Notebooks of the Young Wife (27 page)

With a smack that echoed round the room, the first swat lifted the body up onto its toes. The flesh bounced and rippled in aftershock around a band of colour that sprung up instantly.

‘My, oh my,’ breathed Mrs Beaton, sounding oddly more surprised than shocked, then settled her heavy form firmly back on its feet. Five more strokes were accepted in silence, after which the man adjusted his aim to land six across a line a few inches higher. Another half dozen to the ample undercurves were taken in like manner, with only a small rocking movement to absorb the impact.

‘I don’t mean to speak out of turn, sir, but had you in mind finishing off soon?’ The tone was almost conservational, with only the slightest quiver in the voice to show that the worthy lady was feeling somewhat, shall we say, stretched. Once more the hands assessed the globes, whose milky complexion was transformed into a rich ruby.

‘Six full-centre, with your permission, ma’am.’ Cook bowed her head and took them without a word. Afterwards she stood flushed, kneading the beaten cheeks under her shift. The attendant collected up his paddles and offered her an arm.

‘You were magnificent, if I may say so, ma’am. Now will you accept some cooling lotion?’ An almost coquettish smile crossed her face as she murmured a thank you then made her exit, albeit a touch stiffly, at his side. I caught a glimpse of his shorts filled out at the crotch and suspected there would be little standing on ceremony in the anteroom. Indeed, no one who’d witnessed the encounter was surprised when the announcement came a week later of a second wedding.

There was one more disciplinary exhibition scheduled before the bride of that morning was due to appear before us. I was to take my place with the daughters for the Master’s cane. In the scheme I’d drawn up, it was down as a reprise of the earlier caning to the detail that the central figure – me, of course – would endure a double dose. However, there was one critical difference: the instrument was of the synthetic variety already burned into my memory in Brittany. But while inclined to rue the insouciance with which I’d consigned myself to it, I had no real complaint. It was only right and proper that one so fond of chastising buttocks should now and then expose her own to a degree of severity.

Holding the thought close, I assumed my position and managed a wink and squeeze of the hand to Bel and Lou, who were looking no more eager than I. Then the Master was beside us silently, shrouded in a grey monk’s cloak. The feel of the cold black rod against my naked flesh made my stomach tighten, then came the two words, ‘I begin.’ He might have wanted to minimise the impression his own figure made on the watchers until later, but there was nothing perfunctory about his performance. I will not dwell on those dreadful, measured strokes that wrenched cries from deep in all of us before he was done. Suffice to say I was glad of a short respite before having that part of my body pressed into any surface, however yielding, by the weight of Ama’s on top.

And then, in short order, the beautiful lady herself was present and there was the final scene setting to distract me from the throbbing of my ill-used buttocks.

The new Mistress waited quietly at the periphery while we shunted the rough wooden post into prime position across from the trunk, which had been transformed by a flat cushioned top. Tamsin and I belted on our phallic appendages, as did Molly, who was to use Laura as the boy was to use the third lad in the culminating orgy. Thus equipped we joined the rest in a row, and watched while the now blindfolded Ama was led by her naked maid to stand before her designated place of pain.

The long gown parted to allow first one arm then the other to be cuffed to the crossbar. A tug at the neck cord released the garment to fall in two halves around her feet. Next the waist was cinched tight to the wood and I saw there had been an addition to the device. A padded wedge fixed in a groove was slid up to the level of the crotch, after which the knees were secured to the squared sides of the post. The effect was to thrust the arse-cheeks up and out, in a posture that seemed indecently to invite their impending violation. To complete the preparations, Jill took a pessary between finger and thumb and pressed it into the puckered hole that winked between the globes.

There was a sudden hush, a collective catching of breath, and the Texan strode down the line, looming over us in heeled boots. The whole outfit was of hide, from the black leather chaps with a bulging pouch between the legs to the sleeveless vest, and the reek of it was heavy in the air. We stood stiff, straight, as much by instinct as from rehearsal, and no one moved when he passed behind us raising hems to inspect the marks of corporal punishment that each bore. One by one the line of ten was approved, until he reached the boy at the end. Whereas the PA’s fair skin had held a good colour, her partner under Cook’s strap was not so lucky. Sent to fetch a school cane he was summarily bent and subjected to a juicy six that had him hopping.

It was a pleasing diversion, but I don’t believe that any present had forgotten what was about to come. Indeed, once he returned to his place the room grew very still and I was aware of my own dry mouth and quickening pulse. In the silence the Master took up a stance to the side of the bound body and signalled the maid to attach the ball-gag to the victim’s head. The job done, she was waved away so I pulled her in beside me and held her firmly by the arm. There was no announcement, just a rapid movement of the arm, a whooshing noise and a crack loud enough to make me start. For a frozen instant the breadth of the dark-skinned torso was encompassed by a darker line that curled up over the right shoulder. The head snapped back and the fists clenched as the whip sprang away, only to land again with that gut-wrenching sound. Again. And again. And again and again. The air was a dizzying blur of snaking thongs and the figure jerked in its bonds like some marionette come to brief demented life.

When he stopped I found myself gasping for air and holding on to Jill for dear life, although she had made no move to intervene. Across the whole of the back the marks stood out like purple cords, but there was not a single break in the flesh. As we stared in mute fascination the muscles began to unlock and the flogged girl shifted her weight with a sigh. The Master was motionless, expectant, and after a moment from Ama’s turned head a barely perceptible nod passed between them. Then his man appeared from the shadows and the long coil was exchanged for a new one, not even a full yard in length. Except for a braided handle, the thing was of a uniform thickness from end to end, hanging from the chastiser’s hand with its tip grazing the floor.

Once more the arm rose and fell in a whirl of action and the lash buried itself six times in the soft flesh of the buttocks. Six cuts had landed but there was only one line, dead centre, which ripened and darkened under our eyes as he fine-tuned his position on the opposite side. Aimed a tad lower, the whip struck six times more to leave a broader band of plum-coloured contusion. The accuracy was breathtaking, and the thought of the pain inflicted by such a concentrated attack made me feel weak. Yet it was not over. Twice again the body was required to submit to the changing of stance and the fierce volley of lashes that followed. At the end a hand’s breadth of swollen flesh crossed from hip to hip, oozing a little where the last inch of leather had bitten deep into the flanks.

The Master drew back, gathering his offspring to him, and the three maids closed round the figure hanging from its restraints. Tamsin touched my arm and I came back to earth; it was time for the final stage. She started to fuss over laying me out on the padded slab, but I told her, a little snippily, to save her energies for the arse about to arrive in a much worse state than mine. And so they came, half-leading, half-carrying the wilting body until it could be lowered onto the six inches of black rubber that sprouted from my crotch. There was no need of lubrication: in the midst of all the scalding lashes the lady was blessed with the delicious ache of a sopping cunt. The hands withdrew and I was forcibly reminded of my own tender stripes. At the same time the spur on the device dug sharply into my clitoris, and I felt the PA’s stubbier strap-on nose in until our bodies were plugged together in a pulsing mass of sensation. Above me, Ama’s eyes were closed, though the way she rocked and moaned was making me shiver with lust.

To the left boy was slowly buggering boy, and to the right Molly pumped her dildo in and out of Laura’s willing bum. From my supine position the scene in front was unfolding in bizarre inversion. With the codpiece gone, the patriarchal organ stood out, huge, from a forest of black hair, while the daughters’ puckered mouths teased its shaft and tip in turn. As the ensemble moved toward us the girls peeled away to open their legs for the waiting, stiff-cocked lads. Fucking under Daddy’s nose, as promised, but Daddy had other things on his mind. His erection loomed above me, positioned with a thumb and forefinger encircling its root. What a specimen it was! Every inch that had plumbed my rectum was before me in bulging splendour, foreskin half back to show a clear bead of pre-ejaculate hanging from the urethra. Ama’s eyes flicked wide open and before the drop could fall her tongue had taken it.

I watched, mesmerised, as she nipped the glans between bared teeth then pulled back to lick the tip, over and over in a sequence that had the juice welling. The veins of the distended shaft pulsed and I could hear the rasp of his breathing above the thumping of my own heart. For a moment I took in the lens of the camera to the left, trained on the weirdly formal dance of body parts and wide eyes of the maid to the right. Then the lips closed and sucked and the loins pressed sharply into mine. All at once the crescendo of sensation was unstoppable and the room erupted with the sounds of bodies helpless in the throes of orgasm. And as I bucked and cried with the best of them the mouth above spilled over with thick white sperm. At another time and in a different place I might well have shied from such an effusion, but in climax I opened and swallowed the surplus of the gift from Master to his new Mistress with something approaching eagerness. It seemed only fitting.

In little more than an hour the company was reassembled and seated, with varying degrees of comfort, at the long dining table. Mrs Beaton’s sister had been loaned from her employment for the occasion, and her small army of assistants set to assembling the components of our celebratory feast. We had not planned a formal affair of set courses, but to have an array of dishes from which each could pick and choose at will. Centre place was occupied by a boar’s head skewered with truffles
à la bourgogne
, joined by plates of beef and pork and dishes of potatoes and vegetables. It was not an occasion of polite conversation or interchanges cultivated to match the quality of the food. Evidently I was not alone in feeling ravenous following our bouts of disciplinary sex, and eating took precedence over all else save the supping of chilled chablis or a ruby shiraz according to fancy. Only after plates had been loaded with second or third helpings, and glasses recharged many times over, did it seem any one had attention to spare. And when they did, it was perhaps predictable to what end it would be directed.

Giant plasma screens had been placed to the sides, elevated to a height that allowed an unobstructed view to all, though of what exactly was unclear since they’d been dark and silent throughout. Then I noticed a glow that grew brighter, and in half a minute had resolved itself into an image of arguably the finest pair of buttocks we’d seen all day. They loomed over us, at least twice life-sized, before flattening and bouncing back when the paddle cracked down. The maids whooped and clapped and despite her crimsoning features it was plain Mrs Beaton had no objection to an action replay. Mo left the controls she’d activated and moved in behind Tamsin, seated beside me. We had all exchanged the coarse penitential linen for a satin garment of similar type, and out of the corner of my eye I saw fingers creep under the hem while others fondled the outline of a breast.

Across from me lips met lips, and what could have been at first a sisterly kiss grew rapidly into an incestuous thing of deep tongues, while to right and left eye engaged with lascivious eye and hands began to wander. It was all too much, and easing myself out from between my neighbours, I moved round to the seated Molly and encircled her with my arms. As I hoped, the strap-on was still in place and I found myself in the grip of an alcohol-enhanced lust that would not be denied.

Brazenly I went forward on my elbows, Molly greased her weapon with a dollop of butter that lay to hand, and with one steady push she was in to the hilt. I need not have worried about the reactions of our fellow diners, for at that very moment the black bride took to the table herself on all fours, gown up round the neck. Behind her the Master rose to his feet and stood while Jill rubbed a final millilitre or two of distension into his already impressive erection. Then she spread the whip-seared cheeks of her mistress and guided the beast into the pink wetness of the gaping vulva. Whether she was consciously aping the handmaid of
uxor studiosa
, or making it up as she went along, the outcome was the same: Ama’s deranged squawking set in train the orgasms that were to explode all around amidst the detritus of food and drink.

And that was that. It was not the end of the evening, of course, but it was the last part memory allows me to recount with any presumption of accuracy. However, I console myself with the thought that our model narrator of the Notebooks was similarly unforthcoming about the later stages of the original celebration. What I can say is that the lurid fragments of the commemoration that do stick in the mind leave me confident that we did her proud.