Chapter 1

 

Just as Modigliani always painted the same girl, or someone with a 'natural bent' drew only horses, Martin could make a success out of almost any portrait, as long as someone's bottom could be brought into the design.

His full-length Portrait of Louisa Bourdalou had shown her naked in profile and then reflected in a mirror behind her.

He was a habitual bottom watcher in ordinary life.

Many, perhaps most men, look at a woman as if she were a frontal nude or even on her back with her legs parted. So did Martin, but mostly he looked for the curve of the buttocks, the movement of the haunch muscles and whether there were, or were not, the triangular edges, indicating the presence or absence of pants, or even ... and you had to look hard for this ... a straight horizontal indication that a particular pair of buttocks had lately been caned.

On men this was rarely detectable in England, because of their dark clothing, but women wore clothes which were lighter in colour and consistency and were also more clinging and these sometimes gave away, or advertised what was underneath.

One of the reasons why he liked warm climated places, such as the Riviera or the Albi of Toulouse-Lautrec, was that he could so advertise himself.

This exhibitionism, apparently feminine though it was, was not always intended to attract, even if in practice it usually did. He exhibited his bottom because he enjoyed his bottom. Bottoms, including his own, were beautiful.

People might sometimes say cuttingly, and behind his back, that he was a Narcissus. His answer, as he surveyed his body in a wardrobe mirror and saw his prick rising in weight and length, was that Narcissus was not only beautiful, but deserved the sympathy of every serious aesthete.

 

Louisa had had, and continued to have, many men and some girls when he first met her at the Relais des Deux Fours outside Le Lavandou. The place, part cafe, part green grocer and part outdoor night club, also showed films by projecting them onto a screen across the lane.

They had danced to thunderous South American rhythms on the piste. He had felt her hands grasping him closely by his bottom. He had, of course, responded in the same fashion. The clinch held their genitals together, an invitation which needed no further words.

He felt, or thought that he felt, her rough pussy under the bikini. She felt his thrusting erection against it.

"Next time," she said, "I might wear high heels and you could dance in bare feet, then we could couple properly without interrupting this oh so sexy, dance."

"That would be marvellous," he replied, "but just now ..." he twitched his courting finger into the divide of her buttocks.

"No time like the present," she said. "Behind the screen ...? And I reserve the right to spank you whenever I like."

"Spank ...?"

She felt him hardening up abruptly.

"Oh, yes ... I always carry a suitable instrument, just in case ... I think you could do with it now ... Yes?"

She nodded off the piste towards the gate onto the road.

"Probably," he said, meaning 'yes', and thinking that he had not so far seen her with an 'instrument', wondering what sort of thing it might be, or whether she was using the word generally, as a synonym for any sort of flagellation with or without an instrument.

He guided her conveniently and without collisions to the edge of the crowded piste.

"What sort of instrument ...?"

They stepped unobtrusively off, and went to the gate, leaving their drinks and oddments, except her bag, at their table.

"I might show you," she said.

 

************

 

A low stone wall separated the relais garden from the lane and the gate faced a similar one in the opposite wall.

About twenty yards along to the right, just behind the wall, the screen stood up opposite the projector in the relais garden. At that moment it was pouring forth tremendous, if old, deeds of derring-do in black and white, while now and again a car drove through the beam.

They crossed over and turned through the gate towards the screen.

Martin felt a little self-conscious because he had not realised that the performance blinded everyone looking towards it, and therefore, he was less visible than he felt. She had no reservations because she had done it before. In fact, she said, it gave her a thrill to do it in the glare of so much privacy, with so many people looking ... did they but know ... straight at them.

Once behind the screen in the contrasting shadow, slightly illuminated by moonlight, he held her to him with one hand and began to pull down her bikini with the other.

It fell easily, and so, with a little help from her, did his own.

It was the most natural of situations ... the standing missionary's cock pressing against the nun's pussy ... and then she whispered in his ear ... "front or back?"

"Back."

"In that case, a fessee first."

She had put her handbag on the ground. Now she knelt to open it and extracted a smooth polished, rather thick tube about a foot long.

"I said I might show you."

She unscrewed one end, drew out a slightly thinner section, of about the same length, reversed it and screwed it back in, so as to form an extension. This almost doubled the length.

From the end of this component he darkly made out that she was pulling out a third section of about the same length. It tapered to a blunt point but was otherwise roughly as thick as a conventional cane.

She reversed this too, and screwed it in, in the same manner as the other.

"Voila ...! Bend over."

An enormous sexual excitement took possession of him, and his mind, his genitals, buttocks and his anus.

He felt about in the darkness with his hands and came upon an abandoned, seatless, but otherwise serviceable garden chair, whose presence he had sensed, rather than seen, when they first entered the shadow behind the screen.

She tapped his bottom with her three foot instrument, to encourage him to bend over it.

He put is hands on the further rim, which had once supported the now non-existent seat, eased his balls over the back, felt his still powerful cock and bent over as far as he comfortably could.

"Very elegant!" she said, then laid the instrument to his fesses to take aim. In some vague way it did not feel the same as an ordinary cane, such as he had experienced at school and in love, but he would have been hard put to define the difference.

He had seen it only in moonlight. He made a mental note to get her to show it to him in the morning ... for he had no doubt that there would be a morning.

He sensed her quietly withdrawing it, presumably for the first stroke.

There was a hanging instant.

"Now!" she said.

There was a split second interval ... He heard nothing because a loud altercation was proceeding on the screen. Then came a sharp and painful, stinging cut from a first point of contact on the outer curve of his left buttock, right across his bottom to the outer curve of his right.

"Whew ...!"

"Again ...!"

There was that cinematic interval, and then the well distributed, painful sting a little lower down.

"And again ...!"

Well distributed it was and still lower, but this one lashed over and hurt his right-hand half especially. In fact he wondered if it had drawn blood.

"And the fourth...!"

It fell exactly upon the welt of the first stroke.

"And the fifth ...!"

"How many are you going to give me ...?"

The question was provoked by his genitals, where the passion pressure seemed to be rising towards a first jerk.

"Ten ...!"

"Can you do it more slowly? Otherwise I might come."

"Let me look ...."

He stood up and she came round.