Whip Hands Read online

  A recommendation by proxy was enough to get her the phone number of Max de Rijk, a soft-spoken merchant banker of Dutch parentage. A bistro lunch had been rapidly arranged. She had been gently grilled by Max: education, parents, friends, tastes and leisure activities; nothing that Jane was not already well prepared for. She must have passed with flying colours. A week later, here she was in Max’s Bentley heading for the suburbs and her first evening at the Bismarck Club.

  He was taking quite a risk by bringing this girl along to the club, Max knew. He wished he had been able to carry out the normal vetting procedures more thoroughly. But time had been short and he needed to introduce a noviciate. There had been mistakes in the past, but his gut instinct was that this girl was just right. He gave her a more protracted inspection. Her blue eyes frankly returned it through the faint mist of smoke that was defying the Bentley’s air-conditioning.

  ‘Wondering if you did the right thing by inviting me?’ she asked, cocking an inquiring eyebrow through her ash-blonde fringe.

  ‘Perish the thought, my dear. I’m convinced the members will be delighted to welcome you without a moment’s hesitation. You know, of course, that you will first of all be met by Amalie, who always explains the programme for the evening. You must remember to call her Frau.’

  ‘Really Max, I can’t see why you can’t give me a teeny hint of what’s going to happen. I don’t think I’m going to take to this Amalie if she’s the type who enjoys bossing other women around.’

  Amalie was indeed inclined to giving orders, but after a while her proteges got used to it and felt that they were being well repaid for this minor inconvenience. Or else, Max mused, they eventually left. But not until it had been made quite clear to them that there would be penalties if they disclosed any information about the Bismarck dinners to the outside world. Especially to the media.

  ‘Nearly there,’ he grunted.

  The sun was sinking in the sky as the Bentley turned off the highway into a small crescent of similar semi-detached Edwardian houses, with basements and narrow frontages.

  After parking nose to the pavement, he squinted in the wing mirror to check his black bow tie was straight. Black or dark blue were the only colours allowed to gentlemen members of the Bismarck. The girl would be given a robe to change into, so her choice of dress was immaterial.

  ‘We’re slightly early, my dear, but punctuality is one of the rules of the club. Shall we go in then?’

  ‘So long as the waiters don’t stand behind us with a stopwatch for the creme caramel.’

  Amused despite himself, Max took her arm and led her up a flight of steps to the imposing teak door with engraved glass panels. The place, although not large, still had its impressively opulent interiors and furniture. They had been jealously preserved by a former member now deceased, a judge with no next of kin who decreed in his bequest that Six Raeburn Crescent should be used solely for the monthly meetings of the Bismarck Club. The only occupant was the caretaker in the attic flat.

  They were admitted to a richly panelled hallway by a footman. Max was sweating slightly, partly because of the formal dress on a warm evening and partly in anticipation of how the new girl would turn out. He took Jane’s elbow and escorted her into a room off the hall. This was the original dining room, Max explained, but the members preferred to use the rear-facing rooms upstairs for their dinners.

  The room still had a large dining table crested by an elaborate chandelier. The windows were covered by full-length dark blue velvet drapes. In this rather claustrophobic atmosphere Jane was left while Max went upstairs to fraternise with the mysterious members. They would meet up again in about twenty minutes, he promised, after Frau Amalie had seen her.

  Jane visibly started as a loud voice was heard in the hallway and the door was flung open by a woman who made her gasp. Frau Amalie would have presented an astounding figure if only on account of her costume - an extraordinary mix of the pseudo-military and fishnet. But to this she added a strutting walk, a guttural Germanic inflection to her speech and an upward tilt of her head with its raven-hued crop. In her high-heeled boots she was barely more than five feet tall.

  ‘Now, meine Madchen, I do not need to know your real name. But mine is Frau Amalie. Remember, Frau Amalie.’

  Jane nodded. She would remember.

  ‘The Bismarck Club stands for the historic principles of the founder of the glorious Prussian Empire,’ Frau Amalie continued. ‘Here you will learn to understand the virtues of self-discipline both in mind and body. However, that comes later. A chosen group of young women will tonight have the opportunity to learn from some of the country’s greatest minds.’

  ‘So I’m the new girl, then.’ Jane found herself starting to form a sardonic grin. She switched it off quickly as the little dominatrix gave her a piercing look.

  ‘Now, to tonight’s business.’ Frau Amalie strode up and inspected Jane both front and back. ‘I have to do something that you may find a little shocking, but do not be nervous. We have to be very sure that there are no spies at our little evenings of conviviality.’

  With these words she came close to Jane, who sensed it would be futile to try to hide anything from this virago.

  ‘You will stand on the other side of this dining table, Miss Jane. When I tell you to, you will undress. Each item of clothing you will place on the table so I may inspect it. You will then bend forward and put your elbows on the table for a body search. Do you understand? Good, now commence.’

  There were only two chairs, one at each end of the table. On the back of one of these the brisk dominatrix laid a dark blue robe. Jane had yet to start undressing, but argument was probably not worth it. If this was how the diminutive dyke got her kicks, then why not? She would get her own sweet revenge in the article next Sunday.

  As she was removing the black PVC belt from around her waist, Jane remembered the miniature camera incorporated in the bronzed buckle. The idea was that she could get some sensational photos by casually tucking her thumb into the belt and squeezing the shutter release.

  Turning away slightly, she quickly detached the buckle out of its stud mounting and palmed it. Jane was beginning to sweat. She had not expected to feel so intimidated, and she was not sure what would happen if the camera was discovered.

  She stepped out of her white satin thong and waited, shivering slightly despite the blood heat of the room. Having finished the clothes inspection, Amalie hustled her over to the table and bent her double, then produced a large pair of black callipers with which she pinched the skin at various points on Jane’s bare buttocks. Within seconds the woman was satisfied, and released her with a playful slap.

  Amalie smiled. ‘As I thought, you have plenty of protection on that rump of yours. Now, quickly dress in that pretty gown. You may put back on your underwear if you wish.’

  Jane felt exceptionally vulnerable as the piercing eyes swept her from head to foot. As Amalie went through her things, Jane resisted the urge to cover herself with a protective paw and tried to adopt a natural stance. For her pains she received a lascivious smile that made her flesh creep. She was also acutely aware of the buckle concealed in her left palm. She reached for the gown.

  ‘Halt! I would like to inspect you once more, Miss Jane. Bend over with your legs apart, like so.’ Frau Amalie gave a grotesque mime of the position Jane was to adopt. The woman’s hand moved up the inside of one thigh, stopped before reaching her cleft and slid down the other. Then, just as Jane thought it was over, she felt her sex lips being parted and a stubby finger pushing its way into her genital purse.

  She gasped and wriggled free. She was enraged, but became aware that she was also blushing furiously.

  ‘Nein, nein,’ Amalie clucked. ‘You must be obedient. Here at the Bismarck you do as you are told.’

  Suiting the action to the word, the dominatrix pushed her once more face down on the table. This time
the fingers pinched her protruding vulva in a manner that was meant to be playful, but caused Jane a twinge of discomfort.

  ‘Now you lie on your back, while I inspect these clothes.’

  Jane turned over, flesh squeaking against the polished mahogany of the table top. She tried to cross her legs, but it felt ridiculous. Instead she stared up at the chandelier and began counting the crystals.

  Frau Amalie tut-tutted with disapproval. ‘You wear nothing underneath your dress but this.’ She held up the thong, stretched between both sets of thumb and finger as if to emphasise its insubstantial nature. Then she draped it over one hand and raised it to her sharp nostrils. A beatific smile spread across her face.

  ‘Such a sweet fragrance. Fit for a young flower still to be picked, I think?’

  Jane could not hold the other woman’s sneering glance and lowered her gaze, annoyed with herself and confused. The virago bent over her and, letting the satin underwear hang from her fist, drew it across her nipples several times. Jane felt them budding treacherously and raised one hand to cover herself. It was a reflex movement, thoughtless and precipitate, and it was to prove costly. The buckle flashed between her fingers. Her wrist was gripped firmly by Frau Amalie.

  ‘Ach, what is this?’

  In a moment of blind panic Jane imagined slipping the buckle into her mouth and swallowing.

  It was just possible that the older woman would not have imagined the floral design with its central ‘opal’ could have concealed a camera. Just possible, that is, if the device had not slipped from her fingers and fallen on the thin carpet with a thud. The faint zip of the automatic wind-on was audible in the silence. Amalie pounced on it.

  She immediately found the button for the shutter, then shook her head wordlessly. With a sickening leer she put it into her bodice. Jane felt the strength leeching out of her limbs as Amalie gave her a look of triumph.

  ‘A spy. You are a spy!’

  Jane’s feeble attempts at denial were unconvincing. She should have prepared herself for just such a situation as this. What kind of journalist was she?

  ‘Now we go, spy. We shall see Max. Upstairs.’

  The door was pulled open and Jane was dragged into the cooler atmosphere of the hall, where a group of younger women identically dressed in Prussian blue were talking animatedly. They fell silent in an instant, confronted by the dominatrix with a naked girl in tow. Their eyes widened and one began to titter nervously.

  ‘For God’s sake, let me get dressed,’ Jane muttered, struggling to free her wrist. She found herself unable to best this diminutive figure with the blazing eyes.

  ‘Nein, nein, spy girl. You must go straight away to explain this. There is no time for dressing.’

  Again the lascivious leer, then Amalie grabbed a handful of Jane’s long hair. Now she was held even more securely. Wherever Amalie went she had to follow, at a crouch. Struggling and cursing under her breath, Jane was pulled up the broad, carpeted staircase to stifled tittering from the group in the hall.

  From above came sounds of male laughter and background music as they ascended. She became aware of the intermingling scents of cigarette smoke and perfume. Surely this madwoman wouldn’t parade her naked before the assembled company? They drew level with the half-open door. The uniformed figure stopped, released her hair and placed the incriminating buckle in her hand. Then she pointed upwards.

  ‘You will find him in the secretary’s room on the next floor. Tell him why I have sent you. Go, spy!’

  Jane stood outside the door marked ‘Secretary’ with her heart thumping. She had no idea how many people she would have to face when she opened it. It was with considerable relief that she saw just Max, seated in shirtsleeves at a desk in a small room which also contained two leather armchairs. His jaw dropped in astonishment at seeing her naked, and she just had sufficient presence of mind to check her instinctive move to cover herself. Instead, she closed the door and put the buckle on the desk right under his nose.

  ‘Get me my clothes, Max, and I’ll explain what this is all about.’

  Max, recovering his poise, gave the incriminating evidence a quizzical look. He picked it up and quickly discovered the shutter release, exposing another frame. He grunted in surprise. Then he spoke some brief instructions into an intercom.

  ‘Clothing is on its way, my dear,’ he said with an ingratiating smile. ‘Now, why don’t you begin to explain just what kind of espionage activity you are involved in.’

  ‘It’s really nothing as serious as you appear to think, Max,’ Jane began. Then all the alternative explanations that had been going through her head seemed to evaporate. She had to tell him the truth, even though the consequences were unpredictable.

  She began to explain about the Trumpet. The door opened and Amalie came in, carrying the Prussian blue vestment. Jane snatched it and threw it over her head. Already she felt more confident, although it was made of a light muslin material.

  As she continued to talk she was aware that Frau Amalie was still standing behind her. She sensed a slight movement and heard a gentle thwack. A quick glance over her shoulder was enough to make her freeze in apprehension.

  In her right hand the woman held a black leather strap punctuated with an array of holes. She swung it deftly into her other hand in a rhythmic movement. Jane felt perspiration break out on her face and her mouth went dry. Surely she was not going to be punished like an errant nine-year-old in the charge of a governess? She had heard of journalists being threatened before now to keep a story from appearing.

  Max noted her apprehension with a thin smile. ‘I don’t think you really need to complete your story. You came here with the express intention to obtain a newspaper article by deceit. I have no idea whether you will now be allowed to see how we spend our evenings at the Bismarck. That will be up to the members when I inform them what has happened.

  ‘But for the meantime I can tell you that one of the main purposes laid down by our founders was to encourage a greater sense of self-discipline amongst the young. Our esteemed members, who you may yet have the pleasure of meeting, are concerned with imparting discipline of the mind. But they are also concerned that physical discipline should go hand in hand with that process. That is very much Frau Amalie’s responsibility.’

  With this, Max nodded over her shoulder and Jane felt her hands being firmly pinioned behind her back. She realised she was going to feel pain, but at the same time there was an undeniable feeling of queasy excitement at the prospect.

  In the thin, cool vestment she was very aware of how her body was reacting; to her surprise, she could feel lubrication already spreading down to her vulva. Surely this wasn’t as a result of the pawing she had been given on the dining table? Her legs were beginning a series of gentle vibrations that she knew would soon suffuse her totally if she let them.

  She was bent forward on to Max’s desk. Her arms were released as the dominatrix raised the hem of Jane’s gown to her waist, exposing her buttocks completely. Amalie grasped her thighs and pulled them so that her legs were completely straight. All the time Max was speaking softly but sternly.

  ‘You have probably not been punished in this way before, my dear. Frau Amalie will give you twelve light strokes for hatching this plot to expose the club.’

  ‘You must be joking.’ Jane had guessed it would come to this, but she had to put up at least a token protest. She tried to get up but was restrained by a firm hand on her shoulder.

  ‘But after this there will be a further twelve strokes of the cane, and these are for your deceit against each of the members. This reckoning will be entered in your punishment book, which always remains on club premises.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this, you insufferable prig.’

  ‘After that you will be quite free to go. The alternative is for you to come downstairs and we will put your case to the assembled membership. But
I must warn you that some of them are even more enthusiastic about the punishment fitting the crime than I am.’

  Jane could think of no way out. This was humiliating enough without having a dozen tweedy bores ogling her naked rear.

  ‘Okay. Let’s get on with it.’

  Max nodded once more to the dominatrix. The first stroke of the strap made Jane squirm a little, but soon she was aware of only a short spasm followed by a general feeling of warmth around her buttocks and cleft. The strokes came rhythmically and at an even strength. Already her inner thighs were wet and she was aware of going very red in the face. Being naturally strong-willed, Jane felt pleased at how she was able to take it.

  However, for the caning she was made to remove the gown. She was then quickly shown by Frau Amalie how to kneel on one of the padded leather armchairs. It had a strong, animal-like smell. She was told to put both hands on top of the headrest and arch her back. She flinched as she heard the dominatrix cut the cane through the air a couple of times.

  ‘Now, spy girl, be prepared. You may count your strokes if you wish.’

  Max was nowhere in her line of vision by now. There was a slight pause, an intake of breath from behind her and then a sharp bite which took Jane totally by surprise, jolting her into an upright position as she instinctively moved one hand to massage her stinging haunches. This was something else. It felt totally humiliating to be paraded naked on one of the club’s most venerable pieces of furniture, her pale skin contrasting with the port shade of the leather upholstery like that of a model in a magazine she had once seen.

  ‘Regain your position otherwise Frau Amalie will add to your punishment count.’ The mealy-mouthed Max was behind her, probably ogling her exposed clit. There was a strange buzzing noise in her ears in the wake of each burning stroke. She had not yet received half the allotted amount.

  Again Jane recognised the remorseless regularity with which the punishment was inflicted. How could she possibly take any more? She turned to see Amalie’s leer of triumph as she raised her arm for the next infliction of pain.