No Ordinary Affair (8 page)

“It’s not you, promise,” I said. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“You’re welcome to take the rest of the afternoon off,” she said. “Lord knows you’ve earned it with all the extra time you’ve put in lately.”

I started to say no, but instead found myself taking her up on her offer. I had class that night and couldn’t risk missing it again. But I needed something of a pick-me-up, too and decided to go to the bookshop on the corner and find some new reading material to take my mind off my woes.

But after an hour of perusing the collection I left empty handed and got back into my car.

I don’t know why I headed west out of town. I don’t know what drew me to Drumlin
'
s. Perhaps I wanted to confirm for myself whether Ethan was really out of town. Maybe he’d lied, and this was his day to meet another woman at the school. Or perhaps he didn’t meet all of them at the school. Perhaps he was different things to different women and at that very moment was on a renovated clipper ship down at the harbor, where he was binding and whipping some woman who’d always dreamed of being of being taken captive by pirates.

I couldn’t say what I was more afraid of, not seeing Ethan’s car and worrying about where he was or who he was with, or seeing his car and having to explain to him why I’d decided to come out to Drumlins in defiance of his wishes.

I looked for it as I drove but didn’t see it, not by his house or by the Drumlin school. I pulled up in back where my car couldn’t be seen from the road and cut my engine, trying to decide whether to get out and go in.

It’s probably locked anyway
,
I told myself as I walked up to the front door. But when I pushed it, the door fell open.

“Hello?”
I stood there, half expecting to see him appear from the shadows and demand to know why I was there. But he did not.

I walked to the board. My lines from the day before were gone. He’d erased t
hem all, and cleaned the board 'til
no traces of writing remained. But why? Did he plan to invite another woman? Did he not want her to see that there were other students? Real students?

There was another hook on the wall. I wondered if it were for the tawse. Perhaps he really was in London as he said. Perhaps he was at some stodgy conference at just that very moment and would stop by a shop afterwards to buy a new implement from some other unsuspecting woman.

I’d never even seen a tawse, not in the flesh anyway. I’d seen them in books. They were horrid things with thick leather handles and multiple lashes at the end. I tried to imagine being over the table with those fingers of leather biting into my skin, catching my thighs, my lower back, that place between my legs.

“This is ridiculous,” I said aloud. “You shouldn’t be here in this place having these thoughts. You’re being a silly cow, Mary.”

I turned to go, but as I did I heard the noise. I knew right away what it was. The click of the door, the creak of the boards was distinctive.

I looked around, frantic. There was no way out without being seen. Quickly I ducked into the coatroom and made to shut the door, but the wood had swollen, leaving a crack that I could see through. I prayed Ethan Willoughby would not notice. And I knew it was him because I could recognize his footfalls.

But he was not alone. I could hear a voice now, female. Soft and girlish and pretty.

“I was on my way here. I promise. Really, Professor, I was!”

My heart sunk. Professor. She’d called him ‘professor.’
I stepped closer to the crack and put my eye to it, watching until she came into view. The voice had sounded familiar, but I wasn’t able to place it until I saw Amanda Whitmer, the pretty wife of the town pharmacist. She was wearing a short plaid skirt, black boots a
nd a rather tight black sweater.  E
ven though she was in her forties I had to admit she looked fetching standing there in an oufit I’d never wear.

“Don’t start,” Ethan said. “Don’t even attempt to explain, Mandy. I can’t believe you were out on the road dressed like that. Look at you! You’re dressed like a tart! But what can one expect of a delinquent?”

“I’m not a delinquent!” Amanda stamped her booted foot hard on the floor, her voice reaching a new and annoying pitch of girlishness as she continued her protest. She obviously relished the role of schoolgirl, even though her style was decidedly different than mine.

“Are you calling me a liar?”
 
The low, menacing tone was all too familiar to my ears and I watched as Ethan approached the pretty blonde, who crossed her arms and fixed him with defiant look.
 
“Petulant Mandy,” he said. “Well, that’s fine with me. I have ways of dealing with the likes of you.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out the tawse.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

I do
, I thought.

“No,” she said, her voice disinterested.

He put the handle under Amanda’s chin and pushed it until she was looking at him. “It’s called a tawse. Just think of it as nine tiny belts at the end of a handle, tiny thin belts that sting and bite your bottom and legs differently with each merciless blow.”
Amanda was whimpering now.
“Not so brave are you, after all? Not so brave now that you realize I’m going to use this on you.”

“No.” Her lower lip trembled as she shook her head.

“Of course, you’re free to leave if you like,” he said. “Free to walk home in the dark.”

“You wouldn’t take me?”

“Not until we’ve settled the matter of your disobedience.”

Amanda whimpered again as he moved her to the same table he’d bent me over, and I wondered if I should look away. But I could not as he pushed her forward.

Amanda was wearing thigh high stockings and skimpy black knickers. Ethan rubbed her generous bottom before lowering the thin triangle of fabric to reveal her shapely bum, skimming the knickers down until they rested on the lower part of her thick, muscular thighs.

“Don’t…”

“It’s too late for that,” he said, and stepped back, his hand still on her bum rubbing and rubbing. I wondered as I watched how many times he’d taken her here. Ethan had never rubbed me like that. Was this his idea of foreplay?

But I didn’t envy Amanda when I saw what that tawse could do. It was worse than anything I’d gotten, and he wasn’t gentle as he struck her bottom with it. A network of lines bloomed across her skin and she wailed as she sunk to her knees, only standing again when Ethan’s hand wound itself into her hair and pulled her back up to standing.

“Hold your position unless I instruct otherwise,” he said angrily and Amanda, blubbering still from that one, first stroke did as she was told even as she begged for mercy.

I’d never seen Ethan’s face when he was punishing me, had never seen the expression. And now I was glad I had not, for I knew at that moment I’d have run away from fear of it. This was a man who enjoyed the pain he inflicted and now, even as his voice feigned patience and paternalistic concern, his eyes gazed hungrily and excitedly at his own handiwork, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he leveled blow after blow at Amanda’s bottom.

It was after a good dozen blows that he left her there like that while he walked over to hang the tawse on the new hook he’d installed for it. And then he walked back around to the desk where Amanda lay, his eyes studying her bottom the way an artist would study a newly completed painting. The lust in his gaze was apparent, seconded by the visible erection in his pants.

“Can I stand up, Professor?” Amanda asked

Ethan walked over and placed a hand on her back. “No, Mandy. Not yet.” He paused as she continued to cry.

“There, there,” he said. “You did very well. You pleased me, Mandy. And you do want to please me, don’t you?”

She nodded and mumbled something to the affirmative.

“Good. That’s a good girl,” he said and leaned over to speak in her ear.

“Normally I don’t get involved with my students, Mandy,” he said. “But there’s something about you that sets you apart from the others. You’re so beautiful, so vibrant, so independent minded. You have a spark about you and I know with the right influence you can become the most brilliant, amazing person.”

“Do you really think so?” she was asking.

“I do,” he said, his hands going to the buckle of his pants. “I certainly do.” And he entered her then, eliciting a moan of pleasure pain from the pharmacist’s wife that was almost primal in nature.

Their backs were to me, and I knew I risked being seen as I slipped from the coatroom. But I didn’t care. I had to get out of there. But first I did one quick thing, not that I’d be noticed.

I
sneaked
down the stairs as quickly as I could, again doubting that I’d be heard with all the noise Amanda was making. I was sure, though, that he’d hear my car start, hear me pull quickly away. And when he did, he’d turn suddenly and button his pants, making apologies and excuses to Amanda as he did.

Who knows, he may even notice that the class ledger he’d forbidden me to look at was missing, and a shiny glass apple had been left in its place.

I didn’t worry that he would follow me to my house. As far as I knew, Ethan Willoughby didn’t even know where I lived.

Mark was in the living room when I got home. He looked up in surprise when I entered.

“You’re home early,” he said.

“I forgot my textbooks.”

It wasn’t a lie, either, since I’d never actually gone home to get them.

“How was work?”

He shrugged. “Several of us met with the headmaster today. We were loaded for bear and prepared to quit if we didn’t get our demands met.”

“Quit?” I asked, surprised. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.”

“Well, it has,” he said.

“How did it go?”

Mark laughed. “That’s the funny thing, Mary. The man seemed genuinely surprised. He said he knew the lot of us teachers were dissatisfied, but that he didn’t realize the depth of our frustration because we’d never actually sat down and told him how we felt, not as a group, and not in a way that really made him take notice. And you know what? He was right. We’ve all been grumbling to each other and to ourselves and in bits and piece to him, but some people just need things spelled out.”

I considered this. “So you think things will change?”

“Do I think we’ll get everything we want? I don’t know,” he answered. “But I know that he knows where we stand now and how hard he tries will serve as and indicator of how much he values his staff.”

I picked up the teapot sitting on the coffee table. It was still warm and there were two mugs on the tray, even though I hadn’t been home when Mark had brewed the pot. Force of habit, I thought, as I poured myself a cup.

“I suppose it’s like a marriage,” I remarked. “You don’t know what your mate wants if they don’t tell you.”

He laughed. “Exactly.” Then Mark put the paper down he was holding.

“That reminds me,” he said. “I suppose an apology is in order.”

“An apology?” I took a sip of tea, partially because my throat was dry and partially because I felt as if I was going to cry and hoped the cup would cover my face.

“Yes,” he said. “I realize my remark about the dress hurt you the other night. I’m sorry, Mary. You looked lovely and obviously one dress is not just like another. I’ve noticed you’re making more of an effort to look nice. I’ve been a lout not to notice.”

For a second, I considered making a full confession. But I stopped myself. What would the point have been after all? To alleviate my own guilt? And at what cost? Mark would be destroyed if he knew.

“It’s all right, Mark,” I said. “I should have told you it bothered me rather than pouting.”

He stood and walked over. “You know I do love you, Mary. I’m not as attentive as I should. I know I’m too preoccupied with work but it’s only because I want a better life for the two of us. I need to find a balance; I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, especially since…”

“Since what?” I asked.

“Well, since it seems that something has come between us. I can’t put my finger on it, I just feel a distance, like there’s an invisible barrier. I’d like it to come down. If there’s a way I can help dismantle it.”

“We both can,” I said, knowing that he was right and talking was the only way to do that.

No, I did not tell him what happened. Instead we discussed our marriage and each other and I told him – for the first time – how I longed for a bit more of an old-fashioned touch from him, a bit more control. I did not tell him I longed to be spanked. Perhaps later we could make our way round to that. For now, I knew it would be enough to have him tell me what to wear.

For his part, he wanted me to show more enthusiasm and interest in attending those professional events I become resistant to attending. And he wanted more physical attention, more sex, more holding, more of the closeness I’d denied him as we’d drifted apart during the last year.

And a baby. He said he wanted a baby. This floored me and I told him so.

“I thought you wanted to wait,” I said. “Until we were more stable, until you were happy with your job.”