Notebooks of the Young Wife by Tara Black Read Free Book Online Page B

in places, but with them loose trousers you’ll be all right.’
    I offered up silent thanks I’d not come poured into a new pair of jeans. ‘Well, sweetie, you could always come along and check me out again tonight. I mean later, when everybody’s safe in their beds.’ She laughed and steadied me while I got one leg and then the other into the chinos.
    ‘That’ll be right. You’ll be putting me in trouble with the groom. He don’t hold with me having another woman, unless he’s there to fuck the two of us, that is.’
    ‘I know the type.’ Alcohol running in the veins, I was about to give her my go-for-it-dyke pitch when Tamsin opened the door. She looked me up and down with a definite air of disappointment.
    ‘You look pretty good to me, guv. As usual I’ve gone and missed all the action.’ Then behind her came the housekeeper and a cook still flushed from her exertions.
    ‘Not quite, Miss Bingley. Now that we’ve caught up with you, there is still the matter of your own introduction to the End. However, I believe a private dose of the kitchen strap will serve for a subordinate.’ There was an open-mouthed silence caused as much, I guessed, by the designation as the threat, but after a couple of seconds the PA rolled her eyes theatrically.
    ‘Okay, okay, okay. I surrender.’ She turned to go and I could see her eyes widen at the girth of the sweaty lady’s arms. ‘Let’s get it over with, eh?’ That’s my girl, I said to myself, never one to whinge when there’s nothing to be accomplished by it. I watched them head out into the passage, past the maid who was busy with a broom and shovel at the scene of my excoriation. Messy business, the birch. Now compared with the clean open palm and the precise cane...
    A tug at my sleeve jerked me out of the reverie. The impish face and scruffy knee breeches gave the odd impression of a street urchin out of time, then the frame shifted and I saw an older teenage lad with a mop of light-brown hair. He put a finger to his lips and peered out into the corridor. Then with a whispered ‘come on’ he disappeared and I followed, intrigued. We passed a double door through which I could see a stack of pots and pans, then he ducked into a kind of pantry with stone jars of flour and meal. From there a door with two lights in its top half opened on to the main space of the kitchen and we looked each through one at the scene beyond.
    Centre-view was Tamsin, or rather her rear end, framed by the raised band of skirt above and the rolled-down tights below. Mrs Jencks held her forearms from the far side of a counter while the formidable cook took down what looked like an old-fashioned razor-strop from a hook on the wall. It was rather cheering to know I would not be alone in nursing a sore bottom that evening. Also I had to give credit to one who was scarcely what you’d call a devotee of s/m, for she took three cracking strokes across the centre of the cheeks without a murmur. How many was she going to get? And how long could she play the cool stoic?
    I was just settling in for the duration when I became aware that there was something else happening right beside me. While the gaze of my fellow voyeur was fixed on the reddening buttocks, I could see the fly open and the thumb and forefinger busy working the shaft of a very presentable erection. Our PA’s behind made for an enticing view, but I’d seen it before, if rarely. On the other hand, the sheer effrontery of the act of masturbation at my elbow was giving me hot stabs of lust and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
    ‘Three more, my dear, and brace yourself. Cook, your best if you please!’ The announcement from the kitchen brought matters to a head. At the first crack of leather on flesh the beast tensed and spat and by the third and last the fingers were squeezing from it a final drop. He looked up with a grin splitting his face and stowed the shrinking organ back in his pants. Then with half an eye still on me he