Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (21 page)

Canes for Punishment.
To be truthful I feel a tremor of excitement as I reach for the phone to make an appointment to see her. I have a vision of a middle-aged professional woman, probably just finished her grocery shopping. The address is a brownstone apartment building off
Sloane Square
and like the window cleaner, or the plumber, just another service provider, I climb three steps from street level and ring the doorbell. After what seems like an age, the door opens a crack and I see a face peering up at me, fortyish, twinkling eyes, button nose, her hair a crop of curls the color of pewter. If she is a dominatrix she must be the world
'
s tiniest. The face looking quizzically at me is not much higher than the door knob.
"
Ms. Dolor, Ms. Scarlett Dolor?
"
I hear myself say.
"
I
'
m from the ad agency, I have an appointment.
"

"
That would be with me, darling, come in.
"
The door swings open, a woman in a wheelchair spins around and I follow her down the hallway.
At flat 2 she fumbles for her key, opens the door and scoots in. Only now does she stop and turn to face her visitor, extending an elegant hand.
"
You must be Catherine, she says. Welcome to my little emporium.
If what I do offends you, please say so, and we can end this here and now.
"

I say I am not in the least offended and she comes right to the point. This is not a lady who likes to waste time.

"
What do you know about the symbiosis between pleasure and pain?
"

"
Not much. I know some people crave physical punishment.
"

"
More than you might think. There is a fine balance between pain and pleasure, the endorphins travel down the same neurological pathways and to some people the sensations are indistinguishable. The people who buy my services and products crave pain as much as others seek more conventional pleasure. The use of the cane between consenting adults is more widespread than you might imagine transcending age, gender, race and sexual orientation.
Erotic discipline was old when Pythagoras was a boy. Have you ever been caned, my sweet?
"

I take a deep breath. Matter-of-factly, with as much dignity as I can muster, I inform her that I have given but not received. Scarlett raises a steely eyebrow.

"
Have you now?
"
she says, gravely.
"
And how was it may I ask?
"

"
I was 18, more scared than anything, scared I wouldn
'
t do it right. I
'
m guessing the cane was about the same length as the Junior Office model in your brochure – and if you ask me it was a bit on the dry side. Canes need moisture don
'
t they? They
'
re like house plants. This one was whippy, but easy to control. And the target, I have to admit, was the most beautiful male butt I have seen, muscular, perfectly sculptured. And I
'
m thinking, eat your heart out, Adonis. You don
'
t see a body like that outside of the Acropolis. Imagine – a sixth form girl caning her headmaster in his study to the accompaniment, would you believe, of Gregorian chants. I
'
m not proud of it, but it happened. To cut a long story short, I gave him twelve strokes as requested and as I got into the rhythm of it I confess it excited me.
But don
'
t ask me to receive. I
'
m not ready for that.
"

"
Yet you remain fascinated at the thought of being erotically disciplined. Am I right?
"

"
Yes, I suppose so. I had fantasized since puberty of being spanked on my bare bottom. When it finally happened, I was overwhelmingly relieved that the reality was as satisfying as the fantasy.
"

Scarlett laughed, a tinkly sound like a
temple
belI
.
"
I think we
'
ll get along just fine, darling.
Cup of tea?
"

"
Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.
"

Her flat and everything in it is designed, as might be expected, for someone who lives life in a wheelchair: The kitchen and laundry appliances, the cupboards, the bathroom sink, the toilet with its grab bars, are all within reach. In the combination lounge and workroom where Scarlett has her television, is a shelf full of books and a gallery of her works, a showcase of hand-crafted rattan canes. While the water was boiling I took a closer look at them. The beauty and craftsmanship astounded me. These were works of art. Some had silver handles, others were bronze, or were gilded, or shone like polished steel.
Some had glass handles showing striations of color that changed and winked in the afternoon light filtering in from
Sloane Square
. Some were set with jewels: amethyst, mother of pearl, gemstones, moonstones, jade, malachite, quartz, topaz. One was decorated with teardrops of lapis, another with tiny silver bells. I took it out of the case for a closer look.

"
One of my bestsellers,
"
Scarlett said, wheeling in with the tea and biscuits balanced on her lap on a silver tray.

"
It
'
s beautiful,
"
I told her.
"
But what
'
s with the bells?
"

"
You have to understand the market, my sweet, to appreciate the appeal of the bells.
Let
'
s say you
'
re the head of Formula 1 racing, or the Archbishop of Wherever, or a cabinet minister, or High Court judge, doesn
'
t matter who, you crave punishment, you yearn for it, so you come to me. Once you
'
re here the rest is theatre but the curtain doesn
'
t go up immediately. Oh, no. You must wait until I am ready and the waiting is almost unbearable. Imagine, you
'
re in the punishment position, blindfolded, bound hand and foot. You know you will be caned, but you must wait. Then suddenly from somewhere out of the blackness you hear the tinkling of tiny bells and you know the time has come. I
'
m not selling pain, or power, although that
'
s part of what I do. I sell theatre, fantasy, desire, I never forget that. Me and Disney are in the same business. We sell illusion to people who believe. Did you know that one in ten of educated, middle and upper class men and women have experimented with this genre? I forget who it was that said it, but some people have to be tied up to be free.
"

The tiny sculptures carved on the handles are miniature masterpieces, no two exactly the same. There are gods and devils, prehistoric monsters, demons, gargoyles, angels, grinning death heads, their faces frozen in the agony of the damned.
I have seen the same figures, the harbingers of hell, on the alter friezes in great cathedrals. Not all are menacing.
Some are set with hearts and flowers. One, I particularly like is a tiny figure of a naked submissive, on her back the wings of an angel.

"
The rattan is imported from
Malaysia
,
"
says Scarlett.
"
It
'
s the best on the market. Most of it is end pieces left over from the manufacture of rattan furniture. I ship it in by the box load. I make my canes to order, about two a week, on average, although if I have it in stock you can buy it off the website.
The more intricate the design the longer they take and the more they cost, ranging in price from a few hundred pounds to a thousand or more, plus VAT and other applicable taxes.
Over the years, I
'
ve made a comfortable living. Now I have got orders coming in from
America
and that
'
s why I am growing the business. I need to rebrand for the
Los Angeles
market and that
'
s where you come in, my sweet.
"

By this time, although the beauty of her work was impressive, I find my thoughts drifting to the rattan, the business end of the product.
I remember how it felt to wield it, the empowerment, the swishing sound it makes through the air.
I felt suddenly aroused.

"
Scarlett?
"

"
Yes, dear.
"

No turning back now.
"
I
'
ve been thinking. It might help the creative process if I sample the merchandise, after all. What do you think?
"
I blurt this out before I can change my mind. The truth is that at that moment I desperately wanted it.

"
I was kind of wondering what took you so long.
"

She wheels her chair to her work bench.
"
These are my most recent creations, oiled and ready to go. Choose one that you like and present it to me. It
'
s yours to take with you when you leave.
"

Trembling with excitement, I did as she bid, selecting the one with the silver bells. As instructed I hand it to her. She flexes it carefully.
I can
'
t take my eyes off it.

"
Good choice. The cane, like your schoolboy classic, is 31-inches by five-sixteenth, nice and whippy, but it won
'
t cut you. See that cupboard over there?
Behind those doors is a wooden horse clad in antique leather, the kind you probably remember from your school gymnasium. Bring it out for me, sweetie, if you please, and place it in the centre of the room.
"

Barely breathing, I do as I am told, already moist with anticipation. The horse has two semi-circular rings set into the top of it about three feet apart.

"
Now, remove your skirt and panties and bend over the horse between the rings.
"

I feel a tremor of fear as I do so. When I am blindfolded and precisely positioned as instructed, legs slightly apart, she binds my ankles and wrists with leather restraints. I can no longer see or move. Scarlett whistles appreciatively.
"
That
'
s the prettiest I
'
ve seen in a long time, a worthy canvas for the master craftswoman.
"
Lightly, she runs her fingers over my buttocks. Her hands are soft and sensuous. Seconds pass in darkness and silence. And then I hear the sound of tiny bells as she taps the cane three times on my bottom. I thrust it out as far as I can.

"
Be careful what you wish for, my sweet,
"
she says.
"
I can lay a hundred strokes on a single freckle, or I can stripe you neat and tidy like a zebra
'
s haunch. That
'
s my call, not yours when you
'
re over the horse. Either way you will experience the pleasure of pain. But I think six strokes will be sufficient for the day.
"

I take a deep breath and hear the whistle of Malaysian rattan.

The pain of each stroke is biting, but I also feel a warmth, a longing I hadn
'
t felt since my school days at the
Chiltern Hills
Academy
and the schoolgirl crush I had on Jen. I count to six. Then Scarlett removes the blindfold and unties me without a word.
I feel a sudden yearning I can
'
t explain. I take off my blouse and unhook my bra, which join my panties on the floor. I mount the horse and sit chastely, knees together, like a mannequin in a shop window awaiting the couturier. Scarlett, meanwhile, has wheeled away, carefully replacing the cane in its place. Perhaps sensing my needs or indulging her own, she turns to confront me, smiling. What I feel is unstoppable now and I lean back, grasping a ring in each hand for support, spreading my legs and closing my eyes.
I hear the squeak of rubber on laminate as she comes to me and I feel her ears cool against my thighs, the warmth of her breath. She licks me slowly, rhythmically, her tongue expertly finding my clit, bringing me time and again to the point of orgasm before allowing the waves of pleasure to subside like surf on a rocky coast.

"
Take your time, my sweet,
"
she says.
"
You tell me when.
"
The way she says it, the gentleness of her tone is the tipping point. Hungrily, I grasp the back of her head with both hands pressing my fingers into her tangled hair, drawing her to me.
"
Now,
"
I gasp.
"
Please, now.
"