Whip Hands (11 page)

It was just possible that the older woman would not have imagined the floral design with its central ‘opal' could have concealed a camera. Just possible, that is, if the device had not slipped from her fingers and fallen on the thin carpet with a thud. The faint zip of the automatic wind-on was audible in the silence. Amalie pounced on it.

She immediately found the button for the shutter, then shook her head wordlessly. With a sickening leer she put it into her bodice. Jane felt the strength leeching out of her limbs as Amalie gave her a look of triumph.

‘A spy. You are a spy!'

Jane's feeble attempts at denial were unconvincing. She should have prepared herself for just such a situation as this. What kind of journalist was she?

‘Now we go, spy. We shall see Max. Upstairs.'

The door was pulled open and Jane was dragged into the cooler atmosphere of the hall, where a group of younger women identically dressed in Prussian blue were talking animatedly. They fell silent in an instant, confronted by the dominatrix with a naked girl in tow. Their eyes widened and one began to titter nervously.

‘For God's sake, let me get dressed,' Jane muttered, struggling to free her wrist. She found herself unable to best this diminutive figure with the blazing eyes.

‘
Nein, nein
, spy girl. You must go straight away to explain this. There is no time for dressing.'

Again the lascivious leer, then Amalie grabbed a handful of Jane's long hair. Now she was held even more securely. Wherever Amalie went she had to follow, at a crouch. Struggling and cursing under her breath, Jane was pulled up the broad, carpeted staircase to stifled tittering from the group in the hall.

From above came sounds of male laughter and background music as they ascended. She became aware of the intermingling scents of cigarette smoke and perfume. Surely this madwoman wouldn't parade her naked before the assembled company? They drew level with the half-open door. The uniformed figure stopped, released her hair and placed the incriminating buckle in her hand. Then she pointed upwards.

‘You will find him in the secretary's room on the next floor. Tell him why I have sent you. Go, spy!'

 

Jane stood outside the door marked ‘Secretary' with her heart thumping. She had no idea how many people she would have to face when she opened it. It was with considerable relief that she saw just Max, seated in shirtsleeves at a desk in a small room which also contained two leather armchairs. His jaw dropped in astonishment at seeing her naked, and she just had sufficient presence of mind to check her instinctive move to cover herself. Instead, she closed the door and put the buckle on the desk right under his nose.

‘Get me my clothes, Max, and I'll explain what this is all about.'

Max, recovering his poise, gave the incriminating evidence a quizzical look. He picked it up and quickly discovered the shutter release, exposing another frame. He grunted in surprise. Then he spoke some brief instructions into an intercom.

‘Clothing is on its way, my dear,' he said with an ingratiating smile. ‘Now, why don't you begin to explain just what kind of espionage activity you are involved in.'

‘It's really nothing as serious as you appear to think, Max,' Jane began. Then all the alternative explanations that had been going through her head seemed to evaporate. She had to tell him the truth, even though the consequences were unpredictable.

She began to explain about the
Trumpet
. The door opened and Amalie came in, carrying the Prussian blue vestment. Jane snatched it and threw it over her head. Already she felt more confident, although it was made of a light muslin material.

As she continued to talk she was aware that Frau Amalie was still standing behind her. She sensed a slight movement and heard a gentle
thwack
. A quick glance over her shoulder was enough to make her freeze in apprehension.

In her right hand the woman held a black leather strap punctuated with an array of holes. She swung it deftly into her other hand in a rhythmic movement. Jane felt perspiration break out on her face and her mouth went dry. Surely she was not going to be punished like an errant nine-year-old in the charge of a governess? She had heard of journalists being threatened before now to keep a story from appearing.

Max noted her apprehension with a thin smile. ‘I don't think you really need to complete your story. You came here with the express intention to obtain a newspaper article by deceit. I have no idea whether you will now be allowed to see how we spend our evenings at the Bismarck. That will be up to the members when I inform them what has happened.

‘But for the meantime I can tell you that one of the main purposes laid down by our founders was to encourage a greater sense of self-discipline amongst the young. Our esteemed members, who you may yet have the pleasure of meeting, are concerned with imparting discipline of the mind. But they are also concerned that physical discipline should go hand in hand with that process. That is very much Frau Amalie's responsibility.'

With this, Max nodded over her shoulder and Jane felt her hands being firmly pinioned behind her back. She realised she was going to feel pain, but at the same time there was an undeniable feeling of queasy excitement at the prospect.

In the thin, cool vestment she was very aware of how her body was reacting; to her surprise, she could feel lubrication already spreading down to her vulva. Surely this wasn't as a result of the pawing she had been given on the dining table? Her legs were beginning a series of gentle vibrations that she knew would soon suffuse her totally if she let them.

She was bent forward on to Max's desk. Her arms were released as the dominatrix raised the hem of Jane's gown to her waist, exposing her buttocks completely. Amalie grasped her thighs and pulled them so that her legs were completely straight. All the time Max was speaking softly but sternly.

‘You have probably not been punished in this way before, my dear. Frau Amalie will give you twelve light strokes for hatching this plot to expose the club.'

‘You must be joking.' Jane had guessed it would come to this, but she had to put up at least a token protest. She tried to get up but was restrained by a firm hand on her shoulder.

‘But after this there will be a further twelve strokes of the cane, and these are for your deceit against each of the members. This reckoning will be entered in your punishment book, which always remains on club premises.'

‘You won't get away with this, you insufferable prig.'

‘After that you will be quite free to go. The alternative is for you to come downstairs and we will put your case to the assembled membership. But I must warn you that some of them are even more enthusiastic about the punishment fitting the crime than I am.'

Jane could think of no way out. This was humiliating enough without having a dozen tweedy bores ogling her naked rear.

‘Okay. Let's get on with it.'

Max nodded once more to the dominatrix. The first stroke of the strap made Jane squirm a little, but soon she was aware of only a short spasm followed by a general feeling of warmth around her buttocks and cleft. The strokes came rhythmically and at an even strength. Already her inner thighs were wet and she was aware of going very red in the face. Being naturally strong-willed, Jane felt pleased at how she was able to take it.

However, for the caning she was made to remove the gown. She was then quickly shown by Frau Amalie how to kneel on one of the padded leather armchairs. It had a strong, animal-like smell. She was told to put both hands on top of the headrest and arch her back. She flinched as she heard the dominatrix cut the cane through the air a couple of times.

‘Now, spy girl, be prepared. You may count your strokes if you wish.'

Max was nowhere in her line of vision by now. There was a slight pause, an intake of breath from behind her and then a sharp bite which took Jane totally by surprise, jolting her into an upright position as she instinctively moved one hand to massage her stinging haunches. This was something else. It felt totally humiliating to be paraded naked on one of the club's most venerable pieces of furniture, her pale skin contrasting with the port shade of the leather upholstery like that of a model in a magazine she had once seen.

‘Regain your position otherwise Frau Amalie will add to your punishment count.' The mealy-mouthed Max was behind her, probably ogling her exposed clit. There was a strange buzzing noise in her ears in the wake of each burning stroke. She had not yet received half the allotted amount.

Again Jane recognised the remorseless regularity with which the punishment was inflicted. How could she possibly take any more? She turned to see Amalie's leer of triumph as she raised her arm for the next infliction of pain.

‘You sadistic bitch,' she hissed. ‘What have I done to you to deserve this?' To her horror she felt tears coming.

The quivering in her legs became more pronounced with each stroke. She bucked frantically each time she heard the whistle of the cane, but by then it was too late.

During the last four or five, however, she realised the pain was being rapidly overtaken with a wave of pleasure. She was able to hold the position even as the whistle of the cane cut the silence. A warm vibration was spreading upwards from her chastised buttocks. She grew more relaxed, feeling the power within her to override the pain. Her final groan was one of undisguised gratification as she sprawled across the padded chair, unable to regain the strength of her legs.

‘It is finished,
mein
Herr.'

‘Thank you, Frau Amalie, that will be all. Please make sure this noviciate's clothes are returned to her before she leaves.'

The dominatrix left after replacing the cane on the carved mantelshelf. A little embarrassed at what had just happened to her, Jane rose and stood to face Max. Despite the welts, which she could feel with her fingertips, her self-confidence had returned and she felt strangely at peace.

‘You sadistic bastard, you really enjoyed watching that. How do you know I still won't go and expose you in the
Trumpet?
'

‘I have been busy during your little session, my dear, with this.' He held up the buckle and, before she realised it, took her picture face on. ‘Ah, I think that must have been the last one. I see it only takes twelve exposures. Remarkably compact, even so. We shall get an idea of the picture quality once I have had these developed. The light is excellent, so I anticipate no problems.'

‘You really are a little weasel, Max. How do you know you can trust me not to go into print?'

‘Let's put it this way, my dear. If nothing appears you will get your pretty camera back alone. But if even a breath of scandal is published then your colleagues on the
Trumpet
will each receive a set of jumbo size prints. If you are happy to see your striped backside adorning every male journalist's desk then you are free to write what you wish. It is a most attractive backside, by the way, especially now that it glows so rosily.'

‘You wouldn't dare.'

‘I think the club would, if you'll excuse the expression, stoop to anything to preserve our privacy. So I can take it that the events of the last hour are all off the record?'

Jane nodded in exasperation.

‘Excellent. But don't feel you have to leave right away. We have a few moments to spare before the evening programme begins. A drink? After your exertions you must be thirsty.'

As he poured it, Jane felt strangely drawn to him. He had witnessed her humiliation, but it was as if he had been an intimate part of it all. Here she was, walking around without a stitch on, as if they were lovers. She caught a glimpse of her scarlet buttocks in a mirror and realised he wasn't exaggerating. She reached behind and felt the radiating heat. She was glowing, and not just from her haunches.

She took the wine glass and swigged from it thirstily. She rested her bottom gingerly on the edge of the desk and leaned back, looking up at Max. She couldn't help smiling: he was such a handsome bastard. He stood close to her. He must be well able to smell how randy she was.

Instinctively Jane relaxed the pressure on her thighs and let them fall slightly apart, her head swimming with desire. He would be able to see the moist pinkness of her pouting lips under the well-tended triangle of her pubes.

‘Well, well, Jane, I think we are seeing your more obedient side at last.' Max looked down at her and lowered a hand to brush the back of his fingers up one thigh. She took a quick gulp of wine to try and play for time.

But time was a scarce commodity. If she wanted Max, now was the best chance she would ever get. She put down her glass and reached out to grab his canary yellow braces, released the clips and had the pleasure of seeing his surprise as she unzipped his fly. The trousers were down by his ankles as she locked her legs around his waist and pulled him towards her. With a groan of pleasure he bent and glued his mouth to hers, his clipped moustache grazing her upper lip.

With her legs she drew down his boxer shorts, revealing a proud erection which burst clear of his starched shirt front as he pulled her up towards him. She knelt on the desk, facing him. Her legs were spread to stretch herself for him. She took his shaft and guided it to her swollen entry. Within seconds he was thrusting deep into her, supporting himself with one hand and guiding her punished buttocks with the other, matching her rhythm to his. She gave herself to him entirely, her groans of pleasure spilling out in a continuous stream as his thrusts quickened convulsively.