Читать книгу Shadow Lane Volume 1 & 2: The Romance of Discipline, Spanking, Sex, B&D and Anal Eroticism in a Small New England Village - Eve Howard - Страница 8
ОглавлениеLaura felt that she and her younger sister had lingered too long on their walk. Shadows had begun to fall in the forest and soon it would be dark. Laura’s brow was wrinkled as she purposefully strode along, pulling Susan by the hand. The mischievous girl began to laugh at her serious sister.
“What’s the matter, Laura?” Susan teased, “Afraid we might get spanked?”
When Laura made no comment, Susan said, “I wish I had someone thrilling and masterful like William in my life!” Laura responded with a small smile. She put her arm about Susan’s slim waist as they walked. It was good to have a sister who shared one’s sexual proclivities.
“Let’s stop at Hugo Sands’ house on the way!” Susan cried, breaking from Laura’s embrace with sudden excitement.
“But that will make us late,” Laura protested, for her husband liked dinner served promptly.
“Not if we only stay for a minute. I want to tell Hugo I’m leaving for art school tomorrow,” Susan pressed.
“Then visit him after dinner, alone.”
“Laura, you know he’s never happy unless you’re there too.”
“Don’t say that!” Laura pulled her sweater tightly about her against the early autumn chill.
“Please, Laura,” Susan persisted, “let’s stop. You know what it would mean to me to see Hugo before I left. I have the most brutal crush on him.”
“Susan, you’re not going to college in Nepal. You can visit Hugo whenever you like.”
“Laura, don’t be selfish. You know the only way I can please Hugo is by bringing you to him.”
“Susan, you’re going to get me in trouble with William!”
“There’s his house. Come on, just for 10 minutes? Please?”
Hugo Sands was a dealer in antiques, the publisher of an esoteric journal, and a figure of glamour in the tiny coastal village of Random Point.
The door to his ivy draped, stone house was open and the girls found him in the wine cellar selecting libations. A little over forty, tall, blue-eyed and sandy haired, their host was a good looking, well spoken, sartorially correct, Harvard educated entrepreneur who, enjoying a good deal of leisure and financial ease, devoted much of his time to just playing.
“So you’re off to college, are you?” Hugo looked Susan up and down critically, then chose a bottle. “We’ll take this upstairs and drink to your future academic successes.”
“I’d rather drink to my future erotic excesses,” Susan replied.
“I’ll look forward to reading your memoirs,” Hugo commented, though without much interest, as if Susan’s libido bored him.
“Why don’t you help inspire them?” the petite blonde teased.
“Susan, behave yourself!”
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll spank you,” he threatened.
“What did I do wrong?” Susan demanded. “I even brought you Laura.”
“It’s true. She dragged me here against my will,” Laura said.
“Susan, you’re too young to be manipulating people!” Hugo put the bottle down and seized Susan by her slender wrist.
“What are you doing? Let go!”
“Come here, you fresh brat. This is what you need!” Hugo yanked Susan over to a high backed, armless, oak chair, promptly sat down on it and effortlessly pulled the small girl over his knee. Laura stared spellbound, as Hugo locked her sister’s wrist against the small of her back and began to spank Susan at once. It was not a long spanking, nor did Hugo even lift Susan’s nubby tweed skirt. But it was a hard spanking; and in spite of the skirt, it had Susan kicking her shapely legs and shouting to be released in a very few minutes.
She was deliberately wearing penny loafers and white anklets. Her bare legs were shaved so silky-smooth that they gleamed even in the low light and their perfection was not lost on the practiced player. The various charms of her body and mind numbered in the dozens and he noticed new facets of her immensely attractive person and personality every time they met.
After giving the precocious Susan about 20 hard smacks, Hugo stopped, but held her firmly in place. His punishing hand rested where it had landed, on the swell of her girlish behind.
“Now, Miss Susan Ross, are you going to behave like a nice girl for a change, instead of a managing little baggage?” Hugo demanded, in a tone that made Laura’s stomach flutter.
“I could, but I’d rather not!” Susan maintained, although her bottom was already smarting and radiating heat.
“Oh really? We’ll see about that!” Hugo pushed her skirt up to her waist. She was wearing white eyelet panties. The hemming on her folded back half slip was tinged with pink. So was the round, dimpled bottom, which Hugo briskly bared. Laura watched without a word, melting.
Now Hugo’s hand felt more severe. It now came down harder and faster. Until then Susan had not found the spanking unduly harsh. The damp crotch of her lowered briefs was exquisitely pungent with her essence. But when Hugo spanked her harder still, Susan’s excitement was supplanted by very real discomfort. This was Susan’s first serious spanking and she was finding it shockingly painful! Her sobs and cries rang out in rhythmic counterpoint to the sharp slaps impacting against her firm flesh.
Laura’s heart was thumping when Hugo finally pushed her sister off his lap and onto the floor, where she knelt whimpering for some time, her hands clasped to her glowing bottom and her face turned away.
Hugo looked at Laura with the faintest of smiles, as much as to say, “Your turn is coming.” His eyes still fixed on Laura; he brought Susan to her feet and gathered her into his arms, carefully winding one hand in her long, rippling, wheaten-gold hair.
“Are you going to behave now?” he demanded, gently pulling her head back. When Susan stubbornly shook her head no, Hugo laughed, letting go of her hair.
“Yes, you will,” he told her. Then he bent Susan over a trestle table, pushed her skirt up to her waist, and deliberately took her from behind, holding Laura’s gaze all the while.
William did not speak to the girls about being home late until they were tensely playing Scrabble in front of the fire after dinner, which had been a simple affair of salad, hummus, basmati rice and fresh fruit. William’s vegetarian tastes were easily satisfied. The girls had shared a bottle of wine.
Laura’s husband was thirty-five, with dark hair, a pleasant face, iron sculpted musculature and a wardrobe of tailored suits that displayed his superb physique to advantage. Though he possessed little finesse and even less patience, his serious demeanor, the handsome “V” shape of his torso and other equally attractive natural endowments had made him a popular favorite with any number of highly sexed women over the years. But Laura was the only one he had ever urgently longed to possess.
William had been involved with Laura exclusively since their meeting and subsequent marriage several months before. She was his first official “submissive and the only woman who interested him seriously now.
He had first played with Laura in the room where they now sat, when she’d finally come to him, after months of correspondence, which had begun when she’d answered his ad in a periodical called The New Rod Quarterly, a spanking fiction and contact magazine, published by Hugo Sands.
The magazine was available by subscription, at Marguerite Alexander’s bookshop and other venues like it all over the Eastern seaboard. It was a nice little sideline for Hugo, who had searched for a New England spanking scene, found none hip enough to suit his personality and had therefore decided to create one himself. It was the net of this network of writers, artists, photographers, correspondents and personal advertisers that now and then caught shimmering prizes like Susan Ross and Laura Ross Random. Laura was a gifted illustrator who had become a constant contributor to Hugo’s journal. Her erotic drawings appeared with the bi-line: Sub Rosa. Susan wrote spanking stories and drew comic strips for the magazine. Both young women had been recruited for the editorial staff by Marguerite Alexander, Laura’s old roommate from Bennington, and a protégé of Hugo Sands going back five years.
As William sat watching the sisters, deep in their thoughts, picturesquely preppie in the firelight, he wondered if he really had any right to play a little scene with Susan. Ever the pragmatist, he told himself, “After all, the summer’s over. What can I lose? If she resents what I propose, it’ll show in her eyes and I’ll drop the whole thing.”
Susan, a well provided for orphan, had been living with the newlyweds since graduating from a New Hampshire prep school the previous spring. On the following day she was to begin her freshman year at the Boston Art Institute. William had long been aware that the reason Susan had been so willing to move into his house for the summer had to do with the interest in discipline which she shared with her sister, but so far he had not tested her commitment to the scene with a physical challenge.
“What were you girls doing out after dark? You know that worries me.” William began, in a tone sharp enough to electrify the atmosphere.
“We stopped at Hugo’s,” Laura said, without looking up.
“Oh?”
“Susan insisted,” Laura explained.
“I wanted to say good-bye before tomorrow,” Susan volunteered. William waited. “I made Laura come with me.”
“Why?”
“I just didn’t like to go alone,” Susan hedged. William caught the hint of a smile in her eyes to belie her grave expression. He looked at Laura and noticed her nervously twisting a lock of dark hair around her finger.
“Laura,” William snapped, “didn’t I tell you to stay away from Hugo Sands?”
Laura threw down her letters and flashed her provocative sibling a look before answering her husband directly. “Susan insisted I go with her to Hugo’s. It seems she and Hugo are lovers. And they wanted to share their secret with me,” said the flushed brunette. William studied both sisters for a moment before commenting.
“And then what happened?”
“What makes you think anything happened? “
“Because you were very late.”
Laura suddenly jumped up, upsetting the board and pieces. “It’s all Susan’s fault!” she declared with some pique. “You know you forced me to go,” she accused her sister, who innocently straightened the board. “You explain what happened, since you’re dying to!” Laura told Susan, exiting with a flounce of frustration, while adding airily, “And I hope you get what you deserve for it!”
Susan laughed, not taking her sister’s irritation with her antics seriously; for until then she had only witnessed, and never experienced, one of her brother-in-law’s spankings.
William said, “Susan, come here and sit next to me,” patting a place on the leather couch that faced the hearth. She came to him willingly, and snuggled against him, throwing her arms about his torso and pressing her head to his chest.
“I’m going to miss you, brother-in-law,” she confessed.
“Sounds like you’ll be missing Hugo a lot more,” William said, enfolding the small blonde in his arms.
“We’re not really lovers.” Susan confided, though she could still feel the warmth of the hand of her first “older man” on her bottom, and it made her press against her sister’s gladiator with feverish emotion. “He spanked me,” she explained. “Then he penetrated me, from behind. But he only did it to impress Laura, and steam her up.”
“Steam her up, I’m sure he did. But you’re the one who brought her to him, aren’t you?” William gave her a shake that erased the smug grin from her face. While William was deciding whether or not he too was going to spank her, she quickly recovered her composure.
“I was just having fun.”
“Dangerous and illicit fun, as I see it!”
Since William had a way of making her feel more like eight than eighteen, she meekly replied that she was sorry.
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be, my little dear,” he told her. “Maybe you did get a spanking from Hugo, but it wasn’t nearly as hard a one as you’re going to get from me!” Then he took Susan by the elbow and put her across his lap. At 5’3” and 100 pounds, Susan was easily handled. Having firmly positioned the breathless girl, he said, “Now young lady, I don’t want you to keep leading your sister into temptation!”
He delivered a stinging smack. After a few dozen even harder swats of William’s thickly calloused, weight trainer’s palm on her already tender bottom, she eagerly promised to obey his injunction.
“I was lucky to get Laura away from Hugo in the first place,” he informed her.
“Oh? I didn’t realize that!” Susan lied, trying to wriggle out of spanking reach but being pulled back into position every time she did and smacked all the more firmly.
“Hell, yes,” he explained, pausing to let her catch her breath, with his hands folded on the small of her back. “She had started drawing for him but hadn’t met him yet when I answered her ad. Hugo went on one of his extended trips to Europe and I had the opportunity of meeting her before he did. By the time he got back, she was pretty much mine. All’s fair in love and war, but technically he seems to think I stole the jump on him and even though we’re married, he’s still after her.”
“Well, why don’t you let him have her once or twice? Might get it out of both their systems,” Susan suggested blithely.
“Let me express how I feel about that idea,” said William proceeding with the spanking until the girl restrained across his corded quadriceps began to kick and sob.
“Mercy!” she cried, at last.
“Mercy you’ll receive in due course, but I never want to hear about you maneuvering Laura over to Hugo’s again!” He delivered six more full bodied and resounding swats.
“All right, young lady, go to bed,” William told the girl, who knelt on the floor in a crumple of disheveled clothes and tawny hair, clasping her glowing bottom, for the second time that night. “And think about what you got from me tonight the next time you’re tempted to pull strings and make things happen,” he added.
The modern reader may wonder why an intelligent, on her way to being very well educated and spirited young woman like Susan Ross was ready to tolerate and even relish this type of treatment from the several older men of her acquaintance which have just been introduced. But her affinity for such esoteric diversions had not been born overnight. Susan’s deep and abiding interest in discipline dated from the nursery, for reasons she’d formed theories on, but still did not completely understand. The simple fact was that Susan Ross had always been fascinated by spanking. She knew this was not a secret to share with just anyone. She knew that it was naughty and loved it all the more for that. Even before she knew what sex was, she knew that spanking made her tummy flutter, a delirious sensation which defied definition and stamped her sexuality submissive, since before she could read or write.
By age six, she was searching for spankings in books and finding them. She was raised by older parents, who would bring home videos of silver screen movies to watch on TV, many containing spontaneous spankings, visited upon daintily defiant leading ladies in smart suits and chiffon gowns by handsome, commanding leading men in romantic settings, concluding with avowals of love, classic embraces and wedding bells. By age twelve she’d begun writing stories and drawing cartoons about spanking, creating a private universe of mythically dominant males and correspondingly idealized, willful but ultimately compliant young ladies who together engaged in a never ending battle of the sexes perpetually concluding with a series of over the knee surrenders.
Her real life role models could hardly have been considered romantic, which may have contributed, in part, to her compulsion to escape into her own fantasy world whenever possible. Susan’s father, already in his middle forties when she was born, was a bossy, bad tempered, incessantly critical, often generous and occasionally affectionate tyrant, who had inherited the family glove shop, which had thrived in the same lower Manhattan location for the past forty years. Her mother, only slightly younger, was a faded dreamer, beaten down in spirit after living twenty years under the inflexible rule of a rigidly domineering male. Her sister Laura, nine years her senior, had suffered far more than she under her father’s suffocating regime, due to a lack of caution and a more defiant attitude whenever she was caught breaking the numerous rules imposed upon her during her teens. A scholarship to Bennington got Laura safely out of the house before their father became too addicted slapping her for everything from impertinence to wearing mini skirts. After graduation, when Laura insisted upon moving in with her boyfriend without the benefit of a wedding ring, she was officially disowned and forbidden access to the apartment in Tudor City, Manhattan. If there was one thing their father hated more than anything else, it was the notion of his daughters being sexually accessible to men.
Thereafter, Susan would sneak out of the house to meet her sister for long walks in Central Park, afternoons at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or strolls along the boardwalk at Brighton Beach. Wherever they met, they were always sure to rendezvous miles from lower Manhattan, to insure a miniscule likelihood of running into their father together. Unlike Laura, Susan was terrified of incurring her father’s considerable wrath and facing corporal punishment from this large and frightening individual. Meanwhile, alone in her room every night after her homework was done, Susan continued to write her cartoon strips, watch her old movies and compile voluminous lists of references to spankings in novels, in magazines, in vintage movies and television shows, rented from the local video shop.
She acquired her first boyfriend at age 14, a fellow student at her Manhattan prep school. That same year her mother passed away and life became even more strained at home. Susan was allowed to walk home from school with her boyfriend, to go to a movie on Saturday afternoon or to Central Park, but was never allowed out after dark, either for skating, sporting events or Broadway shows. Susan knew that if her father ever caught her so much as holding hands with her boyfriend that the relationship would be instantly and forcibly dissolved by him, and lived in a constant state of anxiety lest the rapid progress of her maturing romance ever be discovered by her controlling and violent parent.
Mistrusting the temptations of the city, Susan’s father enrolled her at the New Hampshire prep school in her sophomore year. Thinking to keep her safe from the attentions of adolescent boys, he selected an all girls school, without being aware that the neighboring all boys school shared many of the same facilities and continuously promoted social interaction between the students. Susan promptly lost her virginity to the first boy who had the imagination to spank her in the woods and her father was never the wiser. Mercifully, he died the following year and Susan was left in the blissful state of being well provided for and the legal ward of only her nice older sister Laura.
After this the two became much closer, corresponding on an almost daily basis and spending all their holidays together. At the end of her senior year at prep school, Laura’s friend from college, Marguerite, who also had a strong interest in the bondage and discipline arts, revealed to Laura and Susan that she had come under the patronage of a publisher of a wonderful magazine, to which the sisters both ought to be contributing. And this was how Susan and Laura together discovered Random Point and Hugo Sands, at approximately the same time.
There were two bookshops in Random Point. Marguerite Alexander’s was the one worth visiting. A spiral staircase invited the browser to climb to three galleries lined with scholarly and esoteric tomes. The loftiest tier was crammed with erotica from every era and all corners of the globe. Marguerite prided her shop on offering the most complete collection of connoisseur’s literature in New England.
But even more of an attraction of the shop was Marguerite herself. Certain male denizens, who had never read literature more sophisticated than Stephen King, could attest that it was worth the price of a coffee table glossy just to be able to watch her undulate up and down the spiral staircase in a tight mohair skirt and a snug sweater.
A lustrous mane of light red hair gorgeously offset Marguerite’s flawless bisque complexion. She was 30 years of age, wasp-waisted, provocatively tall, interestingly educated and completely uninhibited. She looked especially tantalizing when she kept her glasses on, for they gave her a shy expression, which was piquant in contrast to her showgirl silhouette.
Marguerite was Hugo’s favorite submissive. He had brought her out 5 years before and she was still realizing her potential under his management. Some of her exercises involved her playing the dominant role over others. Handsome tokens were always tendered to Marguerite after such efforts. Thus, for the good of her bank account, Hugo had turned her out.
Marguerite also published B&D stories in Hugo Sands’ journal, writing under the pseudonym “Alma”. Laura Random, whom Marguerite had first met at Bennington, always illustrated her fiction.
Marguerite Alexander was late in arriving at Hugo’s that evening, but thought she had a very good excuse. There was New Talent in town.
It was raining and she’d walked the two miles from her shop to Hugo’s house, to revel in the inconvenience, while mulling over what had happened at the stop just before closing time.
The couple came in at 5:30. They were strangers to Random Point and the man was very attractive. Marguerite noted that he was possibly 6’3”, broad shouldered, fair complected, blue eyed and about her own age. He was dressed in a suit of gray Donegal tweed, the cut of which she could not help but openly admire.
A young woman whom Marguerite found instantly disagreeable accompanied the excitingly tall and nattily dressed young man. The companion was content to remain on the lower level, perusing works by politically correct female authors, whereas the interesting gentleman immediately noticed the plan of the shop, which clearly stated one could find erotica on the third level. He ascended to the loft at once and there remained engrossed until his woman finally sought him out just before 6:00.
Marguerite, who had been covertly watching him all the while he browsed alone in the gallery, now was able to observe them in conversation from her excellent vantage point below.
They were standing together in front of the stacks that held all of Marguerite’s favorite books. He had never stirred from these stacks all the while he was above. Now Marguerite could hear the girl pronouncing judgment.
“All these books share the same vile theme!” the girl loudly declared: “Women being Abused by Men!” Then she flung aside in disgust the offensive volume she had rudely dislodged from her friend’s large, capable hand to shallowly skim. Marguerite later went up to the gallery to search for the book the girl had thrown down. It was on the floor and the cover had become soiled. Marguerite lamented the ruin of the copy of the novel Frank and I.
“Oh, how I’d like to fix that one,” mused Marguerite, as the unpleasant young woman began to descend the gallery stairs. An instant later, the resounding thump, thump, thump of the young woman’s bottom sliding down the steps, after a freakish slip, gratified Marguerite.
The tall man rushed down to the landing to help his friend to her feet, but the girl was cranky and pushed him away.
“Oh, leave me alone. I’m all right. She must wax those steps! I should sue Reebok. Who ever heard of skidding with cleated shoes on? Come on, Michael, let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs. I’m going back for a book I wanted,” he told her, going back upstairs before waiting for a reply. Marguerite observed this conspicuous absence of gallantry and was amused.
The girl continued downstairs by herself, but stopped at the counter to rate Marguerite for the slippery steps. The redhead could not apologize enough, and even pressed the volume of feminist poetry the girl had been fondling a few minutes before upon the sore fall victim, as a gift.
“Please take it. It will make me feel so much better!” Marguerite insisted, unable to resist peeking up at the loft in the midst of wrapping the thin volume in tissue and handing it to the girl. He was back in the spanking novels again!
“Well, all right. Thanks. I guess it’s fair compensation for a black and blue butt,” the girl said, rubbing the seat of her sweat pants gingerly. For an instant then, she seemed quite likeable, but quickly ruined this impression by suddenly demanding, “Why do you stock so many books that promote violence against women?”
Marguerite replied, “It isn’t violence, it’s merely C.P.. Ask your companion to explain.” The girl followed the redhead’s upward gaze to the gallery where her escort was still browsing.
“C.P.?” The girl was becoming annoyed. “What’s that?”
“Ask him,” Marguerite reiterated, smiling with evil satisfaction at her customer’s innocence. “I’m sure he’d be only too happy to demonstrate the rudiments of corporal punishment to you.”
The girl now sensed that she was being toyed with. There was something in the lush-lipped, ripe-bosomed, expensive smelling woman that was at once offensive and alarming to the Boston social worker.
“Michael, I’ll be outside!” she announced, as he joined them at the counter. She let the door slam behind her, not bothering to disguise the irritation she felt for this stranger who apparently knew her man’s likes and dislikes so intimately.
Michael handed a copy of O Wicked Country to her along with some cash.
“I think you’ll find this oddly compelling,” she said.
“I’ll be back,” said Michael, pocketing the book and the change.
“I’ll be here.”
Marguerite perched upon a low, 3-legged stool, in front of the open hearth in Hugo Sands’ kitchen, to dry her rain-soaked hair. She was wearing only Hugo’s flannel robe, with her splendid body naked under it.
“You still haven’t told me why you were late,” Hugo said, handing her a glass of wine.
“A man came in today, just before closing...” Marguerite sipped from the glass, set it down on the floor beside her, then commenced combing out her wildly tangled hair. Hugo waited, but Marguerite drifted.
“And?” he prompted.
“And nothing. I just want him. I walked over here in the rain, because I wanted to luxuriate in fantasies about my new lover.”
“You’re confident. Who is this paragon anyway?”
“His name is Michael. He’s even taller than you. And much younger.”
“Thanks!”
“He was up in the loft the whole time. He read one of our favorite books from cover to cover, then bought it.”
“Haven’t you left something out, Marguerite?”
“Yes, he was dressed in a handsome tweed suit. The drape was magnificent.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something else, Marguerite?” Hugo interrupted, impatiently.
“Something more important than the cut of this man’s suit?” Marguerite pondered deeply.
“Wasn’t our natty out-of-towner accompanied by a pretty girl in an ugly jogging suit?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Detective Flagg has just joined our local police force. Jane Elliot is a caseworker in Boston. They’re engaged but their wedding isn’t set to take place until spring, when she intends to quit her job and relocate to Random Point.”
“How do you know all of this?” Marguerite demanded, a stab of jealousy piercing her heart.
“They were in the shop today. He bought a mahogany four-poster... for their love nest.”
“How horrifying,” she cried.
“Don’t worry,” Hugo told her. “You’ve got until spring. And we know what Jane is like. It’s hardly even a challenge for you. Now, if you only had until next weekend to get him to call off the wedding, that would be a challenge worthy of you.”
“They aren’t suited to each other,” Marguerite pointed out.
“I agree, but that does not alter the fact that you were late for our appointment. You know how I feel about tardiness, Marguerite. It shows a want of feeling and a lack of respect. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she answered meekly, putting her hands in her lap and waiting for him to pronounce sentence.
Circling her he said, “Marguerite was naughty to keep Hugo waiting.”
“I just wanted to go for a walk in the rain!” Petulance replaced docility as the disagreeable information about the new talent’s approaching nuptials began to twist her heart into knots.
“Marguerite, do you remember what happened the last time you used that particular tone of voice with me?” Hugo knelt beside her on the highly polished parquet floor and handed her glasses to her. “Put your glasses on, darling.”
Marguerite put her glasses on. Then he told her to stand up and she obeyed. Hugo untied and relieved her of the robe.
“Now go up to the bedroom and put your garter belt, hose and boots back on. Then come back to me.” Hugo turned her around and gave her a slap on her lush, womanly bottom that made her gasp. “Go on, don’t keep me waiting!”
When Marguerite came back downstairs, still naked except for the articles Hugo had named, her milky white skin was suffused with an all-over blush and the rose-colored nipples that capped her full, firm breasts stood to attention.
Hugo was sitting on the stool she’d vacated, with a large cookbook open across his lap and a wooden spatula casually tucked in the crook of one arm. He affected characteristic indifference at her spectacular entrance.
“Now, my dear,” he began, scarcely looking up; “you and I, but mostly you, are going to be baking a cherry pie. Put that apron on.
Come here and I’ll tie your bow.”
Marguerite slipped the starched white linen bib apron over her head, then went to Hugo and obediently turned her bare bottom toward him. First he tied the apron strings into a bow that tightly cinched her slender waist and emphasized the contrasting swell of her hips and buttocks. Then he reached for the length of silver chain and leather ankle cuffs he’d stowed beneath the stool. He made her stand with her feet about 12” apart, fastened the cuffs around the ankles of her high heeled, bisque leather, lacing ankle boots.
“There,” he said, straightening up; “That should make the cooking lesson more piquant.” He turned her about between his hands, approving the addition of the restraints to her ensemble.
“I’ll trip and stumble,” Marguerite fretted, taking a baby step.
“You’d better not be too clumsy, or you’ll get this!” Hugo warned, giving her a sharp swat on her bare bottom, framed by the crisp, ruffled apron and bow, with the flat wooden spoon.
“Ouch!”
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes!”
“There’s lots more where that came from if you don’t prove a competent apprentice baker. Now let’s see what we’ll need to start with.” He read aloud, “3 cups drained, pitted, tart red cherries; 1/2 cup cherry juice; 3 1/2 tbs. all purpose flour; 2 tbs. butter; and for the pinch of salt we’ll substitute 2 of Marguerite’s tears. Step 1 says: prepare and set aside pastry for 2-crust pie. Did you get that, Marguerite?”
“Uh... how many cups cherries?” Marguerite hadn’t realized she was supposed to be memorizing the ingredients as he read them off.
“You weren’t paying attention?”
“I was but you read too fast!”
“Bend over the table and grip the opposite edge,” Hugo told her sternly.
“But you didn’t say I had to memorize —”
“Don’t make me tell you twice.”
Marguerite walked in small steps to the large trestle table that dominated the kitchen.
“May I take my glasses off?” she asked, before bending over. Hugo nodded and she put them down, then bent over and grasped the opposite edge of the table with her hands. She kept her legs straight and together, as she’d been taught. Hugo stepped up behind her and gave her one hard whack across each cheek with the flat of the spoon. Then he stood her up, so they could start again.
Two hours and one shapely pink, well-paddled bottom later, the kitchen was powdered in flour, and the cherry pie stood cooling on a rack. Then, still locked into her anklets, Marguerite was firmly marched up to bed.
The following morning dawned cloudy and raw. William, Laura and Susan were having breakfast in the dining room when the bell rang. William looked up from his paper annoyed, while Laura and her sister exchanged puzzled glances. When Laura went to the door she was surprised to confront Hugo and Marguerite.
“I hope we’re still in time to see Susan off,” said Marguerite, handing a ribbon wrapped pink box to Laura. “I baked this for her. Myself!”
“How sweet of you both,” Laura said, without meeting Hugo’s eyes. “Come in and have some coffee with us. What kind of pie is it?”
“Cherry,” Hugo told Laura; “Just like your lewd little sister wasn’t.”
“Did you expect her to save it for you?” Laura returned scornfully.
“Not at all. I knew she was a little slut the minute I met her. William up?” Hugo followed Laura confidently through the house, pulling Marguerite along behind him by the hand.
William was far from overjoyed to see his competitive neighbor settle in so cozily between his charming sister-in-law and lovely wife; however, he grunted at Hugo, let his eyes linger on Marguerite a moment, for she was well worth lingering over, sleepy-eyed and tawny in her fur; then reburied himself in the Wall Street Journal. He had no flair for small talk and disliked the gossipy, girlish hilarity which tended to ensue when two or more women who hadn’t seen each other in over twelve hours happened to converge.
Delighted at the surprise appearance of Hugo and Marguerite, Susan served the sweet, flaky pie. She knew better than to offer William any. Even so, he came out from behind the paper to volunteer the information that they were all about to consume mass quantities of “white death.”
When Hugo asked Susan how she was getting to Boston, it was revealed that Laura would be driving her, and staying with her for a few days. William had found Susan loft space in Back Bay and Laura was going to help her furnish it.
“You know,” Hugo said, “I was going up to Boston today myself. There’s an auction I want to attend.”
“Really, Hugo?” Susan was instantly aglow. “Won’t you consider driving in with us, then? We’ve got plenty of room.”
“I was going to offer to drive you girls in myself,” Hugo said. “I plan to be in town for several days.”
“If those are your intentions anyway,” William said from behind the paper, “then you can take Susan and settle her in. I’d rather not have to do without Laura.”
Susan looked at Hugo. If he was piqued at missing the opportunity of getting the two girls alone in the city with him, he didn’t show it.
“Fine,” Hugo said, giving Susan’s knee a sharp squeeze under the table that sent a rush through her stomach. “I’ll drive little Susan in myself.” Susan put her hand into his under the table, her heart pounding fiercely with joy. But she remained outwardly poised and let it shine from her eyes.
William lowered his paper briefly to note his wife’s reaction to his change in her plans. Marguerite also scrutinized her friend. Laura ate her pie without looking at any of them, her face a mask that disclosed no emotion.
Hugo whispered something in Susan’s ear that made her laugh. This annoyed William and Hugo was content.
Feeling that a new theme might be timely, Marguerite said, “I have a story ready for you to illustrate, Laura.” Laura pounced on the distraction, becoming animated at once.
“Maybe I’ll come with you and get the copy right after breakfast,” said Laura, “Since I’m not going to Boston with Susan after all.”
“Your story will have to wait, Marguerite,” William said, putting his paper down and standing up. “I need Laura to do some ad sketches for me this morning.” He put his jacket on. “Laura, I’ve left the photos I want you to work from in the studio. Get them done before two. I need them for a presentation. Okay?”
“Yes,” Laura said, with lowered eyes, but blushing fiercely at being spoken to in this manner before the others.
William was an architect who also owned Random Point’s largest construction firm. Because of her rendering abilities, William sometimes gave Laura the onerous assignment of sketching properties being offered by the company for sale, for trade publications and Sunday supplements throughout New England. It was a task that Laura equated with punishment.
Missing the trip to Boston didn’t disturb her. She was happy for Susan’s sake, for she knew how much her sister admired their elegant guest. It wasn’t even having to do William’s boring real estate drafting that Laura found so distressing. It was that William had humiliated her by issuing these commands in front of the others.
Having charged the atmosphere with tension, William kissed Susan good-bye, warned her to be good, excused himself politely to Marguerite and exited, ignoring Hugo.
Laura walked him to the door, as was her custom. He took her in his arms in the foyer.
“You’re pouting. I don’t like that,” he said, but kissed her red mouth anyway. Her lips were trembling and when he let her go she tried to hide her face. He turned her around. Her eyes were wet.
“What’s this?” he demanded. She shook her head and tried to push him away, wondering why he so seldom stepped out of the fantasy. Yet, all of her senses were athrill, to see how he would respond to the physical rebuff.
“I hope you’re not throwing a tantrum, Laura. Look at me!” He gave her a shake that opened her eyes. “I have no intention of letting you run around Boston with Hugo all week. Now get those drawings to me by two.”
Laura flashed her husband such a mutinous look then, that he was compelled to set his briefcase down, tuck his stubborn wife under one arm, and give her a hard half dozen smacks over the seat of her skirt.
“There,” he said getting her back on her feet. “Now you’ve got a reason to pout.”
She stood rubbing her bottom resentfully.
William put on his fedora, picked up his briefcase and went out the door. However, half way to his car he turned around to give her a wink. Laura still felt indignant but liked the way he looked in the fedora and reluctantly returned a small smile.
William was pleased when Laura arrived with the sketches at 1:00. He’d gone to lunch with a client and returned to find her patiently seated on one of the leather sofas in the reception area, in her raincoat and hat, with her portfolio tucked under her arm, like a school girl arriving early for her piano lesson.
On the way into his office, William introduced Laura to his new secretary, Damaris Perez, a petite New Yorker, who’d graduated with honors from the best business college in Boston. With black hair and a patrician complexion, Damaris displayed her charming figure in a smart suit with a peplum jacket, nipped waist, straight skirt and 4”
heels. She had a sensuous mouth, wore her long hair in a French roll and painted her fingernails dark red.
“Like her?” Williams asked, once they were alone. She nodded. “I thought you’d admire her taste,” he went on. “Though any girl who wears her skirts that tight and short, clearly deserves to be spanked. Don’t you think?”
“That depends on the girl,” Laura replied.
“Have you brought the sketches?”
Laura presented her work for her husband to approve.
“You’re a good girl,” he told her. “And since you’ve been so agreeable today, you may have a reward.”
“A reward?” Her response was wary. This was an unusual word on his lips.
“Yes. I’ve decided that I’m going to let you play with Hugo after all. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Don’t bother answering, I know you.”
“But this morning you said —”
“I changed my mind.”
Laura wondered if this had something to do with the new secretary, who appeared the perfect size and shape to fit across her husband’s knee.
“You have my permission to go crazy on Halloween. But just on Halloween,” William told her.
