Notebooks of the Young Wife (10 page)

The books weren’t the problem. They were going to make a valuable addition to the BL collection and if there were a few missing that was only to be expected. It was the notebooks of
uxor studiosa
that I wanted to get my hands on. There seemed little purpose in conducting a search of my own: I was certain the boy would have been only too pleased to produce them if he could. As far as I could see, all the disc had done was to channel suspicion in another direction. Before we had an academic from town who had come in search of a book, and, it was claimed, only a book. Now there was a secretary too who could possibly be implicated in the absence of the
Commentaria
if only through the fact we knew she’d handled them.

However, it occurred to me that the handwritten pages from nearly three hundred years ago might warrant a glass case in a local museum, but were of no real value except to a specialist in old erotica. While this pointed back in the academic direction, I thought it was still more likely that they had been put away somewhere we were just not thinking to look. I opened the contents list of the transcriptions again and tried to see if any more use had been made of our young wife’s writings, but all I could find were the extracts I’d already noted. The third one was at least new to me, so I decided that in the absence of the means to print it for later perusal, I might as well read the piece where I was. Once I had it on screen, I was pleased to see that the writer jumped in with both feet as usual.

To a Young Female Person the male Organ, once tam’d and at her bidding, is properly a Thing of much fascination. My previous Epistle concerned the Act of Suckling at the Member till it gives up its Milk; the present one removes its Focus to the opposite End of Matters. I am, as the keen Reader shall have already discern’d, speaking fundamentally, that is, of that Aperture through which emerges the Residue of what is taken in by the Mouth of our earlier concern.

My Guide, as by Habit, is my Abigail, who will have no Truck with long Words in this, nor any other, Domain. The Thing is, she insists, a Bum-Hole and it is the Stopping-up of it with a Cock that is the Subject of today’s Lesson. We must begin, I am told, by rendering it free of Impediment to the Entry of its appointed Bung. To that end she has prepared a Bulb of Rubber, filled with warm soap’d Water that is joined to a glass Pipe around the Thickness of a Finger, and we have taken up a discreet Position by the Privy at the back in order to proceed with the Evacuation.

I lift my Smock to allow Access to the Opening and Nabby inserts the foreign Object with a firm Push. It is a strange Sensation that becomes yet more so as the Liquid is forc’d into my Innards. Once the Bulb is emptied, she bids me hold tight closed while my Lower Belly is treated to a Massage. Of a sudden the Pressure overcomes me and I reach the Seat in scant time to direct my Explosion into the Stench of the Pit below. When I emerge, much reliev’d, there awaits a second Dose and then a third, after which my Tutor declares the Bowel to be in Prime Condition for its Entrance to be plugg’d.

These Diversions concluded, we climb the Stair back to my Chamber where we entertain the first of the Footmen to do us Service this Afternoon. He is a well-proportioned Fellow, and from the stretch’d Nature of his Breeches needs no Reminder of his earlier Visit. Nabby lays a Hand on the Cloth to counsel Patience while the Ground is prepared for what is Bulging beneath. By this Wisdom she refers not only to the Application of Oil that will ease its Passage, but to the warming of the surrounding Cheeks. Thus it is that I am arrayed over the Horse, Legs wide, for my Abigail to anoint the purified Anus and then strike me a dozen Times with the Taws.

The effect of this Latter is less a Sting than a furious Itch, and after the Treatment I writhe till the Organ pins me down with a great Thrust. I am ready to swear that its Dimensions so far exceed those of my modest Hole that I shall be split in two, but Nabby soothes me with a Commentary on its Progress to the Hilt, at which point I am compelled to admit being unharmed, if full. Then my Alarm is quell’d altogether when, under expert Direction, he begins to move, slowly at first, to Pull out and Push in. It is an Action that rubs my Parts against the Ribb’d Edge under me at the same time that it quivers my Insides, and all at once I am in a high Excitement. The thighs press my sore Posteriors as the Shaft swells in Discharge, then I too am Seiz’d and cast a rich Shower on to the Leather that supports my Belly.

There is scarce Time to draw Breath, for my Teacher has become Hot with all she has witness’d and is no longer content with the Part of Watcher. So the second Man is call’d in as the first departs and she hoists her Cloathes, spreading herself forthwith to show what shall be the Object of his Endeavours. While it is now my turn to swing the Taws, I hang back, concern’d that my good Abigail has not been Sluic’d in the Manner I had understood was requir’d. However, she assures me it is but an hour since she was deliver’d of two plump Turds and the Void remains yet, ready to be Fill’d. Given this Intelligence I hesitate no more and begin to make the Bottom present’d me bounce and shake under the conjoin’d Trio of Whips. Such is my enthusiasm that poor Nabby is obliged to cry Mercy to remind me that a Dozen was my Limit, but it is clear that our little Show has been appreciated. For when I release the Buttons of his Confinement the Actor springs out with a Dewy Eye, in little need of the Drops I am spilling on his Target.

With no delay his Head pushes wide the Ring while I hold to Nabby’s Shoulders and peer closely at the act of Penetration. I am seeing the Result of Practice, I surmise, for it is a Vigorous Play in which my Maid forces herself on the Member as much as she is Impaled by the Man’s Movements. Whatever the respective Contributions, it is a Sport of small Duration as with contorted Features he withdraws his Weapon for it to rear up and shoot its Contents. When that is done, what a Sight is before me of my dear Servant’s red-streak’d Mounds dripping Gouts of White. I cannot resist to lick him clean of the Dregs, after which he stands full ready for Engagement with the untried Opening that his insatiable Partner pushes at him entirely without Shame.

Thus it is I am acquainted with the Elements that will go to make up the Display, and announce once we are alone the Need to rehearse them with Assiduity in the few Weeks that remain before that Event. It would seem that my Abigail concurs, though busy as her Lips are with the nether Counterparts they have lighted upon between my Legs, it is not easy to be sure. (I must own, too, that I am a little distracted from making the Effort). What I am resolv’d to make quite certain of, however, is my own Preparedness in the Month ahead of us to serve the Master’s Will.

Uxor Studiosa scripsit
, July 1728.

Back in my room I set the taps to fill the freestanding bath with its clawed feet. From raunchy Mistress with her Maid to the
domini puella
of the closing homily, she had made me keener than ever to see more, but for the time being that would have to wait. While it was barely nine, I decided to cut the day off with a long soak, then curl up with a glass of malt and the copy I’d brought up with me of the wit and wisdom of the famed Lady Termagant Flaybum. Half a century later than
uxor
, she was at that juncture about the closest I was going to get.

When I emerged eventually from the steam, towelling my hair, the boy was waiting inside the door. How long he’d been there I didn’t know, but I made no comment and took from him the leather paddle he was holding. I sat on the bed, patted my lap and without a word he lay across it. That part of our relationship at least required no special negotiation. I pulled the cotton covering tight over his seat and brought the instrument down several times with some vigour. It made a fine noise and once his erection began to press into me I stood him up and dropped his trousers to the floor.

The penis pulsed in my hand and I stroked its meaty thickness, feeling my own loins contract. So much was becoming habitual, but that night I was of a mind to move things on a little. With a nonchalance I was far from feeling, I opened the bathrobe and my legs enough to enfold his hardness with my thighs when he came back down. Thus I held him with the tip of his glans a bare inch from my aching vulva while I resumed the spanking with a bare hand. Whatever he thought about the new departure he made no complaint. Quite the opposite, in fact: as I fell into a steady rotation of smacking and fondling the reddening bum, the boy’s movements too acquired a rhythm that pressed the cock into the limbs that gripped it. I stroked his balls and drew my hand up the crack to the puckered hole. It responded at once, opening to my fingers, then he made a noise in the back of his throat and I felt the hot spurting between my legs.

And that was it. He lay quivering a moment, then he was up and into the bathroom grabbing at his pants. I sat frozen and when he returned it seemed to my fevered mind that he pointedly kept his eyes off the spattered flesh still uncovered. Perhaps so, indeed why should he not have been as embarrassed as I by my clumsy attempt to bring cock closer to cunt without the dreaded ‘gay’ wilt, of which I’d been warned. As it was, there seemed to be something else on the boy’s mind.

‘Secretary,’ he muttered, from under the fringe that had fallen over his eyes, then tossed it out of the way. ‘She might know, right? Not far down the road. We could go.’

It took me some seconds to wrench the sex-fixated brain into gear. He was talking about the Notebooks, of course. The woman who’d transcribed some of their contents might be expected to know where they were kept. It was certainly worth a try and I warmed to the
we
: an expedition might lead us to other places than our literal destination.

‘How about after lunch tomorrow?’

‘Yeah.’ He made his unceremonious exit, releasing me to go and clean up in an almost cheery frame of mind. I planned to call on the lovely mechanic in the morning, and with a little help from the gods I could end up with the use of a car thrown in. The day was shaping up well.

I passed a restless night battling with monstrous images of walls and furniture that sprouted orifices I could find no means to fill, though I was somehow desperate to do so. The dawn light was creeping round the curtains so I threw on sweatshirt, jeans and thick socks and tiptoed down the stairs, wellies in hand. Outside the back door I pulled on the boots and set off over the dewy grass in the direction we had followed to the birch wood. After five minutes the fresh air had banished the oppressive residue of dreaming and I sat on a gate at the top of the rise just as the sun pushed up its rim towards the salmon-pink clouds. The combination of
uxor’s
anal exercises and the real-life hole I’d been probing were enough to explain the lurid scenes my mind had concocted, but I was tempted to see more in it. I’d been angling to get the boy into the fucking position; the theme of the night put me in the driving seat, as it were, though frustrated by anatomy. Well, there were ways around
that
, and a certain young lady in my thoughts might be just the person to have the equipment for the job.

As I surveyed the house from my vantage point my eye was drawn to a group of outbuildings. A sizeable thatched barn closed off one side of a yard in which stood a couple of cars under tarpaulins. At right angles to it was a more recent brick structure with machinery visible inside, and at the end an outside stair led to an upper floor. All of a sudden golden sunlight picked out a window at the moment curtains were drawn back and a dark-skinned face looked out. It was unusually early for a social call, let alone the serious business that had been mooted, but the event had the force of an omen. Ama was up and about and I’d been apprised of the fact. On an impulse I waved a hand high over my head and she threw open the frame and waved back. The conclusion was inescapable: I had to visit her there and then.

I made myself concentrate on negotiating the rutted track until I reached concrete on rounding the corner into the enclosure. The door to the accommodation above was open, so I climbed the steps before I could think better of it and left my mud-caked boots at the threshold. The smell of newly made coffee hit me as I put my head round, tapping on the wood.

‘Come on in, Jane. I hope I don’t need to tell you not to be shy.’

At the poised milk carton I said, ‘Just a splash,’ and took the steaming mug out of her hand. ‘Thanks, Ama. And I don’t think I’d be here at all if I were afraid of taking a plunge.’

‘So I can hope you’re not just stopping by, welcome though that would be, of course.’ We were in a small kitchen area and Ama pointed me to one of two high stools by the polished counter. She disappeared behind the partition at the back of it, past which I could see a large divan that occupied the far end of the living space. When she came back my host took her seat, placing a long black rod carefully on the surface beside us. I recognised the nature of the beast at once, though to be quite certain I tested the feel of it with a finger.

Pulse quickening I said, ‘Resin bonded into a hard rubber coating. A formidable instrument.’ She was watching me as I spoke, but I couldn’t make out the expression.

‘You are familiar with such a thing, Jane.’

‘Indeed. From both ends, so to speak.’ There was a silence in which Ama seemed to be considering her words, and I waited it out. Give her time to put her own spin on what I was by then in no doubt I was going to be asked to do. Through the window the sun was warm on my back and the bright spring morning was out of joint with the dark thing that had been brought into it.

‘I mean, I actually hate the whole idea, everything about it. All the baggage it so often gets laden with. Men’s fantasies of compliant schoolgirls for instance, or uppity wives getting beaten into obedience. For fuck’s sake, have you seen those magazines?’ She looked up from the coffee mug between her hands and turned an indignant gaze full on me. It was not the time to confess to my own partiality for schoolgirl bottoms, so I suppressed a twinge of guilt and nodded in agreement. ‘But between women I try to tell myself that’s a different thing. Not that I’ve really got a
choice
.’

Ama got up and leaned against the sink, frowning. ‘If I try and ignore it I just get more and more wound up. Fucking obsessed, can’t think about anything else. If it comes to it – and it has done – there’s a lady in town who’ll...’ she broke off, shaking her head, ‘...but I won’t go into that. You’ve got a reputation, Jane, and you’ve come along at the right time. If you’re up for it, of course.’

‘I’m up for it, Ama, the question is, are you?’ I was a touch irritated and let it show. However, in response her face cleared and there was the suggestion of a smile. She led me out round the dividing wall and with the air of playing a trump card positioned me in front of an object shrouded in some dark material. Plucking off the cover, she stepped on a pedal, threw a lever and with the sounds of machined parts slotting decisively into place, four steel tubes swung out from a stout pedestal bolted to the floor. There was a kind of double saddle in the centre and the padded cuffs at the extremities were sprung open.

‘Once I’m on, I’ll have to be. Up for it, that is. I don’t get off till you decide it’s finished, right?’

‘Right.’ I echoed the word trying to get a grip on the situation. ‘Is it, I mean, did you, er...?’

‘My design, my execution.’ It was now less of a smile and more of a smirk. ‘Although to be honest, the conception owes something to the modern dentist’s chair, and to various kinds of fuck seats. You know, aimed at facilitating position ninety-six-and-a-half from the Kama Sutra. Though the occupant of mine is going to have an experience rather more toward the dentist end of things.’

I grinned at her, delighted at the enthusiasm propelling my beautiful black acquaintance towards a sound thrashing. I was keen to make it one she would not easily forget and my loins were turning to liquid at the prospect. She showed me how each of the hefty tubular spokes could be moved through ninety degrees horizontally and close to a hundred and eighty in the vertical dimension; once locked into place the apparatus was a punishment frame as rigid as any that stood on four feet in the traditional mode. And much more flexible: the body could be secured jack-knifed, limbs together, at one extreme or spread-eagled flat at the other; or of course, in any chosen position between the two. Furthermore, the central pillar could be raised or lowered in the manner of a hydraulic jack and, in addition, the whole of what it supported could be titled fifteen degrees forward or back. I was mightily impressed: Ama’s use of the thing might be only occasional but was important enough to have motivated a labour of love.

I was itching to put the piece of equipment to a practical test, and to that end retrieved the cane from the kitchen. As I swished it a few times it occurred to me that while it was, if anything, slightly heavier than my own, the weight was concentrated into a perceptibly narrower form. While I planned my application of the rod to be quite unrestrained, I did not want to break the skin.

‘Ama, is there something you could wear? Thin, but tough is what we need.’ She nodded with what looked very like relief and turned to fish something out of the chest of drawers at her back. It was a pair of Bermuda-style shorts in a fine red leather, closed by zips that ran from the waist to the front of each thigh.

‘I had them made last year. After... after a time when...’ She broke off, biting her lip, and I squeezed her shoulder.

‘Put them on, sweetie. You should have said.’

‘I didn’t want to look like I was chickening out.’ I tsk-tsked while she wriggled into the garment and then discarded the robe she’d been wearing. I had just time to register breasts with nipples like cherries before they and her belly were pressed into the upholstered rectangle at the machine’s centre. I pumped up the height of the whole and angled it forward, then secured and positioned the arms ahead in line with the downward slope of the back. Once I’d fastened the legs well apart I stood back to survey the field of action. The design of the shorts was on a level with that of the apparatus as a whole: the target area of the buttocks, that formed the apex of the tethered figure, was covered in a smooth second skin from hip to hip. While it could be removed in a moment, the fastenings were tucked safely underneath. I took hold of the waistband to feel the material between my fingers: strong yet light, it would prevent the skin from splitting while allowing the most forceful impressions to be created.

On a shelf under the window were half a dozen dildoes and strap-ons, and at the end, between a blindfold and a complete headpiece, I spotted a ball-gag. ‘I would reckon this sufficient for the occasion, if you agree,’ I said, stooping to address the head poised a bare foot from the floor.

‘Your call, Jane. About the number. I, er, have been known to take twenty...’ It was suspiciously like a weakening of the will and I jumped in before she could finish.

‘I shall give you as many – or as few – as I see fit. And you will take them.’ Without waiting for a response I pushed the ball firmly between her jaws and tied the band tightly behind the head. ‘In my book, safewords and suchlike belong in parlour games. And I’m not playing.’

Having delivered myself of this little homily I turned my gaze back to the luscious arse awaiting my attentions. Despite the acute angle of the body two full globes rose to meet me with the fat vulval purse clearly outlined between the spread legs. I laid the last two inches of slender black rubber against the fold and rolled it back and fore until I saw the dark stain of wetness show through. The victim was primed and ready: it was time to begin.

I’d already decided that the protective layer would allow for something rather special, and with that in mind I measured up the first stroke with care, across the dead centre of the cheeks, a little below their highest point. Until my eye was in accuracy would be of paramount concern; nevertheless I managed a satisfying
crack
! as the cane bit and flesh rippled. Then, after pausing a moment or two, I walked round and took up position on the other side. For years I had trained myself to be fully ambidextrous in the use of instruments of discipline, if for no other reason than the increase in staying power it afforded. At that time, however, I was able to reap the direct benefit of such an ability. Now with my left hand, I laid the weapon precisely to the contour of impact preserved in the material, raised it high in the air and struck.

Swish-crack
!

This time the whole body locked stiff in protest and there was the sound of air being expelled from lungs. Adjusting my aim by an inch at a time, I went on to deliver two more ‘doubles’ in short order, then stood quietly by until the limbs had ceased to wrench at their bonds. Inspection showed the lower quadrant of the buttocks to be encircled from hip to hip by three perfect hoops of hard, raised flesh. I knew the rod’s tip had scored the sides like a brand, but I could also be sure that the repeated hits in the centre must be the source of some very lively sensations. I too was on fire, but with the fierce flame of old gods and ancient ritual. There was no more calculation, no more straining for exactitude of aim, only a duality that subsumed all into the giving and receiving of pain. For a space I was lost to the mundane world as the cane slashed, the body jerked and strangulated cries forced their way past the ball lodged in the mouth. And then, when it was done, the action stopped.

I came to myself, chest heaving in rhythm to the muscular spasms that racked the figure below. Not aware of having counted, I yet knew that two dozen strokes had been delivered in twelve scorching lines. I tugged feverishly at the zips, yanked down the back flap and pulled the soft leather out from between the legs. And there they were! The welts stood out like ropes that converged into a solid band at the sulcus, against the brown skin a shocking purple that oozed here and there a dark red. I gripped the still shivering hips between my hands and ran my tongue over the lines of excoriated flesh, tasting in between the sweat that had collected at the top of the cleft.

From there the anus demanded to be explored, and its slightly acrid taste was with me as I dipped between labia that welled up with juice in the wake of an addict’s bout of extremity. For addict she was, and I felt no guilt at the sadistic treatment of her that sent my head spinning into orbit. Not that I was occupied with the ethics of our encounter at that particular point. Mouth smeared with the copious flow, I teased at the soft folds of flesh, at the same time opening the fly of my jeans to access the wetness of my own within. My tongue then teeth worked her clit just as I found mine with two fingers; her body bucked and the rush of sweet pain consumed me utterly.

Feet back on the ground I buttoned up the soggy crotch and retrieved the remote control from the bed. The figure on the frame was motionless save for the odd shuddering breath, so I set the auto-release for ten minutes and let myself out into the yard where the fresh morning air seemed filled with honey.

An hour later, showered, breakfasted and residually euphoric, I made the short walk back. This time the door was shut – as I’d left it – and horrid doubt clawed at me. Had the whole thing been an appalling mistake? Were that the case I had to know; there was no ducking it. So I gritted my teeth, turned the knob and walked in.

The kitchen was empty, and so was what I could see of the area containing the divan whose quilt was unruffled. Unaccountably afraid to call out, to make even the smallest sound, I tiptoed forward, heart in mouth. Around the partition the machine came into view, its tubular arms positioned as in its earlier use, though without the occupant it had then borne. And there she was: back to the wall, motionless, fixed in silent contemplation of the instrument of her recent suffering. Wearing only a short white top she made no sign that my presence had been recognised, and I too stood staring, at a loss. Then I noticed for the first time the bare pubes caught in the light from the window. The mound gleamed in a way that made me certain the hair had been removed, not shaved, and the sight broke my spell. In a flash I was in front of her, on my knees, pressing lips to the silky fissure as I cupped careful hands to the welted cheeks behind. She made no attempt to move away and I looked up to see her mouth twisted in a wry grimace.