thought of?”
“No.”
“Presumably you came up with a list of possibilities, considered each of them, and then chose the elephant from that list.”
“Correct.”
“Why did you pick the elephant?”
“I don’t know. I like elephants, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you pick the woodpecker?”
“I didn’t even think of a woodpecker. It didn’t occur to me.”
“Exactly. So you don’t have free will. Your brain didn’t even give you the option of picking a woodpecker. All on its own, your brain offered you a shortlist of possibilities, and then picked one of them for you. You’re not even sure why you chose the elephant. You merely observed that process taking place. What about you, Serena?”
“It was similar for me. Six or seven animals popped into my head. I was going to say octopus, but at the last minute I switched to snake.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“Did you feel like you had any choice about which animals popped into your head?”
“Not really. One of them was an anteater. I’ve no idea where that came from. I never think about anteaters.”
“You see. Our brains decide what we think about next, and we can’t do anything about it. We have no control over the thoughts we have. And if we aren’t in control of our thoughts, merely observers of them as they happen, are we in control of our actions? Because our actions are just our responses to these thoughts. I think: I’m going to have a sip of my drink now, so I pick up my glass and take one. But I don’t have free will. I didn’t decide to have that thought, my brain did. And there was nothing I could do to prevent it. My brain put that thought in front of me – into my consciousness. I noticed it having that thought, and I executed the action, but it wasn’t my idea.”
Serena frowned. “This is making me uncomfortable. I feel as if I’m in control of my thoughts and my actions.”
“That’s an illusion.”
“I think you’re wrong, but if you’re not, that would be awful. To not be in control of your own life.”
“It’s not awful at all. In fact, it lets us off the hook completely. We don’t have to feel guilty ever again. It doesn’t matter what I say because it’s not me deciding what words come out of my mouth. I needn’t feel ashamed about my actions because it’s not me choosing to carry them out. If a certain thing gives me pleasure, that’s not my fault. I have no choice in the matter.”
Serena and Mia looked at each other, before Mia said, “What gives you pleasure, Fi?”
“What? Nothing. I was speaking hypothetically.”
Serena and Mia looked at each other again. This time Serena said, “What gives you pleasure, Fi?”
“Oh, God!” Fiona polished off her pint of lager and handed the
glass to Mia. “It looks like we’re going to have to talk about this. But not until I’ve got myself on the outside of another one of these.”
◆◆◆
Twenty minutes later, Fiona was ready.
She couldn’t look her friends in the eye when she said, “Have either of you ever been … spanked?”
Serena spat out a mouthful of cranberry juice in a fine mist. “What?” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
Mia patted herself dry with a napkin before placing a compassionate hand on Fiona’s arm. “Fi, has Steve been hitting you?”
“No, it’s not like that. Have you ever been spanked during … foreplay?”
Serena and Mia looked at each other. Their eyes widened. They looked back at their frumpy friend Fiona, in whose mouth butter would fail to melt. And they burst into hysterical laughter.
For a split second, Fiona thought she was being ridiculed. That she’d made a huge fool of herself. But then she realised the laughter wasn’t nasty; it was loving, accepting – an outpouring of relief from her companions that their friend was all right. And she joined in too.
When they had recovered, Fiona said, “Well? Have you?”
Serena shook her head, but she was wondering if it was worth giving it a try. She was willing to try anything that might put some lead into Eric’s pencil. Well, almost anything.
“Ollie and I tried it once,” said Mia. “It didn’t work out. When he spanked me too lightly, I got the giggles. And when he spanked me hard, I swore at him. It bloody hurt.”
“Did you enjoy it at all?”
“No. I just felt humiliated.”
“That’s what I like about it. It’s all about power and humiliation. Steve has the power. He’s fully dressed in his black-tie outfit as if he’s just returned home from a swanky event with rich, influential people. He’s got the paddle, or the whip, or the flogger, or whatever we happen to be using. He’s calm, composed and in control. While I am naked, or practically naked. I’m tied up; immobile, helpless, vulnerable. Forced into positions that show me at my worst. Unable to conceal my flaws. Completely at his mercy. He could walk away and leave me there, but he can’t. He’s drawn to me. I’m the centre of his attention. He can’t resist experimenting on me. Titillating my nerve endings to provoke a reaction. He thinks he has all the power, but in reality, he’s under my spell.”