Notebooks of the Young Wife

by Tara Black

  I shook a head that ached from too little sleep and tried to put the unsettling thought aside. Groping about amongst three days’ worth of discarded garments for something to put on I came up with some loose cotton trousers and a clean shirt, in a suitably sober black. Molly’s appointment with the pickled rods was in half an hour, and an alert savouring of the event was going to require a cup or two of good strong coffee. In the kitchen I found a Mrs Beaton willing to oblige me in view of the occasion, and though it was late for breakfast and early for elevenses, she had the machine hissing in short order.

  ‘None of my business of course, Dr Greene, but would I be right in thinking you have an eye for the girl’s charms? The one, I mean, who is booked to bare all on the block this morning.’ I looked sideways at her, but she seemed engrossed in the progress of the brew dripping into the jug. Flesh of belly and thigh pressed to the raised surface while the birched behind burned and stung: it was a deeply lascivious image. Was Cook expecting me to bare my soul in a declaration of passion for the young maid? I hesitated, and she carried on.

  ‘I don’t mean to be impertinent, only she’s had an unfortunate do with that groom, and with the changes that are bound to come with the new Master... oh dear. What I’m trying to say is that to have an older, that is, a more mature woman, looking out for her might be so much more suitable. And I know that she, um, likes women, if you take my meaning—’

  ‘Mrs Beaton, I’m afraid you are a little late as a matchmaker.’ I rescued the estimable lady with a chuckle and watched as realisation dawned. ‘But I’m going to risk your disapproval by confessing that she is not the only object of my affections. Even here in this house. You will think ill of me.’

  ‘If you mean the boy, Dr Greene, I did get the impression he had set his cap at you. But where’s the harm, I always say, in one of each kind? Rounds things out rather well, to my way of thinking.’ And if we add in a black mechanic to the equation...? Out of pure mischief I might just have voiced the thought had not the door swung open. Molly came in and flopped down on a stool, putting an end to our little seminar on the ground rules of sexual relationships.

  ‘I don’t reckon that’ll do a lot for me,’ she said, tilting her head at the coffee maker, ‘but laced with a drop of your special brandy, Cook, it might be just the ticket.’ Without a word Mrs Beaton reached up to a cupboard over the sink, took down a green glass bottle with a faded label and pulled out the cork. I half-filled a mug from the machine and held it out to receive a generous measure.

  ‘There you go, my dear. Now sip away at that and enjoy your seat while you can.’ The girl looked up at the clock and made a face; in only ten minutes’ time she would be arrayed facedown in the Great Hall at the Housekeeper’s pleasure. On the way there in the dim corridor I was moved to express my feelings.

  ‘Think how wickedly sexy that bum is going to look,’ I said into Molly’s ear.

  ‘You’re a beast, Jane.’ But she wiggled against my hand under the short smock and I took the chance to delve deeper.

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, sweetie. A few grazes will give me the excuse to get in close with the lotion. Not, I have to confess, that I need much of one.’ When we kissed I got my tongue in but the adorable creature pulled away with a giggle.

  ‘Come on now, or we’ll be late and the old cow will be reaching for the extra one before she’s done.’

  However, there was no need to worry. When we entered the Hall was empty except for the block that stood in front of a fireplace, closed off by an ornate screen the colour of pewter. Sunlight streamed across the polished floor from the east windows, and gave the whole a feel of airy space under the dark wood of the ceiling. The progress of the whipping would be well lit and the arrival of Mrs Jencks set me tingling in anticipation.

  I’d already decided against tackling the woman about her part in the removal of the Notebooks; Tamsin could do that better at the weekend. As for Molly’s being unjustly punished for putting me on the scent, it was her will to submit in the uncertain climate attending the arrival of a new head of house. To complain could only make matters worse and, besides, as I made no pretence of disguising – to her or to myself – I was going to revel in the spectacle of the pretty young maid being soundly birched.

  So I added nothing to the curt exchange of greetings, and while the black-clad figure examined the three instruments soaking in their tub, busied myself with fastening the girl’s knees to the cushioned step and tucking the clothing well up into her back. Apart from the raised top padded out to a shallow dome, the device was the shape of a cube constructed out of thick oak planks, whose corner joints had been executed with the precision of a fine cabinetmaker. Plainly built to last, it prompted me to think of the succession of naked arses that would have graced its surface over the years. If it dated from as recently as the nineteenth century they had still to be numbered in the hundreds, and unless the thing had fallen out of favour for prolonged periods, one would need to add another zero yet to reach a probable figure. And imagine their variety: from the huge and spreading to the positively scrawny, from the almost eager upthrust moon to the sullen slab of blotched meat. Every stage in between and all combinations of properties of flesh swam before my mind’s eye in a delirious parade.

  Though no doubt it was the case that possession of a winsome pair of cheeks made the owner more liable to find herself close-quartered to the heavy wood, in past ages as in the present. Indeed, as on that very day. I came out of my brown study to detect a decided glint in the Housekeeper’s eye as she advanced on Molly’s ripe buttocks with her slim bundle of wet switches firmly in hand. At that moment the boy appeared out of nowhere at my side and without a word we took each an arm and pulled the unresisting figure forward. I gave silent thanks for his timing that had pre-empted the need for any other action. Perhaps he was feeling awkward too, after our intense encounter in the night, perhaps not. Either way, I was able to focus on the matter at hand.

  Which was as well, for from the very first cuts the initially compliant maid began to fight us. At each hissing stroke the fine red lines spread and darkened in a manner that made me glad it was not my bottom being so treated. Certainly, Mrs Jencks was working with a fiendish energy, and it seemed an answering devil in Molly had decided that she was not going quietly. So, feet against the base of the block we heaved to keep the protesting figure in place, for all the world as if we belonged to a tug-of-war team, and a hard-pressed one at that. Hard-pressed, but not losing: it was the other side ordained to take a drubbing and I was determined to see it through. So when the second dripping birch lashed into raw, contorting buttocks, we dug in our heels and hung on until the yells died into gasps and the chastiser at last tossed aside the ruined instrument.

  I undid the leg fastenings with relief, and the would-be refusenik was hauled to her feet and marched to the antechamber. She was panting and so were we; the boy’s face was flushed with the exertion of the previous few minutes and I felt the shirt sticking to my back with sweat. I put on the crossest face I could muster and wagged a reproving finger.

  ‘I have never been made to work so hard, ever, in the cause of a whipped bottom. When you are over this, girl, I’m going to find a horse and tie you to it so tight the pips will squeak. Then you’ll find out what a good hiding really is.’

  ‘Jane, please, it stings so...’ The victim sniffed and a tear rolled down. Then she made a moue that kicked me straight in the groin and I just couldn’t keep up the act. Muttering soothing noises I spread Molly over the table and signalled the boy to bring the bowl of water left ready. Carefully I sponged away the irritant residue of brine and vinegar then hunkered down for an examination. I had to own that they were the sorest-looking bottom cheeks I could recall seeing for a long time. Though lacking the vivid welts a sound caning would have inscribed, their condition was nonetheless a testament to the punitive power of the rod in the right hands. That day’s determined applicatio
n left flesh raw from a myriad tiny cuts over bruised mounds that seemed to glow with an inner angry throb. It rather put into the shade the results of my own twiggy encounter at the beginning of the week; while Cook had the muscle to do real damage she lacked the vindictiveness that plainly powered the Housekeeper’s arm.

  Molly’s own healing lotion had done wonders for my admittedly less drastic state, so I took up the jar that had been set out ready. I sniffed witch-hazel with a hint of wintergreen, fondly imagining a folk remedy from times when a chastised bottom was a not uncommon affliction, at least among children and servants. Then a good dollop scooped onto the centre of each buttock was quickly spread to cover the whole.

  ‘There, sweetie, just let that soak in for a few minutes.’ I stroked the girl’s neck till the shoulders began to relax, while allowing the other hand to stray to the crotch of the boy close beside me. Except for the fact that it kicked at my touch, the thing in his trousers was as rigid as an iron pipe. If the patently female spread of cunt and arse before us was jacking him that hard, once I’d soothed the ravaged mounds he should be ready for a spot of therapeutic penetration. Two-way, so to speak: it would do Molly a power of good and give me the satisfaction of having him up to his balls in a third party bum at my instigation. Which might help put some distance between me and the events of the night.

  So I set to work without more delay. Faced with a bottom decidedly the worse for wear, I had found from experience that it was better to be brisk. To let oneself focus unduly on the extreme tenderness of the flesh was likely to induce a hesitant clumsiness that worked counter to the sympathetic intention. Firm without being rough was the rule and I stuck to it, shutting my ears to Molly’s petulant complaints while the boy kept a grip on her legs. They soon died away, as I knew they would. For one thing the lotion was doing its work and for another the after-effects of whipping were visibly juicing the parted labia.

  I tested the erotic temperature with a couple of fingers into the slippery interior, and was rewarded by a hoarse moan. It was, however, a different place I had in mind for the rampant lad at my side, and to ease his way I anointed the tight rim between the buttocks.

  ‘Oh yes, yes,’ breathed the maid, and pushed up her behind. I tapped the bulge in his trousers and the boy unzipped at once. What emerged wasn’t the biggest specimen I’d met but it stood at a full ninety degrees to the slim body, and had a way of looking almost over-engorged, as if fit to burst from the pressure within. Feeling like the ringmaster of a circus of performing organs, I eased Molly’s body down toward the table’s edge and guided the shaft forward until its head nuzzled up to the brown pucker.

  ‘Go boy, go,’ I whispered in his ear, while slipping a hand inside his trousers to fondle the taut bum. With one push the glans was out of sight and a very few more had his thighs pressing against the birched cheeks. That was when my little scheme went wrong. One moment I was directing operations with a relative, if horny, detachment, the next a molten stab of lust hit my clitoris, shot up the spinal cord and exploded in the brain. It wasn’t pleasure, it was pure demand, and brooked no refusal. That’s my excuse for what happened next, though I am aware it has the ring of a piece of special pleading.

  Grabbing the boy’s thighs, I yanked him out of the speared arse, swung him round and hauled down my trousers. Hips thrust forward, I thumbed open my cunt and shoved myself onto the end of his cock. I don’t flatter myself I was the efficient cause of it rather than the last and least link in a chain, but as the purple-headed beast nosed me it spat a jet of white, and another that welled up to dribble down my vulva. I remember to this day the lights that fizzed in my head like fireworks, and I remember the orgasmic jerking of my lower half. For a second or two, for a minute, I can’t say. All that remains beyond, fragmentally, is a careering passage, clothing clutched, that made the stairs and up them to the safety of a locked door at the back.

  I must have been spared a prolonged bout of self-examination, for the next thing I recall was an insistent rapping that broke into my heavy doze. The words ‘phone call’ were decipherable through the muffling of the heavy door, and with a splash of cold water to the face I was fit enough to follow Laura down the stairs and into the library. There she left me to make my own way into the study, where I lifted the antiquated receiver and announced my presence.

  ‘Okay, I got the message. Behind those thick rims she’s quite the chat-up merchant. I think I’m gonna be back if I can find an excuse. But you are not going to like it. Talk about a merry dance.’

  ‘Tamsin, I shan’t know whether I like it or not until I become aware of its contents. And that won’t happen until you read the thing out to me.’ The morning’s excesses had put the scheduled call quite out of my mind; suddenly, though, I was consumed with impatience to know what the American academic had seen fit to tell us.

  ‘Easy, boss, I’m coming to it. The first thing is that Belle Torman is in Brittany and the second that she’s got the Notebooks with her. For safekeeping, she says. Some nerve that, from the lady who nicked them in the first place. I mean to say—’

  ‘Yes, Tams, and the third thing, if you could bring yourself to get to the point?’

  ‘Sorry, boss. She won’t say where she is exactly, only that if it’s imperative – that’s the word, imperative – to see the things straightaway then there’s a phone number. I didn’t try it, thought I’d better leave that to you. Dr T certainly doesn’t make life easy.’

  ‘Okay, give it me in case, but I’ve had another idea. Can I call you back? Soon, half an hour tops.’

  Before the promised thirty minutes was over I was making my way back upstairs, elation vying with apprehension that I’d gone a step too far. Then in my room, there he was, rising from the bed and holding out the paddle. I must have looked a complete fool grinning from ear to ear, but he was grinning too as I sat for him to drop over my lap. I attacked the cotton seat for a while and when I stood him up and pulled down the trousers he was in fine erect form. I took hold of the pulsing shaft and looked up at his face.

  ‘Well, boy, I just stuck my neck right out and booked a trip abroad. For the two of us. Not exactly a holiday, but among the people we’re going to visit a thing like this is just for starters.’ I waggled the leather oval and he nodded knowingly. ‘So what do you reckon? Are you up for it?’

  ‘Yes, Miss. Please, Miss.’ There was no hesitation and relief washed over me. I squeezed the cock in my hand and a drop oozed from its end. I hadn’t blown it after all.

  ‘Terrific. Now back over and let me give those chubbies the roasting we know they deserve...’

  En Train

  The rest of the afternoon dragged by, though heavy rain cleared for a spell to permit the distraction of a waterproofed expedition into the dripping woods. Having chanced my arm, with initial success, I was eager to bring the business through to a conclusion. I had ignored the contact route we’d been offered and on a hunch phoned Judith at the Archive. It was becoming rather a habit to intrude on the seclusion of her eyrie at the top of the old library stacks, but when I confided my idea she was only too willing to help. I can no longer remember who told me of the one-time convent in the old town of Vannes that had brought her perverse love-affair with the rattan cane to its first flowering, but the information lodged in my mind and it was a fair inference that a devotee of s/m manuscripts who’d gone to Brittany would be found in that very place.

  Judith told me of her own arrival some five years before in Rue des Vierges, unannounced and thence rather more into the thick of things than she was quite ready for. However, were I able to find the occupant in, then I might get a more official introduction to the Order to which it was a gateway. I turned down her offer to drop a line to the Thérèse in residence for my mind was already made up: I wanted us there pronto, before any mere note would have had the time to drop through the letterbox of the number ten in question. So I called Tamsin and paced back and fore
while she established that if we left from Waterloo early in the morning we could be whisked to our destination from Paris before the end of the afternoon. That was what one called a high-speed railway. All that remained was for the exemplary PA to book the tickets and come to Ardingley End in time to run us to an evening train to town. That was before settling in herself for a country weekend devoted to supervising the packing and loading of the late Monty’s collection of pornography. It was a good thing she was devoted to her work.

  After what seemed an age the boy was folded into the back seat of the Porsche on top of our bags, and we were delivered to the station in time to find facing seats at one end of a carriage otherwise quite full. We were thus comfortably installed but I found myself at rather a loss. It was as though, having taken the plunge into an expedition à deux, there wasn’t anything left to say. We both stared out of the window and I was thankful when the train began almost at once to move. And after a while even more thankful, if surprised, when the boy delved into his bag and came up with a volume that he began to read, seemingly with close attention. It was encased in a worn leather binding and I could gain no hint of what its contents might be without staring more pointedly than I cared to. Instead I followed his example and pulled out from my briefcase some papers that would at least give the appearance of providing some diversion.