Whip Hands (10 page)

‘It would appear you have dealt firmly with the miscreants, Miss Rose. For your debut you seem to have acquitted yourself with distinction. Now, girls, you may go. And remember to treat Miss Rose with more respect in future.'

It barely needs saying that my stay at Camilla Bancroft was not a long one. For days afterwards I found it difficult to sit without wincing and this created an uproar in class. Everyone had heard, and only a few of the spoilt brats took any pity on me. I was glad to hand in my notice at the end of term and set about seeking a position at another establishment.

However, I have still not decided whether my preference is for another single-sex school or whether I might return to the state educational system. As I replay the incident in my mind, that uncontrollable shiver returns, causing the gooseflesh to mount. Is it anticipation of pleasure, or pain?

 

 

‘The architect of the Prussian ascendancy, Chancellor of Germany, a man of outstanding vision who had the qualities to transform his dreams into reality. Just what we need today, I'm sure you'll agree.'

‘Oh, really, Max. I read somewhere that Bismarck sowed the seeds of the First World War by his ruthless treatment of other European nations.'

The man driving looked sharply across at the face of his passenger. ‘My dear, I've never before had to debate European realpolitik with a new applicant for our club,' he riposted suavely, pulling away from the traffic lights on amber. ‘The Bismarck is effectively a dining and debating club with unusual but quite innocent entertainments dictated by the members. Who thought up the name is lost in the mists of time.'

‘Some ex-pat Prussian aristocrat with duelling scars, perhaps,' suggested the young woman archly. Although dressed demurely in a long black dress with a high neckline, she sported a glossy PVC belt with an extravagant buckle that emphasised her slim waist. ‘You don't mind if I smoke?'

‘If you must. There is really no need to be nervous, my dear.' He was trying to sound reassuring, but though the girl suspected his manner might work on awkward shareholders, it was not having the same effect on her. He tried changing tack. ‘Where was it you said you were working at the moment?'

She blew out a stream of cigarette smoke, accompanied by a throaty chuckle. ‘Working is coming it a bit strong, Max. Mummy got me this PR job through a friend who's in publishing, but it hardly pays the rent. Not that I pay it anyway,' she added sardonically.

‘Yes, of course, public relations and publishing. Fascinating. You do these book-signing tours. Any juicy bits of scandal you can pass on? That's just the kind of thing Bismarck members enjoy with their port.'

Jane thought quickly about what to say next. She had worked up this cover story with the features editor only last week. The
Sunday Trumpet
specialised in sending young reporters on undercover investigations in search of a good sleaze story. There had been a phone tip-off about kinky escapades at the Bismarck Club. Jane had volunteered rather impulsively, she now realised.

To the outside world it was a dinner club for influential men, which met every month in a terrace house. There were a few women members, Jane had discovered, but they all appeared from a stakeout carried out a few weeks earlier to be considerably younger than the men and more than averagely attractive. Something didn't quite add up.

The meeting with Max had been surprisingly easy to set up. It appeared that the Bismarck was a fairly open secret amongst the right set if you happened to move in those circles. Jane didn't, but she had made discreet enquiries amongst friends of friends. A personal recommendation was all it took for the doors of the club's august portals in leafy Raeburn Crescent to fly open.

A recommendation by proxy was enough to get her the phone number of Max de Rijk, a soft-spoken merchant banker of Dutch parentage. A bistro lunch had been rapidly arranged. She had been gently grilled by Max: education, parents, friends, tastes and leisure activities; nothing that Jane was not already well prepared for. She must have passed with flying colours. A week later, here she was in Max's Bentley heading for the suburbs and her first evening at the Bismarck Club.

He was taking quite a risk by bringing this girl along to the club, Max knew. He wished he had been able to carry out the normal vetting procedures more thoroughly. But time had been short and he needed to introduce a noviciate. There had been mistakes in the past, but his gut instinct was that this girl was just right. He gave her a more protracted inspection. Her blue eyes frankly returned it through the faint mist of smoke that was defying the Bentley's air-conditioning.

‘Wondering if you did the right thing by inviting me?' she asked, cocking an inquiring eyebrow through her ash-blonde fringe.

‘Perish the thought, my dear. I'm convinced the members will be delighted to welcome you without a moment's hesitation. You know, of course, that you will first of all be met by Amalie, who always explains the programme for the evening. You must remember to call her
Frau
.'

‘Really Max, I can't see why you can't give me a teeny hint of what's going to happen. I don't think I'm going to take to this Amalie if she's the type who enjoys bossing other women around.'

Amalie was indeed inclined to giving orders, but after a while her proteges got used to it and felt that they were being well repaid for this minor inconvenience. Or else, Max mused, they eventually left. But not until it had been made quite clear to them that there would be penalties if they disclosed any information about the Bismarck dinners to the outside world. Especially to the media.

‘Nearly there,' he grunted.

The sun was sinking in the sky as the Bentley turned off the highway into a small crescent of similar semi-detached Edwardian houses, with basements and narrow frontages.

After parking nose to the pavement, he squinted in the wing mirror to check his black bow tie was straight. Black or dark blue were the only colours allowed to gentlemen members of the Bismarck. The girl would be given a robe to change into, so her choice of dress was immaterial.

‘We're slightly early, my dear, but punctuality is one of the rules of the club. Shall we go in then?'

‘So long as the waiters don't stand behind us with a stopwatch for the creme caramel.'

Amused despite himself, Max took her arm and led her up a flight of steps to the imposing teak door with engraved glass panels. The place, although not large, still had its impressively opulent interiors and furniture. They had been jealously preserved by a former member now deceased, a judge with no next of kin who decreed in his bequest that Six Raeburn Crescent should be used solely for the monthly meetings of the Bismarck Club. The only occupant was the caretaker in the attic flat.

They were admitted to a richly panelled hallway by a footman. Max was sweating slightly, partly because of the formal dress on a warm evening and partly in anticipation of how the new girl would turn out. He took Jane's elbow and escorted her into a room off the hall. This was the original dining room, Max explained, but the members preferred to use the rear-facing rooms upstairs for their dinners.

The room still had a large dining table crested by an elaborate chandelier. The windows were covered by full-length dark blue velvet drapes. In this rather claustrophobic atmosphere Jane was left while Max went upstairs to fraternise with the mysterious members. They would meet up again in about twenty minutes, he promised, after Frau Amalie had seen her.

Jane visibly started as a loud voice was heard in the hallway and the door was flung open by a woman who made her gasp. Frau Amalie would have presented an astounding figure if only on account of her costume - an extraordinary mix of the pseudo-military and fishnet. But to this she added a strutting walk, a guttural Germanic inflection to her speech and an upward tilt of her head with its raven-hued crop. In her high-heeled boots she was barely more than five feet tall.

‘Now,
meine Madchen
, I do not need to know your real name. But mine is Frau Amalie. Remember,
Frau Amalie
.'

Jane nodded. She would remember.

‘The Bismarck Club stands for the historic principles of the founder of the glorious Prussian Empire,' Frau Amalie continued. ‘Here you will learn to understand the virtues of self-discipline both in mind and body. However, that comes later. A chosen group of young women will tonight have the opportunity to learn from some of the country's greatest minds.'

‘So I'm the new girl, then.' Jane found herself starting to form a sardonic grin. She switched it off quickly as the little dominatrix gave her a piercing look.

‘Now, to tonight's business.' Frau Amalie strode up and inspected Jane both front and back. ‘I have to do something that you may find a little shocking, but do not be nervous. We have to be very sure that there are no spies at our little evenings of conviviality.'

With these words she came close to Jane, who sensed it would be futile to try to hide anything from this virago.

‘You will stand on the other side of this dining table, Miss Jane. When I tell you to, you will undress. Each item of clothing you will place on the table so I may inspect it. You will then bend forward and put your elbows on the table for a body search. Do you understand? Good, now commence.'

There were only two chairs, one at each end of the table. On the back of one of these the brisk dominatrix laid a dark blue robe. Jane had yet to start undressing, but argument was probably not worth it. If this was how the diminutive dyke got her kicks, then why not? She would get her own sweet revenge in the article next Sunday.

As she was removing the black PVC belt from around her waist, Jane remembered the miniature camera incorporated in the bronzed buckle. The idea was that she could get some sensational photos by casually tucking her thumb into the belt and squeezing the shutter release.

Turning away slightly, she quickly detached the buckle out of its stud mounting and palmed it. Jane was beginning to sweat. She had not expected to feel so intimidated, and she was not sure what would happen if the camera was discovered.

She stepped out of her white satin thong and waited, shivering slightly despite the blood heat of the room. Having finished the clothes inspection, Amalie hustled her over to the table and bent her double, then produced a large pair of black callipers with which she pinched the skin at various points on Jane's bare buttocks. Within seconds the woman was satisfied, and released her with a playful slap.

Amalie smiled. ‘As I thought, you have plenty of protection on that rump of yours. Now, quickly dress in that pretty gown. You may put back on your underwear if you wish.'

Jane felt exceptionally vulnerable as the piercing eyes swept her from head to foot. As Amalie went through her things, Jane resisted the urge to cover herself with a protective paw and tried to adopt a natural stance. For her pains she received a lascivious smile that made her flesh creep. She was also acutely aware of the buckle concealed in her left palm. She reached for the gown.

‘Halt! I would like to inspect you once more, Miss Jane. Bend over with your legs apart, like so.' Frau Amalie gave a grotesque mime of the position Jane was to adopt. The woman's hand moved up the inside of one thigh, stopped before reaching her cleft and slid down the other. Then, just as Jane thought it was over, she felt her sex lips being parted and a stubby finger pushing its way into her genital purse.

She gasped and wriggled free. She was enraged, but became aware that she was also blushing furiously.

‘
Nein, nein
,' Amalie clucked. ‘You must be obedient. Here at the Bismarck you do as you are told.'

Suiting the action to the word, the dominatrix pushed her once more face down on the table. This time the fingers pinched her protruding vulva in a manner that was meant to be playful, but caused Jane a twinge of discomfort.

‘Now you lie on your back, while I inspect these clothes.'

Jane turned over, flesh squeaking against the polished mahogany of the table top. She tried to cross her legs, but it felt ridiculous. Instead she stared up at the chandelier and began counting the crystals.

Frau Amalie tut-tutted with disapproval. ‘You wear nothing underneath your dress but this.' She held up the thong, stretched between both sets of thumb and finger as if to emphasise its insubstantial nature. Then she draped it over one hand and raised it to her sharp nostrils. A beatific smile spread across her face.

‘Such a sweet fragrance. Fit for a young flower still to be picked, I think?'

Jane could not hold the other woman's sneering glance and lowered her gaze, annoyed with herself and confused. The virago bent over her and, letting the satin underwear hang from her fist, drew it across her nipples several times. Jane felt them budding treacherously and raised one hand to cover herself. It was a reflex movement, thoughtless and precipitate, and it was to prove costly. The buckle flashed between her fingers. Her wrist was gripped firmly by Frau Amalie.

‘
Ach
, what is this?'

In a moment of blind panic Jane imagined slipping the buckle into her mouth and swallowing.