Notebooks of the Young Wife by Tara Black

Author:Tara Black
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: chimera, tara black, erotic, ebook, fiction, domination, submission, damsel in distress, corporal punishment, spanking, BDSM, S&M, fetish, rubber, leather, pvc, bondage
ISBN: 9781907976018
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited
Published: 2010-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Installed

Under the wing of our guide we were spared the task of talking our way into the unofficial access on Rue des Vierges. Though the entrance for visitors formally sanctioned was no grand affair: at the end of a cobbled street to the side of the cathedral stood a plain stone arch with a short flight of steps directly inside to the left. At the top of them, the sound of the iron bell-pull echoed and died to silence within, before the weathered wood of the door swung open. A young woman in a grey dress with pulled-back hair stood aside to let us pass through the modest opening, and bobbed her head to the one bringing up the rear.

‘Hauptoffizier.’ Even my scant German was enough to recognise the seniority of the title that was being acknowledged beyond its probable jurisdiction.

‘Annabelle. Conduis nos amis à la chambre à deux, s’il te plaît. C’est libre, n’est-ce pas?’

‘Oui, mais...’

‘Sois tranquille. Ça plaira Madame, j’en suis sûr. I shall go to her now.’

‘Elle vous attend, Hauptoffizier.’ The girl bobbed again and turned, indicating that we should follow. While the tall German strode off down the passage that stretched ahead, we were led through a side portal that brought us to the foot of a spiral stair. Before I realised quite what she was doing, Annabelle hoisted my bag onto a shoulder, took the boy’s out of his hand and twirled up the first half-dozen of the worn stone steps. ‘Allow me,’ she said over her shoulder, shaming us both by her agility and her grasp of our language, ‘the space is narrow and I am accustomed to it.’

At the top she marched along a short corridor and opened the door at the end of it. Inside was a narrow room lit by a small window high on the far wall. Our luggage deposited on the nearer of two divan beds, she was gone without an opportunity for questions. However, the charge of us had been assumed by our ‘officer’, as if she spoke for the institution’s real head, and I had no doubt we should hear sooner rather than later what was in store. An inspection of our quarters showed that we had a compact bathroom of our own, two chairs, two divan beds and not much else; appropriate enough to the bare boards and plain white walls of what was still a retreat. There was a single cupboard built into a corner of the wall, and I was in the act of peering inside when there came a sharp knock at the door. Sibyl Metzger swept in and steered a lad to the fore by his shoulders.

‘This is le garçon. It is how he is known in this almost entirely female establishment. I thought he could take your boy down to the kitchen to eat then show him around. Meanwhile, we could share a light supper and a tête-à-tête, if you were so minded.’ She smiled and I tried to look enthusiastic. The woman was the kind of organiser that left barely time to catch one’s breath.

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