Fantasy “Monday”: The Purchase

“Please, please, please, don’t make me do this.” But even as she spoke and unshed tears blurred her eyes she followed him. She had no choice about this because not to follow Tom would mean letting go of him. She could not do that.

Emily almost tripped over as they went through the door. The way she kept one of his hands tightly gripped in both of hers made her walk a bit awkwardly but it allowed her to use his arm as a shield to protect her from the room, so she accepted the price.

She heard the men exchange greetings and knew this was her chance to look at the shop she had tried so hard to avoid visiting. The walls were plain on three sides, a deep sage green paint job that did little to disguise the uneven texture of the plaster. The windows were Gothic, she guessed Victorian but then smirked into Tom’s leather coat as she realised how little she knew about architecture.  She could not care less when the windows were built, she was just trying to keep her head full of thoughts that were not terrifying. Either way the windows were pretty, or maybe austere and reminded her of her school when she was a little girl. This memory, this vague feeling of belonging gave Emily the courage to raise her head properly and take in the rest of the room.

There was a large desk on the opposite wall with an old fashioned register on it. Maybe they would not take cards, she thought hopefully, catching a quick glance up at Tom. He had been talking this whole time to the man she dare not look at. Tom felt her chin on his bicep and smiled down at her, his blue eyes and deep brown beard familiar and comforting. She started to smile back and go on tip toes for a kiss until she remembered where they were and saw that Tom had not stopped talking and was already focussed back on the stranger.

Emily twisted a little and put her head behind Tom so she could see the final wall. Dear Lord, it was like an armoury, no, it was an armoury. Why did such big scary men need implements anyway? She let her left arm snake around Tom’s elbow as she leant against him to take in the threatening view.

There were canes on a rack. Long canes, short cane, canes with curved ends, canes that were all flat. There were canes that were light wood, canes that were dark wood, canes that were stripy wood, canes that were leather, canes that were made of something else entirely that might be some kind of plastic. They all lay on their sides on a wooden structure especially created to house them. They looked like a pit of uptight, lethal vipers to Emily, who realised she had forgotten to breathe for several minutes.

And surrounding them, hung up individually on the wall, was enough leather to supply an Italian shoe factory for a week. Mostly black and all with their delicate white cotton tags, the implements hung dormant. Emily wondered if they knew she was here. Could they sense her? They ranged from having lots of soft looking strips that lay like horses tails against the wall, to big thick heavy pieces that looked solid and closer to wood than leather.

Her ears detected her name and brought her back to the room. But they were not talking to her but rather having a discussion that she could stay out of. She remembered the silence she could produce at bedtime when she was a child, a silence to prevent her from being sent to bed; she could persuade people that she was not here by her silence. So she clung tighter to Tom’s arm and urged invisibility to work its way through her.

“Please can we not? I am too shy. I want to just be with you.” She practised saying this in her head. She breathed in his smell and imagined herself at home with him, curled up on the sofa, watching a film, playing lazily with his hands as his armed draped around her. She would not look at the stranger; she had glimpsed his shoes (smart, black leather, possibly Churches)  but she would only look at Tom. Look only in the direction you want to travel, that is the key she reminded herself, keeping all her focus on the man she loved.

She felt Tom shift and knew that the men’s conversation was drawing to a close. Emily twisted her head and looked at the door to the street, and gave a little tug in that direction, but Tom’s arm was firm and straight, and she went nowhere other than a little circle around him.

“We have a back room,” the stranger offered.

“Oh goodie,” thought Emily. “That is a relief.”

Her own internal sarcasm shocked her, then her mind went blank as she resolutely refused to think any further.

Tom’s hand squeezed hers as he took her past the rack and past the big desk, through an arched doorway and into a white corridor. It looked like a series of offices but they stopped at only the second door and followed the starnger with the smart shoes into a silent little room.

There were cream walls, and a couple of prints on the wall, views over Bristol, Emily thought, maybe one of  Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s works. An elegant but sturdy desk in one corner reminded her of her house master’s study, and tried to recall if he had a small rack for canes on his wall. Then she spent several minutes trying to recollect every detail of that other study, a brief holiday from her present circumstance.

“Would you like to get Emily ready while I bring a selection through?”

Emily heard that and she heard the door shut discretely behind leather shoe man as she turned her face up to Tom’s. His attention was on her at last.

This was her one last chance to beg. Tom listened to her high pitched, high speed plea for a whole thirty seconds, her hands spread out on his chest and her huge eyes adding to the pitiable picture. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. She trembled in his arms as he bent her away from him, over the desk. Her plum coloured corduroy skirt was lifted up and her knickers neatly flicked down as she squeaked an objection.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. ” I need to see my work.”

He patted her hip, enjoying the way he could read Emily’s disquiet through the curve of her back.

Emily offered up a quiet sigh of discontent as she tried to find a way to be comfortable over the desk. She flexed her calves and went up on tip toes and down again, and when she still felt awkward and embarrassed she spread out her hands in an attempt to see how good she would be at playing the piano.

The door opened and the sharp tap of leather shoes on the floor told Emily that the stranger had returned. With her eyes shut tight to prevent them from seeing her too closely, she was horribly able to hear their conversation.

“I’ve brought a selection based on what you told me of Emily’s requirements.”

Hearing her name and the suggestion that she had “requirements” made Emily curl one hand around her face. What had Tom said? What had been said about her? She stayed as still as she ever had, trying to be good enough to disappear and hoping that her bottom looked … invisible, that is what she needed it to look like.

“This cane is very traditional as you can see from its design and if you care to swing it in the air,” Emily heard a terrible sound of cane dashing through the air, “you will see it is light,  and will make an impact on Emily without being too traumatic.”

Emily bit her finger as she felt Tom adjust her skirt and lay a hand on her back to let her know he was about to begin.

The first stripe struck as though he had never warned her and the second made her take in her breath fast; the third burning line hurt so much that she felt herself losing her grip on her calm and the fourth led to her to shout out, “Fuck but that hurts! Get off me.”

She struggled agianst Tom who once more had laid his hand on her back. “But it hurts, Tom.” She stamped her foot several times, small heel making a satisfying sound on the wood. He kept her there, not a word from him, and after a couple more grunts of discontent she was still again.

“I don’t think that is the one for Emily,” Tom said quietly.

“No, I agree She is quite spirited just as you said. In that case may I suggest this cane. It is designed to have a bit of bite. It is very flexible, like the last but heavier, and has this cord at the end so you feel more in control when you use it.”

“There is no bloody way,” Emily started to say but she got no further as she had to yelp when Tom sliced her already marked bottom with the new cane. “Argh,” she exlaimed as he repeated the action. She slammed her hand on the desk for the third and forth line, both of which she continued to feel burn into her as Tom stopped again. He moved closer to her and she braced herself for an impact but then felt Tom’s hand under her chin as he made her face him. She did not know what he saw there but she looked back at his blue eyes and loved him when he found whatever answer he sought.

He pushed her gently down on the desk and let his hand trail through her hair while he spoke. “This is not right either. What is the next one up?”

There was a pause and Emily got a sense of silent communication behind her before she heard the stranger speak once more.

“You can see from the pattern why this is called a Tigar Rattan cane. It is half an inch thick and so it is less whippy, not flexible at all, and that is why it delivers more of a thud. It can be quite hard for some young ladies to take but if you think it would suit Emily …”

The unpoken question was left to loiter in the air as Emily held her breath and felt a cold shaft of fear force itself into her stomach.

“Tom,” she whispered softly, “I’m a bit scared now.” She wriggled her striped bum left and right in a little dance of unhappiness and became still only when she felt his warm heavy hand on her, on her bare skin, just above her bottom. She felt him look at her, felt him know her and where she was. She exhaled deeply and Tom felt the trust she had in him go through her body.

He removed her hand and stood back.

The first cut was a shock to her. The sound was involuntary and not a signal to him, no message was sent. It was simply a response from her. The burn was intense and showed no sign of settling down before it was joined by a second. Her breath shuddered, a mockery of the intense pleasure he had made her feel the previous night as she submitted to the third and fourth blows. She stayed in place with no small amount of difficulty for the fifth assault and on the sixth she brought both hands to her face to collect the tears that came to her eyes.

She stayed still from the waist down, submitting in the only way she knew how, by accepting the terrible punishment without questioning when it would end. Seven, eight, nine and ten – somewhere in the edge of her consciousness she wanted him to be proud of her, somewhere she wanted to be in his arms, somewhere she wanted to accept. Eleven, twelve, each line was hot and sharp against her pale skin, a deep red marring the smooth cream of her cheeks.

When it stopped she stayed still. Her breath still hard and fast and her hand rested against her flushed face in an awkward gesture of self comfort. There were murmurs behind her and it occurred to her that the men were discussing the lines on her bottom, the trails of destruction left by the three canes. They were working out which had left what and someting else, but all Emily could do was listen for Tom’s familiar lilt as his voice rose and fell and inspired her to continue her silence. Even when she felt a hand and then two touching her bottom to more specifically point out a line she did not protest.

Footsteps left the room and still there was silence. Tom stroked her bottom, his thumbs and finger tips tracing the ridges the canes had left. Emily wondered if he could feel her needing him, if the desire to be held by him would be magnetic and would swing him towards her.

Maybe that is what happened because she felt herself lifted up and into his arms, her skirt still tucked up behind her and her whole body tucked into the space he created for her.

“Please may we go soon?” she whispered into his ear as he bent down to listen.

“Soon, ” he promised, “as long as you are a good girl and do as you are told.”

Nodding and pushing her head into his neck, she did not even protest as he led her to the corner to wait for him while he paid for the purchase they had chosen.

In the main shop Tom cast an eye over the display of leather implements. They would wait, Tom decided. It would be much easier to choose when Emily’s bottom had settled down again, maybe next week, he promised himself.

Would you like another?