Not to be missed! For those who know the book’s plot, it will be sufficient to say that none of Susan’s experiences at ‘Georgie’s’ hands are missed out or skimped; for those who haven’t read the book, some extracts follow which highlight the bum-tingling, blush-making embarrassments of Susan’s first weeks at the home of a ‘friend of the family’.
Watching from the airport observation platform, Susan’s eyes followed the jet as it began its thundering run along the length of the runway.
Although she knew that they probably wouldn’t see her, she waved to her parents seated somewhere in that slim grey shape, then shaded her eyes with her hand as it climbed steeply away toward the sun.
For a long time she stood unmoving, her attention centred on the aircraft as it wheeled and turned away, becoming no more than a speck before disappearing into the shimmering blue of the sky.
When there was no longer anything to see she turned away, gratefully taking Uncle George’s comforting hand and walked with him to the exit stairway.
In the car she was quiet at first, but as they reached the outskirts of London and threaded their way through the start of the rush-hour traffic, she began to brighten up a bit.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s that. I’m all yours now, I suppose.’
‘Right! Now, if you’re the big girl you say you are, then I suggest you go back upstairs, get back into bed, and practise being all grown up and go to sleep in the dark like everyone else does.’
Her face seemed to drop, physically.
‘After all,’ he said, ‘if you’re too grown-up to have to come home at a reasonable hour, then you’re too old to need a night-light.’ He smiled at her in mock encouragement. ‘Don’t you agree?’
She was about to say something. From the deep breath she was taking he thought he’d better not let her.
‘Or,’ he continued, ‘if you don’t think you’d like that very much, you can do what I suggested in the first place. You can get your pants down, get across my knee, and practise being a little girl who’s going to get her bottom tanned for being late home.
‘Choose what?’ she said at length. ‘Choose between what and what?’
He looked at her, mildly. ‘Let me put it this way,’ he said, ‘did you like it the other night? Getting spanked?’
Her eyebrows betrayed her surprise. ‘Don’t be stupid. What d’you think I am, some kind of pervert? ‘Course I didn’t, and don’t think I’ve forgotten it, either. And when Mum phones we’ll see whether or not she likes the idea, shall we? She’s bound to phone by the end of the week.’
He seemed unperturbed by her threat.
‘Well now,’ he said. ‘You didn’t like being spanked, and you don’t like the idea of coming home by nine-thirty. So that’s what I mean.’
‘What’s what you mean? What the hell do you mean, Uncle George? You know, I really don’t understand what you’re getting at.’
‘Simply this. You can choose either to get home on time, or, alternatively, you can choose to come home late and get spanked for it.’
He found her shocked expression very satisfying. She laughed out loud. ‘Who d’you think you’re kidding? Like I told you, I’m a big girl now. Remember?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember,’ remembering her last night, naked except for those little knickers, inviting, teasing. Asking for it.
‘So like I said, you have to choose,’ he continued, ‘and tonight, whether you meant to or not, you seem to have chosen to go to bed with a sore bottom. Again.’
For the second time that night, she found herself plunged into blackness. Stunned, she heard him going upstairs, stumbling once in the dark. She sat, fear growing again. When he stopped moving about upstairs, the silence seemed to add to the intensity of the darkness. Only the small red glow of the boiler comforted her at all, and even that threw shadows, grotesque and enormous, around the kitchen, adding another dimension to her fright. The awful feeling of panic started to worm around in her belly again, and at last, glad of the realisation when it came, she knew that she could stand it no longer.
Then, drawn towards the only place in the whole world which seemed to offer any kind of salvation, she went warily down the hall and up the stairs, terrified of the sound of her own progress, until she was on the landing, and she sat on the top stair in the blackness, close to where a crack of light, the only light there seemed to be in the universe, shone out faintly from under his bedroom door. The thought of, the longing for, company, had drawn her here. That there was a light in his room was incredible, and to her tortured imagination an irresistible lure.
She stuck it out as long as she could, but the unknown HORRORS of that dark stairway grew in enormity until she was actually shaking with fright, her fear of the awful darkness rapidly outweighing her anxiety over the fate that she knew awaited her if she dared to open that door. When she could hold on no longer, she grasped the door handle, turned it, and slowly, timidly, opened the door.