The Black Room (14 page)

‘I did,’ Jo agreed. ‘It was a harsh, strict regime but it instilled a sense of discipline in us and I don’t think that’s a bad thing, do you?’

Mr Smith ignored her question, apparently considering his words carefully before he gave voice to them. ‘You enjoyed this environment five years ago, when you were still a schoolgirl?’

‘I wouldn’t have used the word enjoyed,’ Jo told him, grinning as she said it. ‘But I lived happily within the restrictions that were imposed on me.’

‘Do you think you could live under such restrictions again?’ Mr Smith asked, deliberately. He fixed Jo with a determined expression, the grey steel of his eyes reading her innermost thoughts as she considered his question.

‘Are you asking me if I would allow myself to be caned?’ Jo asked hesitantly. ‘Is that part of the strict regime you employ here?’

‘You don’t sound as offended or shocked as I would have expected,’ Mr Smith told her.

Jo shrugged. ‘You’re training a group of relatively young people to be disciplined and conscientious. Corporal punishment was the only way of doing that when I was at school. I don’t see that much has changed since then.’

Mr Smith laughed suddenly. It was a hearty, genuine sound and, in that moment, Jo knew she was on the verge of being offered a position with the Pentagon Agency. Considering all the talk about caning and corporal punishment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be offered the post but Jo realised she was in no position to haggle over such niceties. She still had a job to do and there was only one way to do it. Whether she liked it or not, Jo knew she would have to stay at the hostel.

She had already discovered more about the Pentagon Agency and its structure during her thirty-minute interview with Mr Smith than through a week’s research from her own office.

At the back of her mind, she knew that if Stephanie had heard the conversation, she would have been dragging Jo from the hostel as if the place were on fire. It was a warming thought, reminding Jo how strongly her partner cared for her. Trying not to think about Stephanie, Jo gave Mr Smith a winsome smile.

‘Are my ideas so amusing, Mr Smith?’ she asked coolly.

He shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he said reassuringly. ‘They reflect our company policy so closely it’s quite disturbing, to tell the truth,’ he explained. ‘Please, don’t think me a cynic, but are you sure you don’t consider yourself beyond caning? You’re a mature woman, in her mid-twenties, surely you’re beyond having your bottom spanked?’

Jo held herself stiffly in the chair. Calmly, she studied Mr Smith, trying not to show him how uneasy she was with this line of questioning.

Nick had suggested something similar to her before their relationship ended. As far as Jo could recall, it was one of the many reasons for the relationship ending.

‘If you want to hit someone, go back to the police station and visit the drunk tank. You can beat up a couple of piss-tags down there,’ she had told him sharply. ‘Half of them probably won’t remember tomorrow. The other half probably deserve it anyway. Just don’t think you’re playing spanky-spanky games with me.’

Looking back on the incident, Jo realised it was that particular conversation that had been the beginning of the end. After that, their relationship had gone into a slow, downward spiral.

She did not consider herself a prude: sexually she was happy to try anything. However, the whole idea of spanking and sexual power games left her cold. Determined that Mr Smith would see none of this in her face, Jo managed a smile. ‘I don’t consider myself beyond appropriate punishment,’ she told him quietly. ‘And I suppose it depends on the circumstances as to what punishment is appropriate.’

His smile was unsettlingly confident. ‘Please don’t think I doubt your honesty or integrity,’ he began, shifting position in his chair. ‘But I’m still not sure you appreciate the exact regime we employ here.’ He paused, his eyes flickering hesitantly. ‘Would you be greatly offended if I asked you to prove your acceptance of our discipline?’

Jo forced a warm smile to her lips. ‘I’d be happy to put your mind at ease by doing just that,’ she told him calmly. ‘Do you want me to stand anywhere in particular?’

He was already climbing from his chair, a frown of consternation creasing his brow. Jo watched as he reached inside the large cupboard behind his desk and slowly withdrew an old birch cane. She swallowed nervously. Her anxiety increased when she caught a glimpse of the faraway expression in Mr Smith’s eyes. He was considering the birch cane with a misty-eyed appreciation that bordered on affection.

Jo wondered how dangerous a man had to be before he started to look at a stick in such a way. It was a notion that gave her serious cause for worry, reminding her again how vulnerable her position was.

The cane sliced the air with a vicious whistle.

Jo flinched, startled by the sound. She glanced up from her thoughts and saw Mr Smith was idly brandishing the long birch cane in her direction.

‘Just stand up and hold your hand out,’ Mr Smith snapped crisply. A bitter smile twisted his lips. ‘I imagine it will be just like old times for you.’

Jo wondered if he was trying to be pleasant with this comment. She could not be certain because of the subtle inflection of his Teutonic accent. Holding her hand out, she smiled calmly at him and nodded agreement. ‘Yes. Just like old times.’ The smile remained on her lips as she watched Mr Smith test the cane across the tips of her fingers.

His smile broadened as he noted the apprehension on her face. He barely looked at her hand. Instead, he watched her face as he whacked the cane across the tips of her fingers.

Jo sucked in her breath, shocked by the exquisite pain that flared in her hand. She stared sharply at Mr Smith, unable to stop an angry glint from lighting her expression.

He laughed, his accent giving the sound a cruel note. ‘If you had glared at your headmistress like that, I doubt she would have let you get away with it.’

Jo forced a natural smile to her lips. She tried to ignore the throbbing explosion of pain in the ends of her fingers. ‘As I recall, she didn’t let me get away with it,’ Jo replied.

Almost casually, he smacked the cane across her fingers again, renewing the flare of pain. Jo winced, but held her hand steady. This time, she managed to keep all venomous emotions from appearing on her face.

‘Good,’ Mr Smith told her. ‘Now if you’d care to bend over, I’ll show you how we usually administer punishment here at the hostel.’

Jo raised a surprised eyebrow in Mr Smith’s direction. ‘Bend over?’ she asked hesitantly.

His broad smile seemed to accommodate her reluctance. ‘You do want to be accepted for a trainee position here, don’t you, Miss Vaughan?’ he asked, the hint of a threat barely tainting his words. As he waited for Jo’s reply, Mr Smith tested the cane’s pliancy by bending it between both hands.

‘Of course I want to be accepted,’ Jo told him truthfully. In all honesty she would have done anything to get a positive lead on this case. It was the most beguiling one she had ever had on her books, not to mention the most lucrative. As far as Jo could see, this was going to be the only way forward and if that meant indulging Mr Smith with his sadistic little game, then so be it. Actually solving the puzzle of the missing Kelly Rogers and collecting the fee were going to be compensation enough, she decided.

Besides, being totally honest with herself, she supposed she was enjoying the unfamiliarity of the whole episode. At the back of her mind she almost wished she had taken Nick up on his offer when he had originally suggested it. The spreading warmth between her legs told Jo that she would have thoroughly enjoyed it.

Moving slowly, Jo bent over, her head close to the meticulously neat surface of Mr Smith’s desk. She shoved her backside out as she bent, trying not to think of the vulnerable position she was placing herself in.

Mr Smith stepped calmly behind her. He placed a hand on her rear and stroked her arse through the fabric of her short skirt. There was nothing particularly sexual about his touch. His hands simply traversed the contours of her rear. He did not try to tease the crease of her sex with his fingers or touch the sensitive valley that led to her anus. His touch was barely discernible through the strained fabric of her skirt.

Jo found the heat of her arousal increasing.

‘Feel this.’ His voice was almost conversational, hardly the tone she would have expected from a man brandishing a cruel birch cane. The wood whistled smartly through the air, three times in quick succession. Each time Jo felt the cane strike her backside she bit back a small cry of surprise. There was no real pain in the blow but the anticipation of pain was more than enough.

‘You can hardly feel anything, can you?’ Mr Smith noted, as though he had expected this much.

‘I felt enough,’ Jo replied, hoping the answer did not sound too flippant.

There was a note of dry laughter in Mr Smith’s voice when he next spoke. ‘Somehow, I doubt that. What you just felt was a lover’s caress. The way we employ discipline here is slightly different. Let me show you.’

Before Jo could raise a word of protest, she felt Mr Smith’s hands return to her backside. This time she was perfectly aware of what he was doing.

He made no attempt to conceal his intention. His fingers grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it roughly upwards.

Jo felt the fabric being drawn against the flesh at the top of her thighs. As a minor draught cooled the tops of her legs, she realised there was only a thin pair of satin knickers protecting her arse from the cane. When she felt Mr Smith’s fingers tugging at the waistband of the pants, she knew that in a moment even that minimal protection would be taken from her.

Surprisingly, her thoughts turned to Stephanie. She wondered how quickly her partner would have put an escape plan into action if she had known what Jo was subjecting herself to. She sincerely doubted Mr Smith would have been able to raise his birch again before Stephanie stopped him.

Thinking practically, Jo realised Stephanie was oblivious to her predicament. She knew Mr Smith was going to chastise her unless she stopped him herself. Considering the importance of this case, Jo knew that such a thing would not be happening. She needed to get the job he was offering and this was the only way.

He tugged the pants over her hips, then drew them slowly down her legs, to her ankles.

Jo was aware of his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh of her arse cheeks and legs. She felt a trickle of moisture dampen her pussy lips.

As before, it was a completely asexual touch that did not seem intended to arouse or stimulate her. His fingers carefully avoided the heated crevices and depths she displayed, concentrating on the moonlike orbs of her arsecheeks instead. In spite of his avoiding her erogenous zones, Jo could feel her stimulation mounting.

‘You have a nice arse,’ he murmured softly. ‘Beautiful, unmarked cheeks,’ he told her, still stroking the skin. ‘I imagine you’re very sensitive here.’

‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ Jo told him quietly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She tried to keep her voice calm and even.

‘Shall we test that supposition?’ he asked coolly.

Before Jo could respond she heard the cane whistle through the air and felt the wicked birch bite her arse. A red-hot wire of pain stung her backside. The blow was cripplingly painful but the sensation that followed was even more debilitating. Jo gasped for air, suddenly unable to breathe. She realised she was clenching every muscle in her body as tight as she could. When she released the tension from her body she felt a thrill of pleasure rush through her. It was not the orgasmic explosion of joy she normally experienced from sex, but it was just as satisfying. Her breath had deepened to a ragged pant, a sound she normally associated with heightened arousal.

She did not think it was so peculiar to be making such a sound now. Mr Smith’s cane was not the fierce implement of punishment she had imagined it would be. She found herself hoping he would continue with his demonstration, then dismissed the idea with self-loathing. That was not the way she should be thinking in this situation.

As though he were anticipating her needs, Mr Smith delivered three rapid blows with the cane one after the other. His force and swiftness were matched only by his accuracy. Jo did not doubt that each blow landed on exactly the same spot. The initial pain she had experienced was severe. However, it was barely more than a tickle compared to these three rapid blows from the birch. The pain was augmented with each strike, leaving her breathless as the last hit reached its mark. An explosion of exquisite pain erupted from the raging stripe across her arse. The thrill of pleasure that coursed through her body this time was tremendous. Jo felt her knees wanting to buckle as the waves of joy washed over her. Her excitement was so intense that she wondered if she was going to lose control of her bladder. When she felt the spray of her own ejaculation spatter against her inner thighs, she wondered if this was what had happened.

A groan of ecstasy escaped her lips. She could sense the warmth of Mr Smith’s smile as he appraised her chastised arse. His hand caressed the orbs of her arse again, this time stroking along the raised, reddened flesh his punishment had caused.

‘There are ways to vary this punishment,’ he explained, his tone of voice showing no signs of his own arousal. He could have been discussing something as dry and uninteresting as palaeontology or clinical psychology. His interest in the topic seemed so detached it was almost mechanical. Perversely, she found his lack of sexual interest for her was also a spur for her passion.

If Nick had caned her when he suggested the game, Jo knew that he would have been powerfully aroused by it. Thinking about it, she knew that his arousal would have somehow spoilt the eroticism of the moment. There was something infuriatingly exciting about Mr Smith’s cool detachment. Her vagina and arsehole were being proudly displayed to him and he had so far chosen to ignore their existence. Instead he had simply chosen to cane her with a will that seemed merciless.

She doubted Nick would have been able to punish her as torturously as Mr Smith had just done. Nick’s hand would have been tempered with tenderness whereas Mr Smith seemed to lack all traces of compassion.