To Seek a Master

by Monica Belle

  ‘I see. Probably the medium grade then, which is about five millimetres thick?’

  ‘Um … I suppose so. Could you show me?’

  His smile grew abruptly wider as she realised the implication of what she’d said, now picturing herself not only touching her toes to present her bare bottom, but doing so in the middle of the shop with curious passers-by watching as he tested the cane on her. At that she came close to losing her nerve and fleeing the shop, but he was already making for the back area, to return a moment later with a length of dark brown cane. He spoke again as he passed it to her.

  ‘This will probably do the job, and they’re only two ninety-nine each.’

  Laura had taken the cane, which felt hard, cool and heavier than she had expected. Just to touch it made her fingers twitch and kept her face and chest hot as he waited for her decision.

  ‘OK. I’ll take it. Thank you.’

  As she left the shop she was trying to tell herself that his knowing reaction had been purely in her head, but a nagging doubt remained. Maybe other people had been in to buy single canes and he had put two and two together? Possibly Charles had sent other girls to the shop before her, on the same errand, a thought that brought a touch of jealousy even though he has said he was single. Alternatively, the man in the shop might be into caning girls himself and kept a look out for possible candidates for punishment? Again she imagined being made to touch her toes in the middle of the shop, her bottom pushed well out, her skirt lifted to show that she was already without knickers, and given the cane in full view of the street or with other customers looking on.

  The temptation to go back via Sturton Street was considerable, to call in on Charles and show him what she’d bought, perhaps to have it tested after all, or to admit to imagining herself being disciplined by another man, which she was fairly sure would earn her a well-deserved punishment. Only the certainty of being late back if she made a detour prevented her, and as it was she pushed open the door to Mr Henderson’s office at three minutes past two. He glanced up.

  ‘You’re normally very punctual, Laura.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Henderson. I had to go into town.’

  He glanced at the cane, which she hastily put down by her desk.

  ‘For a garden cane?’

  ‘And one or two other things.’

  He gave a slight shake of his head, nothing more, but again Laura found herself wondering if he had guessed. Blushing once more, she hastily got back to work, wondering if Charles had been aware of how much of an ordeal buying the cane would be for her. The answer was almost certainly yes, and even if neither the man in the shop nor Mr Henderson had guessed its true purpose, there were undoubtedly other, more dirty minded individuals who would. Brian would guess, she was sure, which would mean lurid rumours circulating the office just as fast as the grapevine could carry them.

  By the time she left she had managed to wrap the cane in brown paper, making her trip to the station a good deal less embarrassing, at least until she got into her carriage to find Charles already there. He glanced at the package in her hand and gave her one of his most wicked smiles. Digging into his coat, he produced an envelope, which Laura took as she spoke.

  ‘You really know how to bring out my feelings, don’t you? What’s this?’

  He immediately lifted a finger, wagging it gently before putting it to his lips. A lump came into Laura’s throat instantly and the cheeks of her bottom tightened beneath her skirt as she realised that she had broken the rules. She had earned herself a spanking, maybe the cane, filling her with apprehension and excitement as she took her seat. He was close to her, but said nothing, merely enjoying the view of her legs until he got off at Ely station.

  For the rest of the journey Laura was fiddling with the envelope, not daring to open it for fear of somebody else reading what might be extremely revealing contents, but tearing it open the moment she was safely home. Inside was a card, covered in neat handwriting on one side and with a picture on the other, a delicate watercolour showing a pretty blonde girl with her hair in a wavy 1950s style, dressed in red high-heeled shoes, stockings, suspenders and a full bra, also a pair of big white knickers. But they had been pulled down to the level of her thighs, baring her cheeky bottom to an older, fully dressed woman with similar features and hair. In the older woman’s hand was a cane, not simply a straight length, but with a crook handle.

  For a long moment she stood staring at the picture, doing her best to ignore Smudge’s efforts to lick her face as she imagined the young girl’s fear and humiliation, before curiosity got the better of her. Turning the card over, she read what he had written.

  The cane is for your discipline. You will make it yourself, as a classic, English school cane as illustrated on the front of this card. You will keep it hung on the back of your bedroom door.

  He had signed the card, but there were no further instructions. Laura read the words a second time and a third, then the first sentence yet again. To have guessed what the cane was for was one thing, but to see it written down quite another. She savoured the words – the cane is for your discipline – stated without emphasis or the least hint at the dark, sexual implications. Nor was there any ambiguity, no room for escape. She had confessed her need for discipline and now she would get it, with an implement she’d paid for and made herself, and which she would have to keep in plain view in her bedroom as a constant reminder that when, and if, it was necessary she would be beaten.

  The thought made her weak with apprehension and need, but ordinary life had to be attended to. She went to fetch Smudge’s lead, only to realise that it was important for her discipline to become a part of ordinary life. The cane would hang with her bathrobe. When she needed the bathrobe, she would put it on. When she needed the cane she would be made to bend over the bed and it would be put across her bottom, a thought very nearly too exciting to resist.

  First she had to make it, and while he hadn’t given her any instructions it seemed reasonable to assume that it would need to be soaked before the end could be bent to make the handle. Deliberately treating it as part of her normal evening routine, she ran a few inches of water in the bath and put the cane in, only then taking Smudge for his walk. Her head was still full of thoughts, in equal parts disturbing and delightful, of Charles and what he would expect of her, of the cane she was making and of the picture on the card.

  It was impossible not to picture herself in the same vulnerable pose, perhaps even with another woman about to administer her punishment, so that it was not sexual at all, but done purely in order to discipline her. The thought was intriguing, and didn’t even seem unfaithful, so she let her mind wander, trying to decide which of the women she knew would be the best. The obvious choice was Hazel Manston-Jones, who looked the part and would undoubtedly apply the strokes mercilessly hard. She had already spanked Laura, so might well want to dish out a few strokes of the cane.

  As always when thinking of Hazel Manston-Jones, it took Laura a moment to get over her pride before she could let her fantasy build up, but she was soon imagining a scenario in which she was caught with her brand new cane and made to take it as a punishment for going with Chris Drake. There would be nothing sexual about it at all, but Laura would still be made to go bare, purely in order to humiliate her and emphasise how low she was beside the tall beautiful Hazel. She would be put in a thoroughly lewd position as well, to make sure everything showed, kneeling on her bed, or bent over her kitchen table, perhaps even strapped in place to prevent her wriggling or trying to escape. She’d be lectured, told what a dirty cheating bitch she was, then caned, six hard strokes delivered one by one across her naked cheeks as she squirmed in her bonds before having her well-decorated bottom photographed so that Hazel could show Chris what had been done.

  She had reached the marshes where a stream ran into the Ouse, the point at which she usually turned back to follow the field path into town. Tall brown and green reeds made a carpet in front of her, their stems tempt
ingly like the length of cane now soaking in the bath. She stopped, scarcely able to accept that she could be so dirty, but the opportunity was too good to resist. A glance back the way she had come showed that nobody was about and her final chance of making an excuse was gone. Slipping Smudge from his lead she urged him to chase a flock of seagulls that she knew he had no chance whatsoever of actually catching. He went, bounding across the nearest field and she slipped in among the reeds, pushing through the tall stems until she was safely hidden from view.

  Her fingers were shaking as she snapped off a length of reed. It was light and less flexible than the cane, but it would do. Closing her eyes, she began to inch her skirt up, imagining herself under orders from the cruel, vindictive Hazel Manston-Jones, who would laugh as Laura’s bare bottom was revealed and make a joke about tarts going without knickers. The next command would be to touch her toes, and she would obey, bending down to leave her naked bottom stuck out and her sex peeping from between her thighs, much to Hazel’s amusement.

  She’d then be caned, six hard strokes, and as she pictured herself being punished, Laura began to switch her bottom with the length of reed. It stung, just enough, and after just three strokes the last of her caution was gone. Pushing her hand between her thighs, she began to play with herself, teasing her sex as she ran the punishment over and over in her mind: the sharp orders, the exposure of her body to another woman, the sting of the cane across her cheeks. Her knees nearly gave way as she started to come, threatening to pitch her forwards onto the soft black soil, into a kneeling position yet ruder than the one she was already in.

  Laura gave in, deliberately going down on all fours, her bottom lifted and ready for entry from behind, enjoying the soft feel as her knees sank into the muddy soil, still thrashing at her bottom with the piece of reed and imagining Hazel stood over her, laughing.

  14

  THE REST OF the week followed a similar pattern for Laura, kept in a near constant state of arousal that could only be relieved, briefly, by playing with herself until she had worked out the memories and fantasies in her head. She finished the cane, with some difficulty and some time spent searching on the internet, first bending the handle into shape and tying it with string to make sure the crook stayed once it was dry, then sandpapering the ends and finally allowing it to stand in a pot of olive oil for a night in order to ensure that it stayed supple. By the time she was done and had hung it on the back of her bedroom door as instructed, the thing seemed to have taken on a life of its own, at once evil and sacred, an instrument of torture and ecstasy, both terrifying and compelling. Even to glimpse it hanging there ready to be put across her bottom if she was naughty was enough to make her want to touch herself, and she knew that once it had been used her feelings would be stronger by far.

  He had made it plain that she would be beaten, but only when she needed it, which made her feelings more muddled still. That she deserved it, she had no doubt, not for any physical act, but because, try as she might, she was unable to keep her erotic fantasies focused solely on Charles Latchley. First it had been the young man in the cane shop, then Hazel Manston-Jones, and lastly Tommy Fuller during a nostalgic evening spent drinking wine, listening to old tracks from her teenage years and wishing that he’d taught her the delights of a well-smacked bottom. Each one had helped her to several exquisite orgasms under her own fingers. She was determined to confess, despite her very real fear of the consequences, and replied to Charles’s Friday afternoon email with a question. SHALL I BRING THE CANE? There was no reply, but he was there on the train as always, greeting her with a smile and a quiet remark.

  ‘Don’t worry, I have several.’

  Laura spent the rest of the journey and the night that followed in a sweat of anticipation, unable to keep still, unable to sleep properly for her fear and her longing, while every glimpse of the wicked looking implement on the back of her door brought a new surge of emotion. Nor was the cane her only source of excitement. She was to go to his house, presumably to spend the night, which would surely mean the full consummation of their relationship, presumably after she had been caned, a thought that had her hand back between her thighs twice before she finally got to sleep.

  He had told her to surprise him, making her choice of what to wear difficult, but after an hour of laying things out and rejecting them she decided that it would be best to express their shared love of the styles of the 1950s. It took another hour to get her hair exactly right, and nearly as long again to make her final choice of a loose red summer dress over scarlet heels, seamed stockings and her favourite suspender belt, full French knickers that clung to the cheeks of her bottom and a bra that lifted her breasts into prominence. A black pork-pie hat with a feather at one side that she had found in a jumble sale but never had an excuse to wear added the final touch to her ensemble.

  The combination made her feel gloriously sexual and drew glances from both men and women as she made her brisk walk to the station with her bag in hand. As always, it was easy to imagine that they knew, while the look Mrs Phipps had given her as she handed Smudge across had suggested both envy and disapproval. Laura didn’t care, now proud of her choice and determined not to be coy about her relationship.

  Being a Saturday, the train was almost empty, while getting off at Ely felt distinctly strange after passing through so many times over the years. He was waiting, as agreed, standing in the car park next to a bright red Morgan, smartly dressed as ever, and smiling his wicked grin as she approached.

  ‘Laura, I’d hardly have recognised you. You look …’

  ‘Like a seaside tart from the 1950s? They seemed to think so in King’s Lynn.’

  ‘Well I dare say they’d know best, but seriously, you look delightful. Seams, I see, very right and proper. Do get in.’

  He had opened the door of car for her, an old-fashioned courtesy that seem to fit perfectly with his assumption of the right to discipline her. She got in, trying to relax as he started the car and drew out of the car park but unable to suppress her nerves. He seemed as calm and in control as ever, driving fast but with patience as they skirted the town to head north and east across flat, open fields divided by rows of poplar and thorn. The top of the car was down, the fresh wind in her face making it hard to talk, but Laura didn’t mind, content to soak up the atmosphere, so different from the life she had grown used to.

  Laura had imagined him living in a town house, and was surprised when he turned down a short lane to stop outside what had once been a wind pump tower but was now missing its sails, while a two-storey cottage grew from one side in the same red brick and flint construction. A high, red-brick wall and a neatly tended garden surrounded the building, which was plainly quite old, with lichen covered red tiles on the roof and a wisteria trained above the windows and door, all in all creating the impression that she had stepped back in time at least half a century if not more. There was nothing remotely sinister about it, just the opposite, and yet it seemed entirely appropriate as the sort of place in which girls were not only spanked and caned, but expected to accept it as both normal and necessary. She thought back to the world of her favourite novels.

  ‘You like old-fashioned things, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. Not that I make the mistake of imagining that there was a lost golden age. I was born just after the war and, frankly, things were pretty miserable, so it’s more a case of rescuing what’s good and doing my best to ignore what’s bad. Come in.’

  He opened the front door, which Laura noted had been securely locked. Inside was a living room, crossing the full width of the cottage to look out onto the garden and furnished in a comfortable yet distinctly male style. Doors led off either side, one to a kitchen and a small dining room, the other to what appeared to be a library or a study. A spiral staircase led up from one corner, which he indicated with a casual gesture.

  ‘Go up.’

  Laura obeyed, wondering if she was to be summarily spanked and fucked before they’d even had lunch, but he
contented himself with a gentle but possessive pat to her bottom as they reached a landing looking out across the garden to the fields beyond. An open door to one side led into his bedroom, again simply furnished, with no evidence whatever of his unusual tastes. The door on the other side, the upper part of the tower, was closed and held shut with a heavy padlock, the sight of which gave Laura a twinge of apprehension. He noticed her expression and grinned.

  ‘I’m not sure you’re quite ready for what’s in there.’

  ‘I think I’m a big enough girl to see what I’m letting myself in for, aren’t I?’

  ‘Actually, I suspect you are. You made your cane for yourself, after all.’

  ‘Yes, and hung it on the back of my door.’

  ‘Ah yes, how do you feel about that?’

  ‘It makes me dizzy just to look at it, scared and dizzy.’

  ‘Which is exactly how it should be.’

  ‘It’s very clever, the way you always seem to be able to judge how I’ll feel.’

  ‘Oh it’s an old trick, but a good one. There’s nothing quite like having an implement she’s been punished with on the wall to keep a girl on her toes. Then of course there’s the matter of visitors. Anybody who comes into your bedroom will know what you get.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on letting anybody else into my bedroom! Not men, anyway, and if any of my girlfriends are coming around I’m going to hide the cane. Sorry, but that I’m not ready for.’

  He merely chuckled and she carried on, remembering her promised confession.

  ‘Speaking of other men, and women too actually, there’s something I really need to get off my chest. I love the idea of taking discipline from you, but when I think about it I can’t help imagining other people doing it to me as well, mainly women … a woman, because that seems purer, if there’s no sex involved, just punishment. That’s wrong, isn’t it? I want to be honest with you, Charles, right from the start, so I thought I’d better tell you, and … and …’