Rogering Molly & Other Stories
By Christopher Hart

She turns up at ten to nine, immaculately timed, just as he is beginning to get jumpy but comfortably before he begins to get irritated. She slips between the groups of people standing at the bar and comes over to him. She is wearing a very plain charcoal grey cashmere dress, a black suede jacket and black suede pumps with modest heels. Bare brown legs, despite the chill November night. Her hair done up loosely on top with a little silk scarf. He has observed at least two men watching her as she crossed the bar.

What’ll you have?

Vodka with ice she says. Oh, make it a double. What the hell, it’s Friday night.

My pleasure, he thinks evilly. He buys her drink and rejoins her on the sofa. She sits crosslegged and half-turned towards him. This the best bit, he thinks suddenly. Nothing else beats this: this moment. Nothing.

As the evening wears on she becomes more and more animated, her eyes glittering, her eyelids half closing looking so directly at him, and something in her expression that seems to him pointed and meaningful, loaded with significance.

You are mad he says. A mad girl. Let’s talk about you: interestingly mad you. It’s a funny thing. I still don’t feel I really know anything about you.

That’s OK she says. Neither do I.

There you go, he says, that’s what I mean. He is laughing but he means it seriously. I mean, where did you grow up? Where did you go to school?

Hampshire she says.

And what sort of school?

She thinks for a short while and then says, A reformatory.

Really?

Oh yes. She lays one hand on his knee. I was a very naughty girl.

How naughty? he asks provocatively.

Very naughty she says. I was at a Reformatory, run by nuns, for the Very Naughtiest Girls in England. And they were the Little Sisters of Discipline and Stern Reproof.

Stern... ? he says, already going goggle-eyed.

Reproof she repeats, patting him on the knee again. And Discipline. Very strict they were too. Any little breach of the rules and you were severely punished. You were only allowed to walk, not run, down the Marble Corridor, for instance, on the way to 4am Matins, no matter how late you were.

And you were caught running?

Oh no, I was caught flying. Well, not really flying, but certainly floating down the corridor, a couple of feet off the floor. But Sister Felicita was furious, she said she had never encountered anything so impertinent since her days as a foreman on a building site. And I had to be severely punished.

Go on, he says.

Well, I was taken to the Mother Superior’s study, and there the Mother Superior and Sister Felicita and Sister Perpetua made me bend down across the leathertopped desk...

Yes.

She sighs coyly. And... well, they made me hitch up my little gymslip.

You wore gymslips? That doesn’t seem a very good idea for a Reformatory for Very Naughty Girls.

Little gymslips, she stresses. Very short they were. She plucks up the hem of her dress until it covers only the very upper reaches of her thighs, and she looks at him wide-eyed. That short at least, she says. She pulls it down again demurely. Oh, it was to put temptation in our way she explains. We were always being told that the world was such a terribly wicked place, and before we were released back into society, we had to learn to be able to resist temptation. That was also the reason why all girls had to share double or even triple beds in communal dormitories, right up to the sixth form. And why the school uniform was always so deliberately, well, so skimpy, and sexy: gymslips, black stockings, high-heeled shoes, blouses that had to have at least the top four buttons undone at all times. And at bed-time, these really short, lacy nighties. And all the walls of our dormitories were decorated with these enormous, and most inflammatory murals depicting acts of... well...

Well?

She lowers her eyes to her feet and plays little-girlishly with the hem of her dress. Well, she whispers. Sapphic love.

He swallows. When he speaks his voice is hoarse.

Go on he says, with a certain undignified desperation.

And all the bedside cupboards had... well, you know... things in them.

Things?

Things, she repeats solemnly. Anyway, the day I was caught floating down the Marble Corridor, I was made to bend over this leathertopped desk, and hitch my little gymslip up around my waist. And then... actually, I wouldn’t mind another drink, would you?

He looks around with wild impatience, unseeing, and says OK then, and takes the proffered note from her and buys a couple more drinks and returns in remarkably quick time. She is sitting back looking very relaxed and smoking a cigarette. She has been musing on how ridiculously easy it is to turn men on, how predictable their tastes are in erotic tales. And yet how she loves doing it. And this particular man, she admits, is very sweet: the rueful, apologetic smile, the awkward hand movements, the inarticulate mumblings.

Well? he says.

Oh thank you darling she says, leaning forward for her glass and taking a sip.

No, I mean... well?

Well what?

The spanking, the spanking! he hisses.

She looks at him blankly for a moment and then laughs and touches him on the arm. Oh I’m sorry, I’d quite forgotten. Now where was I?

Over the leathertopped desk he says. Your gymslip up around your waist.

Quite so she says, drawing deeply on her cigarette. You have been paying attention, haven’t you?

I’m... I’m interested. From a purely, um, erotico-philosophical point of view.

She eyes him with amusement as he sits there, on the edge of his seat, twitching at every cruel flick of her narrative whip. Well she resumes. There I was, with my very short, tight gymslip hitched right up. And Sister Felicita started to spank me on the bottom with her bare hand. But after a while she stopped and said to the Mother Superior, I’m afraid that young Miss Elizabeth is a particularly recalcitrant young lady. I suggest that she requires chastisement on her bare flesh. The Mother Superior gave her assent, and so Sister Felicita and Sister Perpetua promptly positioned themselves either side of me and ordered me to part my legs a little. Then I felt two pairs of hands pulling my knickers down to my ankles. Then they both start spanking me again at the same time, on my bare buttocks.

Did it hurt?

Hm, sort of she says dreamily. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation though. Like when you lie out in the sunshine naked and your bottom gets sunburned. And then after that they told me to stay where I was while they rubbed some cream into my skin to soothe it.

Then... then what?

That’s... that’s it. They told me to put my clothes back on and be off to lessons.

Oh he says, disappointed.

You sound disappointed.

No, not at all. I just... I just thought it might get more...

Men! she tuts. You’re all the same. You only ever think of one thing.

No, that’s not true he protests. I love fantasies and the build-up and all that bit. But in the end... well, you want the Happy Ending, don’t you? You don’t want to be left in the lurch?

Hm, she says, circling her fingertip round the rim of her glass (already empty again) and looking steadily at him. I don’t know. I like the fantasy bit just as much. And you don’t have to feel so guilty. After all, it’s not actually doing it, is it?

No. No. it’s not actually doing it he agrees. So... so you mean, just, like fantasizing with each other is OK, as long as it doesn’t go any further?

I can’t see anything wrong with it, can you?

No, nothing at all.

They have two more drinks before closing time and then rise to leave.

I’ll get a cab in the Fulham Road she says.

Oh I’ll walk you, he says. Save you the cab fare.

Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure he says, taking her gently but firmly by the arm. And anyway, he adds, when I get you home I intend to whisk you inside and up to your bedroom and fuck you senseless all night long. Though purely in fantasy, of course. I can’t see anything wrong with that, can you?

How very rude she says, and then smiles. Come on, then.

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