Journal of Discipline and Desire

by Laurie Mann

  More strokes followed, each with the same result and although the pain totally obliterated any awareness of my surroundings, the occasional scream from one of the others did penetrate my world. I wasn’t alone in my agony. Every cry and gasp from my associates strengthened my resolve to take all I was given, no matter how much.

  I longed for the thrashing to end more than I’d ever hoped for anything before, but when it did and my hands were released, I could do nothing but lie over the rail. Attempts to stand were thwarted by the pain, which so intense I worried I’d been permanently damaged. Through tear filled eyes, I glanced to my left and my fears calmed a little as I realised that I was no worse off than the others. I also became aware that we had been left alone. We’d been used and, once our usefulness was over, had been left to our own devices. I was still trying to understand the cruel heartlessness of the situation when I felt strong hands on my shoulders, helping me to rise.

  The hands were the African Queen’s, who seemed to have withstood the punishment best of all. As our eyes met we could see a mutual understanding through the tears. Carefully we all helped each other to the dressing room. Every step produced new agony and the knowledge that we all felt the same engendered a feeling of comradeship and respect.

  Back in the changing room, we sprayed each other’s behinds with the aerosols left there. The gasps and howls as the icy spray hit swollen and bruised flesh quickly ebbed as the spray drew the heat slightly but still left intolerable pain. It frightened me, seeing just how red and bruised the others were and I knew I must look the same. I reckoned it would be days, if not weeks, before I’d sit comfortably again and I dreaded the drive home.

  Getting dressed brought new agonies as fingers, deprived of circulation for so long, came alive with thousands of needles. They felt clumsy, almost as though they belonged to someone else, as I struggled with buttons and zips. We all helped each other, although none of us felt inclined to speak. With the obvious camaraderie, I knew that the new girl had been accepted and grew more confident of getting a satisfactory report.

  Fortunately the walk to my car was short. The tightness of my skirt compressed my cheeks, which felt enormous after their battering. Every step and sway of my hips added to the fire still raging. Stretching my legs into the car produced new agonies surpassed only when my weight squashed me hard against the seat and it was several long minutes before I dried my eyes enough to see clearly and begin the drive home.

  My dread proved well founded. As ever the reality was far more intense than the imagination, which always allowed escape when I chose, but now there was no escape - just the ever increasing throbbing with even the slightest movement adding to the suffering. The more I hurt, the more I squirmed and the more I squirmed the more I hurt. It was a vicious circle that no amount of concentration could break.

  Time and again I glanced at the clock and the odometer with neither seeming to move as every mile felt like a hundred. My arms ached from pulling my weight forward against the steering wheel, making my progress erratic and doing nothing to ease my torment. I longed for relief more than anything I’d ever hoped for before, but through all the anguish I was acutely aware of a different throbbing creating the juices soaking into my panties.

  Eventually, I reached the Amberhurst ring road, the last town before the motorway and turned towards the town centre, needing somewhere to park and have a walk around. Window-shopping became a battle between my mind focusing on the shops and my body determined to prove that no amount of concentration could lessen the pain.

  Unable to stand still, I paced first one side of the High Street, then the other, pausing at the more interesting shops but then moving to the next, as if by some sort of magic the burning would be left behind. It never was, of course, and with every passing minute, the prospect of getting back into the car and continuing my journey held more and more dread. Twice I arrived at my car only for my resolve to melt away and I walked on before I was able to force myself to endure the agony of the seat again and make my way home.

  When I got there, I could do no more than strip off my clothes and just lie, face down, on the bed, a pillow soaking up the tears I was unable to stop. My cheeks clenched and my hips ground my pubes into the duvet in uncontrollable response to the agony. The only solace was the gentle breeze from the open fanlight, so good against burning skin.

  Time had no relevance as I wriggled; amazed at how much physical pain the body can absorb, but the longer I waited for the agony to subside, so my hatred of Madam grew stronger. I struggled to justify her treatment of me and finding no possible vindication, sobbed as I lamented the day Madam had gained her control over me when she acquired my Journal.

  My thoughts mellowed with the lengthening evening shadows and I began thinking more of Rock than Madam. I was sure he would never inflict such pain but also hoped he’d not be afraid to use the whip if I deserved it. The thought of a whipping caused the most delicious sensations to excite; whilst I had no desire to be hurt quite so much again I couldn’t deny that the effect on my pussy was the strongest I’d ever experienced.

  When I slipped my hand under my belly and allowed fingers to caress my lips, waves of euphoria flow through me as time and again the orgasms flowed, sweeping away the pain of the day. I knew, despite my hatred of her, that I’d respond willingly to Madam’s next command, as much for the delicious effect of her power as the fear of her threats.

  Why do love and hate rest so comfortably together?

  The sun’s rays warming my back welcomed me to Monday morning, although as soon as I tried to move it was a welcome that I’d have preferred to have been delayed. I was so stiff, every move reminded me of the ferocious assault of the previous day. A hot bath and coffee failed to improve my demeanour and I phoned Andrea to say I wouldn’t be in the office.

  “What about your appointment with Mr Hudson this afternoon? Shall I re-arrange it for later in the week?” Andrea asked, reminding me I’d arranged to discuss Rock’s terms of employment with him.

  “No, can you get me his phone number? I’ll speak to him later.” I may have still been hurting but I was alert enough to realise that I’d have more chance with him on my own territory and decided to re-arrange the meeting at my house.

  December 7th

  Rock is now on his fifth trip and everything is settling very nicely. Each time he returns we have dinner, ostensibly to keep me briefed, but increasingly just for the pleasure of each other’s company. Am still concerned that he shows no real interest in me as a slave but am growing ever more confident that, given time, he will.

  It is weeks now since I heard from Madam and that worries me. I am, however, going to take advantage of her distance and my more relaxed state of mind, now the strain of implementing our transport systems has gone, to take a break in the Scottish Highlands.

  ***

  When I awoke in the hotel, on the banks of Loch Laggan in the Grampians, it was to a glorious morning, bright sunshine and enough breeze to blow away the cobwebs. It was the perfect start to the weekend. The business, Madam and even Rock could all wait while I enjoyed the solitude of the beautiful countryside as it purged the confusion from my mind and, hopefully, gave a new perspective to the future.

  I walked for miles, letting the worry slip from my shoulders and when I returned for dinner I felt almost euphoric. My mind felt free, its usual clarity returned and I knew I was too tired to let unwanted thoughts creep back before sleep could protect me. Images of Rock did try to interfere but, for the first time in months, tonight was mine and I pushed him from my mind. By the time I retired to bed my mind was on walking the loch the next day and, relieved of trauma, I soon fell into a deep, rejuvenating sleep.

  Over breakfast, I reflected that the world looked different, less complicated and certainly less threatening.

  As I made my way along the loch’s shore I pictured Rock on my arm and le
t my mind replay the last few months with him. I was sure he was the man to own me but instead of fretting over why he showed no interest, I just allowed my thoughts to drift, wafting on the gentle breeze of another glorious day.

  Walking into a pub at lunchtime reminded me of the first time I’d met Rock and while I ate, the reality of his position slowly dawned. In his mind, thoughts of me being his slave were tempered by my being his employer. His new employer at that. He’d naturally need to be very sure of the ground before trying to enslave his boss. Wouldn’t he? Besides, if he had no interest in me he’d not spend what little time he had between trips with me. Would he? I began to feel much more confident about my future as Rock’s slave.

  It wasn’t only the solitude of being at one with nature without another soul to break my peace that made me so happy. I felt sure I now understood him more and that patience would bring its reward. I also knew that the new tranquillity I felt would put Madam into perspective and allow me to find the way to escape her clutches. For that is what I really wanted, despite the excitement she created.

  I began to analyse what I knew about Madam. Firstly, she had my journal which held more than enough to ruin me and I truly believed Madam’s threats to do so. I also had no doubt she saw me as no more than a business acquisition to make her as much money as possible. I knew she had a cosmopolitan clientele and other ladies in the same position as myself. I knew I had to retrieve the journal before I could be free of her. But how?

  I knew she was wealthy, probably the results of her spurious trade, for she pocketed all the income from her slave’s torment. I knew she was very attractive and old enough to be Lisa’s mother.

  I don’t know why I thought of Lisa at that instant but a fleeting moment in my office was frozen in my mind. The day after I’d been forced to work the streets, Lisa asked if I’d had a good weekend. A brief look flashed across her eyes, too quick for me to notice. Now I could see all too clearly that it said ‘I know what you were doing.’

  Surely, Lisa’s not involved with Madam? She can’t be. Or can she? Slowly my mind elaborated. Lisa is very ambitious, I am sure taking over my company would appeal. Getting her mother to ruin me would certainly be one way of doing it. She’s also making herself more and more important to the company, could she be building her position as my natural successor?

  Another thought leapt at me; she keeps a diary. I know she does because we talked about it, which means that mine was probably mentioned as well. Whoever took my journal must have known it existed and I can think of very few people, except Lisa who might know of it.

  Maybe I was wrong about her running scared of Rock because she was too young and inexperienced. What if she saw him as someone who could take me away from Madam? That would certainly spoil their plans and explain her overreaction to him But now she’s welcomed him on board. She’d have to, though, wouldn’t she? Once she realised how set I was on employing him, she’d have to or give the game away.

  It is all circumstantial, but it all falls into place very neatly. Madam plans to use me to boost her income and probably diminish my ability to run my company, while Lisa works her way into a stronger and stronger position. Then, when I’m of no further use and Lisa is ready, Madam will destroy me and the pair of them gain Mildmay Fabrics.

  It’s very clever.

  Rock, I think I’m going to need your help with this one. But then, Rock did win Lisa over very easily, a bit too easily, didn’t he? ...

  Part Two

  Monday 21st December.

  Oh journal, only two weeks since my Scotland break and already life is a mass of confusion. Dinner with Rock was good, but still he ignores my need to be his. I grow ever more confident, though, that one day ...

  Enough dreaming, he’ll decide when the time’s right. I’ll try to be patient, but it’s hard - so very hard. Madam - she excites so - wants me to go to London in a couple of weeks. The first Sunday of the New Year. What will the year bring? To be a model, that’s what she says but I know it will involve more than that. My bottom still clenches when I remember being a sales assistant for the day. You know, when I couldn’t walk or sit straight for a week afterwards. What to model? Goodness knows, but it will hurt. I’m sure of that.

  Lisa continues to impress, even though I view her more suspiciously now, hang on every word for the slightest hint that she is in cahoots with Madam in some way. Must watch her carefully, be prepared for her plans. Does she really have plans? She came to see me today, brought along Charles from accounts and Monica from personnel.

  Lisa, Charles and Monica, three wise monkeys. Their hostile air made it obvious something was wrong and I needed all my arrogance and experience to confront them eye to eye. It’s my company and I will NOT be bullied.

  “Yes, what is it?” Voice was calm, but it took all my effort.

  “Mr Hudson. He’s working some kind of fiddle. Charles has the figures.”

  “Thank you, Monica. I hope you can substantiate the accusation, Charles?” My heart felt leaden. Surely Rock wouldn’t let me down this way. Risk everything. His job. Me?

  “It’s all here, Frankie. There’s no doubt, I’m afraid.” The office suddenly felt cold. ‘It can’t be’ shrieked a voice inside and I needed time to think.

  “Leave it with me. We can deal with it after Christmas, I think. That’s all for now. Lisa, - wait please.”

  “Yes, Frankie?”

  “I’m surprised. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Rock’s good but Charles has the evidence. It is all there, I’m afraid.”

  “You know, better than most, neither of them like him. Do you think he’s dishonest?”

  “I didn’t, but ...”

  “But what?” I couldn’t help the hasty interruption. She did believe it, was backing Charles and wanted rid of Rock. Flashback to Scotland, Madam and Lisa froze in my mind.

  “You’ll see. Monica’s all for calling in the police.” Examined her face, her eyes, but could find no give away look.

  I stared at the report in front of me. All the receipts were there, including one in his own bloody writing. Proof I didn’t want. He can’t be this stupid. Can he? The evidence seems irrefutable but I can’t lose him over this. Enough worries to spoil Christmas without this as well.

  Christmas - three whole days with Mum and Dad. A chance to unwind - again! No Madam, Rock or business conspiracies, just merriment, gluttony and the serious business of dieting before - a new year and what will that bring? Rock? Alone, or with family, a card? Best not, probably scare him off. Oh, what has he done?

  Time for bed, journal. Must remember the train timetable tomorrow. Still remember the drive from The Tannery. Yes, train will be best.

  ***

  January 4th 1999

  A New Year, journal and my first visit to your pages, my first assignment completed. Enjoyed Christmas, sort of, even if there is six whole pounds more of me than before. Must renew gym membership. Too much food and lazing about, lots of thinking though, especially about Rock. Why has he let me down so badly? You know how I built him up, now he’s shattered my dreams. The evidence is irrefutable, no matter which way I look at it and I have looked all ways trying to prove his innocence but there really can be no doubt.

  Sunday morning. Bribed the ticket machine and, as always, doubted it would give up its precious ticket. Station platform was bleak, grey like the sky and my mind. Pussy the only bright spot. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Green fields and bare frosty hedgerow flashed by rattling windows and headlines stared blankly from the Sunday Times. Confusion reigned; today, excited trepidation - Madam, lustful loathing, - Rock.... Oh, Rock, desire, love? Stronger somehow now it looks like he may be lost. Why has he thrown it all away?

  Suburbia replaced the country. All those normal everyday houses and lives. Model? What? Who for? Palms damp, heart and breathing g
rew excited making pussy simmer. Station was quiet, checked clock then map before turning right into the street. People, all too busy to notice me but what would they see if they did? The calm exterior I hoped for or the rampaging excitement within?

  Drakes Close, a quiet little cul-de-sac of nice houses with carefully tended gardens and curtains still drawn. Well off, not affluent and my heels clicked deafeningly in early morning peace. Checked the time. Good, Madam hates lateness. Number 14, in the corner on the left, heart pounding the gate creaked and the bell chimed. Waiting was intolerable, my palms sweaty despite frosty air as I shuffled while nervously glancing around expecting to see curtains twitch and faces peer from windows. Would they know?

  The shadowy movement in the door’s bubble glass revealed himself. Unkempt wisps of greying hair brushed his shoulders while his pate reflected and gold wire rim spectacles balanced precariously. A round face accentuated by chubby, ruddy cheeks. Don’t laugh, Frankie, think of your report. The white decorator’s apron with large kangaroo pockets and a thick green fisherman’s sweater added to his corpulence. Drying white plaster mottled his stubby fingers and well worn trainers barely clung to his feet. What must the neighbours think? Mad scientist or embarrassing eccentric? Ignore him, most likely.

  “Miss Mildmay, come in.” No welcoming smile accompanied the vacant comment.

  “Thank you.” Already he was leading me along a nose wrinkling narrow passage with faded, peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. How do people live in such squalor?