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Wednesday, 1 February 2017

Seaside Encounter

A story from Janus 26 by R.T. Mason.
If you walked out past the holiday chalets you came to a stretch of beach where nobody much seemed to go although it was attractive enough, scrub land and the open sea with a narrow ribbon of beach be­tween. That Thursday afternoon, with a hint of rain in the brisk offshore wind, there seemed to be no one there at all and she had walked for perhaps half a mile quite alone. And then she saw him, a lone figure standing gazing out to sea. Afterwards, looking back, it was tempting to think she sensed something about him, some special quality, even then. But she knew that really that was merely being fanciful. She had been there almost a week, the first half of a two-week holiday with her parents and though she would never have admitted it to them, she was a bit bored. Due, without doubt, primarily to the fact that Bob wasn’t there. Bob, her fiancé (or due to formally become so in a month’s time), 19 like her, who by the worst sort of luck had had to go on a training course with his firm on those very two weeks.
It had come up at the last moment, someone else’s cancellation creating a vacancy that Bob couldn’t afford to miss. Jane had already booked her own holidays from work so there was no real option but to go ahead, with her parents but without Bob. To spend her time wandering rather forlornly about, in the little holiday town and along the beaches, as she wasn’t all that keen on simply sitting in the sun and anyway it hadn’t been exactly sunbathing weather. Wandering about thinking of Bob and how nice, heavenly even, it would be, rather than empty and boring, if he had been there as well.
That in fact was what she was thinking when she walked round the point and saw him — the lone male figure. She felt no wish for conversa­tion but on the other hand didn’t feel like turning back just yet so she strode on, protected against the English summer weather in slacks and an anorak over her tee-shirt. As she got closer she could see he was older, maybe in his fifties, a tallish man with grey hair, a walking-stick in his hand.
She was aiming to pass behind him further up the beach and not stop but as she approached he broke off his reverie and turned and walked back up the beach towards her. He called a ‘Good Morning’ through the wind. She stopped.
Smiling, he said, ‘It’ll be raining shortly I’m afraid.’
He was evidently not a summer visitor, with that stick and his highly polished expensive-looking shoes. And the educated accent. She found she had stopped and was talking to him without really meaning to. At this point of course, when she looked back and thought about it, there clearly was something about him. His rather piercing eyes and the air of, well, authority. Of being used to giving commands. And having them unquestioningly obeyed.
He said, ‘You’ll get wet, you know. Why not come back to my place for a cup of tea. I live just over the top. And I don’t think the rain will last long.’
There were now distinct drops of rain in the wind and while she didn’t particularly mind getting wet she heard herself say, ‘All right. Thank you.’
They reached it just as the rain began to fall heavily, a largish old house about five minutes back from the coast and protected by a wind­break of pines. Inside he took her wet anorak and she removed her woolly hat, shaking out her long blonde hair. She was at once aware of his sharply appraising eyes — taking in her softly pretty face, but also the rest of her. Her body. She felt herself colouring.
Because her tight yellow tee-shirt, she knew, with just a thin seamless bra underneath, clearly revealed her full firm breasts, including the shape of her nipples. And her equally tight white slacks, tight over her firm but rather ripe bottom, likewise showed just about everything, including a clear outline of her bikini briefs. Well, that was the way girls dressed now­adays, not leaving a lot to the imagina­tion, but nonetheless she felt herself blushing as he looked.
The fact was, the men she knew were mostly her own and Bob’s age or a little older, apart from her boss who was just an old fuddy-duddy. She felt confident with them, but with this man... well, she felt rather naked.
His eyes suddenly stopped their frank appraisal as he smiled and said, ‘I’m awfully sorry, I haven’t even intro­duced myself. My name is Robert Kendall.’
And recovering her composure a little she said, ‘Jane... Jane Williams.’
He made some tea — he said his housekeeper was out — and then sit­ting on the sofa in his sitting room with a cup of tea she found she was telling him just about everything about herself. While his brown eyes gazed almost hypnotically: at her — and, unavoidably, at her nipples. Why hadn’t she worn something a bit less revealing, she thought hotly — but how could she have known...?
And then when she had told him almost everything he said, ‘If you’re so much at a loose end why not do a bit of work for me?’
He was writing a history of that part of the country and of his family who had apparently lived there for donkey’s years. He had a regular assistant but she was away on holi­day.
‘It’s just secretarial sort of work,’ he said, ‘but quite varied.’ Smiling he added. ‘I promise I won’t let you get bored.’
It was a shock, coming out of the blue like that. She coloured, then found herself saying, ‘Yes, I’d like to,’ without really thinking. When she did stop to think it was obvious that it would be an interest, and really the sort of thing she needed. But her initial response had been simply auto­matic — as if she couldn’t say no.
‘Good!’ he said. ‘Splendid! I’m sure we will get on excellently.’
Shortly after that he got up and walked over to the window — it seemed to be brightening, he said. She went over and indeed the rain had just about stopped. As she looked out she suddenly felt his hand lightly on her waist. It sent a kind of electric shock through her.
His voice said quietly, ‘You’re really quite a find, you know, Jane. Such a pretty girl and such a perfect age, 19. On the very brink of becoming a woman but still soft and malleable.’
The hand squeezed gently and she just stood there, trembling slightly. The voice continued, ‘Possibly still in need of a little firm guidance, though.’
And then he said quite casually, ‘Did you get much firm guidance at school, Jane? Did you for instance ever get a touch of the cane. On this lovely bottom?’
As he spoke his hand moved down, then slid over her bottom, handling it through the skin-tight slacks as if — well, as if it were his own private property.
She gasped — it was an almost unbelievable thing for him to do, when she had only met him half an hour before. In considerable confusion she moved away, turning her bottom away from him. But the sensation of his hand being there remained — as if it had left some indelible imprint. As perhaps it had also on her mind.
He calmly repeated, ‘Well did you, Jane? Get your bottom caned at school?’
She managed to stammer, ‘No, of course not.’
He smiled. ‘How neglectful of your teachers. Because a girl’s bottom is especially made for disciplining.’
She was still trying to digest this when he said, in firmer tones, ‘Now, about tomorrow. If you could get here at nine...’
She walked back with her mind in a turmoil. Half of her thoughts were telling her she just shouldn’t turn up. Phone him and say she’d changed her mind. Because there was the distinct feeling that this could be something she couldn’t handle. He was like no one she had ever met before, a per­sonality that she seemed automatic­ally subservient to — and that was obviously dangerous. And that hand on her bottom — she kept reliving the memory and each time it made her go all hot and cold.
But the other part of her was saying, you must turn up because you’ve said you will and you can’t change your mind. And she knew it was this part of her that she would follow. The thought made her shiver — with apprehension, but also partly with pure excitement.
She told her parents she had met someone and was going to do some casual work. ‘Oh, that will be nice Jane,’ said her mother. ‘Give you something to occupy yourself. I’ve been thinking you seem a bit lost without Bob.’
Yes, she thought, a bit lost, but what am I getting into? She rang Bob later. The course was quite interesting, he said. But he really missed her.
‘I miss you too,’ she replied into the phone. But even then her thoughts were of Major Kendall. Major because she had looked him up in the phone book.
Her mind went back yet again to what he had said. About firm guidance and caning at school. It was just ridiculous of course — girls didn’t get caned at school nowadays, or none that she knew of. But there was some­thing — a memory from school which this suddenly triggered.
With the memory she realised that Major Kendal wasn’t quite unlike any­one she had ever met, because there was Captain Maitland. When she was 16 she had changed schools, from one with an all-female staff to St Margaret’s, which had two men teachers. Mr Fulford was not very exciting, fat and bald, but the other one, Captain Maitland, had all the girls swooning. He was an ex-naval officer, tall and distinguished-looking, in that respect very much resembling Major Kendall.
She recalled a girl, Sarah, whom she got friendly with, slipping into her bed one night to say breathlessly, ‘Wouldn’t you like it to be Captain Maitland in here with you?’
And then, ‘Or how would you like to be over his lap with your knickers down for a spanking. Wouldn’t that send you out of your mind!’
It was rumoured that he had spank­ed girls, but it was probably just that — rumour. And anyway Captain Maitland had left about six months after Jane joined the school. But Sarah’s breath­less fantasy remained in Jane’s mind and for a time she had savoured it almost nightly. Going in to Captain Maitland’s room and being told in that firm authoritarian voice to slip her knickers down and get over his desk. And then the electric sensation of hard male hand on soft bare female bottom...
That night for the first time, as she lay in bed it was not Bob she was thinking of but those two older author­itarian figures, Captain Maitland and Major Kendall. And guiltily she pic­tured the same scene with each of them. She was a schoolgirl again in the St Margaret’s uniform, the short grey pleated skirt and the red-and-grey striped tie. And the straw hat with its red-and-grey ribbon squarely on her blonde head.
And first in Captain Maitland’s room and then in Major Kendall’s the straw boater was removed and placed care­fully on the desk and then her hands went up under the short skirt to her regulation brief white knickers, to slip them down to her knees. And then her bared bottom was either spanked over the master’s lap or bent over his desk and caned.
The imagined scenes were tremen­dously exciting... an excitement tinged with panicky fear plus the guilt at the fact that she was letting herself have such thoughts. She tried to ex­cuse them by telling herself that it was only sexual frustration causing them, but...
It was with a similar mixture of feel­ings that she arrived at Major Kendall’s house at 9 the next morning. She had not phoned to say she wouldn’t come, as she knew she wouldn’t. She was meekly presenting herself for whatever he had in store, though this morning at least she was in a summer frock, not the form-fitting slacks and tee-shirt that had so em­barrassed her yesterday.
Major Kendall opened the door, his eyes sharply appraising. ‘Ah, Jane. Good morning! And what a pretty dress.’
She felt her heart give a flutter. Then as he ushered her in he added, ‘I wonder if subconsciously, Jane, you might have changed to a dress to, as it were, return to the school situation. Where all the girls are in those nice short dresses or skirts which can so conveniently be lifted up by their teachers. In order of course for the cane to be applied to their bottoms. Do you think that might just be possible, Jane?’
She blushed hotly, because it was just what she had been guiltily fantas­ising in bed. In some confusion she said, ‘I... I think you’ve got a very vivid imagination, Major.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps!’
In his study, though, he was immediately all business-like, show­ing her what he wanted her to do — photocopying sections of books, typ­ing, indexing. All work which, as a secretary, she would find quite straightforward. He himself started writing and, well, she hardly knew what to think, as now his attitude to her was strictly professional.
Then at 10.30 or so Mrs Smith, his housekeeper, an older woman, came to say she had put some coffee in the sitting room. And there Jane, sitting on the sofa again and facing Major Kendall, sensed at once a change in him. His eyes gave her that long look which made her feel quite helpless. Her hand holding the coffee cup, she saw, was trembling.
He said, ‘Well, what are we going to do, Jane, about the splendid but un­disciplined bottom? And that pretty dress which we decided you had subconsciously worn so that it could be lifted?’
She felt herself blushing red. ‘Look... please...’ she said weakly.
‘Let’s talk about another situa­tion,’ he said. ‘Forget the schoolgirl for the moment; let’s talk about a pretty young servant girl. You would make an awfully pretty servant girl, Jane. In this enlightened age “being in service” is of course thought of as hopelessly debasing, but really I’m sure it wasn’t so. The girl enjoyed complete security, with a nice pretty dress or uniform to wear; all she had to do was unquestioningly obey her master’s wishes. And if she was lucky he would be a kindly man, not requiring anything outrageous of her — not for instance requiring her to submit to him sexually.
‘But,’ he said emphatically, ‘he would naturally deal very firmly with her. He would spank her, Jane — re­latively frequently I imagine and pro­bably on her bare bottom. And he would probably also use the cane to a certain extent. But I’m quite sure that by and large a young girl found it all perfectly acceptable. Well, what do you think? Would it have suited Jane Williams?’
She bit her lip. ‘That was only, well, lower-class girls.’
‘Ah but middle-class girls got the same treatment, Jane. If it wasn’t father there was usually a kindly uncle or family friend always willing to slip a pretty girl’s knickers down. And all for her own good, of course. Because in those days you never got the wild behaviour seen in today’s young people.’
Then he said, ‘Come and stand over here, Jane, next to me.’
He hadn’t raised his voice but it had a firm steely edge and she found herself automatically getting up. And going round the coffee table to stand, rather shakily, next to him.
‘Good. A little closer please. Now let’s play a little game, shall we? It is, shall we say, 1930. You are Jane Williams, a little housemaid in the house of Major Kendall. He has just sent for you and you are standing submissively by his side. As is his custom, because you are simply a maid, though I will say a very pretty one — as is his custom, while you stand there he casually slips his hand up your skirt. Like this.’
And as Jane gasped Major Kendall slid his hand up the back of her summer frock. Feeling all the way up her bare thighs to the firm bottom in the brief tight nylon knickers. She felt faint — almost sick with panicky excite­ment.
‘Now just keep still and relaxed. It is something you are quite used to from Major Kendall. He does it all the time to you, not with any overt sexual motive but merely to emphasise to you that you are only a maid, and therefore to a certain extent your body belongs to him. Not that he would think of abusing it.’
His hand openly explored the tight­ly-knickered cheeks of her bottom, squeezing the flesh.
‘Yes Jane. And it is if I may say so a particularly fine specimen of a bottom. Now what Major Kendall has called you in for is to tell you that at, shall we say, 4.30 this afternoon, he wishes you to come and see him. He is going to spank your bottom. Not that you have done anything in particular, it is just that you haven’t had a spanking for some days.’
The bold hand gave a final squeeze to the tightly nyloned buttocks, then slipped down out of her dress. She was red-faced and trembling, her head spinning like a top.
‘You can go and sit down again now, Jane,’ he said, his voice quite even as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. ‘That’s all of the game for the present. But we’ll play some more of it at 4.30 this afternoon.’
Her voice came out like a croak, ‘Look... Major Kendall... You’re joking, aren’t you...?’
She had sat down again, feeling dizzy, and for something to do picked up her coffee cup. Her shaking hand spilled coffee in the saucer. Now once more sitting opposite him it wasn’t his hand she had to contend with, it was his eyes again — seeming to look right into her.
He said, ‘Of course I’m not joking, my dear. As I’ve said, it is what you need. And also... I’ve a feeling that basically it’s something you want. Al­though you don’t want to admit it, even to yourself.’
The day passed as in a dream with Jane barely able to think about what she was supposed to be doing. She could of course just leave, but... she couldn’t bring herself to do that. That anyway would mean confronting Major Kendall, which she just couldn’t do. At lunchtime he took her out to the pub, affably telling her about the area. Half listening, she wondered if she had imagined it — that awful but overwhelmingly exciting encounter at coffee time. Back in the house, through the afternoon, she found herself con­stantly glancing fearfully at the clock...
No, she hadn’t imagined it. At 4.30 sharp he looked up, at the clock. ‘Well, Jane, I believe it’s time for that little housemaid’s meeting with her em­ployer. Shall we repair to the sitting room?’
‘Look...’ she said in that croaky voice. Her mouth was dry and her heart racing. ‘P-please... It’s silly...’
‘Silly?’ Major Kendall’s voice was hard, firm. The voice that was so obviously accustomed to immediate unquestioning compliance.
Jane flushed. ‘I... what I mean... I think you’re joking really.’
‘I am certainly not joking. I thought I had made that clear. I have explained to you the matter of submission and the fact that the servant girl would unquestioningly agree to whatever she was told to do. And I simply want you to imagine that you are that servant girl so that you can experience this. Isn’t that clear?’
Jane said, ‘Yes, but...’
‘Stand up then, please!’
Biting her lip she stood up. And this time when he told her to go into the sitting room... she found herself meekly complying.
And then, although she could hard­ly believe it was happening, she was getting over Major Kendall’s lap as he sat on one of his upright chairs. And her skirt was up and Major Kendall’s hand was rising and falling like a metronome, smacking sharply down onto the ripe resilient bottom in the tight pale pink nylon knickers.
He kept it up for some minutes and she felt again, but more strongly, that feeling that she was going to be sick, the excitement was so intense. By the time he had finished she realised she was crying. Not that it hurt desperate­ly, it was simply emotionally too much for her.
Getting to her feet and dabbing at her eyes she heard him say:
‘Very good, Jane. But tomorrow I think Jane Williams will need another session. And I think she’ll have to have her knickers down for that.’
A sleepless night in which she tossed and turned and tried to think of Bob and resolved that if she went back to Major Kendall in the morning she would tell him quite firmly that she would not allow it again. Not allow herself to be spanked again because it was just humiliating; and definitely definitely not allow him to take her knickers down and do it. Although really she thought the only sensible course of action was simply not to go back.
But when the morning came she realised she was going — though with her firm resolve not to allow any more ‘games’. And that indeed was what she told him, stammering slightly, when he ushered her in.
‘I really can’t allow any more of that... that silliness, Major. So please... please don’t try and persuade me.’
She rather surprised herself with this little speech. He smiled briefly and said, ‘We’ll worry about that later, shall we?’
So, well, had he taken any notice or not? No, he hadn’t. At coffee time he said, ‘Drink up, Jane, and then we’ll get it over with.’
‘Wh... what?’ she asked, feeling her pulse begin to race.
‘You know quite well, my dear. I am talking about the spanking.’
‘No!’ she blurted. ‘You can’t! I can’t let you do it!’
He looked at her, his eyes seeming capable of looking right into her head. His voice was low and mesmeric.
‘Jane, I want to properly finish acting out our servant girl situation. So that you can experience the full sense of submission. And to do this we have to do it properly — that is, take your knickers down and give you a spanking on your bare bottom.’
‘No!’ she gasped. But inside her, fighting with her conventional self which said such a thing was quite impossible, was a feeling that it would be wildly exciting. That feeling from school. She looked down at the floor to avoid his gaze.
‘Look at me, Jane!’ he said, and reluctantly she did.
Major Kendall repeated, ‘I want you to properly experience that sense of submission, Jane. And I’ll tell you something else. My regular assistant, Sally, was very frightened of it at first just as you are. But now she finds her life is not complete without it. So please stand up; and come over here.’
And once again Jane found herself unable to resist. She got up and then on trembling legs went to stand next to Major Kendall. She felt the excite­ment welling up inside her as both his hands slipped up inside her skirt. Right up to the waistband of her knickers, and then smoothly drew them down, to her knees. One hand ran lightly over the globes of her bare bottom and she felt as if her knees were going to give way, she was quivering all over. But in any case Major Kendall was then pulling her down. Across his lap.
Her skirt was up, round her waist, so that her bottom was shamelessly exposed, and his hand was freely caressing its bare ripe cheeks. She was gasping, and then came the emotional outlet of tears — as the hand stopped fondling and started coming crisply down. That male hand smacking rhythmically down on her bare bottom: Smack!... Smack!... Smack!... Smack!...
When he had finished she was sobbing hysterically. Getting up she blindly pulled up her knickers and then in a stumbling run went to get her coat and handbag. And still sobbing ran out of the front door.
She went blindly out, not really know­ing where she was going, her mind was in such a state. It had been simply overwhelming, being over his lap again and this time that hand on her bare bottom. And the worst of it was that as she had struggled and protest­ed she had felt a strong surge of pure sexual excitement flooding her.
The feeling of sexual excitement was still strongly with her as she half-walked, half-ran away from the house, towards the beach. Further on she saw some woods to the left and impulsively went in. Under the trees there was a sense of seclusion. She looked breath­lessly around, then leant against a tree trunk and with a groan slid her hand up under her skirt.
Her hips squirmed as she worked her fingers, gasping... Nearby a young beech tree had a low branch, hip-high, coming out almost horizon­tally. She glanced guiltily around, then went over to it and lifting her skirt got astride the smooth slim branch. With her hands on the trunk she started rocking herself.
She came almost immediately, a surging orgasm; then felt terrible that she had behaved so shamelessly out in the open. She sat down on the mossy ground and started weeping again.
Bob was arriving that afternoon, an overnight break from his course. She had been keenly looking forward to it but now, well, everything was such a mess. She just didn’t know what she wanted. It was impossible to get Major Kendall out of her mind. She told herself she hated him, but at the same time...
By the time Bob arrived she was feeling slightly better, helped by a bath and a change of clothes. Being with him again for the moment drove the Major Kendall business out of her mind. They went out in the country, found a secluded spot, and had sex. It was good — but not as wildly exciting as when she’d done it to herself that morning, rocking on the tree branch and picturing herself being spanked by Major Kendall. Afterwards, lying on the blanket with Bob, she started crying again.
The tears set the tone for the rest of Bob’s visit. They returned at odd moments for no obvious reason. It was clear that something was wrong but of course she couldn’t tell him — was not really sure herself. That night he came quietly into her room (they had separate rooms because her parents wouldn’t approve of them sleeping together before they were married). But Jane, after clutching him des­perately, suddenly found she didn’t want sex. They argued. Bob, frustrat­ed, got angry, slapped her face...
The next day, Sunday, was no better and really she wasn’t sorry when 4 o’clock came and it was time for him to go. Jane waved him a tearful goodbye, then went to her room. And after half an hour of nail-biting and tears and desperate walking up and down she picked up the phone. And asked for Major Kendall’s number. With her head going round and round she heard the now familiar clipped tones.
He said, ‘Ah, I was wondering if you might call.’
She sat dumb.
‘Jane? You’re coming in the morn­ing, I assume?’
She bit her lip. ‘Y...yes.’
‘Well, nothing has changed of course. In fact I feel I shall have to give you something for running out in that hysterical manner. I rather think it will have to be the cane for that, Jane. You understand that, don’t you?’
She gave a silent prayer that the hotel receptionist wasn’t listening to this, at the same time experiencing a hot wave of excitement. She heard herself say ‘Yes’.
‘Good — so we’re going to be sensible then, aren’t we?’
She thought again of those hot school fantasies of going into Captain Maitland’s room. ‘Yes,’ she said, gasping.
Then he said something else. He felt Jane could more easily assume a properly submissive role if she was wearing a suitable outfit. Therefore before she came in the morning he wanted her to go into Southbourne (it was the nearest town of any size). There was a shop there, Nichols, which carried outfits for hotel girls, waitresses, etc. He wanted Jane to purchase something appropriate for a maid — ‘a little black dress in that silky material and quite short, the hem about two inches above the knee.’
Also black nylons, and a suspender belt if Jane didn’t have one. Major Kendall said he would of course re­imburse her for this. And shoes. Did she have a suitable pair? Black court shoes with a medium to high heel...
11am Monday morning. A nice sunny day at the seaside, the first really nice one for over a week. Mr and Mrs Harold Williams are in deck chairs on the beach enjoying the sun.
 About a mile and a half away their daughter, Jane, who anyway is not all that keen on sunbathing, has just arrived at the house of Major Robert Kendall. She has come from a bus trip into Southbourne and under her light coat is a maid’s uniform: short black silky dress with nylons and high heels. The door is opened by Major Kendall. Smilingly he greets her, then calmly reaches round and slides his hand up under the hem of that black dress. There is a suppressed gasp from Jane for the hand is on her bare bottom. Bare because that was one of the Major’s instructions: no knickers. All part of the exercise in submission.
The elder Williams’ contentedly watch the varied activity on the beach. Mrs Williams, apropos of nothing, re­marks that Jane seemed rather upset over the weekend.
‘She’s at a funny age,’ states her husband. ‘A bit mixed up and doesn’t really know what she wants. But don’t worry — that’s life. One moment you’re all mixed up and the next, well, there it is — just what you wanted, even though maybe you didn’t realise it.’
Mrs Williams looks a bit baffled at this roundabout logic. But perhaps Mr Williams could be right. As he speaks. Jane, in the Major’s sitting room, is being led to the upright chair. Then gently but firmly bent down over it. The Major pulls up the silky dress and there is Jane’s bottom, full and ripe, submissively presented.
Yes perhaps Mr Williams is right and Jane has found what she wanted. Major Kendall fondles the bare bottom, partly to emphasise to her that he can fondle it if he wants to. And then he takes up the cane and whips it down to land with a Thwack!... across the fullest part of Jane’s ripe backside.
Jane emits an involuntary yelp of pain, and there is an involuntary writhing of thighs and bared rear in response to the flaming pain.
Lowering the cane Major Kendall puts his hand gently on the sleek blonde head. ‘That’s one, Jane. There are five more to come.’
Her whole body is trembling. Strok­ing her hair he asks, ‘Can you take five more?’
She stammers, ‘Y...yes... I think so.’ The cane stung ferociously, is still stinging ferociously. But at the same time Jane is experiencing a feeling of intense, almost unbelievable excite­ment.
‘Good!’ says Major Kendall. He raises the cane again.
And brings it down very hard — Whiiippp!!
Yes, perhaps Jane has indeed found what she wanted.
That evening, after quickly scurrying up to her room and hiding the maid’s uniform, Jane was visibly brighter — causing her mother to remark on it.
Jane laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just feel sort of free for some reason.’
And with a feeling of freedom she said she thought she’d go out to the disco. It was the first time, with Bob being absent, that she had gone out in the evening.
At the disco there was this fellow — rather attractive. She told him her name was Jane but was carefully vague about anything else. After­wards, when the disco had finished, he wanted to have sex. She said No, but he was persistent and she found her­self agreeing.
He drove out along the front and they did it in the back seat of his car. She enjoyed it — throughout thinking simply of Major Kendall and his cane. And afterwards she surprised herself by not feeling particularly guilty. It was the first time she had done it with anyone other than Bob since they had begun going together more than a year ago. The boy wanted to drive her home but she said No, just take her back to the disco, her father was picking her up. Would she see him again? Perhaps, she said...
Bob? Well, she had another whole week of her holiday first. Or more to the point a week of Major Kendall. Major Kendall and his cane and the delicious sickening excitement of be­ing bent over, bared bottom waiting for its ferocious kiss.
And then? That was enough for the present — right now she wasn’t thinking any further ahead.

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