The Concubine Affair

by Quig Shelby

  ‘I’ll put in a good word at the MDT in a couple of days,’ he said.

  He waited in vain for her gratitude; after all he was another jailer.

  ‘MDT?’ asked Verity.

  ‘Multi-disciplinary team meeting,’ said Adam.

  He might have said more, but was wondering if he should keep the pretty bird in her gilded cage a little longer; not even a smile emanated from that captivating face.

  So that was CBT thought Verity; it really was an industry.

  Alain put down the phone, and having booked more shifts at Monks Hill with the nursing agency, when he felt a sudden despondency drifting into his mood. This time he needed more, and he solemnly, religiously, removed the simple wooden box from the confines of his wardrobe. He carried it into the lounge as if it were a sacred object in a procession. All that was missing was a priest ahead, swinging an orb of incense.

  He logged onto the BDSM contact site, and waited for one or two of his favourite vixens to join him; masochism was better shared. He checked the angle of the webcam, and then opened his box of tricks. Cindy, if that was her real name, was in the room, and she’d brought a friend along.

  ‘The pegs first,’ typed Cindy.

  He was in no position to type a reply, but he did wonder if she meant the purple plastic laundry pegs, or the little multi-coloured wooden pegs whose bite was much keener.

  ‘The wooden pegs,’ ordered his controller.

  He clipped them onto his scrotum, gradually working his way up the shaft.

  ‘Elastic bands.’

  He already had two bound over his aching loins, but Cindy liked to see them divided, stretched apart, like two targets. Close by a candle flickered, clasped in a stolen candelabra from his days as a choir boy.

  ‘More pain,’ was ordered.

  Alain picked up the candle. He knew what was coming and murmured a sacrilege, before tilting the instrument of torture with the bright yellow flame. The hot wax dripped onto him; first on the tip, then straying, streaming tears of agony down the sides. He could see them laughing as he writhed, helpless only to his own deviance.

  ‘Fool, slut,’ were typed in succession, but they would love Alain in their dungeon.

  ‘Flick it.’

  He did.

  ‘Use the whip.’

  He did.

  ‘Now you can,’ typed Cindy ready for the show to close.

  ‘No, don’t touch,’ she ordered.

  ‘Use the candle.’

  The control, the sense of despair, a frustrating hopelessness, and their angelic yet demonic faces, pushed him over the edge.

  ‘Good boy,’ and they were laughing.

  In the early days, in shame, he would have switched the camera off, but this was rude. And if he wanted their attention again, a slower, more polite goodbye was required. Besides, the embarrassment and self-loathing had an addictive power all of their own.

  ‘Can I go?’ he typed.

  ‘Yes fuck off.’

  OK so not everyone was as respectful, but he did go, and the depression had miraculously lifted. He was also clear headed, and after returning his humiliation to the wardrobe he checked his other drug. He’d read the good book later; his halo had slipped, and he felt somewhat tarnished.

  Alain counted five more drops from the burette, and added a precise amount of the heated liquid. He gave the mixture chance to cool, checked and rechecked his calculations against the eighteenth century calendar, and slowly, hand shaking, injected.

  With his heart ripped from his body, and a sky full of black and grey dots, his eyes finally tore open in a corridor at the Imperial Palace. There was large stone lion staring at him, and a guard was shouting.

  ‘Stand back fool, the Emperor is too busy to see you.’

  ‘What’s all the fuss about?’ asked a seamstress turning the corner.

  Chien-lung had come to inspect the royal tailors. Tucked in the corner of the Palace, beside the harem, were cloth cutters, designers, artisans, and embroiderers; sixty staff in all, whose only duty was to clothe the Emperor and his retinue.

  ‘But Huang, the Emperor is expecting our barbarian friend,’ said the pretty little seamstress.

  The giant of a guard was in a quandary, and scratched his head.

  ‘Shall I check with the Emperor first?’ she asked smiling.

  ‘Of course not,’ replied the guard ‘you know he dislikes our wittering.’

  ‘In that case Alain Fontaney, please follow me,’ said the seamstress.

  ‘One moment,’ said the guard, and he frisked Alain for any concealed weapon.

  Workers, the drones in an Imperial yellow beehive, turned to look at him. Those that didn’t were nudged by their colleagues; there were whispers, and laughter. Alain was one of the few celebrities at Court, and everyone, unless you were blind, knew his face.

  He was led through several rooms stuffed with rolls of brightly cut silk, some being measured, others cut, and in the final room a brilliant yellow robe hung on a manikin, with a red bat exquisitely stitched on the back.

  There were open drawers of pearl and turquoise buttons, with small sapphires and rubies scattered on one table. Piles of peacock and kingfisher feathers and the smell of fragrant woods permeated the room. Next to a rack from which hung belts stood Chien-lung with two advisors by his side; one caught sight of Alain, and whispered in the Emperor’s ear.

  The Emperor appeared more relaxed than normal, and was dressed in a long blue silk gown decorated with coral. The cuffs were horse shoe shaped and long: It was considered impolite to show one’s hands and fingers, unless sleeves were rolled up for business.

  ‘What have you brought for me today my priest?’ asked Chien-lung smiling.

  ‘Unfortunately I bring only myself your Majesty,’ replied Alain.

  ‘Then what could it be that brings you here but friendship,’ said Chien-lung.

  ‘Indeed your Majesty, and news about the finished fountains and baths at Xiyanglou.’

  The Emperor was still running his finger down the seams of his new ceremonial robe. His two consorts looked Alain up and down, amused at the Emperor’s apparent disinterest. One wore a robe decorated with a crane, and the second a golden pheasant. They were pampered officials, jealous of the barbarian’s favoured position.

  ‘It is truly a beautiful garment,’ said Alain as the Emperor turned it around.

  There were two five clawed dragons; one on each shoulder, and the buttons were of emerald. The Emperor put it back in place.

  ‘I’d better not upset them,’ he joked and referring to his tailors ‘they love the robes more than me.’

  His lackey’s laughed, Alain smiled. He did his best, but he wasn’t a natural sycophant, though in reality this was a breath of fresh air for Chien-lung, and the often stifled and lacklustre conversation that surrounded him.

  ‘Alain escort me to my private rooms, perhaps we can talk, and drink,’ said Chien-lung.

  The officials tried to hide their envy.

  ‘You know that my advisors don’t trust you my dear Alain,’ said Chien-lung as they walked through the corridors of power, with two guards behind.

  ‘Indeed your Majesty. Judging by the look in their eyes they would sooner throw me out of the Palace, and the kingdom of heaven altogether,’ said Alain.

  Chien-lung laughed.

  The body guards stood outside the room as they discussed science and astronomy until the sun went down. Oil lamps were being lit inside the Palace, as a eunuch approached his Imperial Majesty. He whispered in the Emperor’s ear.

  ‘Tell her I will not be requiring her tonight,’ said Chien-lung, and the eunuch scuttled away.

  The Emperor was becoming a little tipsy, and turning to Alain said ‘I shall surprise her later.’
r />   Alain smiled in response, and dared to ask ‘a new concubine your Majesty?’

  ‘Indeed, she has been brought by her family from Manchuria to try and please me, her name is Cong Chu Cheng.’

  ‘Then let’s make another toast,’ said Alain raising his glass ‘to Cong Chu Cheng.’

  The Emperor joined him, and as Alain discussed the rotation of the heavens and mechanical clocks, the hours went ticking by, until the morning sun was back in the sky.

  Alain rubbed his sore head on the sofa; he was back.

  He quickly opened the volume at the bookmark, page 199. The paragraph had altered; no longer was there a disgraced concubine as a footnote of history, rather a description of the Emperor’s red bat insignia, and meaning an absolute deluge of good luck. His night with the Emperor had saved Cong Chu Cheng’s neck.

  Chapter Ten

  Alain breezed into view at breakfast time, after apologising profusely to the night nurse for his lateness.

  They gave each other a look of lovers with passion in the ascendancy, and the patient on Verity’s table looked to see who had lit up her eyes.

  ‘Handsome isn’t he,’ she said referring to the morning nurse Alain Fontaney.

  Verity just smiled.

  ‘I’ve been looking after her,’ said Yi.

  That didn’t surprise Alain; he was the mirror image of Wa Yu’s eunuch. But as with all experiments he needed verification from an outside source; otherwise his own psychosis was taking over.

  ‘How’s she been?’ asked Alain.

  The innocuous night nurse had quickly briefed him, but the care assistants knew the patient’s moods better than anyone; they weren’t clerks.

  ‘Stable and sensible,’ said Yi.

  ‘No delusions?’

  ‘No, in fact she says she can’t remember a thing.’

  ‘Sounds promising, and it’s the MDT this morning,’ said Alain.

  ‘Ten O’clock sharp,’ said Yi.

  ‘Who’s the doctor?’

  ‘Maloney. Dr Calder’s at Hawkscroft View all day,’ said Yi.

  Alain smiled; the omens were good. He just needed a word with Verity before the meeting to prime her. Dr Maloney was a lot more understanding, and didn’t keep his patients on the ward unnecessarily.

  ‘Do you want to know about the rest of the patients?’ asked Yi.

  There were five other female patients on Norton Worthy unit, and Alain owed them at least a passing interest.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, and they went back into the office.

  They were in the interview room looking like they wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.

  ‘Well go on then,’ said Verity.

  ‘What if someone walks in?’ asked Alain.

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said smiling ‘I thought you were going to tell me about the MDT.’

  She paused.

  ‘But it’s not a bad idea,’ she said.

  ‘Actually you’re right, but I can’t take the risk,’ said Alain.

  ‘My dear Mr Fontaney life is full of risk,’ said Verity with a sparkle in her eyes, and suddenly unzipping him.

  Man may have invented fire, but Verity knew how to play with it.

  ‘My goodness,’ she said alarmed ‘what are all these marks?’

  ‘I can explain,’ he said, wishing he’d showed more caution; last night and now.

  Verity waited.

  ‘It’s quite embarrassing really,’ and he ran both hands backwards through his hair. ‘But here goes, there’s another type of CBT.’

  He paused, for once lost for words.

  ‘Go on,’ goaded Verity smiling.

  ‘Sometimes I have to indulge my damaged side. I can’t help it.’

  ‘I’m not judging Alain.’

  He was almost whispering, and Verity wondered if he was going to cry.

  ‘Not cognitive behavioural therapy?’ asked Verity.

  ‘No, but it is a kind of treatment, for me at least,’ he replied meekly.

  Verity was still on her knees, examining the nicks and bruises.

  ‘And did you have an assistant?’ she asked. ‘Remember, I’ll know if you’re lying.’

  Marcus had cheated for years, and she couldn’t, nor wouldn’t, put up with it again.’

  ‘No, I’m quite proficient,’ he said. ‘Self-taught .’

  A proud smile slipped from his mouth.

  ‘So these marks from CBT, or shall we call it cock and ball torture, are self-inflicted?’ she asked.

  Perhaps they were more suited than she had dared imagine. Marcus had always stifled her sadism.

  ‘You know about it?’ he asked surprised.

  ‘My dear Mr Fontaney,’ he loved it when she called him that, ‘I’m far from the nun you obviously believe I am.’

  ‘Such a handsome man into CBT,’ she said amused. ‘Who would believe it?’

  But Verity would. She used to be a wild cat in her younger days, and she was still a cougar. She ran a finger slowly down his nose, then once between his lips, pushed them together tightly.

  ‘I’m going to be your therapist silly boy,’ she said ‘if you can get me out of this place.’

  ‘You can probably convince anyone to do anything.’

  ‘You know I was beginning to wonder about us Alain, but I think we can come to a wonderful understanding. I hope it’s still working?

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Well there’s only one way to find out,’ said Verity, and removing her lower garments she straddled his knees.

  ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to move, I’m way too horny,’ she said, as her hair cascaded down over their shoulders.

  ‘So how do you feel now Verity?’ asked Dr Maloney from behind his spectacles.

  ‘Oh much better thanks to the incredible service from staff like Alain,’ she said.

  Alain was sitting beside her, and looked a little uncomfortable.

  ‘A compliment indeed Alain, you must be doing a great job.’

  Most Monks Hill patients at their first MDT were waiting to take a swing at the staff; this made a most pleasant change. Verity was off to a good start.

  ‘Hearing any voices?’ asked Maloney calmly.

  ‘Not for the last few days,’ replied Verity.

  ‘Promising,’ said Maloney looking at his junior ‘perhaps a transient attack.’

  ‘Adam,’ said Maloney, looking at the psychologist ‘I think Verity could respond to a course of CBT.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Adam ‘CBT can work wonders.’

  Verity looked at Alain who was blushing. She wasn’t the only one in line for a course of administered CBT, and boy was she going to put him through his paces.

  ‘Alain is it too hot for you in here?’ asked Maloney noticing his flushed face.

  ‘No, not at all,’ he said ‘something I ate.’

  Already Verity loved watching him squirm.

  ‘Have a glass of water,’ said Maloney handing him the jug, across the small circle of seats.

  ‘You’re happy to continue taking the medication?’ Maloney asked Verity.

  ‘Definitely,’ she lied.

  Maloney pondered deep in thought. He opened her file.

  ‘What’s the report from the ward?’ he asked Sheila.

  ‘No problems at all. Responding to the staff appropriately, no screams, no evidence of voice hearing, and no grandiose ideas,’ she said.

  ‘Ah these ideas Verity,’ said Maloney ‘quite bizarre.’

  ‘My husband deals in Imperial Chinese art,’ said Verity by way of an explanation.

  ‘So you don’t think you’re in China anymore, or the Emperor’s concubine?’ asked Maloney.


  ‘Oh not at all,’ and she laughed.

  ‘Quite an embellished delusion,’ said Maloney to his sidekick.

  ‘And the Chinese?’ he asked her.

  ‘Well I couldn’t repeat it now, but I did learn a little some years ago, in boarding school,’ said Verity.

  ‘I see,’ said Maloney.

  The room went silent as Maloney was obviously coming to his decision. He was tugging at his beard.

  ‘Well Verity I don’t see any reason to keep you here any longer, but I strongly advise that for the present you stick to the treatment plan,’ he said.

  She nodded in agreement, as Alain tried to stifle his sigh of relief.

  ‘Who’s next?’ Maloney asked Sheila.

  ‘Sophia,’ she replied.

  ‘Alright Verity that’s all,’ said Maloney.

  ‘Alain take her back to the ward, get the TTO’s, and the discharge form,’ said Sheila.

  ‘I’ll sign Verity off when I’ve finished,’ said Maloney, as Alain and Verity left the room.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to phone Marcus to pick you up,’ said Alain.

  ‘Just book a taxi,’ said Verity ‘I would much prefer to surprise him.’

  ‘And Alain please get rid of these for me,’ she said, handing him a rolled up foil wrapper from the chocolates Marcus had given her.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just all the tablets I never took,’ she said, beaming with that most beautiful of smiles.

  Chapter Eleven

  The voices were getting stronger, and he had to divide himself in two to cope; Alain Fontaney the nurse, and Alain the priest. Though it seemed both were in love with the same woman. He picked up the phone. What if Marcus answered? What would he do then, hang up, or pretend to be the concerned nurse? But he was concerned, just not professionally anymore.

  ‘Hello darling,’ said Verity.

  ‘Can we meet?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Today, this morning?’

  ‘Come round to the house, Marcus is at work,’ she said.

  He hated hearing his name, but he had to be practical, and most of all he had to look into her hazel eyes, and feel her warm breath on his face.