From: Miss Scarlet
To: Ben Dover
Hi Ben,
Corner time, lines, soapy mouthwash? GULP.
Having you decide on length of spanking, implements, and when you figure I'm really sorry? GULP, GULP, GULP.
I feel very nervous, but I know this is real discipline. The type I've needed and yearned for forever.
So yes, absolutely you have my consent to discipline me in this way when we do meet up. I know it will make me a better person.
I look forward to when we do meet. I think! GULP!
No, really, I do look forward to it.
Charlotte
From: Ben Dover
To: Miss Scarlet
Hi Charlotte,
All your ambivalence is why it's so hard for a vanilla like your husband to administer the kind of spanking you need. You want it, but you don't. You need it, but it's hard to submit.
Now you've consented, I WILL discipline you, once we've met and agreed to go ahead with the arrangement. Even if you're crying and yelling out 'stop' mid-spanking, I'll continue until *I* decide you've had enough.
But that's a long way off. Let's talk about other subjects for a while, get to know each other better. Do you follow the tennis at all? I'll be going to the Aussie Open in a couple of weeks' time. A client gave me some free tickets. I'm taking my niece along. She's a tennis nut, mad about Mark Philippoussis.
Ben
From: Miss Scarlet
To: Ben Dover
Yes, Connor and I are going to the tennis, taking his son from his previous marriage, who's coming to stay with us for a couple of weeks. I get free tickets through work (I work for a sports magazine).
And you're absolutely right about my ambivalence making it difficult for a vanilla husband to give me the spanking I need. If I yelled out 'stop', he did and that made me so angry because I wanted more.
Anyway, I have to go now as it's getting late and I need to be up early for work tomorrow.
More soon.
Charlotte
Fifteen
The emails came to a halt when Josh visited. Charlotte guessed he'd spend hours on the computer, so the night before he arrived, she checked her history to ensure there was no trace either of her forum visits or of her secret Miss Scarlet email. She copied and pasted Ben's emails into Word, gave them innocent-sounding file names, password protected them and stored them with her Death Vault notes. She let Ben know she could be incommunicado for a couple of weeks, and tried to focus on work and on making Josh's visit a happy one.
It was hard, though. Josh was thrilled to be back with his Melbourne mates and every night when Charlotte got in from work she found the house full of teenage boys. All gathered around her computer, playing some dumb car racing game. Connor was captured by the game as well, and she had to nag him to get dinner ready. Most nights they had a barbecue out on the deck. Connor cooked up steaks and sausages and Charlotte chopped up salad. Not that Josh ate much of the salad.
She felt pushed out of her office, out of her home. After the first few days of coming home to a full house, she started to hang back at work in the evenings. Catching a later train home meant Josh's mates had left when she returned. But apart from the friends, she returned to the same scenario: Josh and Connor rapt in the computer game. Charlotte hated it, missed her email exchanges with Ben. She didn't even know whether he'd emailed her or not, because she hadn't been on the computer for days.
She lost it on the Friday morning when Connor informed her that Josh had invited some mates round for a sleepover that night.
"What the fuck?" About to head for the bathroom, she swung round to glare at him.
"Sorry, I meant to tell you last night."
"Tell me? You didn't think you should ask me?" Charlotte couldn't think of anything worse than a houseful of kids staying all night, and being there next morning.
"It's only one night. He hasn't seen his mates for months."
"He's seen them every fucking day this week! They've virtually fucking lived here."
"Keep your voice down and watch your language." Connor's tone was sharp.
Charlotte scowled, resenting the rebuke. "So a thirteen-year-old boy's never heard the word 'fuck' before? Yeah, right."
"Charlotte, show some respect for him."
"Respect for him? A kid? How's he showing respect for me, having a bloody sleepover and keeping us awake all night, when I've had a busy week at work? Did he even ask you if he could do it or did he just tell you he'd organised it?" A glance at his face was enough. "Cave-In Connor," she mocked.
"God, you're a spoilt brat," he snapped. "Are you having first shower or not? Because it's getting late."
Charlotte gave him the finger and flounced off to the bathroom. Hayden, she was sure, would never allow his kids to dictate what happened in the household. He'd have boundaries, rules, consequences. Typical fucking Connor, letting Josh organise the sleepover whether it was convenient or not. She seethed through her shower, cursing herself for being stupid enough to marry a man with a kid. She'd never wanted kids of her own even, so she was never going to feel maternal towards someone else's.
Thirty-six and she'd stuffed up her life. Hopeless husband, dead-end job. The only bright spot was Ben, and she couldn't even contact him thanks to Josh hogging the computer. She hopped out of the shower, scowled at Connor when he came in to shave.
"Where are they all going to fucking sleep anyway?"
He ignored her, watched himself in the mirror as he applied shaving foam.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"I heard you." He picked up his razor.
"AND?"
"And I'll answer you when the language and aggression stops. There's no need for it."
"No need for it?" Charlotte wanted to batter him with her fists, make him see that he was the one in the wrong, allowing a thirteen-year-old to dictate their weekend. "I don't want a house full of kids, you know that."
"It's one night."
One night sounded so reasonable. Charlotte wondered if she'd feel so furious if she was in the UK and married to a man with a child. If there was a sleepover she needed to escape, she'd have friends she could visit. It wasn't like that here. She got on well with her work colleagues but wasn't close to them like she was with her friends in Wales and London. Her Aussie friends had their own lives, families, friends they'd known for years. Charlotte wasn't a part of that. She wasn't a part of anything. Tears stung, because she suddenly felt so isolated, and she didn't want to be. She wished her mates from home were out here.
"I need to get to work," she said. Josh was having the sleepover and she'd just have to put up with it. Where else could she go?
Tonight, Charlotte stayed for several rounds at Friday night drinks. She said yes to a fifth wine, despite feeling tipsy, because the last place she wanted to be was home. She didn't say much all evening, just half-listened to her colleagues talking shop. There was going to be a second-round ballot for the Olympics, they were all talking about the events they wanted to see.
"What about you, Charlotte?" Paul, the magazine's advertising manager, asked. "Are you going to the Olympics?"
"Not sure yet." She hoped to get media accreditation. She wouldn't be reporting live from the Games, but they would run an Olympics round-up in 21st Century Sportswoman. Greg had signed the accreditation form, so now she had to wait for organising committee approval, though Greg warned her it probably wouldn't come.
It was a warm night and the combination of heat and booze made Charlotte feel queasy as she waited for the train home. She bought a bottle of water and sipped it gratefully. The train trundled in late, but at least the air-con worked. She checked her watch as the train pulled into her station. Nine o'clock. She wondered what was happening at home. How many mates had Josh invited? Would they monopolise the computer for the rest of the night or would they watch some crappy movie, thereby banishing her from the lounge room? Would they have already eaten, or would Connor insist
they wait for her to get home? Would he be annoyed that she stayed late at drinks without telling him her plans?
She walked home, dodging sprays of water from front lawn sprinklers. The air smelled of barbecued meat; most people cooked outside on hot nights. When she got back, the house was silent. Connor was in the kitchen. He jumped up from the dining table, walked straight across to greet her.
"Charlotte," he said. "Come and sit down. I've got something to tell you."
Charlotte needed food to soak up the alcohol. But there was no smell of cooking, no food on the kitchen bench. No noise from the office. Maybe the boys were out while it was still light, playing cricket at the park, or skateboarding or something.
"I need something to eat," she said. "I drank more than I intended to."
"Charlotte." He took her firmly by the arm, led her through to the lounge room. "I'll make you something in a minute, if you like, but I need to tell you something first."
Suddenly the silence seemed more sinister. Had Josh had some kind of accident today? Was that what Connor was about to tell her? That he was going to spend the weekend at a hospital bedside?
She sat on the sofa. Connor sat next to her, slipped his arm around her.
"Your mother called a couple of hours ago," he said. "There's no easy way to tell you this, Lottie. Your father's died."
"What?" Charlotte couldn't take it in. Her dad was healthy, still young—only sixty-four—and when she spoke to him just a couple of days ago, he was in fine form, whingeing about how badly his football team was playing.
"He had a heart attack late last night. He was rushed to hospital, but they couldn't save him." Connor rubbed her back gently. "I'm so sorry, Lottie."
"I'll have to go back," she realised. She suddenly panicked. God, she had to go back, and she lived twelve thousand miles away. Was it possible to get on a plane that fast?
"Yes, we need to go as soon as we can. Do you want to call your mum, then we can start organising the flights?"
"Yes." Charlotte rose to her feet. This was surreal. Her mum mustn't be able to take it in either. "Where's Josh?"
"He's staying at a mate's tonight. I'll ask Mum and Dad to look after him over the next week. He's enjoying seeing his mates and I don't want to have to send him back to Queensland early."
Charlotte nodded, grateful that he'd cancelled the sleepover and was organising alternative arrangements for Josh. She called her mum, who was so upset she was barely coherent. Charlotte cried too, beginning to realise through the alcohol fug that she'd never see her dad again, never again commiserate with him about the awfulness of the Welsh rugby team or Swansea City Football Club.
"Mum, we're going to organise flights home. I'll let you know what day we'll be back. Okay?"
She shook off Connor's offer to make food, and instead stuck bread in the toaster, while he called the airlines for tickets. The tickets took surprisingly little time to book when Connor explained they needed to travel for a funeral. They would fly out late Saturday night, be back in the UK early Sunday morning, Greenwich Mean Time. She called her mother back.
"How will you get here from the airport?" Charlotte's mother didn't drive. Her father had always done the airport run.
"I'll ask Tracy. Don't worry about it."
Tracy was Charlotte's best friend whom she'd known since primary school. When Charlotte went online to email Tracy, she found her friend had got there before her.
From: Tracy Gordon
To: Charlotte Agar
Hi Lottie,
I just heard about your dad. I'm so very sorry. I always liked your dad and have many happy memories of when he used to take us to watch Swansea when we were kids. Let me know if you need a lift from the airport when you come back. Whatever time it is, whatever day, I'll be there.
Rob says to give you his condolences too.
Lots of love,
Tracy xxx
Charlotte scrubbed away tears as she tapped out a response. Even though her father was dead, she was looking forward to being back in Wales, hanging out with Tracy, going for a drink with her and Rob, catching up with other friends. When she hit 'send', she checked her Miss Scarlet email; it was days since she'd looked at it. There were a couple of emails from Ben. In the second he wondered if she was having second thoughts about him as a potential disciplinarian.
From: Miss Scarlet
To: Ben Dover
No, I'm not having second thoughts at all. It's just there's a lot going on right now. I think I told you my stepson was here for a few days. He's 13, so completely hogs the computer. I haven't been able to get near it till now. And I've just learned that my father died, meaning I have to go back to Wales tomorrow for the funeral. I'll try to catch up with email at an internet café when I'm over there, but it could be a couple of weeks before you hear from me. Please don't think I've changed my mind. As soon as all this is over, normal correspondence will resume.
Charlotte
She turned off the computer, headed down the passageway. She could hear Connor speaking quietly. He sounded tense, and she stilled, so she could eavesdrop.
"…unfair to send him back to Queensland, he's enjoying himself… It's only a week, and really, he's out with his mates a lot of the time… You can take him to the tennis, the tickets are free, Charlotte got them from work. And you've said yourself he's old enough to be left on his own in the house…"
So Connor's parents didn't like the idea of looking after Josh. No surprises there; they'd never offered to help out with anything. She had always suspected their lack of support was a factor in the breakdown of Connor's first marriage.
But she was surprised when Connor suddenly started yelling.
"I CAN'T LET CHARLOTTE GO OVER FOR HER FATHER'S FUNERAL ON HER OWN! IT'S JUST A WEEK. IT'S NOT GOING TO KILL YOU."
She walked up behind him and massaged his shoulders as he wound up the conversation with his dad.
"Thank you," she said when he put the phone down.
"It won't hurt them to help out for once in an emergency like this," he said grimly.
Charlotte hugged him, grateful and proud.
It was the first time she'd ever known him stand up to them.
Sixteen
They left the vivid blue sky and searing summer heat of Australia for the bleak grey sky and damp winter chill of Wales. Yet despite the cold and ever-present rain, Charlotte felt cossetted and warm in a way she never did in Melbourne. Her family and friends were delighted to see her again, in spite of the circumstances. "Your mum's really perked up with you coming home," Tracy told Charlotte when she picked them up at the airport. "She's stopped crying all the time now."
Charlotte and Connor stayed in her mum's spare bedroom. Connor took over the cooking, checking the contents of the pantry and fridge, and embarking on a supermarket shop. Charlotte answered the door to an endless stream of visitors. Her mum and dad were always popular, close to family, had lots of friends. They were all pleased to see Charlotte, asked how things were going in Australia. Charlotte said all the right things: "Great, really good, I love it." Connor hardly knew these people, some of them he'd never seen before, and he was glad to be in the background, keeping the food and drinks coming.
The house was strange without Charlotte's dad. He'd been a creature of habit: always sat in the same armchair, in the bay window. Got up and went to bed at the same time every day, always went out on Friday and Saturday nights for a pint, while her mum sat home and shared a bottle of wine with a friend. It was a lifestyle Charlotte had despised growing up and determined she'd never have. The husband down the pub, the wife at home with the kid. The man out at work, the woman keeping house. As a teenager in the 1970s, Charlotte had been surrounded by people assuming her future would follow the same pattern. Wife, mother, live round the corner from her parents, work a few hours in a shop for pin-money. Instead she'd defied local convention by going to university, becoming a journalist, migrating to Australia.
And for what?
&
nbsp; She was grateful for Connor's support right now, but she was painfully aware she'd made a bad choice marrying and migrating. She'd missed out on her dad's final years for her inadequate marriage and poorly paid job. She had no real friends in Melbourne. Her social life consisted of hanging out on an internet forum, for fuck's sake. Yes, Connor loved her, but his love wasn't enough. She wondered if they'd get on better if they lived in London.
She suggested it the night before the funeral.
"I wouldn't mind living over here," he responded, as they huddled beneath the doona. "But we can't for a few years. I can't leave Josh."
"You hardly see him anyway. He could come over here for holidays like he does to Melbourne."
"It'd be too expensive. And Queensland's a long way from Melbourne, but at least it's in the same country. I can get there quickly if I need to."
"We got here quickly enough."
"That was for a bereavement." Connor cuddled her. "I'm sorry. I know you miss living over here, and perhaps it's something we can consider once Josh has left school."
Five years. God, it might as well be forever.
The chapel was crowded for the funeral. Her mum had chosen her favourite hymns, hymns Charlotte was sure her dad, who wasn't a believer, wouldn't like. Her mum cried through the funeral. The pastor her dad had never met talked about Mum and Dad's marriage, how Mike Agar had been a wonderful husband and loving father. He'd been a loving father, no question, but Charlotte wondered about the wonderful husband bit. Her dad's life had revolved around work, the pub and Swansea City Football Club. Her mum was all about looking after the house, gossiping with friends over coffee and wine, watching the soaps on the telly. Mum and Dad had less in common than Charlotte and Connor, even. They did very little together, and when they clashed, the rows had been dramatic. Things thrown, insults hurled.
Had her mum ever longed for a better relationship? Had she resented playing second fiddle to Swansea's matches every weekend? Had she too longed for romantic weekends and a firm but adoring husband?
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