Story from Fessee 03.
by A. Hilston
The bell rang for morning break as Mr Marr ended his telephone conversation, saying, 'Right, Madam I assure you it will be no trouble at all. Tomorrow, at four. Goodbye.' He sounded like a typical Headmaster.
He put the phone down, smiling, a little surprised by the call. He was still smiling when Mary Cleaver, his Assistant Head, came into the study with the morning tea on a tray, as usual.
'Ah, Mary,' he said pushing his mail aside, so she could put the tray on his desk. 'I've just had a very odd phone call. Sarah Broadley, our well-known local magistrate, committee lady, and general do-gooder, needs my help.' His grin was wickedly juvenile rather than academic.
'Hmph!' Mary began to pour for them both, totally uninterested.
'It seems she's writing something about caning, for some Good Cause or other she's into now. Not too sure of the right words to use, apparently. It's odd; she doesn't seem to have much idea about it.'
'I'm not surprised.' Mary finished pouring, took her cup and sat down and crossed her long legs. She was attractively well-built, with dark straight hair and frank blue eyes. Yet again her natural manner struck Mr Marr as being mildly sensual. He liked the way she moved.
'Sarah hasn't the faintest idea about caning' Mary went on. 'She was sent to some lavish private school where caning was frowned upon, even then. She's never been caned in her life! Far too full of her own importance, and has been for years. On all the right Committees, now.'
'Hummm, I see. I've met her a few times, at meetings. A plump lady,' Mr Marr chuckled softly. 'No friend of yours, obviously.' He smiled wickedly. 'Perhaps a demonstration may help?' he asked innocently.
'A pity you can't cane her!' Mary snapped. 'Do her a lot of good. Take her down a peg or two, and give her something to think about.'
'We can let her meet a senior girl who's been caned, perhaps. Then I can explain the terminology a little.' His grin made him look boyish.
'Let her see a girl being caned. That should surprise her.'
'Of course,' Mr Marr agreed thoughtfully. 'Why not? You have a culprit in mind? A senior girl who won't make a caning into a drama.'
'Renolds has been up to her tricks again. She's due a caning.' Mary grinned suddenly. 'Then you can cane the hell out of Sarah, later. And I'll help. It will be good fun. I had no idea she was a writer.'
'We can think about it. Putting a cane to Mrs Broadley could be very interesting, afterwards. It will improve her writing no end.'
They both sat back to finish their tea, considering......
* * *
MARY CLEAVER took the tea tray into Mr Marr's study at 3.45 the next day, as usual. She put the tray on his desk and began to pour for them both. He watched her, smiling.
'I phoned a few friends last night,' he said. 'They all agreed with you, about Mrs Broadley. Apparantly, she needs a good caning.'
'Good. I phoned her husband, when I got home. She's into some anti-caning thing, now. That's the writing she's doing. He gave his permission for us to help in any way we can.' Mary shrugged eloquently. 'He sounded as if he'd had enough of her do-gooding.'
'A fine opportunity to help a writer in distress. Do you think our 'help' would extend to a caning?'
'I'm not sure, but I think it may. She will be in distress, if you decide to take a cane to her fat bottom, after she's seen Renolds get hers.' Mary grinned at the thought. 'Renolds won't make too much fuss.'
'I didn't know you knew Mr Broadley.'
'Oh, yes. We grew up together, though she's a bit older than me. We're old friends.' Mary stopped herself from adding that she had been spanked fairly often by the young Mr Broadley, long before he met Sarah and she changed his ways. But he hadn't forgotten! He wouldn't mind if they introduced Sarah to a cane, she felt sure, though he hadn't said.
'I think I shall consider Mrs Broadley as a target of opportunity,' Mr Marr said gravely. 'You'll deal with Renolds, after tea?'
'Rely on me. By the time you bring Sarah down Renolds will be very well dealt with. Or, better still, she'll be ready for it.'
'Hmmm. Yes, I think that may be better. We should let Mrs Broadley see her caned, at least.' Again, he was the typical helpful Head.
They sat back to finish their tea. Mary trying to imagine Sarah in Renolds' place. The thought appealed strongly enough to make her smile. And she would have to help; Sarah was no eighteen year old pupil.
* * *
BARBARA RENOLDS waited outside the punishment room, looking forlorn.
She was a tall girl; slim, but with a figure that had stopped her cheap school bus rides a couple of years ago. Her hair was blonde, thick and heavy, with a slight curl. She had wide innocent blue eyes, and her breasts filled her school uniform blouse so well they attracted boyfriends like magnets.
Miss Cleaver had promised her three strokes. But she hadn't said if it would be with knickers, or without. Poor Barbara hoped for the best, but feared for the worst. It wasn't fair! She tingled hotly at the thought of being caned bare. It wasn't her fault that boys knew she liked to be spanked, and would agree to stay out late if this was done nicely. A few had found she would agree to almost anything, if she was spanked nicely enough, for long enough. How could she keep to school rules? Barbara sighed; a victim of her own devilment...
She heard Miss Cleaver's footsteps coming along the corridor. Sounding sharp and aggressive! Again, she sighed softly, resigned to her fate. Her cute bottom clenched furiously at the thought. It would be minus knicks. And she'd get the usual lecture, first – damn it.
* * *
IN MR MARR'S STUDY he and Mrs Broadley were having tea as they chatted. She was saying '– I'm told I shall be wrong, you see, about the words, 'gating' and 'flagging', if I use them.' She had a terrible affected accent, so very 'County' it was obviously over-cultivated.
'Probably, Madam,' Mr Marr agreed drily. 'Those words describe very old caning practices, never met with now. But, Gating, and Flagging, are caning patterns, calling for some skill to do correctly.'
'Ah, yes, of course, I see,' Sarah said – which she didn't.
Mr Marr took in her ample, exciting build with an expert eye. He mentally placed her as a good thirty-eight, at least, with hips to match. She wasn't too fat at all. Plump, perhaps; in that well-cared-for way of monied ladies. Her ash-blonde hairstyle was elegant and expensively casual. She wore a simple light dress, pale stockings and light, strappy heeled shoes that matched her plain light bag. She obviously spent time and money in caring for her figure, as ladies do who have easy access to both. Mr Marr was quite impressed. She was an ideal subject for a caning; fit and lithe. Still a target of opportunity, but one worthy of some effort; underhanded if necessary.
'We rely heavily on tradition, here,' he said. 'Our fees are quite high, but parents pay them. We provide a high standard of education, and traditional punishment, when needed. Both are expected, of course.'
Sarah looked surprised, and said: 'You amaze me, Mr Marr.'
And, he thought I'll amaze you even more, with a little luck.
Much more, lady! He was certain she would react well to a sound caning. But would it be worth the undoubted hassle, later?
* * *
MARY CLEAVER'S phone call had promoted some heavy thinking by Mr Broadley. Long into the previous night he had pondered, while Sarah slept, completely unaware of what he had in mind for her. He knew she planned to visit the Academy the next day, for some advice. At 4.00 p.m.
By lunch time he still wasn't too sure. But at 4.10 he decided. He muttered, 'Yes, damn it. Do her no harm.' He picked up his phone and began to punch-in the number of the Academy. He had recalled fondly how well Mary had performed, years ago, after he had spanked her. But Sarah, busy with her committees, meetings and charity work was no fun at all.
* * *
MR MARR said: 'Miss Cleaver has to punish a senior girl. She'll be leaving us soon, for college. You can see the results, and have a word with the girl. Shall we go down? It may help you a lot.'
'Yes,' Sarah stood up. 'Thank you. I appreciate your help.'
Like the gentleman he was, Mr Man held the door for her saying, 'This way, Madam,' smiling benignly, appreciating her low-cut dress.
As they were leaving his study, the phone rang.
'I'd better answer that,' he said. 'Excuse me a moment, please.'
He went back to his desk and answered the phone and was surprised to find he was speaking with Mr Broadley. He had a similar elevated accent, and a loud, deep voice. A man used to giving orders and getting results. Also, a man of some social standing, obviously.
'I understand you have my wife there, sir,' he barked.
'Yes, she's here. We've been discussing some writing she plans to do, on the finer points of caning. In a few minutes I hope to –'
'Cane the hell out of her, perhaps?' the deep voice interrupted, jolting Mr Marr a little. He hadn't been expecting that!
'I... um... wasn't too sure about that. She may not be too willing, and I wouldn't hesitate to.... ah...'
'Don't! Sarah is never willing about anything exciting, or funny. Very serious person. Mainly concerned with the social position, charity work, committee, and such nonsense. No sense of fun at all now – and never had very much. If you'll introduce her to the cane I shall be very much obliged, sir. Do her no harm. She goes out riding regularly.'
'So, if she objects to it..?'
'You take no damn notice!' A deep, wicked chuckle. 'You cane her, anyhow, as you feel necessary, to... ah... loosen her up as much as possible. A spanking, first, may help?'
'Of course. That will be no trouble at all. Rely on me.'
'I shall sir. And thank you. It has been a real pleasure to speak with you. Goodbye, sir.' Mr Broadley chuckled again as he rang off.
Mr Marr put his phone down smiling broadly. Problem solved! He was more than willing, and very able, to oblige his caller.
He found Sarah waiting outside. 'I'm sorry about that,' he said. 'But it was quite an important call. Shall we go on down?'
'Yes, of course,' Sarah said, smiling.
* * *
IN THE PUNISHMENT ROOM Mary was saying severely, ' – your father pays high school fees to keep you here. You are a good pupil, apart from staying out too late. You must keep to school rules. Barbara!'
'Yes, Miss. I know, but... um... I can't, when my boyfriend... ah... he, um...' Barbara's small voice didn't end the sentence.
Mary shook her head wryly, admiring yet again the sight of the girl leaning awkwardly over the bow-end of the old leather settee. She was built for spanking, and Mary had an idea the young minx enjoyed it. No wonder boys took advantage of her. She recalled being in a similar dilemma at Barbara's age; for very similar reasons, probably, when her boyfriend found out that a spanking relaxed her nicely, and her strict morals. But she hadn't been attending a boarding school.
'No excuses, young lady,' Mary snapped. 'Three, wasn't it?'
There was a knock at the door – Mr Marr, with Sarah.
Mary called: 'Come in,' and, to Barbara, 'You stay as you are!'
Mr Marr ushered Sarah in, and said: 'All ready, I see.' And to Sarah, 'This girl is about to receive three strokes for breaking school rules.'
'Oh, my goodness!' Sarah took in the view of Barbara, mouth open in surprise. The long slim legs in black school stockings, the inches of bare thigh above and the trim curved cheeks in the blue knickers seemed to take her breath away. The girl bent over the arm of the settee.
'And we'll have these out of the way, this time!' Mary tapped her cane across the taut knickers, at the crest of the girl's full cheeks.
'Yes, Miss,' Barbara said, and began to slip her knickers down reluctantly, while Sarah gasped, 'Oh-h-h!' softly, oddly fascinated.
Barbara took up the position again, with the knickers at mid-thigh. Her heavy blonde hair covered her face, and her arms rested on the soft seat cushions. One slim leg was slightly bent so that her knees were tightly together, and her feet. Now she was displaying her two shapely pale cheeks and her legs looked even longer. Sarah felt very uneasy.
Mary quickly and expertly swung the cane and Barbara gasped softly and jerked tensely as it connected three times. No loud wails, or cries. She stayed put without being told, until the three parallel fine white lines Mary had imprinted upon her cheeks turned bright red.
Mr Marr smiled thinly. Mary nodded silently, satisfied. And Sarah moaned, 'Oh-h-h,' very softly, trying to imagine how the wretched girl must be feeling now. Her own plump cheeks clenched rigidly in sympathy, and a wickedly erotic tingle ran through her, to her amazement.
'If you break the rules again,' Mary said severely, 'I shall let your Father know. You don't want that, do you?' It wasn't a fair question.
'No Miss! Please don't.'
Sarah couldn't believe her ears! 'What would he do, if he found out?' She couldn't resist asking, in a plummy tone. 'He'd object, surely.'
Barbara answered warily. 'No, miss. But he'd use his belt on my... um... on me..., and I wouldn't sit down for a week.'
This was beyond Sarah's powers of understanding. She gasped, 'Oh, my!' then stared silently, fighting an impulse to run from the room.
Mr Marr couldn't wait to get her over the arm of the settee. He was able to sense, from long experience, how she was feeling. He said: 'Right, Barbara, off you go.' The girl had made her caning look easy.
'Yes Sir.' The girl stood erect. She turned away from them and began to wriggle her knickers up over her pinkly-flushed cheeks slowly. When she'd done this she turned to face them, head down, staring at her shoes, looking very subdued. Her face was as flushed as her bottom.
'Remember!' Mary said. 'Six strokes next time!'
'Yes, miss. I won't forget.' Barbara turned and headed for the door.
They waited until she closed it softly as she left the room.
'You see, Madam,' Mr Marr said. 'No harm done, at all.'
'No,' Mary agreed quickly. 'None at all. But she'll think before she stays out too late the next time.' She smiled innocently.
'But that was terrible!' Sarah said, suppressing a shudder.
'Not at all, Madam. The pupils know what to expect. It stings for the moment, and makes the point to them nicely. And it's over quickly. Now, to deal with your problems. That was a punishment. There are other ways to use the cane. I can show you quite quickly, if you like.' He took Sarah's arm and began to lead her to the old settee!
'Oh! But, I don't want to be caned!' Sarah protested loudly. And again that highly erotic tingle shot through her at the thought! And again Mr Marr sensed this instantly, and knew she was an ideal subject.
'Any writing is best done from experience,' he said gravely. 'I take it you have never been caned, Madam?'
'No,' Sarah shook her head. 'Never!' she admitted, still tingling.
'Well, then...' he urged Sarah gently towards the settee '...how can you possibly write on the subject. You may enjoy it; many ladies do, once they have had the experience.' He smiled knowingly.
Sarah wondered if she'd been missing something worthwhile all those years... And again that hot tingle! This time it ran through her nipples and lingered, making her feel quite breathless. A novel experience for her.
She allowed herself to be led to the settee without another word.
Mr Marr gave Mary a quick look of success. She said: 'Let me help. I'll steady you.' She sat on the settee and took Sarah's hand as Mr Marr eased her over the high arm of the settee, saying, 'Relax, Madam.'
Sarah bent over from the hips and took her weight on her hands, or she tried to. Mary caught her wrists and, as she lost her balance, quickly drew her arms forward, so that Sarah subsided her weight on her elbows. Being nowhere near as supple as young Barbara, her feet left the floor. She gasped and rolled about awkwardly, then tucked her knees tightly under the bow. Perfectly positioned. Virtually helpless, now.
Sarah didn't see the swift grin of achievement that passed between Mary and Mr Marr. Mary braced herself for what she guessed was to follow, smiling, holding Sarah's wrists firmly, to keep her in position.
'Are you quite comfortable, Madam?' he asked.
'Yes... But awkward like this... I'd like to –'
'Good,' he interrupted Sarah's panted objections, no matter what they may have been. He put has hand on her back and felt Sarah quiver intensely. 'First,' he said, 'a little gentle spanking.'
'NO!' Sarah cried. 'I object to that, I –'
Mr Marr over-ruled her objection by slapping her firmly on each soft buttock. Mary felt Sarah jerk her arms wildly, but was ready for this.
She looked up and nodded for him to continue, while Sarah went on trying to object, gasping for breath now, and trying to get her arms free. She had little success, apart from her rapid gasped breathing.
Mr Marr held her down firmly with one hand in the small of her back and spanked her rapidly with the other. Mary grinned her approval.
Poor Sarah lay there totally confused. Panting to breathe. Gasping furious objections no-one was taking any notice of. Jerking and rolling and kicking awkwardly. Bottom tingling hotly, and the sound of sharp slapping loud in her ears adding to the stinging sensation rapidly. Also, experiencing electric tingles internally that were well beyond any previous experience. Her buttocks felt far too big for her dress, and her bra was far too tight suddenly. And she couldn't do a thing!
Mr Marr was slapping the undercurve of her cheeks gaily.
Mary was sure Sarah was responding nicely. The fight was going out of her already. She was nowhere near as frantic now, though still she struggled vainly, ruining her elegant casual hairstyle.
When Mr Marr stopped spanking her Sarah was too breathless to object. She was too busy trying to deal with the fact that her nipples were madly sensitive and her pussy aching warmly. She moaned softly into the soft leather cushion her face was resting upon, indignant and confused.
Mr Marr glanced at Mary, a silent query. 'But, first...'
Sarah cried, 'NO!' as he quickly drew the hem of her dress up to reveal a pale green slip with a deep lacy trim. He took no notice as he did the same with her slip. Sarah realised what was going on and wailed 'No! Damn it!' not knowing she had surprised Mr Marr.
He hadn't expected French knickers. Pale green. Very highly cut at the sides with the same deep lacy trimming as the slip.
He paused for a moment. Sarah yelled, 'Let me UP' in a voice with no trace of affected accent. He certainly hadn't expected her to be wearing such sexy knickers! He admired the effect. And the way Sarah's thighs bulged at the welts of her stockings, and the way her taut suspenders dug into them slightly in that position. He took no notice.
She wasn't to wear the so-sexy knickers for long.
It took Mr Marr a few seconds to get back to the job in hand. One firm tug and they were down to her knees, with her wailing, 'OH-h-h!'. He paused again to admire Sarah's full, soft cheeks. Pink silky skin. Plump smooth curves, with attractive small dimples and deep creases below. The cleft between them, with a glimpse of dark-blonde curly hair at its base which gave the lie to her ash-blonde coiffure.
As Sarah could not lie still the sight was fascinating. Mr Marr took in the way her cheeks flexed fluidly as she kicked weakly. The cool air on her warm pussy made Sarah gasp, totally shocked as she realised what she may be showing! She had never felt so humiliated!
She was showing almost everything, to Mr Marr. He smiled, charmed.
Despite this he took up a suitable cane and tee'd-up to her flushed cheeks, saying, 'I won't cane you too hard, for the first time.' Then, Shwitt! He imprinted a fine white line across the apex of both cheeks and Sarah shrieked 'AHHHhhh!' kicking madly, cheeks clenched tightly.
With superb timing he waited until she settled down and relaxed, gasping softly. Then, Shwitt! he did it again, to another instant yell. And, Shwitt! – again, – before the yell faded to an outraged gurgle.
He watched the fine white lines until they turned bright red, and Sarah became less frantic. She had three closely spaced parallel lines, now bright red, across both buttocks! Unused to this sort of treatment, both were flushed a deep dark-pink colour. So sensitive now and so tense they quivered, attractively dimpled. Sarah mumbled frantic objections.
Again he raised the cane and gauged his target. Shwitt! and another harsh cry from poor Sarah immediately. And, Shwitt! the cry became a wail of anguish and Sarah began to bounce about, kicking wildly.
And again he paused, admiring the five parallel lines Sarah wore neatly across both cheeks. The last two turned red as the first three.
He offered the cane to Mary. She released Sarah's wrists and stood up and strode quickly to take it. She took up a position slightly angled from his and raised the cane. Sarah, thinking her ordeal was done, relaxed and lay still. Her cheeks relaxed slowly, twitching. She gasped quickly, shallow breaths. Mr Marr held her firmly in position, one-handed.
SHWITT! Mary swung with years of dislike in her stroke, and laid a fierce white line diagonally across the five Sarah already had, 'gating' her perfectly. Sarah squealed 'OW-w-w-w!' and tried to leap vertically up from the settee. This was impossible for a lady of her size and weight, of course. But she tried. Purely a reflex action, of course.
She then surprised them once again! Ladies of her undoubted high social standing do not pound their fists into the seat cushions of old settees. But Sarah did! Her expensively styled hair was a total wreck. But this was her last concern. She clamped both hands over her punished pink cheeks and rolled about wildly, moaning softly. Her main concern was to try to control the hot stinging sensation in her buttocks. She arched her back and raised her head, biting her lower lip as her weight pressed her taut breasts into the cushion beneath her. A fantastic electric sensation ran from her nipples to her toes and back to her hot pussy, leaving her gasping, confused. There was a faint tang of female arousal!
Mr Marr took the cane from Mary, hung it up and said calmly: 'There you are, Madam. Spanked and caned beautifully.'
Mary put her head at a slight angle and nodded, smiling wickedly.
'I must leave you, now,' she said in a businesslike tone. 'I have work to do.' She went to the door, turned and added, 'It's been nice meeting you again, Sarah,' and went on out. Very diplomatic indeed!
Mr Marr guessed what Sarah's problems probably were now, from long experience of caning ladies. He began to search for some cream in the cupboard, giving her a chance to regain her composure and get her breath back a little. She did look a little harassed.
Sarah gasped as he stooped to apply the cream gently to her very attractive cheeks. She tried to wriggle away from his careful fingers awkwardly. But not for very long. She sighed and submitted thankfully.
'You'll feel much better in a moment, soon, Madam,' he said, in a soft, soothing voice. 'This cream will work wonders. Keep still, please.'
He went on applying cream to Sarah's ample buttocks, very gently.
'There!' he said, a few minutes later. 'How do you feel now?'
And yet again Sarah surprised him! She turned her head and glared up at him and said: 'You bastard! I feel hot and awkward, and as randy as hell – you know it.' Not a trace of her cultured accent now. She was furious, snapped, 'Well! What are you going to do about it? Don't just stand there, staring at me! You got me like this.'
Sarah turned her head away in disgust. Mr Marr glanced down at the base of her cleft and saw she was pouting beautifully. He was never a man to miss any opportunity, but he never took unfair advantage of any lady, either. He said: 'I'll put a little more cream on you.'
'Hmph!' Sarah wriggled as he did, then said, 'Oh-h-h!' as he put some cream expertly where it would do her the most good. Sarah spread her legs wider apart moaning softly deep in her throat, anticipating more attention. And getting it, expertly delivered. She was thrilled!
He smiled as Sarah began to respond wildly, still moaning softly. But not complaining. Panting a little now. His smile faded to a look of satisfaction. He had known Sarah would make an ideal subject as soon as he saw her, and he was rarely wrong. She was a live one, for sure.
Confidently now he reached under her breast with his free hand.
Sarah raised herself on one elbow to make it easy for him. She had sprung free from her light bra long before, and was almost out of her low dress by now. He gave her breast a friendly squeeze that wrung a low 'Ooh!' from her. Not surprise – appreciation. She was loving it!
He cupped her warm, moist pussy and gave it a nice gentle squeeze, to another low 'Oh-h-h' from Sarah. And some slow erotic wriggling. She made another low sound of pleasure as he found her nipple, firmly erect. She was very sensitive there. Each touch brought a low cry and an almost instant response between her legs. She became more moist.
There was only one possible conclusion, and it didn't take Sarah too long to reach it. She became rigid, moaned, and climaxed lustily!
Mr Marr, like the gentleman he was, made absolutely certain she was completely satisfied in every way possible. It was well after five p.m. when he walked her out to her car. She still looked slightly confused.
Sarah sat down gingerly, wriggled slowly to find a comfortable way to sit. 'I'd like to thank you very much,' she said, smiling. 'You have been very helpful indeed.' Her affected accent was back to normal.
'Think nothing of it, Madam. It was a pleasure. Now you can write from personal experience. That's the secret: personal practical experience, every time. It often creates a completely new train of thought.'
'I'm sure you're quite right.' Sarah smiled widely.
'If you need any further explanation don't hesitate to phone me.' He closed the car door and added: 'By the way, if you look, later, you'll find you are 'gated' perfectly. The word 'flagging' will be clear to you now. But I would never use the word, flagging.'
She started the car, said, 'I won't. You can rely on it.'
He watched her drive away down the long drive, thinking, she got more experience of caning than I intended, perhaps. But it will do her no harm. She seemed to enjoy it, once she got into it.
* * *
THE PHONE RANG as Mr Marr was dealing with the morning mail in his study. He recognised the accent immediately; it was Mr Broadley, sounding very friendly and quite hearty. This was a surprise. Very odd.
Mr Marr was wary. The man sounded too hearty, perhaps.
'Good morning, sir,' he said. 'I must congratulate you. A fine job.'
Thank you.' Mr Marr relaxed. 'It was a pleasure.'
'Poor Sarah. Gated perfectly. She's a credit to you, sir. She was a bit reluctant to show me last night, at first. I put a little cold cream on it for her. She was most appreciative, later.'
Mr Marr stopped himself from saying, she was with me as well. He said: 'I'm very pleased. It was a bit drastic, perhaps.'
'Not at all, sir. Now! Can I ask you another favour?'
'Of course. Is it connected to Mrs Broadley's writing?'
'No, sir. Sarah has a very close friend – Alice Wilson. Sarah is certain she will be interested. She phoned her, early this morning, to tell her about it. They tell each other everything. Work on the same committees, and so on. Would you mind if Mr Wilson – Tom – gave you a ring, later?'
'Not at all.' Mr Marr said. 'I'll be pleased to help her. Is she a writer as well?'
'I don't think so. But Sarah is sure she'll be very interested. I've just phoned Tom, and he's very keen for Alice to meet you.' He chuckled. 'Alice has the same trouble Sarah had. Too keen on her charity work. She needs what Sarah got yesterday – and I need to buy a cane.'
'I see. Tell Mr Wilson to ring me about that. I shall be more than pleased to help her. And Miss Cleaver will advise you on buying canes.'
'Oh, by the way. Sarah mentioned that she's giving up the anti-caning thing. Plans to write C.P. stories for a magazine now. She says she may have to pop up to chat with you about some of the finer points, if you don't mind. She asked me to mention it to you.'
'I'll try to explain anything she's not too sure about, by all means. That goes for Mrs Wilson as well, of course. I enjoy helping anyone who has an interest.' Mr Marr smiled confidently.
'Alice will have an interest. You can rely on Sarah for that. She was on the phone, boasting, when I left this morning. Alice will hate to be left out of anything, if I know her.'
'I shall look forward to meeting her, soon.' Mr Marr purred.
'Good. Tom will be phoning you; before long, I imagine.'
Mr Marr put his phone down, smiling. He knew, for sure now, he had been right about Sarah. And now he had Alice Wilson to look forward to. She might turn out to be a better subject than Sarah. Unlikely, but...
Mr Marr leaned back from his desk comfortably.
He hadn't long to wait before the phone rang again....
The better the Deed, the better the day!