by Sarah Veitch
He was her King for now, Lisa thought, and shivered slightly. She knew that tonight he’d probably thrash her till her clitoris reached fever pitch. And much as she hated the belittlement caused by such whipping, her vulva ached to spasm into release.
‘See you at three then, Mike,’ she said, making her words falsely casual.
‘I’ll look forward to seeing more of you,’ the doctor replied. His look was clear, seemed to strip away her skirt, her pink cotton panties. As she walked with uneven steps towards the stairwell she could sense him staring at her small high bum. What excuse would be find to strip it of its protective covering? What reason would be given for birching both tender spheres?
The main thing was the resultant orgasm, she told herself with growing elation. She’d have a pulsing shrieking climax, then he’d talk her down further and she’d orgasm all over again. The buttock pain would swiftly fade when he started to dole out the pleasure. Her mind and body would beg for that ecstatic release.
After administering to her elderly female patient, she made her way to the herb garden and transplanted a dozen overgrown peppermint plants then returned to the rose-scented Clinic. Her legs and torso felt light as she scampered up the stairs. Yesterday’s papers had arrived, and were lying outside her bedroom door; she got a British broadsheet and a tabloid delivered daily. Liked to keep up with the serious news in Britain whilst also being entertained by the tabloid’s more tongue-in-cheek style.
But the tone today wasn’t tongue-in-cheek; it was derogatory and dismissive. SICK PERVERTS INVADE PEACEFUL VILLAGE, the headlines cried. Probably yet another case of child molesters Lisa thought with a shudder as she tucked the papers under her arm and unlocked her bedroom. There she made herself a cup of Chinese green tea. She’d flop on the bed for a while and catch up on the news, then make herself a light lunch, and have a shower. Then she’d meet and hopefully hold Michael in the herb garden some time after three.
Settling down with her back propped up with pillows, Lisa raised her cup to her lips and raised her eyes to the tabloid’s opening paragraph. Then she stilled into shock and fear, and put the cup down on the bedside cabinet again. Two perverts have invaded the sleepy rural region of L----, the report read. Sherri Simms, 30, and her husband Bart, 34, moved to the tiny village last September. They immediately began placing adverts in a sick top shelf national magazine asking for another couple to join them in spanking sessions at their L---- home.
Lisa set down the paper. She’d have to read the rest, but first she wanted an alcoholic drink - or several. Hurriedly she went to the drinks cabinet in the corner and poured herself an almost neat gin. She drank half of it whilst standing up, and waited for its properties to numb her. Then she returned to the damning report and forced her eyes to take in more of the hate-filled print.
Raunchy replies flooded in to Sherri, a teacher at the local primary school, and Bart, a chef who recently set up his own wholemeal bakery in the village. But the couple had more on their minds than teaching maths and baking bread. Perverts from all over the country wanted to get in on the spanking action; the Simms received forty deviant replies in a single week! We can only speculate how many of these letters developed into sick spanking correspondence sessions, but the couple ultimately chose Maria and Leonard Brownlee from the stately city of York to share their disgusting tryst.
At this stage there was a paragraph heading of the word UNNATURAL. Lisa swallowed hard, then slowly read on. The Simms unnatural lust only came to The Daily Word’s notice when a letter intended for the couple was inadvertently delivered to Lavinia Tettler, an elderly neighbour. ‘They were suggesting that Leonard Brownlee spank Sherri Simms whilst their partners watched,’ said Mrs Tettler, a widowed housewife who lives in the retirement flats directly across from the couple’s villa. ‘I was sickened to read this cheap filth.’
Lavinia sent the letter to The Daily Word. We found one of the couples adverts in a porn magazine and wrote to them pretending to be into spanking. Within forty-eight hours we received a two page letter back! The couple said that they’d already arranged an over the knee frolic with another twosome, but that they’d bear us in mind for future sessions if it didn’t work out. They added that we sounded as if we understood the spanking scene and that it was wonderful to hear from someone of like mind!!!
This last sentence was italicised in bold. The paper sounded very pleased with itself and with its expose. Lisa drank deeply of her gin. The spirit heated her throat and chest, but did little to warm the cold chill in her belly. Sordid spanking story continued on page five, the article footnote said. An hour ago she’d been contemplating the very act that they called sordid! Lisa sucked in her breath, then shakily turned the page.
The first thing she focused on was the photograph of a pretty blonde woman holding a kitten. The man next to her had his arm around her shoulders. Both looked relaxed and happy, their eyes and smiles bright. Sherri and Bart Simms hide the dark side of their nature, the caption read. A smaller photograph to the left showed Maria and Leonard Brownlee on their wedding day. Only married two years, yet already their sick lusts are driving them to commit adultery! the caption shrieked. But were they, Lisa wondered. From what she’d read and seen, not all acts of erotic spanking led to intercourse. The couples might only be having sex within the marriage itself.
She turned to the damning lines of print. We sent a Daily Word journalist to the couple’s redbrick villa, the report continued. We pretended that we were the Brownlee’s friends, that we came on personal recommendation. The Simms invited us in, and Bart talked openly about the deviant deeds that they were looking to enact. Blonde Sherri, dressed in a clingy suede skirt suit, made us cappuccino, then sat demurely at his knee. ‘Sherri likes to be spanked,’ Bart admitted. ‘And it’s more exciting for her if there’s a stranger watching.’ He paused, then added, ‘Sometimes we do things the other way round, and I spank another woman whilst Sherri observes.’ Sherri then dropped her own coffee cup and Bart joked that she’d have to be punished. We were disgusted when Sherri started to lower herself across our male journalist’s knee! ‘You can take down her pants,’ Bart said. He then looked at our female journalist, and seemed to be mentally undressing her. We made our excuses and left.
Lisa bit her lip. She felt exposed just reading this - and she hadn’t been the people named or photographed. How much worse must the Simms and Brownlees feel? She turned to the final paragraph, already knowing that the story must end in devastation. Knowing that four private lives had been made cruelly public, had been wrecked. Yesterday neither the Simms or the Brownlees were at home, and Bart Simms bakery was up for sale, the paper said with mock solemnity. There was no answer when we called at Leonard Brownlee’s stationery business, and a neighbour said that he hadn’t been near the rented premises for days. A council representative confirmed that Sherri Simms had been sacked from teaching at the school. ‘She seemed so nice, too,’ one mother said. ‘And she helped our youngest son move into a higher reading group. But we don’t want weirdoes like her teaching our kids.’ Mrs Lavinia Tettler echoed the mother’s sentiments. We’re all quiet God-loving Christians,’ she told The Daily Word. ‘There’s no place for depravity here.’
Lisa stared at the paper. This could so easily be her name, age, occupation and address on its pages! They could be calling her these hateful names. People would stare, point, or silently snigger. The world would know details that only her chosen sexual partner had a right to hear. The herbalist looked at her watch; she was supposed to be meeting Michael in three hours. They would end up doing the things that society damned men and women for over and over again. Much as she loved the ecstatic rush he provided, she wasn’t convinced that it justified forfeiting life as she knew it. Lisa drank down the remains of the large glass of gin. She had to be alone, free to think without her lover’s seductive persuasion. She had to get out of here now.
Throwing her purse into her shoul
der bag, she rushed impetuously from the room. Then she sprinted down the stairs, almost knocking over a book-carrying Dania.
‘Sorry - got to go,’ she gasped.
‘Where are you...?’ the accountant started to query.
Lisa shrugged and kept on running as fast as she could. Away from here for a few hours, she thought wildly. Away from the sexual practices that the rest of the world hates. She’d take a bus to Sliema and find one of the offices which organised day trips. She’d talk to a day tour operator there.
Just boarding the bus made her feel better. Sometimes physically leaving a difficult scene could help clear her head. After all, every mile that the bus moved forward left her spanker further behind. But as the vehicle rattled its way to the shop-filled district of Malta, her mind still raced with the newspapers comments: weird, perverted, deviant and sick.
When she got to Sliema, a youth whistled. His friend, who also looked to be around age twenty, ogled her then winked appreciatively. Lisa realised that the flowing layered skirt and embroidered short sleeved blouse she had on made her look more approachable, closer to their age. If only, she thought belatedly, she’d changed into a more aggressive denim outfit and baseball cap - she wanted to keep the entire world at bay. There again, these men had a simple lust, just wanted to caress her curves and suckle at her nipples. They wouldn’t want to whip her buttocks or stripe them with a cane.
The tour operator eyed her with equal desire. Or maybe it was part of the act, to make female customers feel flattered. Lisa grimaced to herself as he grinned lewdly; in that case the man had gotten the situation horribly wrong. She only wanted to be treated as sexual when she felt sexual. For now, she wanted him to sell her a ticket that would take her away from Dr Landers for a few peaceful hours.
‘I’m looking for someplace quiet,’ she said, studying the list of tours.
‘What you want,’ the man said, ‘is Gozo.’ He held out a leaflet. ‘It’s mainly farming-based, our neighbouring island. The cost includes the ferry there and back.’
A ferry - that sounded ideal. She and Michael would be a stretch of water away from each other. What’s more, she wouldn’t bump into any of the other Vitality staff. ‘I’ll take a ticket,’ Lisa said. She knew that she was taking a ticket to a much-needed neutral decision ground. There she’d either opt to continue dating Michael or to leave. There was no compromise; she knew that now. She couldn’t be his lover if she wasn’t prepared to be physically chastised. The man didn’t want desire without discipline; every centimetre of his sexual being was a dominant one. She’d have to agree to being punished or admit that their relationship was no more - be labelled deviant or be deserted. And if their time together was really at an end then she wanted to leave Malta on the next plane.
Chapter Fifteen
Was Lisa playing hard to get? Michael paced the path which ran through the herb garden again. It was a quarter past three, and she’d obviously been here. The cut strands of peppermint testified to that. Had she gardened until the last minute then rushed up to her room to shower? Or had an emergency patient arrived?
Remembering the way she’d pushed down upon Don Muscat’s cock, Michael stared fixedly towards Vitality. He was strongly tempted to return to the Clinic to look for her now. But if he went in the front door just as she came out of the side door, they could miss each other. She might have decided to show up late so that he’d have an immediate excuse to pull down her pants.
A jarring detail sparked in his brain. Some of those mint leaves were already curling. He knelt and picked up some of the plant; the cuttings were limp, turning brown. This mint hadn’t been cut a few minutes ago, but had lain without sustenance in the sun for several hours. Something was wrong, and he intended to put it right.
He took the stairs quickly to Lisa’s room. He knocked sharply, though he knew deep down that she wasn’t there, that something had happened. He’d seen her joy when he suggested they tour Malta together this afternoon, prayed that she hadn’t taken ill since then.
Michael twisted the door handle and was gratified when it turned in his hand. Slowly the door swung open and he breathed in geranium oil’s sweet scent.
A newspaper lay open on the bed at the fifth page. Michael skim read it. Then he turned to the opening of the story. His heart beat fast and hard. God, he felt such contempt for these small minded bastards. By printing a few salacious details they were ruining innocent lives.
And ruining any future he might have with Lisa? As the possibility entered his brain, Michael sat down heavily on the sunlit duvet. Had she seen this then fled back to England? Would she really leave without an explanation, without acknowledging the strength of their mutual desire? Michael envisaged Vitality without her and it made for a dull picture. He’d follow and try to bring her back. Or maybe she’d gone to Singapore, to be with Reece; that was a much more delicate situation. But if necessary he’d fly there too - she was meant to be with him.
Michael paused. Maybe she’d confided in Ria about where she was going and when she’d return? They’d seemed to be getting close this morning. He’d been surprised, for the Sexual Therapist was much more up front about her desires than the herbalist ever could be. And Ria lived for the moment, whereas Lisa liked to have some of her future clearly mapped out. Still, opposites sometimes attracted - he himself was a planner who’d been drawn to Ria’s free spirit. If she’d been submissive they might have made more than a first class working team.
Desperate to find Lisa, he went to Ria’s private room. A note on her door said that she was on Vitality’s sun terrace. He found her there, wearing only a pair of sun glasses and an all-over tan. She was lying on her stomach, and he stared for a fascinated moment at her teasingly bare and deliciously spankable bottom. But he wasn’t here to admire the perfect view. He had a mission that he desperately wanted to accomplish, wanted to draw Lisa fully into his life, his thoughts, his arms.
‘Lisa didn’t keep her 3pm appointment,’ he said urgently.
Ria turned onto her back and stretched her arms above her head. ‘Hey, I’m innocent. I haven’t kidnapped her.’
Michael felt his jaw tighten with frustration. ‘She didn’t tell you about a change of plan?’
‘I worked, had lunch sent to my room, then I came up here to sunbathe,’ Ria answered. ‘You’d better ask Jamilla or Marie-Rose.’ She hesitated. ‘The sunshine makes me horny as hell. Fancy a quickie?’ Michael smiled wryly then shook his head. ‘You could bend me over the balcony and spank me first,’ Ria continued.
Again the doctor refused. The therapist just didn’t understand the dynamics of the situation. Lisa would never suggest that he spank her small bare bum. The herbalist would try to talk her way out of the punishment, and her ultimate submission would be all the sweeter. She had an exciting subtlety that the Sexual Surrogate would never have.
He left. He hurried down the stairs and spoke to Marie-Rose. She hadn’t seen Lisa either. Nor had Jamilla or Carmen or the stables-based Bakar. Dania was saddling up a horse when he asked the gardening and stables boy about the herbalist.
‘I saw her some time before midday,’ she volunteered. ‘She almost knocked me over she was in such a rush.’
‘Did she have a suitcase?’ he asked.
‘No, just her shoulder bag,’ Dania replied quietly.
‘Did she say where she was going?’
The accountant grimaced. ‘Uh uh. ’Fraid not.’
If Lisa was without a suitcase she’d presumably stayed on Malta. The doctor felt his shoulder and stomach muscles relax.
‘Was it wrong of me not to stop her?’ Dania murmured. Her eyes had started to widen with hope and sexual anticipation. Michael hesitated, then he turned resolutely away. Once he’d have taken off his belt and persuaded the aroused young accountant to bend over the balcony. Now he was too wired, couldn’t concentrate.
‘It was wrong, and wil
l be marked up in the punishment book for future chastisement,’ he said sternly.
‘I’ll tear the page out,’ Dania parried, giving him a challenging stare.
Michael smiled as he turned to leave. ‘Such resistance. I’ll bear your vandalistic act in mind when I’m pulling down your pants.’
All roads lead to Rome - and most Maltese buses ended up in Malta’s capital, Valletta. Michael went there before dinner, and sat on the concrete circle across from the wide bus stance. He’d brought a psychology book and a bottle of mineral water, was prepared to wait in the early evening sunshine for a considerable time. He wanted to talk to Lisa when she alighted from her coach. It was better that they had their discussion on neutral ground.
Old green buses trundled in. Others left. He smiled at the number of vehicles with the logo Bedford Dominant. He was a Maltese Dominant now, here to take this submissive back to his disciplinary lair. His gaze skimmed over young women in cut-off cotton shorts, silky dresses and tight frayed denims. There was only one figure and face that he wanted to see...
His body stilled to a single focus as Lisa alighted from the coach. He watched as she strolled around the stance, looking for the connection service. Felt relieved when she joined the queue that would take her back to Vitality. At least she wasn’t planning to flee from the Clinic right this minute. That meant their relationship still had a chance. Slowly he walked forward until he reached her side, could breathe in her jasmine oil perfume. Though he longed to hold her in a tight embrace, he didn’t as much as touch her arm.
‘We have to talk,’ he said.
For a moment her shoulders and face stiffened, and she stepped back quickly. Then she grasped her bag more tightly, her voice a murmur. ‘Yes, I know.’
