Chapter Three

Booze when one isn’t used to it can prove to be a short time source of hilarity. However when the initial effect retreats, the drink leaves a person at the mercy of varying levels and stages of withdrawal, some irksome, and some very unpleasant. The final stage of hangover would kill any romantic gesture stone dead.

Those erogenous urges that had swamped Martha’s immature libido, vanished with the receding tide of alcohol. The zealous intention, the wild ideas, and the let’s tell about my inner mucky wants and desires, were shredded by cold hard neurological pain, the rise and swell of her stomach contents forcing her to seek seclusion.

Vaiman was there. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Must have been something I ate.”

“Yes,” agreed Vaiman. “Most likely the Bordeaux.”

“You think so?”

“Hmmm. Two bottles is quite likely to make one feel sick.”

“You’re taking the piss,” she accused.

“And you deserve it.”

They approached a bedroom door where Martha would be spending the night.

“I deserve a slapped bum,” she slurred.

“Really?” he asked amused.

“A bloody good spanking as my old man would have said, if I had one.”

“I think perhaps we should let the body get over this hurdle before you torture it with anything else.”

Five minutes later Martha lay face down on a double bed, her butt, still held teasingly by the tight dress, thrust provocatively in the air. Vaiman stood over the woman not quite sure what to do with her.

Fred advised him, the man having come to check on his ‘assistant’. “Best leave her Stef. You can’t do much else without risking a whole lot of bother.”

He joined Vaiman. “She certainly has it in the right places doesn’t she? Nicely stacked and in perfectly rounded proportions. I wonder if she realises just how bloody sexy she is.”

Vaiman turned, faced Fred. “She has no man then?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“She felt guilty about getting drunk. There was the suggestion of a damn good spanking. The workings of a drunken mind I presume. But,” he paused for breath. “The temptation to slap that delightful butt proved almost too much. She should be careful making such suggestions. They could lead her into a whole load of trouble. Drunk or not.”

Fred McCall chortled. “She won’t think that way when she comes round. That I can assure you.”

An eyelid lifted slightly as the two men left, the bedroom door closing quietly. A faint smile played on red waxed lips.

Martha arrived at the breakfast table seemingly fine. She sat and took in the array of crockery, cutlery and food.

“Coffee?” Vaiman asked.

“Tea if I may,” the woman replied perky.

“And how are you this morning?” he enquired pouring her beverage.

“Tickety-boo,” she answered grinning. “Disappointed?”

“There is little to find enjoyable about a lady with her head down the pan, throwing up the last few hours intake. Toast?”

“Is that how it was?”

“Very much so.”

“I see. For that I must apologise.”

“Accepted.”

“Was there nothing else?” She sipped her tea. “Two slices please. Heavy on the butter.”

“I left you in a somewhat indecorous position with your butt thrust in the air. But yes that was about it.”

The toast crunched loudly. “Did I say anything I might regret today?”

“That suggestion. And I think we both know what it was, would lead to consequences that neither of us would walk away from dispassionately.”

Stef continued. “In fact it was unacceptable considering the circumstances, though uttered while incapacitated and beyond sensibility. I’m surprised you even remember.”

“Maybe all the more reason to execute a penalty and my bottom good sir; if only to placate my guilt and allow me to continue the day properly chastised and with an easy mind?” She stared provocatively, a light smile playing on full undecorated lips. “Don’t you think so Guv?”

“For me it can only be sexual. And for you, extremely painful. That I will assure you.”

“It should be so. Painful that is. And any sexual gratification gained is par for the course, don’t you think. Why shouldn’t you enjoy it? It is I that has erred.”

“I will be nineteen soon Stef. So far the world of erotic pleasure has ignored me. Whilst I am not yet ready, and also feel that full on sex is something to be indulged in only after betrothal, a little play would be acceptable and satisfying.”

He leant toward her. “And if I was to lift your skirt and pull down your pants, would that be calming do you think?”

He noted her breathing change. “I would expect that. Natural progression. Much as I would expect a husband to take gratification after.”

“This is a huge step for me Stef. I have had these unusual thoughts and urges for a long time now.”

“So it’s not really about crime and punishment?”

“Am I embarrassing myself?”

“Not at all.” The devil has come to breakfast and damn it I am trying to do the right thing.”

“Yes I was drunk last night. I remember what I said this morning and felt so bloody mortified. But then I thought that request came from an inner honesty, unclouded by confusing feelings of what is right and what is not. I wanted that last night, and I still want it this bloody morning.”

Martha sucked a breath, eyes lifted. “Fuck. I don’t understand it any more than you probably do. But there it is. I have to find out if it’s just fancy. I have to know how I will react. I want to know if I will regret it ten seconds after it begins. Six year ago I went through puberty. That’s when the haunting began. Summer’s the worst. Sleepless nights are lengthened. Impulses are heightened beyond reason. It can be hell in this skin.”

“Okay,” Stef threw his hands in the air. “Okay. But Fred is in the house. He will hear something. Surely you will want to keep this quiet?”

“It’s insane isn’t it? How can anyone lust for this? But you are right. He mustn’t know. Forget what I said. I will take a shower and get ready for the catwalk.”

Vaiman watched her leave, the wiggle and slight bounce of hips. His hand nursed a huge stiff threatening to break free from his trousers. “Oh Martha,” he whispered.

Ten minutes later Fred joined Vaiman. “What no Martha?” he asked. “Not suffering is she?”

“No not at all. She has been down bright and breezy and returned to her room for a shower.”

“And what she said last night?”

“Forgotten I would guess. The drink can make fools of all of us. Don’t you agree?”

Fred didn’t answer, his pre-ordered fried breakfast had arrived.

Martha peeled the black rayon from a resilient pale skin, smooth flesh springing free. Cloth slipped from the thrust of full breasts, pink teats, erect, high on the orbs. The thin cloth fell, danced past a full firm bottom, over the valley of hirsute groin between strong but feminine thighs. Heaped it lay scattered about her feet.

She bent, the fall of bosom negligible, and picked up the garment, before sliding skimp cotton panties across the smooth soft knolls of her bottom. She stretched, arms reaching above the torso, before noticing her reflection in a full length mirror. Martha twirled, eyes roaming her body, scrutinizing what men found so intoxicating. To her it was just a body. One she had looked after, but never to extremes. Okay, she was tall, leggy and shaped well. But there was better. She had seen better.

What she didn’t perceive was her femininity, a sweet naive vulnerability. She failed to recognise her facial beauty. She skipped past her natural humour, an inner strength, and a lack of pomposity.

Hot water gushed from the en-suite head, sprayed a stinging jet, her body rising to meet the fusillade. That searing heat, striking her torso provoked a complex chain, guilty indulgence, dampened by inherent guilt.

The soap glided over luscious curves, resilient knolls and intriguing valleys. Suds smeared and covered soft breasts, the flesh trembling sensuously with the effort. Hand and bar moved ever downward, creaming the flats of her belly to the hirsute vee, and there it lingered, dallied while Martha climbed between Vaiman’s silk sheets. Her back rested against a tiled wall, thoughts focussed, Stef’s member huge, touching her vaginal lips, there, the merest kiss.

She sighed, the sound almost a whimper as electric pulsations jabbed at her groin. The bar of soap sank between soft lips, rubbing cautiously against the clitoris. Her teeth, pearly white nipped her lips, mouth trembling with the coming furore.

The soap entered. Slid into the vaginal cavity, finger nails biting into its slippery surface. Cock rammed home, the soap sliding out, Martha crying out to an orgasmic burst.

She sank to her knees, soap bar laying used in the shower tray. Hands clasped to her pubis she gasped with the intensity, to the sheer potency of that abdominal violence.

“Oh sweet fuck,” she whispered. “What the hell would this be with a cock in me?”

Dressed she returned and placing an arm about Vaiman’s neck kissed him lightly in the cheek. “Happy birthday,” she told him. “Ignore your guests and come with me and I will give you a present you won’t forget.”

He put his arm about her waist, her firm body a treat to hold. “You know I can’t,” he said letting his hand slip to her bottom. “Though I really am tempted.”

“Do you often have a party in the afternoon?”

“Why not?” he chuckled. “Mother insists on attending and going home after. So it has to be afternoon. Ah speak of the devil.”

Vaiman introduced the elderly lady. “This is Hester, my mother. And this is a very promising young woman and a friend of Fred McCall’s. Martha Bell.”

The lady offered a lightly gloved hand and gently shook Martha’s. “Exquisite,” she announced. “A beautiful young woman indeed. But please Stef do refrain from mishandling the goods, especially in such distinguished company. Nice to have met you Martha.” She moved on.

“In other words,” Stef enlightened though Martha didn’t need it. “Keep your hands off the young lady’s bottom.”

“I don’t think she had lady in mind.”

Under the circumstances and his error of judgement and learning of the risqué lingerie Fred had brought, Stef moved the catwalk to his study, where he and Martha ‘discussed’ the range. Stef promised not to look while Martha changed and then tried while very hot under the collar to be productive. But they kept their hands off each other.

Martha noted how hot and bothered the two men seemed on a none too warm September evening. And she understood the reason. Setting sun on her face she looked across the lawns to the main road. She had conquered the first step of her delinquency. Like the alcoholic she had admitted to another trouble. Stef declined because he was a gent. Not all men were so.

“Thank you Martha,” Stef placed an arm about her waist. “Your designs are good. Not quite there. But with a little more work. When we meet next spring we can discuss that other matter in more depth perhaps.”

Churlish she replied. “I might have found the answer by then.”

“I will be sad to have missed such an opportunity. But let us see what happens. Whatever though, I will not forget you.” He leaned to her ear. “Or your delightful rump.”

Martha riposted. “And I might discover if that flagstaff is as mighty as it often appears. Maybe you should get a woman Stef.”

Cheeks reddening, Stef laughed then watched her leave, not knowing if he would ever clap eyes on her again.

She stopped short of the car turning to gaze at Vaiman. “Fred would it be possible to come back for me later?”

“How much later?”

“Oh about six weeks.”

“I can stop over ‘til the morning. There’s a pub that does bed and breakfast nearby.” He glanced up at a curious Vaiman, the man wondering what the delay was.

“That will do nicely.”

Leaving Martha stood on the grass he pulled away muttering. “Bloody lucky bastard.”

Stef strolled down to meet Martha a question on his face.

“You don’t mind me staying the night do you?”

“It would seem you have no choice in the matter. Your chauffeur has left.”

She gazed into the distance. “Maybe I should say do you mind fucking me tonight?”

“Just the once?”

“As many times as you like Stef. As I will like every time you do.”

“You don’t beat about the bush do you?”

“Can you smell war in the air Stef? I can. I don’t want to waste what we have left.”

“May I at least wine and dine you?

She nodded.

They made their way back to the house. “I find you exceedingly attractive Martha. And young. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Putting it with corn my heart leapt the moment I saw you. Handsome, suave, clever.”

“I Don’t know about that.”

“I do. And I know what I want, and I am not letting it slip away because of shyness or fear of being rejected. I mean if you don’t want sex with the most beautiful and sexy woman in England then more fool you.” Unable to contain a laugh she let it roll.

Waiting on dinner they found much to talk about, then Martha began to edge around her inclinations. I mentioned or rather suggested you spank me. How do you feel about that in the cold light of day?”

“Yes I can do that. If it is sexual and not just hurtful.”

“What if you used a hairbrush, say?”

“Playful yes.”

How about a length of that ash you have growing at the side of the house?”

He frowned and thought about the proposition. “Have you actually been there? Have you experienced a drubbing on your delicious behind?”

She shook her head. “But I have longed for such since before puberty.”

“It may not suit your dream. Have you thought about that. It might prove bloody painful. Unacceptably agonising. You might want me to stop after I have wound myself to it. What then cold shower?”

“You are taking the proverbial now.”

“I will do it Martha. But experiment first eh? I have a barber’s strop for shaving and a thick leather soled slipper. A pair actually. Of course. Maybe we go there first.”

Dinner was cooked professionally by a local firm he used. Vaiman professed he couldn’t cook, but Martha didn’t believe him.

“Shower?” he suggested after the table had been cleared.

“Can it take two?”

“Might be a squeeze. If it isn’t we could always make it so.”

The main bathroom proved to be as spacious as Martha had surmised. The tub sat in the middle of the room, the shower off to one side. She faced Vaiman waiting for him to launch his advance. He stalled, probably concerned about a man of his age seducing, or perhaps being seduced by a young woman like Martha.

So Martha took up the gauntlet. She pressed the flat of her hands to his pectorals, fingers spread. Stepping close she offered her mouth, rose red petals needy of his reciprocation. Stef leant to her, met those soft lips, the act seeming to jar him to action. Arms thrown passionately about her he brought her hard against his body, hands descending her back, reaching for, grasping her bottom, feeling the soft flesh beneath the dress.

Mouths very much under pressure, Martha unfastened shirt buttons before snatching aside cloth exposing firm hair strewn pectorals. Lips closed on that chest, Martha pecking, licking as her own clothing ascended, pulled from hips and torso, lifted over her head and discarded to the floor. Hands attended her bra cased breasts, feeling the mounds, fingers touching the visible, investigating the smoothness of those knolls.

Feverishly they tussled, mouths locked in lust, body hard against body, hands seeking, finding, investigating. Martha’s bra sailed across the room, hands more rigorous in their attention. They worked their way downward simultaneously, giggling when they realised. Sat as she was, Stef took advantage and reaching for her pants tugged them down, Martha making no attempt to stop him. As they passed her ankles she lay back naked Stef sliding his hands up between her thighs, parting her legs as he went. Kissing his way the length of those smooth limbs, she stopped him as he was about to lick the vulva.

“Shower doggy before you go anywhere else.”

“But I like the way you smell mon cherie.”

“Shower.” She unfastened the man’s trousers and pulled them down complete with his underwear. There she eyed his tool, the length not at full strength. “My, Stef. No one can call you a little boy.”

“I aim to please.”

“And so do I.”

Steaming jets pounded white cool skin, both working a lather up in more ways than one. His suds went to her breasts, and hers to his hardening length. And while they played they snogged with uncontrolled heat.

The road of no return reached, Martha pushed aside her abnormal lust and opted for a straight heterosexual shafting. “Now Stef. Fuck me now. Here.”

Arms about his neck she lifted one leg and then the other, Stef supporting her thighs. With her holding tight he pressed her back to the wall and his shaft fully into her vagina.

“Christ!” she gasped. “That feels so fucking good.”

“Better than before?” he asked not seeking points.

“There is no before. You are the first.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?”

“I would have made it special.”

“It is special.”

He gazed at her dubious.

“It is what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. With you. Passionate. Abandoned. Frenzied. It can’t be been any better.”

“And no kinky?”

“Not this time. They are two different stories. Sometimes they mix. Another time they don’t.”

“Shame.”

“Shame?”

“This is an old house. It has some relics. One being a suit of armour. The armour has a heavy chain mailed gauntlet. I was thinking on spanking you with it.”

She held his gaze then invited. “Bring it on Vaiman.”

Slowly she lowered her legs, his erection reduced to a flaccid few inches. “Really Stef. It was good. And for what it’s worth I really like you.”

“For what it’s worth I really like you too.”

That first fucking may have knocked aside her natural inclinations, but that hormone driven hunger could only be pushed aside for so long. They had supper by candlelight naked, assembled by Vaiman to avoid any embarrassment. Sat either side of the table Stef undoubtedly had the better view, but Martha cheated and looked under the table, Stef’s legs parted his tool eagerly waiting.

He had her over the table, Martha flat to the wood, breasts squashed, his length probing from the rear. The crudity as it felt to her then, magnified the erotic sensations of the act.

She remained there after, Stef asking if she was alright.

Face cheek hot and sticky resting against the mahogany top, breasts cushioned, she replied. “Hand or slipper mister?”

Scrutinising that immaculate derriere, the flawless perfection of pale skin, the sexy chubbiness of full cheeks. He replied. “My slippers are upstairs. Two minutes.”

That gave Martha time to ponder, to anticipate the slap and burn and if it would meet the fantasy. Slowly her sexual temperature rose, the inexplicable need for physical chastisement increasing accordingly. So when Stef returned she whispered. “Punish me.”

Her thirty eight hips faced him, posterior divine her body spread eagle on the table top. Leather sole slipper in his grasp he felt weirdly elated, oddly excited, his penis agitated rising to the occasion.

Her bottom cheek posed, cried welt me, Vaiman following an instinctive reaction. He struck. Leather slapped hard and low, flesh shuddered with the impact, a burn scalded her haunch, Martha gasping with the intensity.

Vaiman heard her stuttering intake of breath and ignored it, dealing her a second little higher. There was no how was that? Or is that too much? Too little? For that she was grateful. Such would have damaged the fragile dream world she then inhabited.

Stef’s eye remained fixed on a reddening behind his numerous assaults nurturing a burning hide. He discovered to his consternation that he actually enjoyed, became intoxicated by his aggressive behaviour. She writhed before him provoking a continuance of hostilities, stoking her mind and backside further.

Neither had any notion of how many times that leather had pounded her rear. Vaiman only desisted because he thought she would never call a halt, the young woman in a turmoil of ecstasy, not pain.

Gently he lifted her from the table and carried her upstairs where he laid her on a four poster bed and climbing in took her in his arms. She responded with passion, immediately kissing, her hands roaming, feeling every inch of his torso. Completely disregarding her battered backside she threw herself into an energetic response, grinding her hips against his, offering no doubt about what she wanted.

He took her in the missionary position, the constant clash of bodies accelerating his ardour. A slow beginning soon speeding to a cum filled conclusion.

She dozed and was abruptly awoken a hot sensation to a breast, the acrid smell of burning in her nose. She awoke thinking the house on fire to see Stef holding a lit candle above her body.

He said nothing as he tilted the candle again, emptying a small pool of molten wax. Martha jerked as it struck. She frowned a hand rubbing the scald. The next found a nipple, the momentary fire more troublesome.

“Ouch!” Martha exclaimed slightly annoyed.

He dragged her over onto her front, before pouring a trickle into the crease of her buttocks. Martha pulled a face, resisting the urge to interfere. More assaulted that crack close to her pussy. That seemed more the spot, the closer he drained the pool to her sex the more she seemed to appreciate it.

She turned, parted her legs inviting the searing heat. Vaiman accommodated her, an ample measure applied to the pubic mound and forepart of the vaginal slit.

“And now I’m horny again,” she told him.

“No spanking first?”

She faked nervous. “Hand?”

“If that’s what madam wants.”

She didn’t concede easily, fighting every inch of the way, her naked body in tortuous positions a delight for Vaiman. Finally hauling her over his thighs he said. “We should have this in the Olympics.”

“What? Spanking?”

“Naked wrestling.”

Her hands held behind by Vaiman’s left, placed her bottom in a very vulnerable position, Stef opening with a hefty slap to her right cheek, Martha squealing her shock and discomfort. From there he levied an assault, her buttocks receiving alternate swipes, the young woman twisting the best she could to avoid his brutal hand.

While he tended her butt his mind wandered to his next trick, the night still young, his balls quite full. Martha would be gone the next morning and he wanted to have as much of her that night as he possibly could. Thus sleep went out of the window and the twists and turns of bizarre notions kept their crazed sexual exploits paramount.

As mid evening approached her bum a rosy hue, she found herself tied between the posts at the bottom of the bed. Having lost count of the sexual climaxes she had succumbed to, she had drifted off. Her naked body strewn across the bed spread proved too much for that errant knight to resist. Carefully he bound one wrist at a time with two rope lengths and led the other ends to rings fixed in the overhead woodwork that once held drape curtains. Once set he took the ends and began hauling on those ropes. Martha woke with a start as she was dragged from the pillows toward the foot board.

“You fuck!” she squealed when full consciousness came back to her. She could have lied doggo but the persistent tug of fibrous rope and an inquisitive what’s he going to do now urged her to meekly follow, to play the game whatever it was.

She liked how she wound up, her arms at a steep angle to her shoulders, body vulnerable and her nakedness on full show. That sensation of utter helplessness was amplified when Stef stood before her and felt her breasts. The act triggered a hormonal interest, a familiar sensation thrumming in her crotch. That was Martha’s first solid encounter with no holds barred, thus everything was novel, untried thus extremely pleasurable, including having her breasts appraised.

“While you slept I went outside and cut that stick you suggested.”

“What? Naked?”

“It’s my property. Why shouldn’t I?”

“You should have woken me. I could have come with you. Why do you want a stick anyway?”

“Think about it Martha. How are you fixed at the moment?”

Her expression dipped to grave. “You going to whip me aren’t you?”

“That is my intention. Unless that is, you persuade me otherwise.”

“My fanny instead?”

“And I thought a woman’s fanny as you put it, is her most prized possession, not to be surrendered under any terms.”

“Tenzij het al een dozijn keer is geneukt!” (Unless it’s been fucked a dozen times already.)

“You speak Dutch Martha.”

“No, just Dutch. Not Dutch Martha.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because you manage English with such eloquence.”

“So you have been counting how many times we have made love today, and you think it is a dozen?”

“Fucked, Stef. There is no love involved.”

“Not even a tiny bit of affection.”

Martha shook her head. “Pure lust for a randy, good looking, fit man.”

“Not smart?” Vaiman questioned.

“You’re fucking me aren’t you? I think that’s smart,” he added.

“Do you now? Tell me, how are you ever going to find better?”

Stef laughed. “Shall I whip your arse with the stick as is, or shall I peel it? The stick that is.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“As it is then.”

He reached under the bed and pulled out a three foot length of branch three inches thick. “Special for your butt.”

“Hitting it or an anal intruder?”

“You surprise me Martha. You seem so sweet and innocent on the surface, but beneath?”

“I’m a dirty cow,” she finished for him.

“Avery sexy woman I was going to say.”

“Are you going to leave me hanging here all night?”

Stef moved closer, nuzzled into her neck pecking, his fingers stroking the tousled auburn hair of her pubic mound.

“I expect you to do your duty,” she told him, her voice quiet. “I expect a good screwing after.”

Leaning in he tapped her behind several times. “Stick it out woman. Let the dog see the bone.”

She knelt, bottom thrust out, torso hung on those ropes, breasts covered partially by the fall of auburn hair. He gave her no time to adjust, to anticipate. He levied a forceful stroke, whipping mid butt. Martha sucked air, teeth clenched, fists tight about the ropes that held her.

“Why do I enjoy this?” she asked of no one. “I’ve often thought about it but have never come up with any answers.”

“Try because you enjoy it and forget the inquiry.” She winced to a second cut.

“There are the obvious sexual benefits. Like witnessing you tied with a hundred tramlines decorating your beautiful backside.” A third slashed.

Martha’s eyes opened wide. “You what!”

“I’m a rampant sex maniac and great nephew of the Marquis de Sade, and you can’t do anything to stop me.”

He dealt her a fourth the solid smack of rod on firm bottom exhilarating.

“I could scream,” she informed him not believing a word. Well almost disbelieving. There was always a tiny doubt.

“Ah you have me. I didn’t think of that.”

A minute later she had her knickers stuffed in her mouth, Stef’s tie about her jaw keeping them there.

“That should do it,” he said delivering a fifth.

She emitted a guttural growl that sounded a bit like I’ll kill you.

So he gave her a sixth.

Backside stinging furiously she pulled on the ropes, tethers not budging. “Or od’s ake!” she uttered hearing the seventh home in.

So they kept coming, Martha’s bot well marked, Stef’s strokes all laid horizontal and parallel. Around eighteen he paused, sat on the edge of the bed, scrutinizing the girl’s welted backside.

“First fucking. Is this your first flogging with a stick?”

He looked up. “Oh sorry you can’t talk can you? Still just nod. First whipping?”

She nodded.

“Bet it won’t be the last. Do you hate me now?”

She shook her head.

“Are you appreciative of my corrective medicine?”

Martha nodded.

“Would you like me to round it off with another dozen?”

The woman nodded.

“You are hung in that nether world of pain and ecstasy aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Close to a climax?”

Again she nodded.

“It would be cruel not to continue wouldn’t it?” He stood cut air with the rod and then whipped her cheeks again.

She offered no sound. Martha just hung there sinking in a mire of sensual oblivion. The rod no longer issued hot pain, more an incomprehensible pleasure, a cool energy that energized the flesh and sparked an ignition in the abdomen. A magnificent orgasm hung in the shadows, each stroke edging her closer. Stef watched for that and when she failed to exhibit the expected by the last stroke, he continued until she did.

Her welted bottom slowly lowered, thighs trembling, her body coated in sweat. Stef removed the gag, Martha muttering. “Oh dear God. I didn’t want it to stop. Not ever. Every lash was pure heaven.”

“And your beautiful backside looks like a railway track.”

He loosened the ropes, Martha falling to the mattress. “I don’t give a fuck about that. It will give me another orgasm later.”

“And now?”

“I think doggy would be a bit painful.”

So he took her face down, her knees supported by his hands, his hips moving between her thighs, cock plunging perpendicular to her vaginal orifice.

They slept the last few hours, both sleepy eyed and pallid when Fred called to collect Martha. The pair had one last cuddle before Martha left for London. Neither knew if they would see each other again.

Fred drove in silence not sure whether he should mention her night of passion. Her squirming at every bump in the road, and there were many, puzzled him. He eventually assumed that Stef had indeed spanked her. Probably the right thing to do as far as Fred was concerned. “All right?” he asked a few miles down the road.

Martha nodded.

“Good night?”

“Stop edging around the subject Fred. You know what I went back for.”

“Do I?”

“Yes you bloody do. We had sex okay. More than once. And yes he did spank me. And yes my arse is bloody sore. Okay.”

Shall I kiss it better went through his mind as well as lucky bloody bastard.

“Your business,” he told her.

“Yes it is.”

“Seeing him again?”

“I doubt it. We’ll be in Paris won’t we?”

“One night stand then?”

“Pull in at the next pub and buy me a strong one, will you Fred.”

“Why are you upset if it went as planned?”

“Why not get me drunk and perhaps I’ll let you have your wicked way eh Fred?”

The man nodded. “I get it.”

“Refused? Refused!” Fred bawled hand still rested on the telephone receiver. “How the hell can they refuse me? On what bloody grounds?”

Martha leant against the office door jam. “Is that it then? Goodbye Paris.”

“Damned officials!”

“What is it? The coming war?”

“That’s just it, isn’t it? There is no bloody war?”

“Tell the Poles that.”

“Poles, yes. But I don’t want to go to Poland, do I? I want to go to France.”

“What’s the official line?”

“The BEF are commandeering all shipping and flights.”

“Why? Are they going to chase after Hitler?”

Fred shrugged. “I’m not privy to that. But they are crossing the Channel in force.”

“Ah well,” Martha sighed. “It was a good idea while it lasted.”

Fred leant back in his large office armchair. He stared at the notes written on a pad. Some minutes passed before he said. “How loyal are you willing to be, Martha?”

She shrugged. “I’m not swimming the Channel if that’s what you mean.”

“How about joining the army? Just for a day or two?”

“It’s not as easy as that is it?”

“I have some goods to take across. There’s a load crated and in a lock-up in Folkestone. Well one in Folkestone and another five in East London. It was something for later. Maybe next summer. But I’m thinking if we hire a lorry and some uniforms, we could hide in plain sight, and go over with the army and the Folkestone load.”

“What’s in the crates?” she asked concerned.

“It’s a job lot. Bought it bankrupt stock. Sell it. Basically deliver it. The goods come with buyer list and addressees. Make a good profit. The only problem is all the interested parties are in Europe.”

“Okay. What’s in the crates, or is it a secret?”

“Wait. Be patient. I will show you in due course. Better if I show you.”

“Army uniforms?”

“An outlet I know in south London. Army surplus”

“Isn’t it illegal? Masquerading as his majesty’s soldiers.”

“No idea. It’s mayhem at the docks. Thousands embarking with masses of equipment. We won’t be caught.”

“What if we need a passport in France?”

“It will be sorted, don’t worry.”

That was a side of Fred that Martha hadn’t seen before. Fly.

“Coffee, Betty,” Fred shouted before asking. “Martha?”

“Tea please.”

“And a tea for Martha.” He held an arm out, palm upward. “Sit.”

“You’re excited,” Martha accused.

Fred rubbed hands together, a smile broadened into a wide grin. “Notices does it?”

“I have six lorry loads in those lock-ups. A lot of money when they’re shifted”

“Knock off?”

“You cut deep Martha. All above board I can assure you. Do you drive?”

She shook her head.

“Anna?”

“I don’t think so. Not a lorry anyway.”

“One load then. But that’ll keep us busy for a while. Perhaps this hullabaloo will be over by then.”

“Lorry? Where will you get that from?”

“I know a sergeant major in the transport corps. It will cost me a few quid, but I can’t foresee a problem.”

“How do you know him?” she asked, not really that interested.

“First lot. I was in the trenches from nineteen fifteen on.”

“Oh,” impressed she admitted. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s something best forgot. It’s why I really can’t understand the Germans are at it again.”

“Well what do you reckon, Martha?”

“Better than dying of boredom,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

Two days later Fred swung back the doors to a lock-up garage on a back street of Folkestone. There were a number of crates stacked, all of differing sizes. “They belonged to a fellow facing a costly divorce and call-up papers. It was a case of spend it before he loses it, or his life.”

“So what’s in the cases Fred.”

“Ready to assemble bondage equipment, Martha.” The smile didn’t waver.

She stared in disbelief. Finally she offered. “Ha. Ha.”

“You don’t believe. Okay. That small one over there. It has a docket. Read it. Go on, read it.”

Martha did so. She approached and bent, turning her head slightly. She read aloud. “Box stocks.” She frowned. “What are box stocks when they’re in France?”

Fred tossed her a screwdriver. “Undo the lid. Take a look.”

Five minutes later she levered the lid clear. She straightened, scratched her scalp. Sorry, Fred. Still don’t get it.”

Two sets of holes, yes. Two sliding panels that will allow access the holes. Plus two anchors for a padlock.”

“So,” she still frowned.

“What would fit through the smaller set?”

She thought. Then looked at her hands. Having caught on she held them up. “And the other?” she asked.

“Ankles, Martha?”

Puzzled she continued to struggle.

“Think about it.” Fred urged patiently.

Then the penny dropped. She coloured, red filling the cheeks. “But that would mean I would be...”

“Bent double,” Fred concluded. “And extremely vulnerable.”

She flushed quite scarlet.

“Sorry,” Fred offered. “Have I embarrassed you?”

She shook her head then corrected him. “Excited me, Fred. Excited me.”

There was no further doubt from that day on. Fred knew precisely what his assistant was, and Martha had no delusions about her bosses open mind.

“You will look quite stunning in your uniform,” he told her.

“When?” she asked.

“Next week. Ray has a lorry and Mick has the uniforms.”

“Where are the rest of the crates?” Martha asked.

“Greenwich. But we’ll shift the first load before we come back.”

“And the lorry?”

“When we’re finished, we’ll park it up near the docks at Antwerp.”

“My passport?”

“I have the address of a very good forger in Paris. With the languages you speak it will just be a matter of what nationality you want to be.”

Fred parked up outside Martha’s building. He opened the boot and lifted out a carton. “Want me to carry it up?”

“Please.”

“Want me to help you into it?”

She chuckled. “Maybe one day Fred. For now it is only for research.” She pressed a key into the front door lock. “I am intrigued. I am also fascinated about what else you have in that garage.”