Chapter 11
At about the same time, a thousand miles away, Robert was knocking at the door of Elisabeth's house, and feeling murderous.
She had telephoned him the previous day. "I've got an extra afternoon off tomorrow, Mr. Andover," she had said. "I shall expect you about seven o'clock."
"But I'm not free," he protested at once. "I've got a cocktail party to go to." And as he said it he could have bitten off his tongue. Why hadn't he said a dinner party? She couldn't very well expect him to cancel a dinner party at the last moment. But a cocktail party! She would tell him it was quite easy not to go to a cocktail party.
She told him exactly that. "And I shall expect you to be punctual," she finished. "You can imagine what will happen if you're late, can't you?"
She opened the door now, and gave him a dazzlingly radiant smile. "Do come in, please." She was wearing a long house-coat.
As he stepped over the threshold he reflected that she really was an extraordinarily lovely woman. He hoped she would put his penis in her mouth again.
She shut the door and fixed the chain. "We don't want Mum walking in on us unexpectedly. I don't think she will, but we'd better be safe." She turned to him and put her hands at once to his fly-buttons. She fumbled for a moment, and drew out his penis. It had erected mightily under the touch of her cool fingers.
"That's better," she said, caressing it lightly. "Now, do you remember what you've got to do?"
Despite his feeling of murderousness, he could not help grinning. "To call you madam," he said. "Don't worry, madam! I shan't forget."
"Of course you must call me madam, whipping-boy," she said, still caressing his penis. "But there's something else. I hope you haven't forgotten. You'll pay for it so much if you have."
His eye fell on her long black mackintosh hanging from the hall clothes-stand. "I haven't forgotten," he said. "I'm to put you in that mack."
"In that what?" she said menacingly, and gave his penis a sharp slap.
"Oh, sorry! In that whipping-robe."
She gave his penis another slap. "That's better. Bring it into the parlour." She walked in front of him into the room.
He took the mackintosh from its hook and followed her.
"You can take off this house-coat first," she said. "And you'll have a nice surprise."
He put the mackintosh down over the back of a chair. He untied the belt of her house-coat. He opened it and caught his breath. She was quite naked underneath.
"Pleased?" she asked softly.
"Very pleased."
"Very pleased — what?" she said, with sudden anger in her voice.
"Very pleased madam," he said, quickly. "Sorry. I forgot." He slipped the house-coat over her shoulders.
"You'd better not forget," she said severely.
"You remember that you're my whipping boy and I'm your mistress, and a whipping-boy has to call his mistress madam. You just remember that, or I'll whip you to within an inch of your life. While she was speaking, she had taken hold of his penis again. "But if you're an obedient whipping-boy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a bit of pleasure too." She pulled him by his penis until he was very close to her. He put his arms round her. He began to feel very excited. If this sort of thing was going to happen it was well worth missing that cocktail party. Perhaps she was not going to whip him very much. At any rate there was no whip in sight. Perhaps she was not going to whip him at all ...
He put this thought away from him at once. Of course she was going to whip him. But perhaps it would not be so bad as the last time.
She knelt suddenly and put his penis into her mouth. She sank her fingernails lightly into the bag of his testicles. He stiffened with pleasure. He put his hand to her silken hair and ruffled it lightly with his fingers.
She sucked and bit, and played upon the central nerve of his penis with her tongue. She continued this for several minutes until she felt him begin to tremble. She stood up.
"Enough of that for now," she said. "I don't want you to come yet. Put me in my whipping-robe."
He took the mackintosh from the back of the chair and held it for her. She slipped into it with a little shiver.
"And now," she said, running her tongue lightly over first her top lip and then her bottom lip, "to the kitchen you go. You have some washing-up to do. You can take off your clothes there."
He went into the kitchen. The whip was lying on the deal table.
He shivered. It was a murderous-looking thing. "Do you have to use that — madam? That whip? Haven't you got a cane or something? That whip is bloody murder, you know."
"No," she said, looking him steadily in the eyes, "I have not a cane, and I don't want one. I want that whip. And I still don't like that pause before you say madam. It sounds sarcastic. It's going to make me very angry."
With a courage that surprised him, he turned to her and impulsively took her in his arms. He slipped a hand into the front of her mackintosh and caressed a firm breast. He put his lips to hers, forced opened her teeth and thrust his tongue far into her mouth.
She reacted passionately. She flung her own arms round his neck and clung to him.
After a few moments he released her. "There, madam," he said with a grin. "Now you have something to whip me for."
She looked at him quizzically. "Well, well," she said. "You're a bit cheeky, aren't you? Yes, I will whip you for that. I'll whip you a lot for that." She reached her hand and picked up the whip. "Get your clothes off."
In less than a minute he was naked.
"Come here," she said.
"Do it again. And put your hand on my other breast this time."
He took her in his arms again. Her mackintosh felt very cold against his naked body. He found her other breast, pinched its nipple lightly with his fingertips, and then caressed it tantalizingly.
She returned his kiss with fire, clinging to him as though she wanted to melt into him. After a few moments she pulled away. "And you'll be soundly whipped for that, too," she said breathlessly. "Bend over in front of me. Right over."
He obeyed her without argument. Argument, he knew by now, was futile.
She drew in her breath, ran the lash of her whip through her fingers, and raised her arm. "Your weals are a lovely sight," she said, as she brought the whip slashing down across his buttocks.
A sharp cry was forced involuntarily from him. He gritted his teeth, determining not to make any further sound.
She gave him twelve very hard lashes. Then, panting, she leaned against the edge of the table. "You can stand up now."
Slowly, with tremendous crests of pain rolling through his bottom and hips, he stood erect. He rubbed his buttocks with his hands.
She laughed. "Rubbing your bottom like that, you look like a school-boy who's just had a caning. But you've had a bit more than a caning, haven't you? Was it nice?"
"No, of course not, madam."
"Yes it was. Say it was nice." Her tone had a threat in it.
"It was very nice," he said at once. He would do and say whatever she wanted.
"It was for my left breast. Now you must have another twelve for my right breast. Ask for another twelve. Ask me to whip you again. Go on."
He hesitated only for a second. Then: "Please give me another twelve, madam."
"What for?"
"For your right breast, madam."
"And for being cheeky."
"And for being cheeky, madam."
"All right. Bend over in front of me."
He bent low again, and received twelve more lashes. As they cut into his bottom, he found himself thinking, with some separate part of his brain, that he had enjoyed being cheeky with her, kissing her, caressing her breasts, rubbing himself against her. These two whippings had no more than a symbolic connection with his having been cheeky, as she called it. If he had not, she would have whipped him for something else. He decided that he had better seize all the opportunities he could find. The more he kissed and caressed her, the less time she would have for her whip. And it was very pleasant indeed to kiss and caress her.
"Stand up," he heard her say. As he obeyed, he was thinking that he would like the opportunity of using it to teach her one or two things.
"Now do the floor," she said, changing her position on the edge of the table and making a coil of the whip. "And then we'll go up to my bedroom."
It took him no more than ten minutes this time to finish the floor. He received a good many lashes across his buttocks but none across his shoulders. He could feel that there was a good deal of blood, however, on his bottom and legs.
"Now come and thank me for teaching you so well," she said, standing up from the table.
He went to her at once and took her in his arms. The coldness of her mackintosh was a solace now to his inflamed body. He kissed her and caressed first one breast and then the other.
She pulled away from him at last. She held up her coiled whip. "You should really thank this," she said. "It is much more the teacher than I am. Kiss it."
He bent a little and put his lips briefly to the whip. His brain was beginning to clear from the mists of pain that had accompanied his washing of the floor.
He wondered what terrible things were going to happen now. She had said something about going up to her bedroom.
"What are you going to do now — madam?"
She looked at him coldly. "I'm going to teach you something else. I'm going to teach you, finally and once-and-for-all, to take away that sarcastic pause when you say madam."
"It isn't sarcastic," he protested, and added, much too late, "madam."
"There it is again!" she said. She looked at her whip. "You have another teaching job to do," she said to it, as though it were alive and listening to her. "You've got to teach him once and for all. And I think his back is the best place for the lesson." She went to a drawer and took out a length of stout twine. "Come on," she said to Robert. "Go upstairs for your next lesson. You can take that apron off first, though." She went out of the kitchen.
He untied the strings of it and slipped it off. He hung it back on the hook from which he had taken it. He followed her upstairs to the bedroom.
She was sprawled on the bed, on her back. She looked ravishingly beautiful. The blackness of her mackintosh set off and greatly enhanced the beauty of her golden blonde, abundant, silken hair.
"Come here to me," she said. "Lie down over me."
His penis re-erected rapidly as he obeyed her. She pulled up the skirt of her mackintosh, took his penis in her hands and guided its knob to her vagina. "Go inside me," she ordered. "But don't come! I'll kill you if you do."
He thrust gently, and then more strongly. His cock slid inside her. A feeling of balm, removing most of the aching pain in his bottom, crept through him. He thrust and withdrew, watching carefully for any sign of an impending orgasm.
She took his face in her hands, holding him a little up and away from her. "My whipping-boy," she said softly. "It's time he had a little pleasure. Just a little sweetness to balance the pain I give him. And I'm going to give him so much more in a moment or two! I'm going to make him call me madam without that sarcastic, insulting pause. But now" — she pulled his face lower, put out her tongue, licked the tip of his nose — "he can have a little pleasure. It will give him some strength, too, for what is coming to him."
Her tone was caressing. His prick inside her gave him great pleasure. He began to feel his orgasm gathering. He thrust and withdrew more slowly.
"But if you come now," she said in a natural voice, "I'll kill you."
"Why?" he said, dreamily, and added, again too late, "madam."
She opened her eyes wide. "You are asking for it, you know. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"But, good God!" he exploded recklessly. "You can't call a girl madam when you've got your prick inside her."
She regarded him steadfastly and icily for a long moment. Then: "Get up," she said, and there was a controlled fury in her voice. "Get up and go and stand at the foot of the bed. You're going to have another lesson, my God!" She gave him a shove with her hips. "Go on. Do as I say."
He pulled his penis out of her. He stood up. "I don't care what you say," he said, realizing that he was being extremely rash. "It just isn't natural to call a girl madam when ... "
"Give me my whip," she said, in a tone that sent a chill of fear through him. She climbed off the bed.
He picked up the whip and gave it to her.
"And the string," she said, in the same tone.
Silently, he put the length of twine into her hands.
"Go and stand at the end of the bed," she ordered. "No, not that way" — as he stood with his back to the brass foot of the bed — "the other way round! Face the bed, for God's sake, unless you want me to whip your front."
He turned and faced the bed.
She came to him, looped the whip round his neck, and straightened the length of twine. "Give me your thumbs," she ordered.
He half-turned to her with his thumbs held out.
Deftly she tied them together with the twine. Then she tied them tightly to the brass rail of the bed. She made a few more knots, and examined her handiwork. "All right," she said. "You're properly trussed up now." She took the whip away from his neck and stood back. "And now you're going to learn to call me madam properly." She lifted the whip, swung on her heel, and slashed with all her strength across his shoulders.
He let out a screech.
"Shut up!" she hissed. "Or I'll double what I'm going to give you." She struck again at the same place.
He gave a great gasp, but succeeded in making no sound.
"Say 'Thank you, madam,' " she ordered.
"Thank you, madam," he croaked at once.
She struck again.
"Say it again."
"Thank you madam." He fought to leave no pause before the word.
"That's better," she said, and put a hand on her mackintosh above her genitals. She pressed. Under the pressure of her hand, her juices gave a leap. She undid a button of the mackintosh and put the hand inside. She opened her legs slightly. She caressed her vagina with her fingertips. "That's a lot better," she repeated. She struck again. "Let's have it once more."
"Thank you madam." His voice was strained with his agony.
"Yes," she said, striking again, and titillating her vagina, "that's how I want it in future. And here come twenty of the best I can give you, just to make you remember."
A terrible thrashing then began. He tried to scream, but found that each succeeding lash robbed him of the necessary breath. His senses disintegrated into a molten mass of white-hot agony. He prayed that he could faint ...
He very nearly did faint during the last three lashes. But even that solace was denied to him. Instead he heard, as from a great distance, her moans of sheer ecstasy as she lashed him.
When it was finally over, he collapsed over the bed-rail, fighting for breath and consciousness. He felt her push him roughly aside.
"Move over," she panted. "I want to untie you." She fumbled, with shaking hands, at his knots. "Oh damn!" she said, and ran to her dressing-table. She took a pair of scissors from a drawer and ran back to him. She snipped through the twine. "Come on," she said. "I want to be poked." She sprawled again on her back on the bed. The front of her mackintosh was glistening with wet blood.
He made no move.
"Come on," she hissed. "Or do you want another whipping like that?"
He raised his head slowly and looked at her. "You don't think, do you, that I can poke you now? After all that?" He quite forgot to say madam.
She was in too much of a sexual pother to notice its omission. "Of course I do," she said. "I'll make you randy again. Come on!"
"It's quite impossible," he mumbled, but he came, unsteadily but obediently, to the side of the bed. He lay down on the top of her. "Utterly impossible," he repeated dully.
To his astonishment, however, he found that he was wrong. Under the caress of her fingers his penis came back to life. It grew large and hard. It slipped easily into her wet cunt. It slipped forwards and backwards, up and down ...
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" she groaned, squirming lasciviously. "What heaven! What utter heaven ! And we'll do it all over again on Saturday."
He did not hear her. With his senses still swimming, he abandoned himself to the moment. The fire in his back scorched and seared him, but, at the same time, a sensation of pleasure began to take hold of him. It was eerie in its intensity. He realized, with that same separate part of his brain, that its intensity was owed to what her whip had done to the rest of his nerve-centres.
And his orgasm mounted, and mounted, and mounted — and engulfed him, as the waters of the Red Sea had engulfed the charioteers of the Pharoah.