Join the Dots…

From Blushes Supplement 26

You could easily mistake him for an Englishman in the immaculate double-breasted navy blazer and razor-sharp trousers — until of course he spoke. His English had a decided accent. He had greeted her in a charming Latin manner and then gone to sit behind his desk in an upholstered swivel chair. Her own chair in front of the desk was wooden, straight-backed. She shifted her bottom uncomfortably on the hard seat.

‘I… can I see the consul? Or… a lawyer…?’

That was what you should do if you got in trouble. She tried to look confident, assured. It was just a small office, no room for much except the desk and chairs. On the corner of the desk a small fan was humming away and produced a little breeze. It was something but not enough to outweigh the fiery Mediterranean sun which outside was beating relentlessly down. She moved her bottom again on the hard wooden seat. Under her thin skirt her knickers were sticking to her damp flanks in an unpleasant manner.

The man in the blazer, smoothly middle-aged, gave her another smile. ‘Oh Miss Martley, such formality will not be necessary. I can assure you it is much better not — for yourself I mean. Once it becomes official there are all manners of complications. Your holiday here would be quite ruined.’

Her mind wanted to fix on ‘all manners of complications’: a funny foreign expression to be recounted when she got back home. But this wasn’t funny, it was deadly serious. She didn’t know exactly who he was but he was someone important. Chief of Police? What did he mean then if it was not official? After they had made such a fuss…

‘It is very serious, Miss Martley. You have committed a serious offence. We have very strict rules about such matters. I am sure you were told of this. Our courts will treat it very seriously. You will certainly get a heavy fine but also you would have to remain in custody until you come to the court. That would be at least a week.’ He treated her to another of those smiles.

She could feel her face flushing. With anger, indignation. They couldn’t do that.

‘Of course we can do it, Miss Martley. That is how the law works here. It may of course be different in England, I do not know. But you are of course not in England. Which is what you should have considered before openly breaking the law and displaying yourself on the beach.’

Her flush became even hotter — and her damp knickers felt even more uncomfortable. There had been no one on the beach because she had walked on round the headland, beyond where the sunbathers were. Or there hadn’t been anyone when she had put her towel down and sat on it. She had a beach dress on over her bikini and she had taken the beach dress off. And then, with another look around to confirm she was alone, slipped off the bikini. Both parts. But she had barely done this and lain down on her back when… from nowhere the man had appeared. She still couldn’t think how she had failed to see him.

There was no point getting angry, making a scene. That would probably be the worst thing. She said contritely, ‘I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to break the law. What… what then?’ A sudden thought. ‘Ca…can I pay you? A fine. And that will settle it?’

He was getting to his feet. Still smiling. Was this the answer: a bribe? Coming round his desk. ‘No, don’t get up, Miss Martley.’ To stand behind her. She shivered as his hands came on her shoulders. Squeezing gently. ‘No, Miss Martley, that is not the answer. That would be corruption, would it not?’ The hands slid down. Down the front of her tee-shirt. The hands simply took hold of her boobs.

‘Keep still, Miss Martley.’ His voice suddenly hard as she jerked automatically against the shocking hands. ‘Keep still.’

She made herself stay still, her heart was thudding, her veins gushing adrenalin. She had nothing under the tee-shirt — no bra. You didn’t want anything in this heat. The hands were feeling for her nipples, fingers pinching them. He didn’t want a bribe, he wanted to screw her. The thought dipped and rolled in her head like a heavy sea.

Above her the voice with its accent, sounding thicker now, said, ‘Do they still cane girls in England, Miss Martley?’

----//----

A room down the corridor. Small like his office but with nothing in it, no furniture. A phone was on the floor, as if there had been a desk but it had been taken out. Occupying the centre of the floor was a rough wooden pallet, as used for supporting or storing things. It was about 6’ x 3’, the top raised up some eight inches off the floor. He was closing the door behind them.

‘I want you on that,’ he said. ‘Stretched out on your front. Take everything off. No, leave the tee-shirt on. Take off all your other clothes.’

‘No!’ The word hissed out, low, unbelieving. He couldn’t. ‘I… I want to see the consul…’ She felt sick.

He laughed, and grabbed her arm. Pulling her round to face him. ‘Don’t be silly, Miss Martley. I have told you about that. If this matter is made official you will be held in custody. A week, two weeks? Who can say. Your holiday will be finished before it is started. You do not want that and nor do I. And also I can tell you those men where you will be held: they will think this is a splendid, marvellous present, this beautiful English girl. Like Christmas has come. No, Miss Martley, I would not recommend that.’

She was shivering, shaking. His two hands were squeezing her bare upper arms.

‘So be sensible, young lady. We must have something. There must be a punishment if the law is not obeyed. That is the situation everywhere: in England also I am sure. I shall give you your punishment and then it will be over. Come on. Get your clothes off. I shall give you 12 strokes across your bare bottom.’

Twelve strokes…! She opened her mouth. she was going to be sick. He had let go of her, to go over to the corner of the room. Where she saw a cane standing against the wall. She was going to be sick. Twelve strokes of that cane. But… somehow her hands were at the zip of her skirt.

‘And the panties, Miss Martley. You can keep on the shoes. Then lie down. Raise your arms and hold on, and part your legs wide. As wide as you can, out to the corners. Have you been caned before Miss Martley…’