Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (11 page)

"
For flashing me back there.
Are you aware that willfully distracting the operator of a passenger vessel while under way is an offence under the Rivers & Inland Waterways Navigation Act of 1652?
I might have run into something, we could easily have capsized.
"

He thrust out one arm striking an oratorical pose:

Full fathom five

Lies Ryan
'
s punt
sunk by silken thighs

and thy sweet cunt.

"
And exactly what sort of punishment,
"
I shyly enquire,
"
is proscribed under that rivers thing act of 1652?
"

"
First offence – a spanking.
"

Again, the oratorical pose.

I think that I shall never find

A bottom needier than thine

This is wonderful. The first time was to Ravel's Bolero. Now apparently I'm going to be spanked in iambic pentameters. I'm not about to appeal the sentence, but two can play the poetry game. I strike an oratorical pose of my own.

Good
Sir
,
I
bow
with
due
submission
Bottoms
up
to
your
petition
So saying, I slide over his lap, thrusting up my buttocks. I feel them caressed by the breeze and I waggle them enticingly until I feel a restraining hand in the small of my back. In this position I can reach behind to hold him. How long and slender his cock feels, how soft, yet so hard. He pauses a few seconds, stroking my bottom, then begins, three on the right cheek then three on the left in quick succession. This is a harder spanking than the last time and I feel my cheeks instantly reddening. The sting is exquisite. The pace quickens, then slows, then quickens again. After a few wonderful minutes he pauses and I feel his lips and tongue. I'm on fire and close to coming. He senses this, clever boy, and lies back, holding his cock like a mast for me to mount at my leisure, which I am just about to do, when suddenly we hear a rustling in the bushes and someone bursts on the scene. From my vantage point over Ryan's knee I can see only of a pair of sensible walking shoes, brown wool socks and knee-length khaki shorts. Instinctively we scramble under the blanket pulling it up to our shoulders, hiding our nakedness, salvaging what dignity we can.

We need not have worried. Her eyes – behind powerful binoculars – are fixed on the canopy of a tall elm tree. She seems aware we are there, but has no interest in what we are up to.

"
I say, did you see it?
"

See what? We are not sure what to say. Apparently she didn't see anything, either.

"
There it is,
"
she is saying,
"
look, top branch of that elm tree right in front of us, at nine o'clock. See it? It's one
of the f
amily of spotted flycatchers
,
Muscicapa
striata,
a female.
Very rare in these parts. Oh you little beauty. Come to mummy. Number 947 on my life list. I can't believe it. This is fantastic. I say, are you two bird watchers? You should be. With your luck, rare birds find you. Ha ha ha.
"

She plunked herself down on the tree stump in front of us and produced a lace handkerchief with which she dabbed at her brow.

"
Allow me to introduce myself, Geraldine Warmington. Don't get up. Ha ha. Jolly rude of me to intrude, really. But I didn't expect company out here.
"
She offered an elegant hand which we shook, still clutching the blanket for cover. We introduce ourselves.

"
Catherine Mallory Jones,
"
she intones.
"
Mallory, Mallory, rings a bell. You wouldn't be related to Jefferson Mallory, landscape artist, would you? Married Norah Burton, the actress. Great gal, went to school with my mother. Come to think of it, there is a resemblance. She's your grandmother, isn't she? Lives near Shoreham-on-Sea, last I heard.
"

It transpires that Lady Geraldine Ponsoby-Warmington J.P., of Warmington Manor, chairman of the Little Upton Parish Council, treasurer of the
Sussex
constituency Conservative Party, secretary of the Greater Upton Bird Watching Society, is in hot pursuit of a blue winged marbled flycatcher. The many pockets of her combat vest (a gift from the St. Luke's Church ladies sewing circle) of the type beloved by television news cameramen on foreign assignments, are stuffed with an ordinance survey map, a well-thumbed copy of
Birds
of
Southern
England
, a digital camera, spare batteries, a rai
lway timetable, a copy of the
Racing
Form
and a mosquito net from a recent trip down the Amazon. Her ladyship
'
s gaze remains skyward.

If she wonders why two young people are cowering under a blanket, their clothes tossed onto the tree stump on which she is sitting, she doesn
'
t say. Consulting the book that she pulled from one her pockets she sallies on.

"
Listen to this.
The blue winged marbled flycatcher is a rather nondescript greyish-brown bird with a beady eye, a thin bill and delicate streaking on the crown and breast. Young birds are obviously
'
spotted
'
on the breast.
"
Ryan is glaring at her I know what he is thinking. He
'
s thinking,
'
thanks a lot, lady,
my girlfriend was about to jump my bones before you interrupted us.
'
He has lost his erection, which is a probably a good thing under the circumstances.

What he actually says is this:
"
Yes, jolly interesting.
"
He is hoping by saying something innocuous she will go away. But her ladyship is at full throttle.
She reads aloud:
"
It
'
s a rare summer visitor but will take up residence in larger gardens and woodland areas where there are good insect populations. Ornithological studies show that numbers visiting
Britain
declined by 85 percent between 1974 and 2001. It is one of the last migrant birds to arrive, often not reaching
England
until May. Nevertheless, it sometimes raises two broods of young before leaving for
Africa
in August.
"

I know what Ryan is thinking. He is thinking that the damn thing gets laid more than he does and fervently wishes her ladyship would leave for
Africa
.

A sudden gust of wind lifts the blanket on my side and I slap it down before she can see anything, but the old biddy has eyes like a hawk.

"
I say, you should put something on, you
'
ll catch your death of cold. Ha ha. Another ornithological first for me. The bird
and
the bush. Ha ha. That
'
s a good one, the bush of the variegated university bird.
Sorry, couldn
'
t resist it.
I suppose I am rather intruding aren
'
t I,
spankus
interruptus
and all that.
"
She howls with laughter, slapping her thigh with
Birds of
Southern England
.

Ryan and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing. Did she see what we were doing? How could she have known?

"
What it is to be young, eh? I remember when I was at university. Didn't know a dartford warbler from blue footed booby in those days. Didn't care, much either. Too busy having fun. You young people didn't invent sex, you know. Ask your grandmother. My tipple in those days was babycham, little bottles of bubbly, guaranteed knicker dropper that one, don't suppose they sell it now. Worked like a charm I'll tell you. Couple of babyshams and my inhibitions toppled like a house of cards in a high wind. I remember once in the car park at Woburn Abbey, bent over the bonnet of a 1934 Morris
Oxford
. My God, yes. Remember the car, can't remember the chap. Jolly good show anyway. Now instead of being atwitter, I'm a twitcher. Well, nice meeting you. Carry on.
"

And she was gone.

We gave her five minutes to be out of range, then emerged from under the blanket.

"
Now, where were we? I said.

Ryan laid the blanket out at the foot of the stump and sat, legs outstretched, leaning against it. Then abruptly he grabbed hold of me and pulled me across his lap. The suddenness with which he did so took my breath away.

"
I believe this is where we were,
"
he said.

I could feel the sun on my body. I could hear the murmur of the river and the wind in the trees. For a few delicious minutes he ran his fingertips up and down my spine, then he massaged my calves and thighs, stroking my bottom. I could feel the warmth of his hand, his cock stiff against me.

"
You are going to be spanked. You know why, don't you?
"

"
Yes.
"

"
Well, tell me, please. I want to hear you say it.
"

"
For distracting you, back there on the river.
"

"
In what way did you distract me?
"
I felt a finger slide between my legs, teasing.

"
I put on some sunscreen. You were watching.
"

"
What else?
"

He wanted me to say the word. It was a game we sometimes played, saying it, hearing it said, was part of the excitement. But it wasn't something to be rushed.

He adjusted my position.

"
Higher, please.
"

I raised my buttocks.

"
Hold that position. Now, Catherine, tell me what you did.
"

"
Nothing, I didn't do anything.
"

"
You did. You showed me something. What did you show me?
"

I took a deep breath. It was time. Do it. Say it now.

"
I showed you my cunt.
"

And then he spanked me.

He began lightly, his hand soft and caressing. My cheeks were still blushing from the earlier session and I rewarded his tenderness by moving my hips and moaning softly. Then, as before, I reached behind me to hold him, my fingers closing lightly around it.

I held him for a few seconds, then I relaxed back into position, arching my back. I was in charge now.

"
Harder,
"
I said.
"
Spank me harder.
"

Telling him, feeling his instant response, gave me a sudden rush of pleasure.

When I had had enough, we scrambled to our feet and kissed long and hard. He pulled me to him and we made love on the tree stump, me sitting in his lap, our arms around each other and the river flowing by.

Joanne, 21, naughty young lady from Essex, looking for assertive gentleman over 55. Discreet accommodation provided. Tribute required. Available Monday, Tuesday and Saturday, noon to 8 pm. Enquiries to [email protected].

He had chosen her from the classified ads more or less at random from among a dozen enticing invitati
ons.
George was not certain that being assertive was a strong point, although he was proud that a performance evaluation by the human resources department of Putney & District municipality during the early days of his management aspirations, had defined his leadership skills as 'average' and as his experiences at
Olympia
had taught him he qualified in the age demographic. He had no idea in what form the required 'tribute' was to be paid, but he was fairly sure a kind word, a compliment or two, plus the discreet transfer of a couple of hundred pounds or so would do the job.

And there was a degree of comfort – although he felt somewhat nervous – in beginning with an activity he knew something about, the erotic spanking of a consensual female bottom, although since Pem's death five years ago his talents in that department had alas not been called upon, nor in fact had he had a relationship of any sort since the Bali tragedy, partly because he had never met anyone who remotely matched up to her memory. And let's face it, he told his bathroom mirror, who is going to be attracted to a short, pudgy, balding, 55-year-old retired civil servant? So he joined a book club instead and immersed himself in writing short stories, and when the opportunity arose to sign up for a creative writing course taught by a distinguished poet, he had seen it as an alignment of the stars and had leapt at the opportunity.