The Illustrated Teacher
Part 3

"Your answer, Sophia?"

"Yes."

"Good girl. Stand up please, go over to the back of the sofa, and bend over it."

Andrew watched her as she stood, as she moved, soundlessly across the room. By the time she reached the sofa, she was breathing hard - scared. She stood looking over the back of the sofa, willing herself to bend over.

"Is it hard?"

"Yes," she squeaked.

"Why, Sophia."

"I'm scared that you will hurt me."

"Don't be frightened. I will hurt hurt you, you can be sure of it. But it will be momentary, and then it will be over." He walked over to a chest of drawers beside the bookcase, opened a drawer and drew out a broad leather strap.

"Oh, God..." she gasped as he approached her.

He held the strap out. It was brown, and wide, and like a belt, only stiffer. The edges were rounded and polished. "Feel it."

She reached out a hand to touch it, her fingers slid over the edges. "Will it... mark me?" Her voice broke on the question.

"No. It's designed not to."

"How..." Her eyes were welling up with tears, even though she fought to hold them back. "How many?"

"Five."

It would be so much easier to take if this were just a quick burst of violence. This methodical approach was so much harder to comprehend, or submit to.

"Will you bend over, Sophia?"

She took one last look at Andrew and, with every muscle in her body tensed, bent over the back of the sofa, tucking her arms beneath her chest. She was sure that once he started, she would be unable to stop herself from trying to protect her flesh.

"Well done," she heard him whisper.

He laid a warm hand on her back and let it drift down to her neck. She felt his fingers tense, and then heard a whoosh of air before the strap struck home.

Stars burst in her head on the first impact. She yelped into the old leather of the couch. The sting crept up her back and down the back of her thighs, but at the point of impact, she felt almost nothing.

The second stroke was even and came fast after the first. Sophie fought to stop herself from moving and didn't make a sound. Beneath her chest her hands balled into fists.

"If you breathe out as I hit you, it will feel a good deal better, Sophie." The hand at her neck, caressed her skin and then tensed again.

The third time, she screamed as she felt the impact, and it did feel better. Like all the pain was being pushed out of her lungs. She did the same with the fourth and, by the time the fifth stroke landed, she was so ready for it, it was almost a relief to feel it fall.

Only when it was over did she think to cry, and then she wasn't quite sure why she was crying. A strange tidal wave of something she couldn't identify washed over her body. She forgot about the position she was in, unclenched her fists and sobbed into the chair's cushion.

"What a good girl, Sophia!" The hand on her neck slid back up her spine, and over her burning buttocks. It caressed them in turns, soothing the sting away. "That's it, cry it all away," he said. His voice was tender, almost motherly, and helped nudge the floodgates to open wider.

At some point, she realized that he'd stopped touching her; that he wasn't nearby. But she couldn't move and she couldn't stop weeping. The pain was gone, and the punishment was over, but still she could not stop. It felt as it she would never, ever stop crying again.

Minutes later, she was still in the same place when she heard the door open and footsteps, and the unmistakable sound of crockery on a tray.

"Stand up, now, Sophia. Come have a cuddle and a cup of tea."

She pushed herself upright, painfully aware that her hair was everywhere, and her face must be bright red. She wiped her face with her hand, and tried to smooth down her hair, ashamed to look at him.

"Don't bother with that. Come here." He was sitting in the armchair by the fire. And, as she walked over to him, feeling awfully foolish, he patted his thighs. "Sit down, right here."

As infantile as it felt, that was exactly where she wanted to be, and she shuffled over, trying not to show her face and sat down on his lap. The moment she did, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. It made her want to cry again, and she loosed a few hiccupped sobs, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

He held her and rocked her, stroking her back for a while. Sophia gave a last, stuttered breath and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Andrew."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, my sweet girl. You did exactly what was asked of you." He pulled her gently away from his chest and looked at her. "I'm so proud of you. You have no idea," he said. And kissed her on the cheek.

Beside her bare thigh, through the wool of his trousers, she felt his cock twitch and stir. It hadn't occurred to her, until now, how he felt about all this. She'd been so self-absorbed she hadn't stopped to wonder.

"Would you like me to get off your lap?" she asked.

"Not unless you want to. Does my erection bother you?"

His question was so direct it took Sophia by surprise. She wasn't sure how to respond. Then, she remembered that her only obligation was to be honest. "No. No it doesn't."

"Then stay where you are, but, if you wouldn't mind reaching for my cup of tea, I'd be grateful. There's one there for you too."

Sophia giggled, and passed his cup to him. For no reason that she could explain, she liked the fact that he was hard. What she didn't quite understand was why he clearly couldn't care less about it. She took her own cup, took a sip, and curled up in his lap again. The tea was very strong, and very sweet.

"You keep trying to feed me sugar, Andrew."

He smiled. "I could say it was sweets for the sweet, but that isn't it. Sugar is a good way to raise your blood sugar down after a spanking, or a crying jag. It helps you feel normal again."

"There's the mystery of the British Empire solved, then."

* * *

When she woke up, it was dark in the room, but for the fire in the hearth. She was stretched out on the sofa, and there was a wool throw over her. She must have fallen asleep in Andrew's lap, and he moved her to the couch and covered her. She lay there for a while, listening to the silence and enjoying the feeling of the wool's scratchiness against her bare skin.

But soon, her bladder reminded her that she hadn't peed since morning. Sitting up, she looked towards the window. The streetlamps outside were on, but she had no sense of what time it was. The table beneath the window was bare; her clothes had gone. Pulling the blanket around her, she crept to the door and opened it. The light was burning in the hallway. She tiptoed across the landing, and into a hallway on the other side. There were two doors, both open. One was a kitchen, and the other a dinning room and both were dark and empty.

Back on the landing, Sophia climbed the second flight of stairs and found a similar set of doors. The open one, to her great relief, was a bathroom. She went in, closed the door behind her as quietly as possible, and switched on the light. Letting the blanket fall from her shoulders, she sat down on the toilet and, with a sigh, began to pee.

When she'd finished, she flushed and washed her hands and wrapped the blanket back around herself. Now all she needed to do was find her clothes.

Steeling herself, she opened the first closed door quietly. "Hello?" she whispered into the darkness. There was no answer, so sound at all and she felt for a light switch next to the doorjamb. Flicking it on, she found herself in a strange room. Unlike the sittingroom below, or the dining room, it wasn't cosy or old-fashioned at all. Mirrors ran down one wall of the room. They reflected the opposite wall, on which a myriad of implements of all kinds were hung. Cuffs, chains, masks, whips, harnesses, paddles. She walked into the room partly awed, partly terrified of what she saw there. In the middle stood a strange piece of furniture, a little like one of the gymnastic horses they used to have in schools, only this was lower, and there were rings set into the legs of it. She dragged her fingertips along it gingerly, as if it would bite. The things hanging on the wall gleamed in the halogen spotlights set into the ceiling. As she turned back towards the door, her breath caught. In front of her was a massive cross, not mounted to the wall, but set out from it on an angle.

"I see you've found my secret room, Sophia. Haven't you ever read the story of Bluebeard?"

Andrew stood in the doorway, his hair dishevelled, wearing a black bathrobe belted loosely around his waist. The lapels were open, and between them, on his chest, was a stark and brutal tattoo. It wasn't like anything Sophia had seen before. It looked tribal or geometric. Nothing like the delicate work she'd seen in the windows of tattoo shops.

'I...I apologize."

"Don't, Sophia. I knew you'd wake up sooner or later. But I thought I'd let you sleep as long as you needed to. I didn't want you thinking you had to put your clothes on and leave."

"I wasn't being nosy. Andrew. I promise."

He laughed his deep laugh, and walked to her, putting a casual arm around her. "Sophia," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "There were no rules about where you could go, were there?"

"No. I don't think so."

"I'm not going to make up things to punish you for. I would never do that, Sophia. That's unforgivable."

"Well, I just thought... perhaps."

Andrew pulled her head close to his and put his lips to her ear. "Did he do that to you?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

Sophia closed her eyes and listened to Andrew's breath in her ear, but in her head, a scene replayed itself, a horrible, monstrous scene of rage. "Yes," she said. It was a whisper. "Yes, he did."

He guided her out of the room, pausing to turn the light off. "I'm not him, Sophia. Come to bed."

"I can go home. It's no problem."

"It's three in the morning. Do you want to go home?"

"Yes...no..." She stopped at the landing. "What would you like?"

Andrew smiled. "Sometimes it's just nice to sleep with someone else. Just sleep. Don't you think?"

Sophia tried to remember the last time she hadn't slept alone. Years ago, now. "I'd like to stay, if that's alright."

"Excellent."

His bedroom was directly above the sitting room, and looked very similar. The bed was an old four-posted, and very high off the ground. Books were piled high on both bedside tables.

Andrew took off his robe left it at the end of the bed, he walked around to the far side. It wasn't just his chest that was tattooed; his whole body bore the same, strange patterns. He climbed into bed and looked at her. "You can admire the artwork in the morning, Sophia. Come to bed."

Suddenly, she felt very shy. Dropping the throw she'd wrapped around her, Sophia scrambled into the bed, and burrowed beneath the duvet. She heard him chuckle and switch off the light.

"Goodnight, Sophia."

"Goodnight, Andrew."

She lay awake in the dark, listening to his breathing. When she heard it resolve into a regular, deep pattern, she judged him to be asleep. Little by little she inched her way across the expanse of bed until she felt the warmth of his body. Nestling up against his back, careful not to disturb him, she tucked her nose into the back of his neck, and fell asleep.

 

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