Lessons in Art Page 4

  Maria did not know who Frapelli was, but she supposed him to be a player who could further Bruno’s interests in some way. That was Italy, she thought; the land that invented the concept of back scratching.

  Filippo left, and Maria was about to follow him when Bruno called her back.

  ‘Not so fast, young lady.’

  It seemed her ordeal was not over yet. Bruno’s cruel, pale eyes held her own while he pronounced further punishment. The young man had treated her with excessive leniency, which did not satisfy Bruno. He would give her a further twelve, this time on her bare bottom.

  Under his direction Maria removed her corset. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and pulled them down to her thighs, careful not to ladder them, and she was about to slip down her thong when Bruno said, ‘Allow me.’

  Her skin crawled as she felt his touch. Instead of holding the thong at her hips he hooked his thumbs in the front and back, and as he slowly pulled down he made sure the fingers of his right hand brushed her sex, and those of his left crept down the crack of her bottom. Maria shivered in disgust.

  The waiter leered at her. They had never been friendly; she’d brushed off his advances soon after arriving at the club. He pushed her down again, pressing her bare breasts onto the scratched desktop.

  ‘Your bottom is hardly coloured, Maria,’ Bruno stated. ‘We must change that.’

  His strokes were twice a hard as Filippo’s had been. Even more of the clients would be able to hear this time, she thought ruefully. But she took the blows bravely, counting and thanking him for each one as before, although by the last her eyes were shining with tears.

  ‘It’s a pity you do not suggest to the boss that you join the show, Maria. You would be a great attraction.’

  She said nothing, but finished dressing and he let her go. Leaving the office with her the waiter insolently pinched her tender bottom. Bruno remained in the office, probably wanking off in the boss’ bathroom, she thought.

  When she resumed work her dark complexion was as flushed as the sore stripes on her bottom. She heard the sniggers of the customers as they ogled her behind, and through the fishnet tights her humiliation was visible to all She was furious at giving Bruno the opportunity to beat her and to use her as a pawn in sucking up to his patrons.

  Chapter 3

  Nicola’s heart was racing as she lay in bed. She replayed the two scenes in James’ study, trying to remember every word spoken and every stroke of the strap and cane. She felt more alive than she had for a long time. Eventually these thoughts naturally led her to recall the punishments her guardian had regularly meted out to her; what they had referred to as her ‘confessions’.

  Edward was not a handsome man, but he was attractive to women. From time to time he would have romantic dalliances, but had never come close to marriage. Even so, it had been the express wish of her parents that he be Nicola’s guardian, in the event that they should both die while she was a child. Unlikely though that had seemed it sadly came to pass in the form of a car crash on a country lane. Nicola was seven at the time.

  Edward was a Fellow at an Oxford college, and although Nicola was not academically inclined he always treated her as an intelligent girl, never making her feel inadequate by his superior learning. He raised her kindly, without ever smacking her; he told her later that she had been such a sweet tempered child there had never been a need. Nicola liked the compliment, but she knew there had been a childish tantrum or two over the years, although the confirmed bachelor had always taken them in his stride.

  But all that was to change on her last day at school. Although she had to admit that it had been her fault, Edward’s later revelations led her to wonder whether it would have happened anyway, just prompted by some other catalyst. However that may be, what actually caused it was her habitual weakness for exercising her sexual allure.

  For some years Nicola had known that she was attracted to the seriousness and maturity of older men. She was turned off by the juvenile behaviour of boys. Unfortunately, older men were not readily available to her. Few attractive ones were still single, and in any case, dating a schoolgirl was taboo. Her efforts to flirt with her friends’ fathers had brought at best the occasional hug or peck on the cheek.

  That Friday evening she was no longer a schoolgirl. What was more, a few days earlier she had turned eighteen, so she was now a fully-fledged member of adulthood.

  The end of year party was not until tomorrow, but a few of them had gone to the pub for a drink after school. A couple of Bacardi Breezers later Nicola had come home to find Edward in his study, at work marking university examination papers. A little alcohol made her bold. She undid a top few buttons of her white blouse, and revealed as much cleavage as she could.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Edward?’ she asked, with a purr in her voice.

  ‘I’m fine, Nick. Are you okay?’ he asked, looking up. ‘You sound as though you have a cold.’

  ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,’ she said, dropping the purr.

  ‘Well I could do with a break from marking, so fire away.’

  She went over to the desk and leaned against its edge in front of him. Her short pleated school skirt left plenty of bare upper leg. She moistened her lips, but said nothing.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘Can I sit on your knee? It’s been ages since I did that.’

  She moved quickly before he had a chance to refuse.

  ‘That’s because you’re not eight any more,’ he said, but he let her sit there and put an arm around her waist. She had flicked her skirt back so that her pantied bottom rested directly on his lap. As a regular cyclist he had firm thighs, and she wiggled her bottom against them.

  ‘We’re not really related, are we?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘You know we’re not. Your parents were my close friends, but there was no family connection.’

  She nestled a little further into his lap, one smooth thigh now resting on his crotch. ‘Now I’m eighteen, are you technically still my guardian?’ she asked.

  ‘Why are you asking these questions?’ His tone became wary.

  ‘Because I wondered, now I’m an adult, whether you wanted...’ she put her lips to his.

  He recoiled immediately. ‘What are you doing, Nicola?’ He only called her Nicola when angry. ‘Why are you behaving like a hussy?’

  She blushed, and realised she should have expected this.

  ‘I just wanted to kiss you,’ she complained. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘That’s not the way you kiss a guardian.’

  ‘Well I don’t know these things. I need someone experienced to teach me.’

  ‘You certainly need to learn a lesson,’ he said, slipping her off his knees and pulling her facedown across his lap. Astonished, she began to wriggle and protest, but he told her sharply to stay still.

  He started to spank her over her skirt, but that didn’t last long. ‘Pull it up around your waist,’ he ordered.

  She did so, revealing her white panties tightly stretched over her bottom, and he continued to spank her long and hard until her bottom burned. She wondered if he would take her panties down and spank her bare bottom, but he didn’t. He did, however, slap her bare legs, almost down to the tops of her knee-high white socks, causing her to howl and bringing tears to her eyes.

  After her first affronted struggle Nicola stayed in place, taking her punishment in a dignified way. Edward kept his left hand on the small of her back, but he had not needed to grip her tightly; the truth was that his stinging slaps excited her.

  After the spanking he told her to stand facing the wall opposite his desk while he finished his marking. Her skirt was to be kept up, and she gathered it in front of her. A confusion of thoughts flooded through her mind: wheth
er the red of her bottom was visible through the thin cotton of her panties; the pleasure of the tingling sensation which followed the initial pain; the joy of knowing that, during the spanking, she’d had his complete and utter attention. She imagined that he looked at her from time to time, and wondered if he found her toned legs and full young bottom sexually attractive. There had certainly been a hardening in his groin when she was across his lap. She did not know what he intended to do to her next but anticipation made her wet with excitement, so surreptitiously her hand slipped down the front of her panties and she began to rub herself.

  All of a sudden he was at her side and saw what she was doing. She jumped, her face hot with embarrassment.

  ‘I’ve finished the examination papers, but there is something else that needs to be given marks,’ he said grimly, ‘and this time I need a friend to help me.’

  She was told to fetch the ‘friend’ from the tall cupboard by the bookcase. It was strange, she thought, that she had never known until now that it contained a school cane, and her eyes widened as it dawned on her what he proposed to do with it.

  ‘Are you going to give me six of the best?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Six? No. Six is for schoolgirls. You are an adult now, and deserve an adult’s punishment.’

  Standing in the middle of the room Nicola was made to touch her toes. Her legs were to be kept absolutely straight and together. Edward lifted her skirt and lowered her panties to her knees. Hearing him swish the cane through the air was thrilling and frightening at the same time. Her heart thudded as he first rested it against her bare bottom, then let it play up and down her cheeks. This prelude seemed to go on for minutes before she heard the whoosh and crack of her first ever stroke of the cane, followed by the intense stinging she had known many times since.

  Whereas the spanking had been bliss, the caning was not. At least not at the time. It was just as well the study faced the garden at the back of the house, or else her squeals might have attracted the notice of passing pedestrians. In truth they were a little theatrical, and Edward must have sensed it because although he made the first few swipes moderate, the rest were delivered with a full arm swing.

  The beating was divided into two sets of twelve. Edward’s instructions were given at the outset, and they remained the same for every subsequent punishment he carried out. She had to hold her position steady, and never try to nurse or protect her bottom. She was allowed to yelp and squeal but not to swear or blaspheme. She had to count each stroke and thank him for it, and for the duration of her punishment she must refer to him as ‘sir’. All infractions of the rules would incur penalties, usually in the form of extra strokes.

  Between the two halves of the caning he pulled up her panties and made her face the wall again. By now her skirt had been taken off, as well as her blouse. She stood in her white bra and panties, white socks and black shoes. To make sure she did not play with herself again she had to keep her hands on her head. Edward savoured his customary evening scotch and soda, and periodically came up behind her and ran his fingers under her panties and along the welts from the first session. His soft touch felt good, but when she gave a sexy little sigh to encourage him he gave each buttock a resounding smack.

  It felt as though she had been there for half an hour or more when she risked a glance over her shoulder. Edward was still at his desk reading and sipping his drink.

  ‘My arms hurt,’ she whined. ‘Can’t I put them down yet, sir?’ Nicola was finding obedience came naturally. Somehow his rules were comforting.

  ‘You may, but keep them firmly by your sides.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Having won this first concession she tried for more. ‘May I sit down, sir?’

  ‘No. If you wish you may kneel, but keep your hands behind your back where I can see them.’

  She knelt as directed, and ten minutes later he came over and told her to rise. She started to bend over in the centre of the room again, but he said they were going to her bedroom. As he followed her upstairs she felt his eyes glued to the movement of her bottom. When they reached her room he told her to put on her nightclothes; she would be going straight to bed afterwards.

  ‘But it’s only nine o’clock,’ she grumbled, glancing at the clock.

  ‘You will need your rest after this ordeal.’

  ‘It’s not so bad, I’m...’ she started to say, before realising it would be better to keep quiet.

  ‘There are still twelve to go,’ he warned, ‘and they won’t be soft.’

  Edward watched her undress. At her chest of drawers she hesitated. A mischievous idea had occurred to her, and she selected the baby doll nightie she’d bought to please an ex-boyfriend. It was transparent red chiffon with a matching thong. She pulled on the thong first, then quickly slipped the nightie over her head, but whatever reaction she had expected from Edward it was not the one he gave.

  ‘Two extra strokes for impertinence,’ he said, but did not make her change her nightwear.

  He ordered her to kneel on the foot of the bed, knees together, bottom in the air. He lifted the nightie out of the way and delivered a good whack of the cane.

  ‘One, sir, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘That was thirteen, Nicola. You’ll receive another penalty stroke.’

  Halfway through the set she started to move forward in anticipation of the cane hitting her, so Edward made her lie facedown on the bed. Pillows were put under her hips to raise her behind. He pulled the thong down to her thighs. Hard strokes continued to stripe her cheeks until, by the last of the prescribed strokes, Nicola was crying and her hands were twisting the coverlet.

  ‘Twenty-four, sir, thank you,’ she sobbed.

  Three penalties followed, cutting into existing welts and causing Nicola’s body to buck and twist. Edward made the last such a cruel slash that she swore with the pain and her hands shot back to nurse her stinging buttocks. Accordingly, another two penalties were delivered, although rather lighter than the others.

  After he had left her she rubbed soothing cream into her bottom. She went to bed in pain, but feeling strangely serene. She had a sense that she had reached a watershed in her life, but what she could not understand, until much later, was how Edward had resisted her advances despite her punishment being charged with sexual overtones. She went over the events of the evening, fantasising new endings while she masturbated.

  Next day they had a long talk. Edward decided it was time to introduce discipline into her life in order for her to learn to control her flirtatious nature. He proposed a strict regime in which she would be thrashed on the first Sunday of alternate months; a total of six times a year. That would give her plenty of time to recover in between. These conditions would prevail as long as she lived in Edward’s house. Yesterday’s was the first, so the next would not be for two more months, but he emphasised that she should not expect every punishment to be as easy as the first.

  Nicola listened, aghast. She was starting a new job soon, but she would not be able to afford to live elsewhere for some time to come. Yesterday’s ordeal had excited her, but she was by no means sure that she wanted such agony on a regular basis. One chastisement was enough to fuel her fantasies for a long time. Nor had she found it in any sense easy, as he claimed it had been. In the end though, remembering how revitalised she had felt the night before, she accepted his terms and shook hands on the deal.

  Under mountains of old books and papers in a spare bedroom there was a wooden whipping bench covered by an old sheet. As with the cane in the cupboard, Nicola was surprised she’d not discovered it at some point whilst growing up in the house.

  They cleared the room together and Edward had it redecorated in claret wallpaper. Subdued wall-lighting was fitted, and the whipping bench was returned to take pride of place in the centre of the floor. A mahogany cupboard housed the implements he would use, together with any
items Nicola wished to keep there. Because it had been a junk room the cleaner had never been asked to see to it, but just in case in a fit of domestic zeal she should one day do so, a lock was fitted. Nicola and Edward kept one key each. Nicola had to clean the room the day before her punishment. If she did not do a good job she could expect Edward to repay her appropriately. Although Nicola sometimes jokingly called it Room 101, it was usually referred to simply as the bench room.

  The bi-monthly beatings soon became the sensual highlight of her life. Good looking boyfriends came and went with plenty of straight sex, but nothing thrilled her like those Sunday ‘confessions’ with Edward. Neither of them would make other engagements on those days. When Nicola was seeing someone she would avoid sleeping with them for the week following the beating, by claiming she was on her period. Any residual marks or bruises after then she would put down to bumps in the gym. But few boyfriends lasted long enough to notice any inconsistencies.

  A regular routine was established, which was to change very little over the next three years. At seven o’clock in the evening Nicola would report to Edward’s study, where she would find him at his desk. She would stand before him and catalogue her ‘sins’ since her last confession. She could vary the sins she chose to confess, although he required them to be based on real deeds. On one occasion she claimed to have committed no sins, but this made Edward beat her particularly severely for lying.

  There followed her hand-spanking, which she received in his study, across his lap or over his desk.

  In the bench room the instruments he used were grounded in English custom: the strap, the cane and, eventually, the birch. He favoured the latter particularly for penalty strokes, usually soaking it in salted water beforehand. The cupboard contained several of all types, in case one broke across Nicola’s bottom, which it often did.

  She was allowed to wear whatever clothes she wanted, and Edward encouraged her to experiment widely. In a sense it didn’t matter because most, if not all, of them would be removed during the session, but he knew that different clothes could affect her frame of mind. If she chose to buy something especially for the punishment he would reimburse her. Skirts, shorts, trousers and uniforms were all tried, along with different forms of underwear. On one occasion she appeared naked except for high-heeled shoes. Impishly, another time she had bought a PVC jumpsuit, knowing it would be impossible to take off while she was strapped to the table. Edward solved the problem by carefully cutting out a rectangle from the suit, exposing her naked buttocks. Eventually, however, she came to settle on a particular combination of underwear which made her feel devastatingly sexy, and which she had noticed particularly aroused him. This was a classic satin corset and briefs, with which she wore suspenders, seamed stockings and matching court shoes. She had this outfit in three colours: black, white and red, which she alternated depending on her mood.