Cassolette Page 10

  Mr.Finchley would then get the feel of it with his cane, tapping and stroking before taking his deadly aim. A bottom that had been punished by the Bird was bruised for weeks afterwards.

  Scott had still been aroused from his fumblings with the girl, as he was led along seemingly endless corridors by the teacher who had caught him. Fear was now taking its toll on his erection, but passion still hovered regardless. It wasn't possible to simply switch it off, just like that.

  He knew that he was in for a sound spanking with the cane, but nothing could have prepared him for the added humiliation that this last beating he got at school would bring.

  "The secretary was in his office when I entered," Scott explained. "She was doing some filing." He had naturally assumed that she would leave before the punishment commenced, but Mr.Finchley had other plans.

  "Remain at your desk, Miss Gordon," he had ordered. And the shocked woman, who looked every inch the sparrow to her employer's hawk, had had no choice but to obey. She would remember this incident for the rest of her life, and so would the unfortunate Scott.

  So bent over the usual chair with his bare bottom being soundly thrashed, he had found himself looking directly at her. Her desk was slightly to the left of him, and he found himself maintaining eye contact with her throughout.

  Whack…whack…whack…whack…Mr.Finchley had delivered an especially harsh beating due to the nature of the offence. And he didn't stop until Scott's bottom was a mass of ridges and flaming, and only then reluctantly. "That'll teach you to engage in filthy sinful practices," he had fumed, his Calvinistic soul fairly writhing with indignation.

  "I was crying," Scott admitted, and it was just as much from the humiliation of having the secretary watching his shame, as from the pain. He had sped off to the toilet and bathed his wounded butt with cold water. "I stayed there for quite a while," he said quietly, reliving the traumatic incident. "Then I went on to the math class."

  He hadn't masturbated until he was in bed that night, and thought about the spanking. The release had been phenomenal. "I thought I'd never stop coming," he admitted with a laugh. "My cock was pumping out great wads of the stuff like an overworked ice-cream machine."

  "Poor boy," Jaye murmured, extremely aroused by this account of a most humiliating beating. "Come to Momma." * * * "You know I've always wanted to re-enact it," he told her, as she gently pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. "Do you think you'd be willing to take the part of the secretary, if I could find a stern older man to be Finchley?" Jaye readily agreed. This was the type of kink that turned her on big time. She slipped her hands under the bottom she had spanked so thoroughly, and worked his cock inside her. Her pussy was swollen and glistening with excitement. "Feels good," she murmured appreciatively and fucked him until they both released with noisy abandon.

  "Thank you, Scott," she whispered into the telephone. Then after a brief break, they continued with their fantasy. * * * The Marquis Club catered to corporal punishment aficionados of every persuasion. If exploring the erotic link between pain and pleasure was your goal then it was the place to be. The recreation of memorable spankings was the specialty of the house.

  The Headmaster's study, where Scott had been caned on his bare bottom in front of the secretary, had been carefully reproduced to his specifications. The leather armchair that he had bent over for the punishment, sitting at precisely the correct angle from the secretary's desk.

  "You were caught doing disgusting things with one of the girls. What have you got to say for yourself?" Scott stood in front of Mr.Finchley's desk and shuffled his feet. "Nothing, Sir," he replied sheepishly. "Very well, then, I'm going to thrash you soundly. By the time I've finished

  with you, girls will be the very last thing on your mind." Mr.Finchley, looking very similar in type to the original, ordered Scott to

  take down his trousers and underpants and bend over the armchair. Miss Gordon, who had been filing when the drama began looked embarrassed and prepared to leave, but was ordered back to her desk by the indomitable Headmaster. He clearly wanted to maximize the humiliation aspect of the punishment with her presence.

  A tense hush had fallen over the assembled trio and was broken only by the swish of the cane as it was whipped through the air in a series of practice strokes.

  "Thrust your bottom further out," the Headmaster demanded, noticing Scott's clenched buttocks. "Present it properly for punishment."

  He rubbed the cane over the trembling bum, tapping, pressing and caressing like a lover, before bringing it down with a whack directly across the sit spot. Scott winced, his eyes locked with those of the horrified Miss Gordon. Who, by her shocked demeanor, had never expected to be forced to witness a seventeenyear-old boy being caned on his bare behind.

  Whack…whack…whack…As the beating went on Scott's bottom was rapidly turning to flame, and he swished it around after the spanks to try and deflect the pain. So frenzied were his movements, that it looked as if he were attempting to fuck the armchair.

  He was crying by the time the harsh punishment was finally over. "Don't you ever engage in that sort of filthy behavior again or I'll beat you for twice as long," the angry Headmaster warned, propping the cane in the corner and returning to his desk.

  Scott pulled up his underpants and trousers with trembling hands. Very aware of how close his genitals were to being exposed to the watching secretary. Then he fled gratefully from the scene of his terrible shame.

  "Wow, that was pretty powerful," Jaye exclaimed, more moved than she thought she would be by their re-enactment of the school caning. "When I get back to Bell Island," she promised. "We'll do it for real." "That's a date," agreed Scott. "And I'll hold you to it."

  Seven

  Yorkdale Antiques had always been one of Jaye's favorite haunts. It was here; while relaxing from the tensions of the Computer Clinic, that she had first developed her interest in collecting figurines.

  "Welcome back," Meredith Love, the owner, exclaimed. She was a trim octogenarian with shrewd eyes, who was always dressed to the nines. "How is Treasure Island?"

  Over the years, Jaye had developed a friendship with Meredith and often discussed business matters with her. Now, as they relaxed in the back room over a cup of the best Darjeeling tea, she recounted the Bell Island dilemma, which was never far from her mind.

  "I don't quite understand why you didn't go ahead with the cofferdam to block the flooding. Your aunt obviously thought it worthwhile."

  "Well I did, too," Jaye agreed, "but that was before I discovered that Judge Percy was a descendent of the man whom Aunt Adelaide believed had buried the treasure. It can't have been a coincidence that the Percys settled so close to Bell Island, and it seems unlikely that they were unable to retrieve the booty."

  "An ill-gotten fortune in British gold," Meredith mused, tapping on her chin with a bony forefinger. "So, you think that whatever was buried on the island is long gone?"

  "Probably…and yet, Adelaide was privy to the same information. In fact, she was the one who unearthed it…and it didn't deter her. The question is why?"

  "Perhaps she found out something else…something that indicated the treasure had not been recovered by the Percys after all."

  "That's what I thought, too, but what? I've ploughed my way through most of her papers…my aunt never filed anything…and so far, nothing."

  "Do you believe this Angus Burns?" Meredith asked. "Concerning your aunt's disappearance."

  "That it was foul play? No, I don't think so. It's more likely that she simply slipped on the rocks and fell into the sea."

  A customer came into the store bringing with him a swirl of biting wind. "It'll snow before morning," he predicted, stamping his feet for warmth.

  Jaye took the opportunity to examine her latest figurine in greater detail. It was a lovely piece, a Derby figure of a lady with a cat, circa 1775. Although it had a few chips and patch marks, she was delighted with it.

  "Don't make any hasty moves," Meredith a
dvised as Jaye shrugged into her coat and wound a muffler around her ears. "You have lots of time to decide."

  But the following morning a letter arrived from the Historical Preservation Department of Pendle Harbor. They were considering making Bell Island a Heritage Site.

  "Time is of the essence, lassie," Angus warned with an urgency in his voice that was contagious. "While you've been piddling away your time in that godforsaken place, events here have been moving full speed ahead."

  His accent was more pronounced over the telephone, and Jaye could hear Ben barking in the distance, which was unusual. "It's all the comings and goings," he explained when she commented on it. "It would serve that bloody lot right if the dog took a bite out of their arses…" * * * "I'll miss you," said Joanna, as she watched Jaye board the train. She looked small and surprisingly vulnerable standing there on the platform, a bustle of travelers surrounding her. "Please keep in touch."

  "I will," promised Jaye. She felt a twinge of sadness at leaving like this, but Bell Island had a siren's song too persistant to ignore. Immediately upon her arrival in Vancouver she went to see Brad. Where do I stand legally in all this?" she asked."What exactly does it mean?" It was a bleak morning in the New Year, with snow drifting down in ribbons

  and turning to mush on the roads and sidewalks. "Well you can contest the Heritage designation, of course, which basically

  means that you lose control over your own property." He was more handsome than ever, she decided. She watched him swivel around in his office chair, with the stunning view of city and mountains framed in the window behind him. "But what chance do I have of winning?" "Frankly, not much. Bell Island has become something of a legend, not just in Canada, but throughout the world, and it's surprising actually that this hasn't happened before.The Mayor and Council of Pendle Harbor have been under increasing pressure from the environmentally conscious to protect the island from further diggings and other destructive actions."

  He paused for a moment reflectively."The entire north end of the island has been devastated by the ongoing treasure hunt. With so many excavations during its two-hundred-year history, that much of it is unstable and dangerous."

  Jaye nodded. "I know, that's why a big chunk of it is fenced off and out-of bounds."

  "I've missed you sweetheart," he said. "I'm glad you're back on home turf again."

  His secretary buzzed several times with pressing business that could not wait, and he was due in court in the afternoon. "Can you stay over for the night?" he asked hopefully. "We could have dinner at the Chadwyk."

  "I'd love to, Brad, but I really should get back today. Angus is doing his nut about all the heritage hoopla amid my continued absence."

  And besides, she admitted to herself ruefully. Her pussy still felt the imprint of a virile cock deep within its folds, and although it wouldn't be averse to wrapping itself around Brad's steely member this minute, the urgency just wasn't there. * * * "Enchantez, mon amour." Guy, who had persisted in her dreams since their initial meeting, boarded the train at Winnipeg. Jaye had noticed him making down a bed in the carriage next to hers when she returned from the dining car.

  God, he looks good enough to eat, she thought lasciviously, recalling how she had done just that the last time they had met. There was just something about this young dark-eyed man that drove her wild.

  She gave him her room number, moving close enough to breathe in his aftershave and the sheer exciting maleness of him. The train rattled and swayed from side to side as it sped across the prairies.

  As she waited, Jaye paced her tiny bedroom like a randy cat, stroking her palms in feral anticipation. What had followed was a torrid reunion. So fierce in its intensity it left no time for finesse.

  "Mon Dieu, I've thought of you so often," he gasped, re-enacting their previous encounter by taking her standing up. "Your skin…your hair…your perfume…I could never get enough of you."

  Jaye felt as if she were being devoured by a friendly force, and the more it took the more she had to give. "I've thought of you, too…" she murmured, winding her legs around his waist for deeper penetration and thrusting her pelvis against his.

  He bathed her breasts with his tongue, circling the nipples until her legs tensed with desire and she called out in a rapturous sort of delirium. The roar of the train helped to camouflage her cries and prevent them from carrying, but he reached over and flipped on the radio to muffle them further. "Shh..." he whispered, and covered her mouth with kisses. But Jaye was oblivious to everything save for the sheer ecstasy pulsing through her body. She continued to cry out a litany of gibberish, importuning the deities to help her, as the great symphony of passion rose to a towering crescendo.

  After he had gone, she lay awake for a long time, lulled by the movement of the train. It was just so right with him. He had told her that she had never been far from his thoughts either. So it was mutual. "It's too bad you're married," she had said.

  "I'm not any more, mon cheri, I'm divorced." Why, of course, and Jaye wondered why she hadn't noticed before—too busy getting reacquainted, she supposed—he was no longer wearing a wedding ring.

  She realized that she still didn't know his last name. Or where he lived? What he liked to do for pleasure—besides fucking? But it didn't seem important somehow. Not at that particular moment. In fact, the prosaic details of identity might well detract from the erotic nature of their coupling. For as it was, they represented the quintessential male and female coming together to mate in perfect harmony, free from the restraints and politics of polite society.

  As she left the train she handed him a handkerchief that was freshly bathed in her secretions. She had dabbed it between her breasts and over her underarms and pussy. The idea had come from Chris, and she smiled, as she thought of him and their many steamy nights together. "Something to remember me by," she whispered. "It's my cassolette." Jaye knew that because Guy was French, he would know exactly what she meant. * * *

  Bell Island looked enchanting under a light dusting of snow. Like powdered sugar on a birthday cake, Jaye decided, as she tramped around it looking for Angus.

  "My, and aren't you the sight for sore eyes," he exclaimed gruffly when he saw her. He was repairing the wire fencing that enclosed the most dangerous of the old diggings. "Ben and I had almost given you up for lost."

  "Look, I'd like to take you out somewhere for dinner," she offered on impulse. She felt a tad guilty about abandoning the island. It couldn't have been easy for Angus with the increased number of curiosity seekers around.

  "They fairly swarmed over everything after that bloody council decided to poke their noses in," he complained, indicating the damaged fence. "Heritage Site indeed, it's just dirty politics that's all." "I don't understand? How dirty?" Angus wiped his hands with a grimy rag, his face inscrutable in the gathering twilight. "Well, they just want to make damned sure that the treasure remains put. It draws more tourists that way."

  "But tourists have no business on the island, it's private property," Jaye protested.

  "Oh, aye, it is that right enough," Angus snorted derisively. "But just try telling that to a bloody pack of curiosity seekers." He indicated with a disgusted wave of his arm the damage that they had already done.

  "Then perhaps we should consider getting rid of the causeway and turning it into a real island again," Jaye suggested. She bent down to pat Ben, who was enjoying getting reacquainted with her.

  But Angus vetoed the idea quite forcefully "That would mean that no heavy equipment could be brought in," he said dismissively. "And it cost your aunt a great deal of money to get the blessed thing built in the first place. It would be an awful shame to chuck it before it's been used for its intended purpose."

  He picked up his toolbox and stood for a moment, gazing out to sea. "This bloody Heritage scam has forced your hand though, lassie. If you don't move now on the cofferdam, you never will."

  "That's a two million dollar gamble, Angus, and Adelaide left a pile of debts, you know.
All the diggings over the years mounted up."

  "Och, you think small, that's your problem," he scolded. "My God, we're talking of a fortune in the hundreds of millions here, maybe even billions."

  "'Maybe,' Angus, that's the key word here. But it could be just as easily 'Maybe not.'"

  "Aye, well, that's the trouble with you English, you lack imagination and you always look on the black side." * * * "It seems to me," Chris said, "that Heritage designation is not usually given

  against the owner's wishes." It was almost closing time at the Museum, and as he added the finishing touches to a marine exhibit, the late afternoon sun slanted in through a spectrum of dust motes. Jaye had been back on the Island for less than two weeks, but already it was feeling as if she'd never been away at all. Life followed a simpler less hurried formula here, making the days seem longer, and rich with promise.

  "I don't have any problem with it, really," Jaye said. "Except for the obvious restrictions it will place on any future digging activities."

  Chris nodded. "The island—or at least the north end of it—has been pretty badly mangled over the years. I think if it's not protected soon it will eventually be damaged beyond repair." "And it is something of a national, if not international treasure," Jaye agreed. She ran her finger over the edges of a scrimshaw whale's tooth that was displayed between a scale model of the Queen Mary and a brass sextant. "But I just don't like the way it's forcing my hand, so to speak."

  "You shouldn't allow yourself to be pushed into anything you're not sure about," he cautioned. "And I'm thinking of a certain Scotsman now..." Jaye laughed. "Now would Angus do something like that?" "That old reprobate would sell his granny, if he thought it would get him any

  closer to what he's sure is a king's ransom in treasure." "And what do you think, Chris?" She fired the loaded question at him, while

  never taking her eyes off his face. "Now you've put me on the spot, and you know it," he hedged. "I've told you before, Jaye, I'm not sure if there's anything at all buried on Bell Island." Then he added ruefully, "Except for a bunch of old digging artifacts left behind by countless failed expeditions."