Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (36 page)

Tommy Yamomoto came straight to the point.

"
Mr. Brown…
"

"
George. Call me George.
"

"
George, as we discussed during our conference call last week, TrashTalk is seeking to buy the worldwide publishing rights to
Fly
On
The
Wall.
Our plan is to serialize it for subscribers in comic book format.
"

"
Manga?
"

"
You know manga?
"

"
A little.
"
George was careful not to let on that he knew anything about Japanese culture, but when Putney & District was twinned with the
Tokyo
ward of Shinjuku, he had made several visits to coordinate arrangements. He knew that in
Japan
people of all ages read manga in a broad range of subjects from adventure to romance, from science fiction and fantasy to mystery and horror. He also knew that some adult manga contains explicit sexual content. A quick check on the internet told him the market had grown since he was there to be worth more than
£2.5
billion a year.

"
But why my book? Why
Fly
On
The
Wall
? I imagine Cleopatra is well known, but do Japanese people know Boadicea, or Catherine de Medici or the other characters Dr. Whom meets on his travels?
"

"
Boadicea, no. Medici, maybe. Casanova, of course. De Sade, a little. The Duchess of Windsor, only a few who study history. But who could resist the story, however unlikely, of a future British royal in a
Beijing
brothel? And he won't be Dr. Whom, he will be Doctor Fly. We are offering to buy the concept, George, not the novel, at least not the novel as you wrote it. We think the fly on the wall has great potential. Some of the original we can certainly use. The banquet scene where Doctor Fly leads the royal flycatcher on a merry dance is comic genius. We will animate it. As for the sexual content, there is a long history in
Japan
– as there is in your country – of erotic discipline. Plus, we will add characters from Japanese history. Over the centuries there have been many scandals in the palace of the emperors. Your book will cause a sensation.
"

Sensation or not, George was wondering how much of his novel would be left after the cartoonists and animators had finished with it. In spite of the compliment he was feeling somewhat aggrieved.
"
What about the final scene at the royal banquet where Dr. Fly jumps from cheek to cheek before seeking refuge in the wetlands. Are you going to animate that? Is that comic genius too?
"

Mr. Yamomoto took a sharp intake of breath. It made a whistling sound.
"
Let me assure you that we will test the boundaries. If the authorities censor us it will be good for business. We have thought of that. But we have a plan B. Are you familiar with the Japanese term 'panchira'?

George was, but he wasn't saying. He shook his head.

"
Panchira –
panty
shot – a glimpse of panties, an element of mainstream manga since the sixties. Young Japanese males – our biggest target market – are obsessed with panchira. Did you know in
Japan
you can buy girls' used panties from vending machines?
"

"
Really? I always thought that was an urban myth.
"

George thought about it briefly and could barely refrain from laughing. He had a mental picture of a spotty Japanese adolescent savagely kicking a vending machine because the panties in slot J6 had failed to drop. Panchira. He had forgotten about panchira.

"
So you are telling me that to avoid censorship you will put panties on 16th century wenches even though women's underwear hadn't even been invented yet.
"
He sighed. It was a battle he knew he couldn't win.

George looked at his watch. He was meeting Catherine for lunch and time was getting short.

"
Mr. Yamomoto…
"

"
Tommy.
"

"
Tommy, do you have the signing authority to conclude a deal right here, today?
"

"
Within reason, yes.
"

"
Okay, as I understand it, you want to publish my book, change the name of the hero, eliminate characters while adding others and serialize it in comic book form for the mobile phone market. Am I missing anything?
"

"
No, except I can promise you our animators will do a brilliant job and I think you will be delighted with the result. Plus, we give you full credit: 'Based on the novel by George Aloysius Brown.'
"

George liked the sound of that. And, let's face it, he thought sensibly, it was the only offer he had.

"
Let's talk money,
"
he said.

It's a short walk along the
Strand
from the Savoy Hotel to
Trafalgar Square
and then to the National Portrait Gallery where on the top floor is an elegant restaurant with a view over the slate grey rooftops and in the distance the River Thames and the Houses of Parliament. From this perspective it felt to George as if he were almost at the same height as Nelson, standing defiantly on his column with his back to him, so close it seemed that a well-aimed bread roll might prompt him to spin around.

Catherine Mallory Jones, newly-crowned queen of paperback romance, was already ensconced in a corner booth.

"
What's with you?
"
she said as he approached.
"
You look like the cat who swallowed the canary.
"

"
Of course I do, I'm having lunch with my favorite author.
"
He stooped to give her a peck on the cheek.

"
When's the big day?
"

"
You mean publication? They say November, in time for the Christmas market. Also, get this, they've offered me a job.
"

"
Catherine, that's great. As what? They want you to write another book?
"

"
It's better than that, they want me to head up a new division, Pandora Booxx, that's books with a double X.
"
She wrote it on a napkin for him.
"
They're diversifying into erotic literature.
"
She patted her briefcase. They've even given me a manuscript to read, submitted by a retired Methodist clergyman from
Dorset
.
"

George laughed.

"
Don't tell me the genre, let me guess. Mmmm… Anything to do with choir practice?
"

"
Don't be beastly. You'll love it.
"

"
Go on.
"

"
It's about an 18th century French nobleman who staffs his chateau with gorgeous French maids…
"

"
Well, they would be French, wouldn't they? It being France and all.
"

"
Are you interested, or not?
"

"
Sorry, carry on.
"

"
Well, naturally, they are all very disobedient, deliberately so, and he has to discipline them.

George leaned forward and lowered his voice so as not to startle the other diners.

"
So he puts them over his knee, lowers their frilly French cullottes and spanks them on their bare bottoms. Mon Dieu. It's crap. I can't believe it has a chance of being published when my book, which at least is….
"

"
George, I didn't write it, I just have to evaluate it...
"

"
Sorry didn't mean to sound bitter. And what is your evaluation?
"

"
Here's the interesting part. Being a fair-minded chap, on one day a year, each of the maids gets to punish
him
for
his
sins
and some of them are very imaginative – hence the name of the book
Reversal
of
Fortune
. Check it out, I brought a teaser.
"

Conversation was put on hold as the waiter brought their food and waived cracked pepper at it with Eastern European flourish before topping up their wine glasses and wishing them bon appetit. George put the folios she handed him next to his plate so he could read them while he ate and armed himself with a forkful of ravioli.

The first two encounters of my reversal of fortune sessions have been so pleasurable, it is with mounting anticipation that I await Sophie
'
s arrival and I can barely contain my excitement when I hear her now familiar knock on my door. I conjecture that my posterior, in particular, will be in for some attention as many times have I bade Sophie bend over my knee and now it is her turn to have her way with me. Sophie recently arrived in my house from the
French Congo
. She has black hair, full ripe breasts and a derriere so plump and exquisitely round that it quite takes my breath away. She is the most delinquent of the domestic servants deliberately so, I fancy, for she transgresses frequently and submits to her punishment with little cries of protest. Thus there is seldom a day when her bottom is not made to sting courtesy of my scrupulous attention to discipline.

Well, George is thinking, it's a better read than your average Sunday sermon.

Without a word of greeting she bids me stand, obey orders and speak only when spoken to. If the others had been shy, almost diffident at first, being uncertain perhaps that I mean what I say, there is nothing equivocal about Sophie and she soon makes her intentions clear.

"
Remove your clothes and lie on your back,
"
she instructs me, as if such a demand were no more unlikely than asking me to lift my feet the better to sweep beneath them.

Of course, I hasten to comply and no sooner am I settled on the silken sheets than she spread eagles me, producing from the folds of her apron some lengths of velvet cord with which she binds me hand and foot.

Naked, tethered to the bedposts, I can no longer move. Only my manhood begins to rise.

Rather disconcertingly, the little fella was starting to sit up too and George folded his napkin over his lap. Catherine pretended not to notice. George sprinkled some parmesan over his ravioli and read on:
"
You will remain bound for one hour,
"
says she,
"
and should you be uncomplaining and not beg for your release, you will be rewarded. If, however, you cannot stay the course, you will receive six strokes of the cane. Do you understand?
"

"
Yes, yes, dear Sophie,
"
I mutter, thinking idly to myself that one hour of repose will be of little inconvenience and time will pass quickly enough. Surely, she means to mount me when the ordeal is over, or I her, or she might apply her swe
et lips to my lance.

"
Ooo la la,
"
George said.
"
The Count of Monte Cristo wants her sweet lips on his lance.
"
He raised his eyebrows theatrically. Exasperated, Catherine tried to take back the document, but George held it in his grasp.

"
Anyway,
"
she said.
"
I see it's piqued your interest.
"
There being no answer to that, George adjusted his glasses and read on.

Dropping her skirts, the hussy pulls down her undergarment, placing it shamelessly over my nose so that I am at once subsumed by her aroma and enchanted by the thatch of dark curls that spills invitingly between her thighs. I content myself by breathing deeply, my manhood stirring the more I do so. Then in my full view, she removes her blouse, her nipples dark and erect. Without so much as a by your leave, she leans over the foot of the bed and brushes them lightly against my swollen member.

If this is her torment, I am, at this juncture, a most willing victim. But worse is to come.

And George is thinking, 'Way to go, Reverend. Pass the collection plate.'

Naked now, she straddles my body, placing her secret place just inches from my nose. Where before, her aroma competed with the smell of freshly laundered cotton, I now find myself assailed by the very fount of it. So near and yet so far, its hairs tickle my nose while my tongue reaches in vain. Straining and squirming at my bonds, I cannot help but utter a small cry of frustration. At which Mistress Sophie becomes displeased, or at least feigns displeasure, for I do believe this was her intent. Sophie well knows where I keep the cane as she has been required to bring it to me many times so that I might administer a few reminders to her shapely rear thus teaching her the error of her ways. Now, at her bidding, it is I who is obliged to assume the punishment position, which I do at once, quivering with excitement. Now, standing before me, she flexes the willow as she has seen me do, before bringing it down lightly on her thigh. Once. Twice. Apparently well-satisfied, she takes a pace to my left as if to measure her delivery and taps me lightly on the buttocks to signal her readiness.