sister for long walks in Central Park, afternoons at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or strolls along the boardwalk at Brighton Beach. Wherever they met, they were always sure to rendezvous miles from lower Manhattan, to insure a miniscule likelihood of running into their father together. Unlike Laura, Susan was terrified of incurring her father’s considerable wrath and facing corporal punishment from this large and frightening individual. Meanwhile, alone in her room every night after her homework was done, Susan continued to write her cartoon strips, watch her old movies and compile voluminous lists of references to spankings in novels, in magazines, in vintage movies and television shows, rented from the local video shop.
She acquired her first boyfriend at age 14, a fellow student at her Manhattan prep school. That same year her mother passed away and life became even more strained at home. Susan was allowed to walk home from school with her boyfriend, to go to a movie on Saturday afternoon or to Central Park, but was never allowed out after dark, either for skating, sporting events or Broadway shows. Susan knew that if her father ever caught her so much as holding hands with her boyfriend that the relationship would be instantly and forcibly dissolved by him, and lived in a constant state of anxiety lest the rapid progress of her maturing romance ever be discovered by her controlling and violent parent.
Mistrusting the temptations of the city, Susan’s father enrolled her at the New Hampshire prep school in her sophomore year. Thinking to keep her safe from the attentions of adolescent boys, he selected an all girls school, without being aware that the neighboring all boys school shared many of the same facilities and continuously promoted social interaction between the students. Susan promptly lost her virginity to the first boy who had the imagination to spank her in the woods and her father was never the wiser. Mercifully, he died the following year and Susan was left in the blissful state of being well provided for and the legal ward of only her nice older sister Laura.
After this the two became much closer, corresponding on an almost daily basis and spending all their holidays together. At the end of her senior year at prep school, Laura’s friend from college, Marguerite, who also had a strong interest in the bondage and discipline arts, revealed to Laura and Susan that she had come under the patronage of a publisher of a wonderful magazine, to which the sisters both ought to be contributing. And this was how Susan and Laura together discovered Random Point and Hugo Sands, at approximately the same time.
There were two bookshops in Random Point. Marguerite Alexander’s was the one worth visiting. A spiral staircase invited the browser to climb to three galleries lined with scholarly and esoteric tomes. The loftiest tier was crammed with erotica from every era and all corners of the globe. Marguerite prided her shop on offering the most complete collection of connoisseur’s literature in New England.
But even more of an attraction of the shop was Marguerite herself. Certain male denizens, who had never read literature more sophisticated than Stephen King, could attest that it was worth the price of a coffee table glossy just to be able to watch her undulate up and down the spiral staircase in a tight mohair skirt and a snug sweater.
A lustrous mane of light red hair gorgeously offset Marguerite’s flawless bisque complexion. She was 30 years of age, wasp-waisted, provocatively tall, interestingly educated and completely uninhibited. She looked especially tantalizing when she kept her glasses on, for they gave her a shy expression, which was piquant in contrast to her showgirl silhouette.
Marguerite was Hugo’s favorite submissive. He had brought her out 5 years before and she was still realizing her potential under his management. Some of her exercises involved her playing the dominant role over others. Handsome tokens were always tendered to Marguerite after such efforts. Thus, for the good of her bank account, Hugo had turned her out.
Marguerite also published B&D stories in Hugo Sands’ journal, writing under the pseudonym “Alma”. Laura Random, whom Marguerite had first met at Bennington, always illustrated her fiction.
Marguerite Alexander was late in arriving at Hugo’s that evening, but thought she had a very good excuse. There was New Talent in town.
It was raining and she’d walked the two miles from her shop to Hugo’s house, to revel in the inconvenience, while mulling over what had happened at the stop just before closing time.
The couple came in at 5:30. They were strangers to Random Point and the man was very attractive. Marguerite noted that he was possibly 6’3”, broad shouldered, fair complected, blue eyed and about her own age. He was dressed in a suit of gray Donegal tweed, the cut of which she could not help but openly admire.
A young woman whom Marguerite found instantly disagreeable accompanied the excitingly tall and nattily dressed young man. The companion was content to remain on the lower level, perusing works by politically correct female authors, whereas the interesting gentleman immediately noticed the plan of the shop, which clearly stated one could find erotica on the third level. He ascended to the loft at once and there remained engrossed until his woman finally sought him out just before 6:00.
Marguerite, who had been covertly watching him all the while he browsed alone in the gallery, now was able to observe them in conversation from her excellent vantage point below.
They were standing together in front of the stacks that held all of Marguerite’s favorite books. He had never stirred from these stacks all the while he was above. Now Marguerite could hear the girl pronouncing judgment.
“All these books share the same vile theme!” the girl loudly declared: “Women being Abused by Men!” Then she flung aside in disgust the offensive volume she had rudely dislodged from her friend’s large, capable hand to shallowly skim. Marguerite later went up to the gallery to search for the book the girl had thrown down. It was on the floor and the cover had become soiled. Marguerite lamented the ruin of the copy of the novel Frank and I.
“Oh, how I’d like to fix that one,” mused Marguerite, as the unpleasant young woman began to descend the gallery stairs. An instant later, the resounding thump, thump, thump of the young woman’s bottom sliding down the steps, after a freakish slip, gratified Marguerite.
The tall man rushed down to the landing to help his friend to her feet, but the girl was cranky and pushed him away.
“Oh, leave me alone. I’m all right. She must wax those steps! I should sue Reebok. Who ever heard of skidding with cleated shoes on? Come on, Michael, let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs. I’m going back for a book I wanted,” he told her, going back upstairs before waiting for a reply. Marguerite observed this conspicuous absence of gallantry and was amused.
The girl continued downstairs by herself, but stopped at the counter to rate Marguerite for the slippery steps. The redhead could not apologize enough, and even pressed the volume of feminist poetry the girl had been fondling a few minutes before upon the sore fall victim, as a gift.
“Please take it. It will make me feel so much better!” Marguerite insisted, unable to resist peeking up at the loft in the midst of wrapping the thin volume in tissue and handing it to the girl. He was back in the spanking novels again!
“Well, all right. Thanks. I guess it’s fair compensation for a black and blue butt,” the girl said, rubbing the seat of her sweat pants gingerly. For an instant then, she seemed quite likeable, but quickly ruined this impression by suddenly demanding, “Why do you stock so many books that promote violence against women?”
Marguerite replied, “It isn’t violence, it’s merely C.P.. Ask your companion to explain.” The girl followed the redhead’s upward gaze to the gallery where her escort was still browsing.
“C.P.?” The girl was becoming annoyed.
