Lecture Notes (19 page)

He goes to sit on the sofa, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers.  “…I shall let you off with an appropriate expression of gratitude for the correction I have taken time out of my schedule to administer.”

Mel knows the score. She goes to kneel between Sinclair’s knees while Rob zooms the camera down on to her plentifully striped and alarmingly red backside. “Lovely job, Sinclair,” he comments, just as my beloved’s tool makes its guest appearance on the show. I have to admit, he’s a natural in front of the camera. I wonder what the
History Matters
team would make of this little presentation though. Mel bends her head obediently down and sucks his tip into her mouth. Rob messes about with the angles, presumably unsure whether to go for Mel’s bottom, or her mouth sliding wetly up and down that magnificent shaft, or Sinclair’s face, or…not sure why that shot of the bookshelf is in there; it seems Rob is getting a bit distracted now.

“Put the camera down, Rob, and join in,” invites Sinclair, a bit groanily, staring avidly
down at his eager cocksucker. “I think she needs some attention below. I’m sure she must be quite wet by now.” Mel moans. Rob needs no second bidding; he clunks the camera down so it catches Mel and Sinclair at a slight angle, diagonally on to the lens. Mel’s oral (and rather vocal) exhibition is caught in its full effect, while Rob dances around trying to get his trousers off as hastily as possible, needing release for his substantial erection.

Within seconds he is kneeling behind Mel, his hands on her naked breasts, pushing his cock up i
nside her from behind. “Oh God, Mel, your arse is so hot,” he breathes. “You’re going to be feeling that for days.”

“S the idea,” says Sinc
lair, struggling a little now. Mel has got him almost all the way down her throat; no mean feat. She is caterwauling non-stop while Rob bangs in from the back and Sinclair is holding tightly on to her hair, forcing her movements.

It’s as if I’m caught up in this frantic three-way shag, unable to s
tep away or avert my eyes. I don’t know how to feel…part of me is bereft at Sinclair’s part in this, part of me is just shocked and part of me is…jealous of Mel. Not that I think I could….But I think, in a way, I’m turned on. I’m imagining I’m her…and it’s….oh…

I have seen that look on Sinclair’s face; it means he is about
to come. And he does, hard, into Mel’s mouth, while Rob continues to jackhammer in and out, slapping up against her decorative rump. Sinclair pulls out slowly, inch by inch, still holding Mel’s face. There is utter dispassion in his eyes as he looks at her slightly smeared features.

“When you’ve finished there, R
ob, I want her arse,” he says. I gasp.

And then I gasp again when I look up to the doorway and see that Sinclair is back.

We both dive for the VCR at the same time; he gets there first. “What are you
doing
, Beth?” he asks, and there is something like fear mixed with the exasperation and the sternness.

I kneel up, having lunged too far and fallen almost on my face into the ca
rpet.  “I…just…” I cannot think of a single thing to say.

He removes the cassette and stands with it in his hands, boring down on me with flinty eyes.

“I…just,” I try again. “I…didn’t know you were a…I didn’t know you were
for hire
.” I spit the words out, wanting to reel them back in instantly, and collapse, sobbing hopelessly, face-first into the deep pile. He drags me up by my elbow, pushes me over to the sofa, sits down beside me and allows me to unleash a monsoon of woe on to his expensive shirt. Thomas Pink, I think. This’ll be the world’s priciest snotrag. It’s all a bit strange. Why isn’t he scolding me? Why is there no threat of the caning to end all canings being made? Why is he holding me firmly against him, running fingers through my hair, shushing me, rocking me? Come to think of it, why am I so devastated anyway? What am I actually crying about? I’m not sure I even know.

My piteous outpourings d
ampen down to juddery snuffles. “Hush, Beth, hush,” soothes Sinclair, betraying no irritation as yet for the lamentable state of his shirt. “Come on.  Better?”

I nod into his chest.

“I’ll get you something to drink.”

He lets go of me and I flop down into the cushions,
unable to meet his eye as yet. He comes back with a tot of brandy and a box of tissues.

“Sit up, Beth. Look at me.”
The familiarity of his command tone is oddly comforting and I do as I am told reflexively. I take a sip of the brandy and doctor my face with the Kleenex.

“I’m sorry,” I say unevenly, hoarse with the racking sobs I have just been putting out for the last fifteen minutes.
“I suppose it serves me right.”

“I’m sorry you had to see
that,” says Sinclair gravely. “I should have got rid of it really. No purpose to be served in keeping hold of it. Beth, it was a favour between friends.”

“But you…I mean…a favour?
Shagging that cow?”

He almost smiles for a minute, but forces it back.
“That’s my friend you’re talking about, Beth; I’d appreciate it if you could keep a civil tongue.”

“Sorry. But I don’t like her.
She likes you though.”

“She doesn’t want me b
ack, if that’s what you think. She wanted a threesome for her birthday. I was single at the time. I didn’t see any reason not to oblige her.”

“So you wouldn’t do it now?”

“No I would not. And I’m not going to be berated by you for things I did before we met; is that clear?”

“Oh, yes.”
I love the implication that I have a right to berate him about anything. That makes it sound Official. He wants to be faithful to me. He thinks of us as a legitimate couple. Oh, happy day. “It’s all in the past then?”

“Very much so.”

“It was just…horrible. Seeing you with another woman. And I couldn’t help wondering…would you ever want to do that kind of thing…I mean, you know, if you really wanted to, I wouldn’t…” I can’t believe I’m offering this. But I just couldn’t bear it if he ditched me because he thought I was a prude, or something.

“B
eth.” He takes my face in his hands, his eyes searching me, just a foot away from me. “Please don’t offer to do things you aren’t comfortable with just for my sake. I will know.”

“But I want to make you happy,” I wail.

“It would not make me happy to share you. It would make me horribly, insanely jealous.” He smiles at the lighting-up effect his words have on me.

“Really?”

“When I have something I value, I’m extremely possessive of it, Beth.”

“And you value me?”

“I do.”

“Ohhhh.”
It comes out as a long, blissful sigh. This is the happiest moment of my life.

“Not that I might not
like to show you off sometime. I’m not averse to a small display.” I squeak. “You might not want that now, Beth, but the day will come when what I want is what you want.”

I think about this
. It seems preposterous. That could never actually happen, could it? This is all role play, right? Then something else occurs to me. “What you were about to do in that film…?”

“Yes?”

I don’t frame the question, merely look up at him with trembly lamb-like eyes. He smiles slightly and nods.

“When you’re ready,” he says.
Eek.

I quit the questioning while I’m (marginally) ahead and take
refuge in the brandy balloon. Sinclair is holding one of my hands, stroking it deliciously. He values me. He would not share me. I bathe in the glow of divine rapture.

“So, Beth,” says Sinclair softly, looking at me with undisguised a
ffection. “I shall have to punish you.”

Oh.
We’ve got to that part of the conversation already.

“You have been extremely disobedient.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I have a punishment in mind, but I’m interested to hear your views on what would be appropriate.
You have half an hour in which to formulate a suitable corrective for your actions this evening, then you will report to me in the office. If your ideas do not match the severity of mine, I will administer the punishment I originally intended. If, however, they exceed my own, then I will accept your suggestion. Think about it, Beth, and present yourself at my office door in half an hour.”

He kisses me briefly, stands a
nd disappears into his office. I am left gawping in his wake. Oh brother. This is a quandary and a half. Do I bid low, in the hope that he is in a lenient frame of mind? Or do I go for something realistic, only to be told that he had decided only a mild chastisement was in order? I wonder idly if Sinclair was born a sadistic mind-gamer, or whether it developed over time. Was it precipitated by some traumatic event? Then I wonder if I will ever really know him. Will he ever open up to me about his formative experiences, his childhood, his family? Will I ever be important enough to him? 

I am so busy succumbing to these ponderings that half an hour has passed before I can c
ontemplate the matter at hand. Damn. I will have to extemporise.

Three nervous
knocks at his door. The ever-ominous ‘Enter’. It suddenly reoccurs to me that I am naked, whereas he is fully dressed. I note that he has changed his tear-stained shirt. I shuffle into the office, a study in vulnerability with my hands clasped modestly over my privates in a way that flattens my arms to my breasts, my head bowed and cheeks crimson.

“Ah, Beth,” he says.
He is cross-legged, leaning back expansively in his chair, one hand behind his head. “We have some outstanding matters to address, don’t we?  Move your arms to your sides.”

I am reluctant, but I do as he tells me, exposing my hidden feminine assets to his steady gaze.

“It hasn’t been long since your last little trip here, has it, Beth?”

“No, s
ir.”

“And do you remember what happened on that occasion?”

“I…I was caned, sir.”

“Indeed you were; eight hard strokes, I believe.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you learn from that, Beth?”

Ha ha, I learned that caning me turns you on, sir, you big mean perve! Do I say that? Er, no. I consider my answer carefully.

“I learned that I
should not disobey your rules, sir.”

“Did you, Beth? Did you learn it?
Did you commit that lesson to your heart and resolve to strive towards absolute obedience?”

“Well….” Oh God.
I know where this is heading.

“It seems the lesson
was not taken to heart, Beth. You disobeyed one rule – not to enter my office without permission – and one instruction – to await me, on your knees, naked, with the riding crop between your teeth. How did this state of affairs come about? I require an explanation.”

“Well,” I repeat tremulously.
“I didn’t think you’d mind if I went into your office now…now I know what’s in there. I didn’t realise that was still the rule…”

“Did I ever state otherwise?”
His tone is sharp and I flinch.

“No, s
ir,” I admit. “I don’t think so.”

“I did not.
Until I do, this office is out of bounds to you except when summoned, is that clear?”

“Yes, s
ir.”

“Well. Continue.
Why did you not follow my instruction?”

“As you know, s
ir, I, uh, found that videotape, so… I found it upsetting. I forgot to…do what you said. I’m sorry.” Big, big eyes.

“I see.
In short, you flagrantly disregarded my wishes and my trust. I am extremely disappointed in you, Beth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So you say. How then do you propose to display your penitence, Beth? Punishment is certainly well-deserved in this instance, but how severe should it be?”

I clear my throat.
It seems blindingly obvious that he is going to cane me. If I say anything less, he will do so anyway. If I can try to limit the number of strokes somehow…but how? Last time he said he would go for more if he had to do it again. How many more? Clearly ten will be too few. I suppose I will bargain with a dozen. Oh jeez. Even the thought of it…I must be as pale as milk. Before I can speak, he interrupts me.

“I do not wish to hear t
his expressed as a suggestion. I want you to ask for your punishment, Beth. Ask me for what you think is appropriate.”

My voice is a wee ic
kle trickle as I say, “Please, sir, may I have twelve strokes of the cane?”

I can see him fighting
off a smile, the bastard. Yeah, yeah, you win.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “The cane? Interesting choice.”
Don’t say you weren’t angling for it! “Well, I accept your proposition, Beth. Twelve strokes of the cane it shall be.”

My shoulders slump.

“But not now. Saturday morning, before you catch your train, I think.”