Notebooks of the Young Wife by Tara Black

acquainted with the Elements that will go to make up the Display, and announce once we are alone the Need to rehearse them with Assiduity in the few Weeks that remain before that Event. It would seem that my Abigail concurs, though busy as her Lips are with the nether Counterparts they have lighted upon between my Legs, it is not easy to be sure. (I must own, too, that I am a little distracted from making the Effort). What I am resolv’d to make quite certain of, however, is my own Preparedness in the Month ahead of us to serve the Master’s Will.
     
    Uxor Studiosa scripsit , July 1728.
    Back in my room I set the taps to fill the freestanding bath with its clawed feet. From raunchy Mistress with her Maid to the domini puella of the closing homily, she had made me keener than ever to see more, but for the time being that would have to wait. While it was barely nine, I decided to cut the day off with a long soak, then curl up with a glass of malt and the copy I’d brought up with me of the wit and wisdom of the famed Lady Termagant Flaybum. Half a century later than uxor , she was at that juncture about the closest I was going to get.
    When I emerged eventually from the steam, towelling my hair, the boy was waiting inside the door. How long he’d been there I didn’t know, but I made no comment and took from him the leather paddle he was holding. I sat on the bed, patted my lap and without a word he lay across it. That part of our relationship at least required no special negotiation. I pulled the cotton covering tight over his seat and brought the instrument down several times with some vigour. It made a fine noise and once his erection began to press into me I stood him up and dropped his trousers to the floor.
    The penis pulsed in my hand and I stroked its meaty thickness, feeling my own loins contract. So much was becoming habitual, but that night I was of a mind to move things on a little. With a nonchalance I was far from feeling, I opened the bathrobe and my legs enough to enfold his hardness with my thighs when he came back down. Thus I held him with the tip of his glans a bare inch from my aching vulva while I resumed the spanking with a bare hand. Whatever he thought about the new departure he made no complaint. Quite the opposite, in fact: as I fell into a steady rotation of smacking and fondling the reddening bum, the boy’s movements too acquired a rhythm that pressed the cock into the limbs that gripped it. I stroked his balls and drew my hand up the crack to the puckered hole. It responded at once, opening to my fingers, then he made a noise in the back of his throat and I felt the hot spurting between my legs.
    And that was it. He lay quivering a moment, then he was up and into the bathroom grabbing at his pants. I sat frozen and when he returned it seemed to my fevered mind that he pointedly kept his eyes off the spattered flesh still uncovered. Perhaps so, indeed why should he not have been as embarrassed as I by my clumsy attempt to bring cock closer to cunt without the dreaded ‘gay’ wilt, of which I’d been warned. As it was, there seemed to be something else on the boy’s mind.
    ‘Secretary,’ he muttered, from under the fringe that had fallen over his eyes, then tossed it out of the way. ‘She might know, right? Not far down the road. We could go.’
    It took me some seconds to wrench the sex-fixated brain into gear. He was talking about the Notebooks, of course. The woman who’d transcribed some of their contents might be expected to know where they were kept. It was certainly worth a try and I warmed to the we : an expedition might lead us to other places than our literal destination.
    ‘How about after lunch tomorrow?’
    ‘Yeah.’ He made his unceremonious exit, releasing me to go and clean up in an almost cheery frame of mind. I planned to call on the lovely mechanic in the morning, and with a little help from the gods I could end up with the use of a car thrown in. The day was