Notebooks of the Young Wife (7 page)

‘Just how old are you, boy?’ I blurted, assailed by the prospect of banner headlines proclaiming BRITISH LIBRARY PORN WOMAN CLOSET PAEDOPHILE.

He shrank back, looking alarmed, then rallied. ‘Seventeen, all but. Honest, Miss. I can prove it if you like. It’s just I act like a kid a lot of the time.’ From where I stood at the grand old age of thirty-six, seventeen was pretty kid-like, but I let the thought pass. The lad had made the running to that point and was keen enough to have showed up. So I fixed him with a stern eye and wagged my finger.

‘That was an outrageous stunt you pulled today. Playing peeping Tom is bad enough, but you have to go and drag me into it. Well, I told Ms Bingley the whole sorry tale and she has generously allowed me to deal with you myself.’ I was warming to the rôle and for his part the boy was grinning happily until he remembered to be the penitent.

‘I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

‘That may be so. However, a young man must be taught that misdeeds have consequences. Am I not right?’

‘Yes, Miss.’ He was looking down and shifting from foot to foot. The little scene was shaping up well.

‘Painful consequences.’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘So bad behaviour will be punished in order that a boy may learn his lesson. Perhaps you can tell me the form this punishment takes. What exactly is it that happens to a naughty boy?’

‘He gets spanked, Miss.’

‘Very good. It seems we are of a like mind on the matter.’ I moved over to the bed and sat on it, patting my knee. He came to me and without any fuss dropped over my lap with his upper half on the covers and his feet on the floor.

The cotton cut-offs he was wearing were not tight, but they were thin and I was able to smooth and tuck them so that the bottom cheeks were clearly outlined. I was pleased to see that there appeared to be no underclothing. ‘Ready?’

I began with slow, measured slaps, enjoying the resilient feel of the target, and increased their force until I was drawing a small grunt with each one. After a while I stood him on his feet and reached for the fastening at his waist, looking up at his face. He was flushed with a bead of sweat on the upper lip. I was feeling decidedly warm myself. ‘I am going to bare your bottom,’ I announced, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.

When I opened its zip the garment fell from his hips and the erect organ I’d felt pressing into me hung between us. I took hold of it and it stiffened further. ‘All in good time,’ I said quietly, and guided him back down. ‘First there’s a spanking to complete.’

The smooth buttocks were prettily pink but it took little to redden the fair skin, and I had a mind to show the lad what could be done with the unaided palm. And so I did.

From the sting of my hand I knew he must be on fire, and when I’d done he jumped up and clutched his crimsoned backside, gasping. I waited till the rubbing subsided then pulled him closer to put my unused palm to the hot flesh. Another touch to the penis brought it back full-standing, and as I stroked it a drop formed at the urethra. I had a towel at the ready and worked the shaft between thumb and forefinger, all the while caressing the cheeks I’d spanked with all my might. Two more drops ran clear then a milky jet spurted, once, twice, three times before the deflating member subsided into a dribble.

I rolled the doused towel into a ball and held him sitting beside me while we both caught our breath. Then he made for the bathroom without a word, from where came sounds of flushing and washing and then silence. I got up and stretched, flexing my aching hand, and drank the remains of the water. Vigorous exercise, even if only of the right arm, had done wonders in clearing the head.

Then he came out and what I saw gave me quite a shock. Nothing in the physical appearance had changed: there was still the worn sweatshirt and the odd three-quarter length breeches. But all of a sudden he looked every bit the age he’d claimed, if not even more. I stared, tongue-tied, and he said, ‘I used to help the old man with the books and papers when he couldn’t get about so well. Is there anything special you’re looking for?’

I went blank with surprise for a minute, before the
Commentaria
came to mind. ‘Er, yes. The young wife of the first Everett here, Joanna I think, she wrote things. Called herself
uxor studiosa
.’

‘I know that name. Can’t remember exactly where, but I’ll see what I can find. Time’s getting on, I’d better shoot.’ And that was it. He was gone leaving me struggling to come to terms with the transformation from spanked boy to potential colleague. In which mode would I meet him next? On the form thus far Ardingley End was the place to keep a visiting librarian on her toes.

After that the only problem I had was that I couldn’t sleep. By the time one in the morning had come I gave up the struggle and pulled on a bathrobe. If I was awake, I might as well go back down and have a go at the record of the collection’s earliest items. So I stuck my feet into the leather mules by the bed and slipped out into the darkened corridor. I could just make out the head of the stairwell, and was waiting for my eyes to adjust to the near dark when a sudden shaft of moonlight through the tall window picked out a figure pressed into the alcove on the landing. The shock sent my heart thudding before I had a chance to register that it was only Molly.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she whispered, putting out a hand, ‘didn’t mean to startle you. I was on my way, but then I heard the door open and bottled out. Suddenly thought you might have just been joking.’

‘Sweetie, my come-ons are never jokes.’ It was difficult conversing in an undertone so I pulled her back into my room. She was wearing only a shift, and as I turned the key I spotted something through the fine cotton and lifted it before she could stop me. ‘Hey, now what are these? As I recall, the idea was you were going to check out
my
bum. Among other things.’ I ran a finger along one of three plum-coloured lines.

‘It was
him
, of course. And he would’ve done more but I weren’t having it. So when he started calling me every name under the sun I just buggered off. Stuff him!’

She looked thoroughly mutinous, but there was a trembling lip and I eased her down beside me on the bed. ‘I’ve got some herbal oil here in my bag, the perfect thing to soothe some fresh stripes. So why don’t you just come over this way, that’s it. Just get good and comfy.’

I settled Molly over my knee and pulled the shift right up out of the way. For the second time in only a few hours I had a body across my lap, bottom bared. Difference was, this one wasn’t for spanking and was lusher, broader-hipped than the earlier example. I set to work and before long she was moving in response to my hand, with little noises in her throat.

‘Come right up on the bed,’ I murmured, and rearranged the compliant girl into a sixty-nine position where her genitals were mere inches from my face. She made to push her face into my crotch but I told her later. I wanted no distraction from my close encounter with a fresh cunt, all whorls and dimples of slick, engorged flesh. I delayed as long as I could but it seemed all too soon that I was wrestling with jerking hips as the climax broke. Then she took charge, turning herself round to face me, head busy between raised, spread thighs. She seemed to sense I was too far gone for much teasing and homed straight in to the clitoris in a way that sent me spinning off into space.

Afterwards we lay twined, and as I was hovering on the edge of sleep I thought of Chicago and the internet poster. Mrs Jencks had assured us we were the first viewers of the collection, but at the time there was something about her manner that didn’t ring true. Something that had stayed with me to surface in one of those strange twilight states. I turned over and muttered into Molly’s ear, ‘Visitors, gorgeous. Had any visitors lately?’

‘Mm-mm.’ She snuggled into me and I tried again.

‘Anyone come to the house in the past month?’

‘Visitors. Not since the Master got ill.’ The voice was thick with sleep and I was about to give up when she mumbled, ‘I’m wrong. A lady in the library. From some college. Didn’t see her myself. Mm-hm...’

The news should have put me into a state of alert, but instead I too slipped quietly away to that land east of Eden. Perhaps I’d been used up by the long, intense day and deep down knew it would keep till the next one.

As it was I woke in a rush to see the time had passed nine o’clock, I was alone in the bed and there were a few sheets of paper that had been left beside me on the table. I scooped them up and scanned their contents: there was no heading but the last line contained the familiar words
uxor studiosa scripsit
under the date of July 1728. If my memory was to be relied upon, that was a mere month later than what I’d seen already, and oblivious to the fact I was making a late start even later, I began to read. This time there was no heading, and the pages had been printed, presumably in recent times, by a modern device.

The Day I record here is one of Work, for we are enter’d into strenuous Rehearsals, the End of which is a Display propos’d for the Great Anniversary of the 15th Day of August. The Scheme of my eminent Husband is that, as the Culmination of a set of Scenes, I shall be Bench’d, Whipp’d and Plugg’d, and in said condition, receive the Lordly Member into my Mouth. Some are saying the Event will be on a Par with the taking of the Sacrament, but I keep myself apart from such Matters of Controversy.

This Afternoon is set aside to accomplish two things. Since no Organ, let alone that of the Master, has yet entered through my Lips, I am in sore need of Tuition in the Art. My Abigail, while being no Expert – or so she insists modestly – has agreed to teach me what she knows. In addition to that Deficiency, I lack first-hand Experience of the Taws with which I am to be Lash’d, but wish to approach this Matter by Degrees. Thus it is that I shall lay them across Nabby’s Backside a few times at the start – with her full consent, I must make clear – so that we may take note of the Condition and Progress of the Marks while I undergo my Primary Instruction.

The first of the Footmen to do Duty for us is let in to my Chamber bearing the Instrument of Correction for our Scrutiny. I am equipped with a Rule and determine its Length to be a little more than two feet, and its Breadth a total of one and three-quarter inches. It is made of Leather a full quarter-inch in Thickness, and for half its Length is cut into the three Tongues that give the Name to it. One Face has been polished to a high Degree, which we reason is the one designed to strike the Skin. We have finished our Study so my dear Maid raises her Shift and kneels at a Stool, bending to present her white Posterior for my Action.

‘Hard now, Mistress,’ she begs, ‘or we sha’not learn what we should,’ and I take her at her Word, standing forward so that when I swing the Taws whips around the Globes to Bite the far side. Two Lashes as we have agreed produce two Squeals, then I move to deliver a Brace backhanded to the Left to make two more. Nabby leaps up and rubs with her pretty Mouth open, but when she stops there is but a little Red to show for it. I am disappointed, but it is no Matter, for we have the main Business to attend to.

The Young Man is now divested of his Livery and stands waiting in an open Shirt and Breeches. Before even he is unbutton’d it is plain he has enjoy’d the View; thus it is no surprise when Nabby draws out a Polony as firm and long as it were come fresh from the Continent. However, once the Mouth is put to work it is not to munch but rather to suck as though she were holding one of the new-made Lollypops between her Lips. In a while it is my Turn, and Nabby shows me to take the Organ in on to my Tongue and then close around it. I do so and at once Retch as the Head touches the Roof of the Mouth. ‘Easy as she goes, Mistress,’ says my ever-helpful Abigail, counselling me to take a little of the Shaft at a time. Thus I get on better and am soon, by Variation, licking at the Head as I am instructed. There is suddenly a Drop at the End that is not, I think, of my Spittle and Nabby takes it back, declaring the Finish to be near.

The Aid is enlisted of the Footman to take the Member in his own Hand, for we are desirous of its Discharge into a shallow Dish. He pumps rapidly perhaps a dozen times, then the Juice squirts. The Deed is done and the Equipment has shrunk to the size of a Slug, which Nabby wipes and returns to its Place in the Clothing. Once the Lad is dismissed, she takes a little of the Pool with the tip of her Tongue and asserts that it is a Fine Sample. I follow her Example and although I am not best pleased with the salt Taste – which fact I keep to myself – I join her in licking the Plate clean as though we are two Cats at the one Bowl of Milk.

It is when my Maid rises to put it aside that I see a Sight to make me clap my hands with Glee. For the Area that showed before so little mark’d is now aglow! We move to a Mirror so she too may see what has excited her Mistress: each Buttock bears the Print of the Taws emboss’d in pink on the marble-white Surround. The Flesh is hard, so that one may trace the rais’d Outlines with a Finger, and I cannot resist to kneel and press my Face to the Heat. Though the very Picture of a Slapp’d Bottom it is sore only to a Degree, avows Nabby, which bodes well for my Experience in the Month to come.

We are all a-flutter when the second Man arrives, so straightway he is treated to a full Examination of the rosy Object, after which the Cock springs eagerly from his Trews. I take a firm Grip of the Stem close to the Ballocks and concentrate my Efforts on the Head. Soon he declares the Moment is upon him leaving me to sit agape – and no little aghast – while the Spending coats my Lips. Crying to me ‘don’t move!’ Nabby shoos him, still buttoning, out of the Door, then she is at me with her Tongue. Sans Impediment, the Male Seed is dispersed among the Saliva of our Mouths and when she raises my Smock to gain access to the Nether Lips I am easy prey to her Love-Making. In Truth, dear Reader, there is little in it to shock, for my Abigail is become of late no Stranger at Night to the Bed we disport ourselves upon.