Lessons in Art Read online

  There was silence across the restaurant and all eyes turned to their table. Rebecca shot upright with a comical look of astonishment. The silence was broken by Frank’s high pitched laugh. As she heard it, James could see enlightenment dawn on Rebecca’s face. He whispered quickly to her that Frank was a teenager with special needs.

  The head waiter had hurried to the table and was in the middle of asking James to leave when Rebecca interrupted to say that it was all a joke and she had not minded at all. She immediately soared in James’ estimation and he smiled at her gratefully.

  James rather rushed the rest of their meal. There were disapproving glares from all quarters, with the notable exceptions of Rebecca and her mother. Although they threw several glances his way, they did not appear to be hostile.

  He wrote a brief apology to Rebecca on the back of his card, giving it to the head waiter with instructions to deliver it after he had left. Both tables were to be charged to his account. He included a hefty tip for the disturbance. In addition, the waiter was to urge the women to select an expensive wine to accompany their desert. As he and Frank left James was amazed to receive a warm smile from Rebecca’s mother. Rebecca herself coloured slightly and looked at her plate.

  A couple of days later Rebecca called to thank him for his generosity and to apologise for any distress she may have caused Frank. He apologised in turn and she laughed, saying that she had been spanked by a man before but never by a total stranger. Thinking about this later, James realised that Rebecca had made a revealing remark and he wondered whether or not it had been intentional.

  In comparison with the scene at the restaurant, their first date was a tame affair. Over lunch they discovered shared tastes in music and, especially, art. James occasionally dealt with the firm for which Rebecca worked, and she knew of his reputation as a respected collector with expertise in early Italian works. James listened attentively to her as she recounted her interests. Much later, Rebecca told him how his ability to concentrate his attention so intensely on her was something she loved. He never admitted to her that at that first date, while he’d been taking in her words he was dreaming about taking off her clothes.

  For their next outing she suggested they take Frank out together for the day. It was a gesture of kindness that moved James. They went to a large amusement park, where Rebecca lavished attention on Frank. She was a natural at making him happy without letting him get over-excited. Naturally, it helped that the boy had a crush on her. As Frank slept in the back seat on the way home they talked more intimately. That night she stayed at his house. By morning, James had fallen in love.

  Their first sex was a slightly fumbled affair. He was acutely aware of the ten year age gap and tried too hard not to disappoint her. Even so, they both sensed a strong physical attraction on which they could build.

  The following weekend they had their first fight, and from then on their lovemaking became far more fiery. It started over a trivial compliment made by Rebecca about a colleague who’d had breast implants. They were relaxing on the drawing room sofa, reading the Sunday newspapers. Without looking up from his paper James made a scathing comment to the effect that sensible men did not want to caress bags of saline or silicon.

  Rebecca immediately bridled. She pointed out that it was the woman’s choice; that contrary to what James thought, men did like women with boob jobs; and that big breasts improved a woman’s self-esteem. He responded that he thought women with oversized breasts looked practically deformed.

  ‘Are you really saying that you would be happy with a woman with an A cup?’ she asked, staring at him incredulously.

  ‘Of course, if I were attracted to her,’ he replied, equally surprised that she should think otherwise. ‘Aesthetically her body might be far more beautiful than someone with double D breasts. Anyway, I’ve been out with many women with small breasts.’

  ‘So I suppose you think I’m deformed?’ asked Rebecca coldly. Suddenly they were in dangerous territory. Her tone of voice suggested that there was going to be a row no matter what he said. Since Rebecca was a perfectly proportioned thirty-two C, James did not see the logical connection between his statement and her question. He told her so a little testily.

  ‘The logical connection,’ replied Rebecca hotly, ‘is that you’re an old male chauvinist fart, living in the fifties.’

  On reflection James had to admit to himself that his blatant honesty could sometimes be a little naïve where women were concerned. He cursed himself for having reached forty without learning to sidestep such traps.

  Rebecca jumped up and looked down on him, flushed and breathing quickly. She was standing so close that her jeans brushed his leg. James remembered thinking it odd that the pants she had chosen for Sunday morning were so tight. Perhaps because it was early in their relationship she was not yet confident of her sexual attraction over him.

  ‘Well I think I need a boob job, and I’m having one whether you like it or not.’

  James had a favourite phrase which had sometimes been his escape clause from similar scrapes. It had always worked best when he was sexually aroused, as he was now, eyeing the skin-tight jeans.

  ‘What you need,’ he said, ‘is some sense spanked into you, young lady.’

  With that he caught Rebecca’s arm and pulled her down across his lap. She shouted and struggled as he slapped the dark blue denim. When her T-shirt rode up, exposing her midriff, he put his hand in the hollow of her back and pushed her down firmly. Rebecca continued to throw her arms and legs about, but in a way which did not convince James that she wanted to escape.

  She just doesn’t want to be seen to give in too easily, he thought.

  After a while Rebecca’s wriggles ceased and she calmly acquiesced to his smacks. When he stopped and put his hand beneath her to unzip her jeans she lifted her hips to help him. He pulled the clinging material off her round pink cheeks, and slipped down her thong.

  Mesmerised by her lovely bottom he delivered measured spanks for what seemed like an age. Each one brought an answering gasp from Rebecca. By the time he relented her cheeks were very red indeed. Looking at his handiwork, it occurred to him that after her initial protests had ceased, Rebecca said nothing. Not so much as an ‘ouch’ escaped her lips.

  He pushed his hand between her legs and found his answer. Lifting her into his arms, jeans around her ankles, he took her upstairs to the bedroom. As they went she stayed silent, but she put her arms around his neck and rested her flushed face on his shoulder. Sunday mornings, he reflected, smiling, did not come any better than that.

  In her room, Nicola was not asleep either. But instead of distant memories her mind was focused on the night’s events. They had not panned out as she’d hoped, but the good news was that her tactics had been working. It was unlucky that the phone call came just when it did, otherwise she would probably not be alone in bed now. She had demonstrated without a doubt that James could be seduced; she just had to strike while his penis was still hot.

  The obvious choice was tomorrow’s session. Sooner or later during it she would end up almost naked, without any need for subterfuge on her part. That was half the battle. The other half was to get James naked too. It was not helpful if she had to urge him too eagerly to lose his jacket and tie. Tomorrow that would be harder to do; he would be in his study and may be wary of her advances after tonight. To help her she would prefer a less formal ambience. She didn’t know, either, if Rebecca said anything in her phone call to deter him.

  Rebecca! Nicola suddenly questioned the motive for her actions. Did she hope to supplant Rebecca and marry James? Probably not. Then why was she hurting the woman in this way? Rebecca could be brusque and haughty but she had never done her any harm. What Nicola was doing was wrong and she knew it. But sometimes when you wanted something you took it and ignored the consequences, for yourself and for others.

  What she w
anted was to discover what sex with a handsome older man was like. Edward had denied her advances, and rightly, she could see that now. No matter how she had tried to tempt him he resisted her. Once she suggested that she gave him a blowjob, because that would not really be sex between them. In response Edward unleashed six searing extras with the birch, and left her bound to the whipping bench in tears for an hour while she ‘contemplated the impropriety of her proposal’. It all meant that, ultimately, her confessions had left Nicola unsatisfied.

  But James was another matter. She had come too close to give up now. And after sex, would there be an ongoing relationship with him? Perhaps. One step at a time. She would see.

  James poured himself another drink and continued his reflections. Rebecca’s first caning had been another milestone in their relationship. Although he had already given her some stinging swats with a riding crop, the caning was far more severe, revealing her high threshold for pain.

  They had been together for two or three months and she had given him plenty of reasons to spank her. Even when she gave him no reason, he sometimes put her over his knee anyway; or bent her over his desk, or a chair, or the bed...

  Their lovemaking reached levels of delight James had never before found, and he believed Rebecca felt the same. Outside the bedroom they felt comfortable as a couple, whether they were in galleries, at parties or simply lounging at home. When he was alone, James was giving serious attention to engagement rings.

  It was a Friday evening in early October. An Indian summer meant he was sitting in the garden nursing a gin and tonic when Rebecca arrived. By now she had plenty of clothes at James’ place, so she had come straight from work, still dressed in a grey pinstripe business suit and dark blouse. He admired the high-waisted pencil skirt, which accentuated her hips. She sat down in a garden chair next to his and accepted a drink.

  ‘I’ll just have one, before I go and change,’ she said.

  For a while they discussed plans for the weekend, but he sensed there was something she wanted to tell him. Accordingly, he fell silent and waited.

  ‘James,’ she began sheepishly, ‘there’s something I need to own up to. I hope you don’t mind.’

  If I do mind you’ll be over my knee in a jiffy, he thought, but said nothing.

  ‘It’s about the landscape you agreed to buy from us.’

  Earlier in the week James had visited her firm’s London gallery and agreed a price on a small seventeenth century Dutch landscape painting. Delivery had been arranged for the following week.

  It so happened that the firm were trying desperately to cultivate a wealthy collector, Janssen, who specialised in Dutch art. When this potential client had enthused over James’ landscape, Rebecca authorised its sale to him. Clearly she had thought that, being James’ girlfriend, she would be able to coax him out of making a complaint.

  James was horrified. His code of business had always been dictum meum pactum. He pointed out that if Rebecca were ever to do this to someone less understanding than James, the news would get out, and it could shatter her professional credibility.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she cooed, after he’d scolded her. ‘I just thought with us being together you would do this for me as a favour.’

  ‘I might have done, if you’d asked me beforehand,’ he said angrily.

  ‘Spank me. Then we can kiss and make up,’ she pleaded.

  ‘No. It’s too serious,’

  ‘What then?’ she said, becoming concerned. ‘You’re going to make me get the painting back off Janssen! We’ll lose his business for sure and he’ll make a big fuss.’

  ‘Exactly. And your professional name will be mud. But I’m not going to make you do that.’

  Rebecca appeared very relieved.

  ‘I’m so sorry, James. What can I do?’ She sounded sincerely penitent, but James was not inclined to be too forgiving.

  The gardener, who had been clearing out the greenhouse at the end of the season, had left a pile of unused bamboo canes on the path a little way from the French windows. Presumably he had meant to take them to the shed to keep for next year, but forgotten to do so. He tended to slink off as soon as he could on Fridays.

  James had noticed the canes earlier. Now he anticipated a better use for one of them than to support next year’s vegetable crops.

  ‘What you can do is follow me to my study, and on the way in pick up a couple of canes from the pile over there.’

  Rebecca’s eyes widened in horror. He could see she knew what he intended to do. She started to object.

  ‘Not that, James. Please. I had the cane once and it really hurts,’ she whined.

  At a later date James would be interested to know how Rebecca had come to be caned in the past, but at the moment he wanted to concentrate on the matter in hand. He ignored her appeals for mercy. ‘Do as I say. Quickly,’ he ordered.

  Two minutes later Rebecca stood before the desk in his study, awaiting her fate. The canes were on the desktop. James intended to draw out her discomfort.

  ‘Lift your skirt and show me your underwear,’ he demanded.

  The skirt fitted her tightly, hugging her bottom. It was not easy to lift. ‘I’ll crease it,’ she complained. ‘Let me just take it off.’

  ‘If you keep talking back I’ll double the number of strokes. Lift it up.’

  She slid the skirt carefully up her legs, revealing the tops of her black stay-ups and a pair of French knickers in black silk. He told her to lower the skirt again and take off her jacket. Meanwhile he swished the four foot canes through the air and selected the one he preferred. With his handkerchief he wiped it clean of the dust from the greenhouse.

  Rebecca folded her jacket over a chair and returned to the desk. He made her adopt the usual position: ankles together; straight legs, arched back. He smoothed down the skirt, which clung nicely to her curves.

  When he announced her sentence of twenty-four strokes she gasped in protest. ‘I’ll never be able to stand that many!’

  ‘I think you’ll be surprised what you can stand when you have to.’

  As it transpired they were both surprised how well Rebecca took her beating. With each crack of the cane she let out a small squeal, but kept her position well. He had given her eight on her skirt, eight on the French knickers and was finishing off with eight on the bare buttocks. With just four strokes to go she began to sway forward. He smacked her bottom and told her to be still, before finishing off with four juicy swipes.

  At the end he admired the grouping of his final strokes, which had left eight thick, nearly parallel weals. He allowed her to rise, turned her towards him and kissed her.

  ‘You are forgiven,’ he said.

  She kissed him back, while nursing her stinging bottom. Her face was hot and her lips moist. He praised her fortitude, but she groaned when he told her that at last he had found something to give his right hand a rest.

  Previous plans were rearranged and they spent most of the weekend in passionate lovemaking.

  As James was drifting off to sleep he recalled a further episode of their life together, perhaps the most important day so far in his life. It was the day he became engaged to Rebecca. After much searching he found the ring he wanted - a five carat emerald cut diamond set in platinum. He’d felt that she had a sense of expectation that weekend and he wanted to surprise her by choosing an unlikely time to propose.

  They were out riding and had just finished a fast canter across the hillside. Still mounted, they admired the marvellous view of the Thames winding through woodland below them. When James climbed down she looked puzzled. He said there was something in the grass beneath her horse. She sat patiently, controlling the horse as he came near. He went down on one knee, appearing to look in the grass, and when he came up he held out the ring and spoke a few prepared words. It was the only time he’d se
en tears in her eyes. They must have been tears of joy, because her reply was ecstatic.

  In the following weeks sex was passionate and punishment free. But Rebecca must have tired of her genteel treatment, because three weeks later she brought him an engagement present. He was stunned to find in the box the painting that had been sold to Janssen. His face lit up with happiness.

  ‘But how did you get him to sell it?’ he asked.

  ‘It turns out he’s a romantic at heart,’ she replied, delighted at his reaction. ‘And of course, he made a small profit on the deal.’

  Beneath the painting was some tissue paper, and when he removed it he found some very raunchy underwear for Rebecca, and a black leather strap.

  Chapter 6

  James had told Nicola that he wanted to leave the hotel at six the next morning to get out of London before the worst of the rush hour. With most of the traffic coming into the city there were few delays and they were on the motorway in well under an hour. They drove in silence. Nicola, it seemed, seldom saw this early hour of the day and she was sleepy, but James’ mind was very active. He pondered how this relationship had moved so far in just two days and, more importantly, what he should do about it. His thoughts were interspersed by distracting visions of Nicola in a variety of submissive poses.

  At eight o’clock he was waiting in the living room of Nicola’s flat in Marlow, while she dropped off her bag and collected her sports kit. She seemed to be taking an age about it. Wednesday was normally a gym night for her, but since her second punishment was due today James had agreed that she could use the small gym at his house, to avoid missing her training.

  He wandered restlessly around the untidy room, touching items of clothing she had carelessly discarded. Glancing through her collection of CDs he was taken aback to find the familiar range of popular music interspersed by a few classical albums. On reflection he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised; she was an intelligent girl raised by a university don.