The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 29 - Rocking Around The Library

Norfolk, November 1956

I had missed the one o’clock news on the car radio and had probably missed lunch at Southcote as well, although Spalding would have fixed something for me, but decided to look for somewhere to stop on my journey because I wanted time to think. A curious pub sign attracted me; what it a Tup and what were those two sheep doing? I had to look it up later in a dictionary and was glad that I had not asked the taciturn and suspicious landlord or any of the customers who huddled together like troglodytes at the back of the bar-room and avoiding looking at me. Realising that asking for a glass of wine would be useless I requested a lager and a dusty bottle was produced from beneath the counter before being splashed into a half pint tankard. I took a seat by the window and my luncheon platter was almost thrown onto to the table in front of me as if I had the plague. I not sure which was the veal and which had been the ham in the pie but the cheese although mature was at least edible and tasty. I left the limp celery and the apple with a skin that had more wrinkles than the insides of Seraph’s thighs; lit a cigarette and stared out of the lead lined window at the drizzling rain.

My conscience was bothering me that I had not really thought about David since first thing this morning, apart from when Kelly had mentioned how jealous she was of our love. Which brought me to my next problem: I was as jealous of Michael for winning Kelly’s love as much as I hated him for the way that he had treated her. I had to admit again that, listening to Kelly’s story, I had at times wished that I had a similar experience and an early chance to indulge my transvestism. Also, my conscience pricked at me for leaving her there but I don’t think that she would ever have forgiven me if I had interfered then. What I had heard between Kurt and Bradshaw was too much to comprehend, the scale of their crime was breathtaking but I had also learnt much more about my Mistress and Sugar in half an hour than either had ever revealed to me in all the years that I had known them. I needed to talk to Miss Spiteful before I tried to make sense of any of that. Finally I tried to work out what we had overheard on the telephone that morning. The only females that I knew who spoke German apart from Miss Spiteful, Kelly and myself were Gisela and Eva, but what did I know about Sarah and Clarissa or any of the slaves girls and who was the mystery caller threatening to kill?

“Drink up Lady, we’re closing!” The Landlord had ventured out from behind the bar to take my plate and waiting to snatch my tankard away.

“Bitte?” I said without thinking.

“You can’t have any bitter now”, he snarled. “It’s two o’clock and we’re closed!”

I stood up and wrapped my coat around myself but none of the other customers were hurrying to finish off their drinks or making a move for the door. I was about to protest when I noticed that one, deep in a gloomy corner, was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket with silver buttons and a little chain. I shrugged and was barely out of the door when it was slammed shut behind me; I heard bolts being thrown across and the muffled bleat of a sheep. I trudged to my car and spotted a black bicycle, with a crown and N.C.C. in white lettering on the enormous front lamp, propped against the pub wall. Purely by accident, the tail of my raincoat must have caught the handlebars, toppling it to the ground and driving over the front wheel was completely unavoidable.

As I approached Southcote Hall through the parkland, I saw the Wilmingtons walking towards me and I braked alongside them. I wound down the drivers window and leant out as they stopped and turned towards me. Both were pale faced and the husbands shoulders were slumped as if there was a great weight upon them. Gisela, however still stood upright but her eyes seemed to have difficulty in focusing on me. I asked after her health in German and, after an initial surprise, she responded in the same language, with a quite cultured Baden accent, that she was enduring the ordeal. Her husband tugged at her elbow and, with a sad but grateful smile, she accompanied him down the road.

I entered the hall through the back door and spotted Spalding seated at the table in his pantry, reading a film magazine and eating a slice from a big walnut topped fruit cake. He saw the longing in my eyes and waved me to a seat while he cut a slice of cake for me and got us both a cup of coffee.

“Miss Spiteful had luncheon served in her room, a couple of hours ago, after which she informed me, she was going to take a nap”, Spalding informed me.

“I bet you tried to get on the bed with her”, I said, not entirely joking.

“At my age, one is liable to sudden giddy turns which require me to lie down”, he said stiffly.

“And what did she say to that?” I asked, trying not to giggle.

Spalding gave a dignified sniff, “Something in German but her meaning was unmistakable”.

“Spalding”, I said in exasperation. “The war has been over ten years but your daughter still calls me a Jerry bag and I was run out of a pub at lunchtime. Is it because I am German or is everybody rude to strangers around here?” I recounted what had happened at ‘The Tup’ and he shook his head sadly. “Don’t worry about my Grace, my lady. She is still upset about losing her Charlie”.

“Oh dear, was he killed in the war?” I was already regretting asking the question..

“Oh no, my lady, he went through North Africa, Normandy and across the Rhine without a scratch. It was afterwards, during the occupation, that he got shacked up with a young German girl and has made a fortune over there, selling surplus army vehicles. Lucky sod! And as for the ‘Tup’, I wouldn’t drink in there. They take the pub sign quite literally and, if you had been wearing a sheepskin coat, you wouldn’t have been let out, whatever your nationality”.

“Where is everyone else?” I asked, not wishing to pursue that subject, as I finished eating my slice of the excellent cake.    

Spalding picked his magazine again and started flicking through it. “Sir Geoffrey is probably checking Ashley’s tonsils with his dick and the two gentlemen have taken over his office. I believe that most of the others are entertaining themselves in the Library. Cor!”

Spalding licked his lips as he held the magazine up sideways. I stood up and leaned over his shoulder to see a voluptuous Jane Russell sprawled over two pages in a very provocative pose. In a moment of wickedness I opened my raincoat, unbuttoned my blouse and posed in the doorway with my hands underneath the cups of my brassiere. He turned his head when I thanked him for the cake and his blue eyes bulged out as I jiggled my breasts up and down. I was away and down the passage when I heard the crash of his chair going over backwards. 

I heard music coming from the Library before I even entered the hall and, when I opened the door, my ears were assaulted by Bill Haley and the Comets’ Rock around the clock. Inside, most of the slaves were dancing in the middle of the floor, furniture having been moved back to clear a space on the carpet. The record player was on a nearby table and seemed to under the care of Dominic who was somehow holding a conversation with Todd Garrod over the loud music. George Harman was reading a newspaper on a couch with Clarissa Rose, flipping through a magazine, seated beside him on a leather couch. Lord Mayberry was in an armchair, clutching a glass of whisky, and beaming at Eva’s thighs and bottom as she gyrated near him in a short and skimpy yellow dress. Her dance partner was Sherry, the image of her mother in a longer, sleeveless white dress. At the far end of the room, seated on bench, in a bay window, I could see Waveney with his arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

When the record ended, and Dominic was extracting the next one from the sleeve, I approached Eva, who immediately stepped between me and Sherry. There were two purple bruises on her face, one on the side of her chin and the other under her left eye. There was also a plaster over her right eyebrow. As pleasantly as I could, I asked her in German if was true that Kurt had a tiny dick. Her face registered astonishment and, for a moment, the mask slipped enough for a smile to touch her swollen lips. She held up a little finger as she replied; “Das viel!” and then turned away when See You Later, Alligator started. I had been hoping to get her to say more but I had heard enough now to convince me that neither Eva nor Gisela had been the female in the phone booth. I wandered around the library for a little while, looking at the books on the shelves. The Southcotes had not been great book collectors because over half the shelves were empty; there was a large reference selection, including economics and modern history, Sir Geoffrey’s and his father’s probably but the rest appeared to be mainly nineteenth and twentieth century erotica and pornography. I spotted one or two that might have been classed as serious studies or collectors pieces but none of it interested me apart from bound volumes of German magazines from the twenties featuring women posing in underwear.

At least one of the Southcote forebears had made an attempt to bring in some more conventional titles and, on especially deep shelves, I found folio volumes of art and nature subjects, landscapes and maps but there were also portfolios of risqué Victorian and Edwardian prints.

I left the library, pursued by the noise of someone called Tommy Steele rocking with his Cavemen. 

As carefully as I could, I opened the door of Miss Spiteful’s bedroom and peeped inside. The light was out, the curtains were drawn and I could see no more than a shadowy mound on the bed, from which a gentle vibrating sound emanated. I closed the door gently and retired to my own room to listen to my radio and think about my feelings for David and Kelly.

To continue this story, click Virgin On The Ridiculous

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