Notebooks of the Young Wife (15 page)

‘So you think it’s the genuine article? And really a woman?’

‘Oh yes. I mean...’ he went a touch pink and hesitated ‘...I mean, you can tell. The way she goes on about the marks you know she’s touching them. During, like. Again and again.’ I took in the earnest face, nostrils a little flared, startled at the vivid picture he evoked. He was quite right, too. Without wanting to endorse crude gender stereotyping, it would not commonly be a man’s way to engage directly with the effects of what he was doing. Revel instead in the visuals: the gaudy stripes springing up on beaten flesh and the jerks and twitches of the outraged body. These were correlates of pain to delight the eye at a distance, safe from the intimacy attending the handling of the afflicted parts. With a pang of pure lust I thought of the paddle I’d used, and the delicious feel of the sore buttocks, and looked at him again.

‘All that severity, though. I seem to remember even Miss Faversham’s six was a bit much.’ He gave a sharp laugh and nodded.

‘Give us a chance. This boy was trained up over the years.’

‘And the idea of it, being at her mercy – utterly—’

‘Here. Gets me here.’ He pressed a hand to his stomach. ‘Like looking over the edge when there’s just down. No end to it. And you can’t stop thinking you want to jump.’

Never before had we discussed so much as the weather, and suddenly we were in deep. So it came as something of a relief, on my part at least, to be interrupted by the appearance of the stewardess come to take our order for food. The boy glanced doubtfully at the menu and seemed happy with my suggestion of fresh bread and cheese. We washed it down with some chilled Cava Rosado, and some while afterwards he took out another book and displayed it with a smile. I recognised it at once as the notorious
Guide to the Correction of Young Gentlemen
which had been seized immediately upon publication and most copies burned, although plainly one had found its way into Monty’s collection.

A work in rather lighter vein than his earlier choice seemed to be, it allowed me to explain there was reason to think that the ‘Lady’ it was credited to was one Alice Kerr-Sutherland, distinguished by a flagellant career not so much as an actual governess, as with adult male clients. I pointed out the section titled
The Eternal Boy
as indicating the tongue-in-cheek nature of the writing which at first sight, and in the magistrate’s view in the 1920s, could seem to advocate violence against children.

‘So it was a kind of game?’

‘In the book, yes, I think so. However there is no doubt she enjoyed chastising young men’s bottoms as much as her contemporary Edith Cadivec did young women’s.’ He digested this thought for a moment, then flashed a cheeky grin.

‘While some get off on both. Like you, Miss.’

‘Oh, so you think you’ve got me all sewn up. Cheeky monkey! Now when I get you on your own, my boy, you’ll find out just how...’ I’d half risen to my feet, wagging a reproving finger when I became aware we had acquired an audience. By the single seats across the aisle was a woman turned towards us.

‘May I?’ She indicated the attaché case she was in the act of placing on the small table. ‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to intrude...’

‘Of course. Help yourself. Those are not our seats.’ A further inspection showed me slim dark-suited elegance, auburn hair short at the sides sprouting longer mauve tints on top. From behind steel-rimmed narrow ovals of glass the eyes were amused.

‘I fear I broke into a remonstration, if that is the word. And with such a book lying between you...’ The carefully enunciated English bore what sounded like a German inflection, and the face had perhaps ten years on mine. I gave in to the impulse to pick up the hint that had been dropped and run with it.

‘The boy has, I fear, not studied its contents as well as he might. Thus it occurred to me that a practical lesson might be required in more appropriate circumstances. By the way, I’m Jane Barrett-Greene of the British Library.’ My hand was taken at once and the look was a warm one.

‘
Offizier
Sibyl Metzger, of The Program. Unlike yours, it is an institution we prefer to keep out of the public eye. Now this is something of a coincidence. I had some dealings with your predecessor and I am pleased to meet the Dr Greene I was told had replaced him. But first things first, as I believe the expression goes. Circumstances may be more conducive to your lesson than you implied.’ I followed her gaze round the carriage that contained half a dozen people, none less than middle-aged. Then she pressed the service button and before a minute had passed was engaged in an interchange in French with the young woman who’d waited on us earlier. It was
sotto voce
with a fluency that so far outstripped my limited grasp of the language, that I was little the wiser. In the course of it she was shown something that lay inside the case, after which she too cast an eye over the other passengers. Then she looked at us and gave a firm nod of the head.

‘
Madame, ça sera fait. J’irais amener la fille
.’
As the sliding doors closed behind her I was left with the feeling that I had consigned us to another’s hands, though for exactly what was yet to be made clear. The boy was watching, a little wide-eyed, but I sensed he was ready for anything. There was not long to wait before the attendant returned in the company of a girl I guessed to be very much of his own age. She hung back, pouting furiously, and when forced forward with a twist of the arm, stamped her foot.

‘
Ça suffit! Ou on rapport à ta mère.
Tu comprends
?’ The only answer was a scowl, but the fight seemed to have gone out of her. ‘
Bon. Restes ici
.’ She moved back the way she’d come, where two couples sat opposite each other, with two single businessmen in the seats beyond. All looked a little wary, but unabashed she leaned forward to draw in the attention of each one, and began to speak earnestly. This time I managed to hear the phrase
les jeunes
, and what seemed the key, repeated several times,
la correction
. It caught my ear at once, for unlike the slightly coy usage in English, the secondary sense of the French word is straightforward. It translates as ‘thrashing’, no ifs and no buts. As if in direct response to what we’d overheard Sibyl Metzger took from her bag an instrument and passed it over for my inspection.

‘I brought this as a gift for my hosts. It is a martinet, though more compact and dense than I understand to be the norm.’ She smiled as I weighed the object in my hands. ‘One might say it was designed for the English short, sharp shock.’ While less than a foot long, the thongs were a good quarter-inch of tough leather, bound into a thick bundle. I noticed the girl was staring at the thing open-mouthed.

‘But you can’t. Not – not
that
.’

‘Ah, she has a voice and some words of our common language.
Oui, ma chère
, it is to be that. Come now, your aunt returns. Be brave; it is soon over and the pain will wipe out your misdeed.’ She looked no more convinced by this than I would have been in her shoes, but things moved too quickly for her to duck out. In short order she was over the table with her shoulders in a firm grip while the German hauled up the hem of the mini-dress to reveal bare cheeks framed by the skimpiest of string briefs. There was not the space in our restricted situation for a full deployment of the arm, but the tall disciplinarian had the measure of the situation. Having raised her hand to the level of her head with the implement at the back of the shoulder, she brought it down with a flick of the wrist that splatted the tails into the meat of the buttocks. To her credit the girl stifled all but a gasp as we watched the fan of red lines form on the pale skin.

It took three more lashes, each harder than the one preceding it, to make her squawk, then another three to bring forth a real howl. The watchers were on the edge of their seats, goggle-eyed and with a discreet hand I found the boy’s cock to be no less appreciative of the show. Sibyl Metzger announced that another six strokes would complete the matter, and proceeded to lay them on with force. When she was done and the victim’s writhing had subsided, we were able to admire the tracery of blues and purples that decorated the swelling mounds. Let up, the girl clutched her behind, moaning.

‘Oo-oo-ooh.
Ça me fait mal!
’ But the worst already passed, her face lifted and she surprised us by giving her chastiser a quick smile. ‘You were right, Madame.
C’est fini
. It
is
over.’ With that she pulled down the clinging dress with some care, then wiggled her way past the audience and out through the connecting door at the end. The stewardess shook her head at the performance, but it was obvious she warmed to the girl’s spirit.

‘The young recover quickly, do they not? Now it is the other’s turn to show us his mettle. It will be not so much a punishment, of course, as a demonstration to supplement his study. Ms Kerr-Sutherland, it must be said, is somewhat deficient in her treatment of the martinet in the
Guide
. However, to be fair, she did not possess an instrument of this quality.’ She swished it twice through the air with a gleam in her eye. ‘Now, Dr Greene, if you would oblige us by preparing our subject.’

‘Jane, please; if I may call you Sibyl.
Et nôtre hôtesse s’appelle
...?’

‘
Hélène.
Enchantée
.’ After my limited foray into the language we clasped hands: three women on first-name terms about to cement their intimacy over a lad’s naked bottom. The baring was soon done by a pull at the waist string that dropped cotton trousers to the knees, after which I pulled up the T-shirt and held the torso down on the surface of the table.

‘Excellent!’ Sibyl bent over the target and I joined her in studying the expanse of uncovered flesh between the shoulder blades and the thighs. It was darker than the young woman’s, but scarcely more masculine, having only a fine down by way of surface hair. There were a couple of smudges by the right dimple and just the suggestion of a darker tint to the main meat. Given the treatments of it I had witnessed or been party to in the few days of our acquaintance, the boy’s arse was possessed of a resilience that begged to be tried to the full. From the way she straightened up and ran the thongs through caressing fingers, it seemed that the willowy German had reached a similar conclusion.

‘Young man, prepare yourself. I begin.’ The murmured exchange between the two men in suits died away to leave an expectant hush in the carriage. The first stroke was more vigorous than any before, and five more followed in similar vein. Our chastiser was developing the art of the swing in a confined environment with gratifying results. I tightened my grip on the protesting figure with a sharp admonishment to hold still, and in the ensuing pause we watched the weals spring up and deepen in colour.

Six further lashes, then another six were just as forceful, but the boy had found the stoicism to take them without further struggle, although they could scarcely have been less painful than the first. Six more and Sibyl was done, and I have to say I was glad of it, for by the end the tongues had bitten deep into places already raw and welted. In private I might well have inflicted worse on him without a qualm, so I suppose I was concerned less with his suffering than with how he would acquit himself before spectators. However, that he did quite splendidly, and after the other occupants were re-settled into their appointed seats there was a bonus.

After I rewarded the stalwart performance with an application of soothing cream to the inflamed parts, the boy straightened up and reached back to feel the damage with his own hands. At once three pairs of eyes found a new focus of interest in the erection that sprang jauntily into view.

‘Bravo!’ cried Hélène. ‘
Le garçon est fier
– he is proud, how you say...?’

‘Proud to take the punishment of a Mistress?’

‘
Oui, c’est ça
.
Mais la douleur
...’

‘It is not uncommon for a sore behind to prompt a degree of arousal.’ Sibyl’s mime was quite explicit and the French woman nodded her comprehension.

‘Not uncommon,’ she repeated slowly. ‘
Alors, la fille aussi
, she too will be...’ She straightened up, colour a little high and pulled at the hem of her uniform.
‘
Merci bien, mes amies
.
C’est très interessant, mais je m’en vais
.
To my station.’ We watched her head quickly off in the direction taken a few minutes earlier by
la fille
referred to, and recalling that one’s reaction I thought it more than likely that the tawse had warmed her rather as it had the boy. And our stewardess seemed rather keen to investigate the matter.

‘Does the aunt’s concern for her niece stray toward the intimate side, perhaps?’ Sibyl echoed my thought, one eyebrow raised, then turned back to the lad still holding his bum. ‘It is in any case not our business, as I believe you say. However, this one most definitely is.’ She brought a hand up under the organ that jutted between us until it was lying stiff in her palm. ‘May I?’

‘Be my guest.’ For reasons of protocol I was gratified that the question had been directed to me, though it would have been little use to ask its owner. As I had come to know, the chastised boy withdrew behind his scrunched-up eyes when his climax was under the control of another, and so it was that afternoon on the speeding train. I assisted with a handkerchief spread on the table, then contented myself with fondling the hot swellings on the backside while keeping half a nervous eye out for the possibility of interruption. Closed fingers worked the shaft so that the foreskin rode up and back over the oozing head, and the crisis was upon us in streak after streak that pumped from the urethra. In what was little more than twenty-four hours of abstinence the semen factory had achieved a production level whose amount and reach had quite outstretched the capacity of my cotton square.