overwrought that I'd flog anything or anybody. But I have to restrain myself. I can't confess my longings to the first person I meet, can I?”
“Suppose, Miss Rosey,” I said, “you were to fall across some one who would esteem himself the happiest man in the world, if you condescended to curb him beneath your cutting rod?”
“I shouldn't think of refusing my services, especially as I should have pleasure in whipping him.”
We understood each other. As I stared at her with mute appealing looks, she broke out in a laugh.
“You great goose!” she exclaimed. “I see your drift. Anyway, it's impossible here, and my day off isn't till next Thursday. You must find some decent house where we could meet.”
I promised to arrange matters, offering up a prayer of sincere thanksgiving to Providence for sending me such an adorable little birching elf, with whom I was sure of tasting ineffable joys.
Six days had still to elapse until that blessed Thursday, when Miss Rosey was to offer me the feast of love and flagellation. To me, these six days seemed an eternity.
Whenever the lovely young woman passed me in the passages or staircase, we would exchange tender, friendly glances, and we never saluted each other politely, with the usual commonplace greetings, without experiencing the enthralling emotion of lovers who have made mutual promises of reciprocal abandonment for the near future. In my case, this feeling was rendered still more keen by my imperious desire to have my bottom throbbing under a burning birch, brandished by Miss Rosey.
My yearning became intensified through a fortuitous meeting in the street with the school-mistress who had been summoned to the boarding-house to chastise the maid. The austere governess was accompanied as before, by one of her pupils carrying a parcel of which it was not difficult to divine the contents. The female disciplinarian was probably on her way to some family to exercise her severity on a young and pretty pair of plump posteriors.
I followed her a few blocks, racking my brain to find an excuse for entering into conversation with her. Before I had arranged a few neat sentences, she disappeared into a respectable private house. I stood paralysed on the sidewalk, quite disappointed.
In my thoughts, I turned over all the addresses of flagellating female charmers, of whom I might have ventured to demand instantaneous appeasement.
I was too undecided to select any of those I knew, preferring adventurous exploration, leading me to new faces and feelings.
CHAPTER X
Returning to my boarding-house, an untoward circumstance extricated me from my dilemma. Miss Rosey, full of joy, met me as soon as I went in, telling me she could grant me a few hours in her company that very evening. She had a ticket for the play, and permission to go out.
Having already seen the piece, she did not care to profit by her free admission to the playhouse, and besides, felt sure she would get much more fun out of a little flagellation.
So she decided to sacrifice scenic delights, preferring to meet me in some quiet retreat where, from nine o'clock until midnight, we could revel in the pleasures of our secret birching passion.
I was enchanted at the news, fitting in so well with my desires. We arranged an appointment at the door of the theatre, and I was off at once to discover the nest where we could take refuge to perform the rites of our religion. In a large town, such cosy nooks for lovers would surely abound, I thought.
There were yet three hours for me to pass before the hour of meeting. I made out that I had lots of time for my quest. As soon as I began my investigations, I found it was not so easy after all. Some inconvenience or the other prevented me from making a definite selection. Time went by like lightning, and my peregrinations were fruitless. The hour of the tryst drew nigh. I was on the verge of despair.
It was half-past seven when my luck changed at last. I was offered a little self-contained flat. There were three rooms, sumptuously furnished. I took it without haggling, for I only just had time to rush off and rejoin my sweet companion.
She wsa punctual at the spot agreed upon; neatly dressed; and as happy as a baby at the idea of our risky escapade.
“Have you brought some good rods?” was her first question.
“Great Caesar, no! I've quite forgotten them! It is really stupid of me! How was it I had not dreamt of the birches, although the teazing twigs continually haunted my thoughts? It's the first thing I ought to have thought of! Now, it's too late. Where on earth could we buy birch-rods at nine o'clock in the evening?
All the shops were shut. Florists, horticulturists, fruiterers-had put their shutters up an hour or more ago. The only tradesmen open were chemists, whose coloured lamps I could see from where I stood.
I was downcast, and felt very silly. Miss Rosey began to pout.
“We might find a riding-whip perhaps?” I suggested.
“There's not the slightest chance of that,” she rejoined. “Saddlers close at seven. Let's go look round a drug- store. We may light upon some implement or the other.”
At a couple of chemists, we found nothing to suit our purpose. Miss Rosey, not wishing to trouble the apothecaries for nothing, made me purchase some boxes of lozenges and chewing gum. Passing in front of a third druggist's emporium, Miss Rosey clapped her hands.
“The very thing!” she exclaimed, showing me in the window a packet of gutta-percha probes, having some vague resemblance to riding-whips.
I made haste to buy four, and Miss Rosey, her good humour returning, insisted on carrying them herself.
“At last!” she said. “I've found good implements and I'll teach you, sir, to forget to bring a birch. Your bottom will pay for your negligence.”
“My bottom,” I replied, “quivers with delight at the idea of expiating my wrong-doing at the hands of the most adorable lady-cashier in the States!”
“Laugh away,” she rejoined, “while you can. By and by, your bum will certainly quiver, but it won't be with delight. Of that you may be sure!”
In the cosy apartment, brilliantly illuminated by the electric lights, Miss Rosey jumped for joy, like a schoolgirl out for a holiday.
When, however, she tried the probes we had bought, by striking them on her hand, she doubted their efficacity.
“These things don't seem much good,” she said ruefully. “Let's look through the furniture. We might tumble on to a rod or a whip.”
She opened all the cupboards, searched in every drawer-there was nothing.
“It's dreadful,” she said. “Hasn't anybody ever been whipped in this place? Never mind, sir, get undressed quickly. We'll try the effect of rubber probes on your wicked skin.”
In the bedroom, garnished with rugs, curtains and hangings, a large, low bed was ready, offering us a comfortable exercise-ground.
“Get on that counterpane, and bare your big bum,” she said. “Now come to think of it-how am I to tie you down? You've thought of nothing! No rods; no ropes or straps to bind the victim! How am I to whip you? You deserve double punishment and I've got no reliable instrument with which I can apply it!”
Naked to my shirt, I was lying on my stomach, on the rich coverlet of the comfortable couch. She arranged my linen so as to expose my rump advantageously for punishment, and taking one of the probes, started beating me boldly. The india-rubber piping made a great noise, but I could support, without the least discomfort, the soft sonorous blows that the charming young woman dealt me, fatiguing herself greatly with little or no result.
Losing patience at my indifference, she took all the four probes in her little hand, and pulling up her sleeve put forth all her strength, flogging me as hard as she could.
The effect of her punishment was not a wit more terrible. On the contrary, the four probes made the blows duller and heavier. United, they certainly hurt much less.
As I saw the impotent efforts of my pretty girl, trying her utmost to make my penance perfect, I could not refrain from roaring with laughter.
