To Seek a Master (16 page)

She had reached the marshes where a stream ran into the Ouse, the point at which she usually turned back to follow the field path into town. Tall brown and green reeds made a carpet in front of her, their stems temptingly like the length of cane now soaking in the bath. She stopped, scarcely able to accept that she could be so dirty, but the opportunity was too good to resist. A glance back the way she had come showed that nobody was about and her final chance of making an excuse was gone. Slipping Smudge from his lead she urged him to chase a flock of seagulls that she knew he had no chance whatsoever of actually catching. He went, bounding across the nearest field and she slipped in among the reeds, pushing through the tall stems until she was safely hidden from view.

Her fingers were shaking as she snapped off a length of reed. It was light and less flexible than the cane, but it would do. Closing her eyes, she began to inch her skirt up, imagining herself under orders from the cruel, vindictive Hazel Manston-Jones,
who
would laugh as Laura’s bare bottom was revealed and make a joke about tarts going without knickers. The next command would be to touch her toes, and she would obey, bending down to leave her naked bottom stuck out and her sex peeping from between her thighs, much to Hazel’s amusement.

She’d then be caned, six hard strokes, and as she pictured herself being punished, Laura began to switch her bottom with the length of reed. It stung, just enough, and after just three strokes the last of her caution was gone. Pushing her hand between her thighs, she began to play with herself, teasing her sex as she ran the punishment over and over in her mind: the sharp orders, the exposure of her body to another woman, the sting of the cane across her cheeks. Her knees nearly gave way as she started to come, threatening to pitch her forwards onto the soft black soil, into a kneeling position yet ruder than the one she was already in.

Laura gave in, deliberately going down on all fours, her bottom lifted and ready for entry from behind, enjoying the soft feel as her knees sank into the muddy soil, still thrashing at her bottom with the piece of reed and imagining Hazel stood over her, laughing.

14

THE REST OF
the week followed a similar pattern for Laura, kept in a near constant state of arousal that could only be relieved, briefly, by playing with herself until she had worked out the memories and fantasies in her head. She finished the cane, with some difficulty and some time spent searching on the internet, first bending the handle into shape and tying it with string to make sure the crook stayed once it was dry, then sandpapering the ends and finally allowing it to stand in a pot of olive oil for a night in order to ensure that it stayed supple. By the time she was done and had hung it on the back of her bedroom door as instructed, the thing seemed to have taken on a life of its own, at once evil and sacred, an instrument of torture and ecstasy, both terrifying and compelling. Even to glimpse it hanging there ready to be put across her bottom if she was naughty was enough to make her want to touch herself, and she knew that once it had been used her feelings would be stronger by far.

He had made it plain that she would be beaten, but only when she needed it, which made her feelings more muddled still. That she deserved it, she had no doubt, not for any physical act, but because, try as she might, she was unable to keep her erotic fantasies focused solely on Charles Latchley. First it had been the young man in the cane shop, then Hazel Manston-Jones, and lastly Tommy Fuller during a nostalgic evening spent drinking wine, listening to old tracks from her teenage years and wishing that he’d taught her the delights of a
well-smacked
bottom. Each one had helped her to several exquisite orgasms under her own fingers. She was determined to confess, despite her very real fear of the consequences, and replied to Charles’s Friday afternoon email with a question.
SHALL I BRING THE CANE
? There was no reply, but he was there on the train as always, greeting her with a smile and a quiet remark.

‘Don’t worry, I have several.’

Laura spent the rest of the journey and the night that followed in a sweat of anticipation, unable to keep still, unable to sleep properly for her fear and her longing, while every glimpse of the wicked looking implement on the back of her door brought a new surge of emotion. Nor was the cane her only source of excitement. She was to go to his house, presumably to spend the night, which would surely mean the full consummation of their relationship, presumably after she had been caned, a thought that had her hand back between her thighs twice before she finally got to sleep.

He had told her to surprise him, making her choice of what to wear difficult, but after an hour of laying things out and rejecting them she decided that it would be best to express their shared love of the styles of the 1950s. It took another hour to get her hair exactly right, and nearly as long again to make her final choice of a loose red summer dress over scarlet heels, seamed stockings and her favourite suspender belt, full French knickers that clung to the cheeks of her bottom and a bra that lifted her breasts into prominence. A black pork-pie hat with a feather at one side that she had found in a jumble sale but never had an excuse to wear added the final touch to her ensemble.

The combination made her feel gloriously sexual and drew glances from both men and women as she made her brisk walk to the station with her bag in hand. As always, it was easy to imagine that they knew, while the look Mrs Phipps had given
her
as she handed Smudge across had suggested both envy and disapproval. Laura didn’t care, now proud of her choice and determined not to be coy about her relationship.

Being a Saturday, the train was almost empty, while getting off at Ely felt distinctly strange after passing through so many times over the years. He was waiting, as agreed, standing in the car park next to a bright red Morgan, smartly dressed as ever, and smiling his wicked grin as she approached.

‘Laura, I’d hardly have recognised you. You look …’

‘Like a seaside tart from the 1950s? They seemed to think so in King’s Lynn.’

‘Well I dare say they’d know best, but seriously, you look delightful. Seams, I see, very right and proper. Do get in.’

He had opened the door of car for her, an old-fashioned courtesy that seem to fit perfectly with his assumption of the right to discipline her. She got in, trying to relax as he started the car and drew out of the car park but unable to suppress her nerves. He seemed as calm and in control as ever, driving fast but with patience as they skirted the town to head north and east across flat, open fields divided by rows of poplar and thorn. The top of the car was down, the fresh wind in her face making it hard to talk, but Laura didn’t mind, content to soak up the atmosphere, so different from the life she had grown used to.

Laura had imagined him living in a town house, and was surprised when he turned down a short lane to stop outside what had once been a wind pump tower but was now missing its sails, while a two-storey cottage grew from one side in the same red brick and flint construction. A high, red-brick wall and a neatly tended garden surrounded the building, which was plainly quite old, with lichen covered red tiles on the roof and a wisteria trained above the windows and door, all in all creating the impression that she had stepped back
in
time at least half a century if not more. There was nothing remotely sinister about it, just the opposite, and yet it seemed entirely appropriate as the sort of place in which girls were not only spanked and caned, but expected to accept it as both normal and necessary. She thought back to the world of her favourite novels.

‘You like old-fashioned things, don’t you?’

‘I do. Not that I make the mistake of imagining that there was a lost golden age. I was born just after the war and, frankly, things were pretty miserable, so it’s more a case of rescuing what’s good and doing my best to ignore what’s bad. Come in.’

He opened the front door, which Laura noted had been securely locked. Inside was a living room, crossing the full width of the cottage to look out onto the garden and furnished in a comfortable yet distinctly male style. Doors led off either side, one to a kitchen and a small dining room, the other to what appeared to be a library or a study. A spiral staircase led up from one corner, which he indicated with a casual gesture.

‘Go up.’

Laura obeyed, wondering if she was to be summarily spanked and fucked before they’d even had lunch, but he contented himself with a gentle but possessive pat to her bottom as they reached a landing looking out across the garden to the fields beyond. An open door to one side led into his bedroom, again simply furnished, with no evidence whatever of his unusual tastes. The door on the other side, the upper part of the tower, was closed and held shut with a heavy padlock, the sight of which gave Laura a twinge of apprehension. He noticed her expression and grinned.

‘I’m not sure you’re quite ready for what’s in there.’

‘I think I’m a big enough girl to see what I’m letting myself in for, aren’t I?’

‘Actually, I suspect you are. You made your cane for yourself, after all.’

‘Yes, and hung it on the back of my door.’

‘Ah yes, how do you feel about that?’

‘It makes me dizzy just to look at it, scared and dizzy.’

‘Which is exactly how it should be.’

‘It’s very clever, the way you always seem to be able to judge how I’ll feel.’

‘Oh it’s an old trick, but a good one. There’s nothing quite like having an implement she’s been punished with on the wall to keep a girl on her toes. Then of course there’s the matter of visitors. Anybody who comes into your bedroom will know what you get.’

‘I wasn’t planning on letting anybody else into my bedroom! Not men, anyway, and if any of my girlfriends are coming around I’m going to hide the cane. Sorry, but that I’m not ready for.’

He merely chuckled and she carried on, remembering her promised confession.

‘Speaking of other men, and women too actually, there’s something I really need to get off my chest. I love the idea of taking discipline from you, but when I think about it I can’t help imagining other people doing it to me as well, mainly women … a woman, because that seems purer, if there’s no sex involved, just punishment. That’s wrong, isn’t it? I want to be honest with you, Charles, right from the start, so I thought I’d better tell you, and … and …’

She realised she’d begun to babble, expecting to be whipped over the banister rail for spanking at any moment, or worse, real displeasure. He merely looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.

‘You still have a great deal to learn, Laura, including what it means to give yourself fully to a man. I expect complete
faith,
of course, but it must be given freely, not forced. Do you want correction for your thoughts? Think carefully before you answer.’

Laura hesitated. Whoever she’d been with, however much in love, other people had always intruded into her darker fantasies, a habit she’d tried to put down to her vivid imagination rather than any real desire to be unfaithful. She doubted Charles could cure her of it, but felt she should be prepared to try.

‘Yes. I think that would be right.’

‘Very well. How many times did you imagine yourself being punished by somebody other than me?’

Laura decided she had to be fully honest.

‘How many times did I think about it, or how many times did I come over it?’

His eyebrows rose a fraction and there was steel in his voice as he spoke again.

‘You masturbated over other people spanking you?’

Laura looked at the floor.

‘And caning me.’

‘How many times?’

‘Um … about eight.’

‘Eight?’

‘Maybe ten, or twelve, but only other three different people.’

She raised her eyes, only to lower them abruptly, unable to meet his stern gaze as he continued.

‘So let me get this straight. You have masturbated or orgasmed at least eight times over the thought of being punished by other people, and how many times thinking about me?’

‘Oh, lots more. I can’t stop it, ever since you spanked me. My head’s just full of it, all the time. I have to do it before I can get to sleep, usually twice.’

She was blushing hot, wriggling her toes and fiddling with her fingers in her embarrassment. At last she managed to raise her eyes again, to find him looking down at her with a quizzical expression.

‘I’m sorry. I suppose you think I’m a slut?’

‘No. I like a woman to accept her sexual feelings, and I admire your honesty in telling me. I suspect these thoughts will die as you come to understand your true nature more fully, but for the time being, if you genuinely feel that you want correction, then perhaps we’d better go in after all.’

As he spoke he took a bunch of keys from a pocket, one of which he pushed into the padlock. Laura stepped close as he opened the door onto a bright, airy room, larger than she had expected and somewhat like a gym, with wooden bars against one wall of scrubbed brick and ropes hanging from the beams at the peak of the tower some twelve feet above her head. There were also pieces of padded furniture on the floor, but not vaulting horses or parallel bars. The nearest was a cage, constructed of thick wooden bars and just about large enough to hold a full grown woman if she stayed curled up or on all fours. Beyond that was a curiously designed bench, also of dark polished wood, but upholstered with black leather and plainly designed to be knelt on in such a way that her bottom would be the highest part of her body and completely vulnerable. Black leather straps on short chains hung from the legs of the device.

Laura swallowed and glanced at Charles, thinking for a moment of how little she really knew him and that nobody knew where she was, but he merely sat down on yet another piece of unusual furniture, a small stool topped with black leather. Behind him, to either side of the door, she noticed twin lines of hooks fastened to boards, and that from each hook hung an implement plainly intended for discipline, and therefore her own discipline.