Lessons in Art

by Sam Eden

  ‘I just wanted you to know,’ said Nicola. ‘In case it made a difference.’

  ‘Well, where’s this furniture I need to look at?’ he sighed, bringing the discussion to an end. He put his glass on the coffee table and stood up.

  Nicola’s flat had three bedrooms. She led him to one of them and unlocked the door.

  Must be valuable if she keeps it locked up, he thought, but once inside he realised the true reason for the security.

  Nicola switched on the wall lamps. The room’s brocade curtains were clearly kept drawn. In the centre of the floor was an odd piece of wooden furniture, a whipping bench. He could well understand that she would not want to leave it for the tenants. Its shape recalled a vaulting horse, but it was smaller and plusher. The dark oak sides tapered from the base to a narrow top of padded leather. The wood shone as though recently polished. Leather restraints with brass buckles were attached to its sides at various points.

  Apart from the bench the only furniture in the room was a Victorian cabinet, a straight-backed chair and an old-fashioned cheval mirror, similar to the one in James’ own bedroom. Nicola told him they had all stood in her punishment room at Edward’s house. Although this room was smaller, she had tried to replicate the decoration and layout of the original as closely as possible. They stood for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. Despite being kept locked the room was well aired and warm.

  Nicola became more confiding. Sometimes, she said, she would come into the room and lie across the bench and fantasise about Edward or James finding her there.

  ‘And then what happens?’ he asked, flattered that he should appear in her fantasy.

  ‘You can guess when you look in the cupboard,’ she said, then showed him the contents. He picked up some of the items to examine them. One was a narrow and gnarled school cane with the traditional crook handle.

  While he looked Nicola sat shyly on the chair.

  ‘Apart from me, you’re the only person to come in this room,’ she said. ‘I always hoped to find someone worthy to bring here, but I never did.’

  ‘What about Carlo?’ he asked.

  ‘It was going to be his Christmas present, but he spoiled that on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Well I can arrange for the bench and cabinet to be taken to my place discreetly,’ he said briskly, but she ignored his comment.

  ‘How would you like me?’ she whispered, looking up at him with bright eyes.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘We had a deal. That Friday, my last punishment session was interrupted. Before I leave I want to pay my debt.’

  She had a wicked way of arousing him with a word and a look. He gazed at her hungrily for a few moments, drinking in her submissive beauty.

  He nodded. ‘Very well,’ he agreed, ‘but who said you may sit down, young lady?’

  She got to her feet immediately and said, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘An extra stroke of the cane,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir. How would you like me, sir?’ she repeated. ‘There are some uniforms in the cabinet.’

  He thought for a moment, and then replied, ‘I want you... pure and simple.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir?’ she queried, not understanding.

  ‘I want you completely naked,’ he clarified.

  She laughed and said, ‘But, as sir knows I am not so pure.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do to correct that over the next hour or so,’ he promised.

  As she hung her clothes in the cabinet Nicola slipped out of her role for a moment. ‘Could I ask you to do something, James?’ she asked timidly. ‘Would you be naked too?’

  ‘But what about Carlo?’ he asked.

  ‘I promised him we wouldn’t have sex,’ she said.

  James was confused. ‘Promised him?’ he echoed.

  ‘I told him this would happen today. I explained about my deal with you. After what he did to Rebecca he couldn’t complain.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Where is Carlo, by the way?’ The last thing James wanted was for Carlo to be waiting in the sitting room while he was punishing Nicola.

  ‘He’s agreed to do the tourist thing in Oxford and spend the night in a hotel there.’ James was pleased Nicola was standing up to Carlo. He believed him to be the sort of man who would run roughshod over people if they gave in to him.

  ‘His New Year’s resolution is never to have sex with anyone else while he’s with me,’ she went on, ‘so I have to abide by that too.’

  ‘I understand,’ said James as he undressed. ‘I think a bit more faithfulness would be good for us all after the last few weeks.

  ‘Now, I seem to recall that you’ve already had the hand-spanking. What remains are the strap and the cane. Can you remember how many strokes you were to have?’

  ‘Twelve of the strap and eighteen of the cane,’ she replied promptly.

  ‘Correct,’ he said. ‘However, since my preferred implements are not here I will choose two from your collection. And in order to make my choice I need a bottom to test them on, Nicola.’

  He made her kneel on the bench, head low and bottom in the air. Seeing the beautiful target made him regret telling her there would be no spanking, and he couldn’t resist reaching out to feel the stretched silkiness of the twin globes.

  The cupboard contained straps, canes and birch rods. There was three of each. He followed the same procedure with each implement; taking it from the cupboard, swishing it twice through the air, then delivering one moderate stroke across the middle of Nicola’s bottom. The straps were solid and heavy, but rather cumbersome to wield, so he reserved judgment on them.

  Before moving on to the canes he examined her bottom. The lovely white flesh had become pink, but showed no marks.

  The canes were good; long and whippy with a satisfying swish. The last of the three produced a shudder and a yelp from her.

  ‘I think I’ve found my first implement,’ he decided.

  She groaned, suspecting his second would be a birch. And she was right. In the end he selected the second of the rods he’d used. It was a little over three feet long with four supple branches bound by a red leather handle. It had also elicited a yelp from Nicola.

  As planned he told her he would use a cane for eighteen strokes, plus the extra one already earned. For the twelve strokes the original strap would be replaced by the birch. The birching would follow the caning. He made her stand up straight facing the mirror to listen to the rules about posture, counting and swearing. As he lectured her she watched him in the mirror and giggled at the excited condition of his erection. Being naked together with no prospect of sex felt strange, but intensely erotic.

  He then delivered the first six strokes of the caning with Nicola bent over the chair. He made her stand on tiptoe, legs together. After each stroke he allowed her to come down from her toes while he ran his fingers along the new stripe left on her skin. He didn’t hold back, annoyed when she’d told him Edward’s strokes were harder than his. He felt she had been let of lightly the first time, and besides, he was no longer worried about her ability to withstand punishment as he had been, as he knew now how cruelly Carlo had treated her.

  Nicola bravely submitted to the session, though she no longer had a need to. If she sought to fulfil her agreement because she found him a soft touch next to Edward and Carlo, he would make her regret it. James was determined to give her a beating to remember him by. After all, what she had done warranted it, especially the calculated nature of her errors.

  The first six were taken well and Nicola counted the strokes clearly. She remained bent over the chair with her legs and bottom quivering a little from her tiptoe stance, waiting for the seventh. He made her hold the difficult posture for a minute or so while he watched her. Then he had her kneel on the seat of the chair and lean over its back.<
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  The caning was about to become more severe. He wanted to hear her cry out so he knew he was getting through to her. And cry out she did, with ever louder wails as the cane cut into her cheeks.

  On the twelfth stroke the cane cracked in the middle. Nicola jumped off the chair, howling in agony and holding her bottom. Another extra was chalked up. After calming down she resumed her kneeling position on the chair.

  He let her stay there for a moment, her face screwed up in pain and tears flowing while he selected a replacement cane. Then he took her by the arm and led her to the bench. He made her mount astride it and lie forward. There were cuffs conveniently placed to hold her wrists and ankles, but he did not restrain her. Her arms and legs simply hung loose and she rested her cheek on the padded leather, gazing at him with wet eyes.

  ‘You asked for a severe beating, young lady,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she whimpered.

  ‘There are six of the original cane strokes remaining, plus two extras. Are you sure you want me to continue?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m sure.’

  They were delivered alternately to each buttock. At first she would flinch as she watched his arm fall, so he had her turn her face away from him.

  The penultimate stroke swept against her left cheek. It was a ferocious cut forcing a scream from the girl, but nevertheless when she bucked and snatched her hands to her bottom he told her she would have another penalty stroke. She took time to recover before counting it, and there were now two remaining, which he delivered harshly to her right buttock.

  She shuddered and screamed, before mumbling, ‘Twenty-one, sir.’

  By this time her bottom was a mass of red flesh crisscrossed with fierce welts. He rested the cane across the small of her back and sat on the seat, watching her. The cane rose and fell with her shuddering sobs, until the worst of the pain had passed and her breathing became more normal.

  Eventually he rose and walked around the bench, studying the damage inflicted. He was concerned that the birching on top of it might be too much, but Nicola had proved herself to be highly resilient, and he decided to proceed as planned.

  He mentioned that he had not seen any lotion in the cupboard, and she told him where to find some in the bathroom. When he returned she was still over the bench, but her right hand was beneath her gently moving body and he could hear her faint sighs of pleasure. Clearly she was feeling much better.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked sternly, slapping her buttocks.

  ‘Please sir, may I relieve myself?’ she begged meekly.

  ‘I thought there was to be no sex.’

  ‘I meant with each other,’ she replied. ‘Would you like to masturbate too, sir?’

  He would have loved to do so, and now he had parted from Rebecca no moral ties prevented him, but he did not deem it fitting in his putative role as Nicola’s protector. However, he didn’t prevent her from continuing to masturbate as he gently rubbed cream into her bottom. It took immense self-restraint on his part not to touch his cock, which was throbbing enticingly. Nicola savoured a shuddering little orgasm, and let her arm drape back down the side of the bench.

  ‘You’ll have an extra stroke of the birch for inappropriate behaviour,’ he told her.

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.’

  ‘Are you ready for worse to come, young lady?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Rather ominously James took her wrists and fastened them into the cuffs low down on the bench, and then he strapped her ankles and thighs with leather bands also fitted to it. He adjusted the buckles so her legs were held tightly together, then finally a belt which hung from one side of the bench top was drawn tightly over her waist and fastened into its buckle on the opposite side.

  Nicola was so tightly squeezed into the bench that she could hardly move an inch. James had once asked a girl why she was so exhilarated by his beatings, and she replied that it excited her to be defenceless and at his mercy. This was certainly true of Nicola now. She could not struggle no matter what he chose to do to her.

  She watched him intently as he picked up the chosen birch rod. His erection was strong again but it brought no laughter from her now. He ran the firm twigs through his fingers. He knew it was lighter than the birches that had once been used for judicial floggings, but it was still more than enough for a young woman’s delicate backside.

  ‘How many strokes is it, young lady?’ he asked her.

  She was uncertain. ‘Twelve... no, thirteen, sir,’ she said with a query in her voice.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I’ve never had so many with the birch before,’ she said in trepidation. ‘Eight was the most Edward ever gave me.’

  ‘I’m glad to know I’m improving on Edward at last,’ he said, running the tips of the birch over her vulnerable back, bottom and thighs. As they tapped and tickled her she squirmed reflexively in her bonds.

  ‘This will be painful,’ he told her, her breathing heavy in anticipation.

  His first stroke was of medium strength to test her reactions, but she still squealed. He waited, but nothing came.

  ‘Count! I will not warn you again,’ he threatened, then reminded her that although he would allow her ample recovery time, if she had not counted the previous stroke before he tapped her bottom in preparation for the next, she would earn an extra.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. One, sir.’

  As he whipped the succeeding strokes across her bottom Nicola began to scream and sob. Each cut of the birch was equivalent to several concurrent strokes of the cane and Nicola was clearly suffering dreadfully. The restraints creaked as she jerked impotently against them. Lines and scratches quickly appeared on her buttocks, over the existing weals of the cane.

  After the sixth stroke he rested the birch across her back and held her burning cheeks in his hands while the girl wept.

  When he took up the rod again he played it over the soft skin at the top of her thighs. He covered the areas between the bottom of her cheeks and the leather band holding her thighs. She moaned, knowing what was coming.

  The second half of the birching brought wilder screams from Nicola than before. He hoped the occupants of the flat above were at work, or the police may well be called. The tops of her legs and her full buttocks were blotchy and swollen with welts.

  With two strokes left he wondered whether he should take pity on her and end it there. Her whines were continuous, her tears soaked into the leather pad.

  He hesitated. Then he remembered how she had deliberately lost him twenty thousand pounds and his resolve hardened again. He delivered the penultimate stroke, to the crown of her bottom. He watched her writhe ineffectually in her tight bonds; at least they prevented penalties for losing position.

  There was a long wait, but no count of the stroke. He left it two minutes, and then three. Her shrieks had subsided to a whimper. He glanced at his watch yet again. Five minutes had passed. He tapped her bottom and told her she would receive an extra. She sobbed in response.

  He wanted to make sure she would not miscount the next stroke and prolong her ordeal, so he asked, ‘What number’s next?’

  She had to think a moment before replying. ‘Twelve, sir.’

  ‘Correct. Remember to count it.’

  Twelve fell as hard as its predecessors, cutting across existing stripes. Her screams were vehement, but eventually she managed to count through her sobs. The two penalties followed it and the fourteen strokes were complete.

  At last Nicola’s debt had been paid in full. He wondered whether she would have begged so eagerly for her punishment on that first Monday if she’d been able to see herself now, wracked by exhaustion and suffering.

  Nicola asked James to stay with her that night, and he was happy to. She lay on her side, her bottom backed tan
talisingly into his lap. He draped an arm over her and kissed her from time to time.

  When she fell asleep he lay back, thinking about the unforeseen outcome of the day. The intensity of the experience had been exacerbated by there being no chance of sexual release.

  He rose early the next morning, wanting to leave before Carlo returned. When he came back from the bathroom she was awake, and watched him dress.

  ‘I’m impressed with your self-control, James,’ she said. ‘Most men would get into a right sulk if I didn’t feel like sex when they did.’

  ‘Well maybe I would, if I were your man,’ he replied. Then after an affection kiss, he left.

  At home later that morning James remembered he’d hurried off to Nicola’s without locking the diamond choker in the safe, and when he opened his desk drawer he was dismayed to find that both it and the engagement ring had gone. He knew there had been no burglary and he trusted his domestic staff absolutely, so the unwelcome conclusion was that Nicola had taken them. Mischievous though she could be in matters of sex, she had always been utterly honest as an employee, so he simply could not believe she would steal from him.

  ‘Unless,’ he said aloud, ‘that damned Carlo has put her up to it.’

  When he called her home her answerphone cut in. He left a message, phrasing his words carefully, without implying guilt on her behalf. No return call came, and he spent an uncomfortable afternoon waiting in hope for one. In the evening he drove to her flat, but there was no response to the doorbell and everything was in darkness.

  Back in his study his hand rested indecisively on the phone. He was inclined to call the police.

  Chapter 13

  Knowing what was kept in the boss’ desk drawer only intensified Maria’s feeling of being a little girl summoned before the headmaster. His dreary office was made more so by memories of that unpleasant night in December. A champion wrestler in his youth, the boss was more like a gorilla than any man she had ever seen. She stood before his desk and awaited her sentence.