Shadow Lane Volume 8: The Spanking Libertines A Novel of Spanking, Sex and Romance. Eve Howard

school. Do you have any questions?”

      “Actually, I was wondering whether there was anything like a B&D support group on campus,” Lupe murmured.

      “Not at the moment,” replied Diana with the greatest astonishment. “Perhaps you and I should start one!”

      Two weeks later, after the posting of a flier campaign, Vassar’s first B&D support group met in the parlor of Cushing, the beautiful Tudor style dorm in which the girls resided.

      Lupe and Diana arrived a few minutes early to fill bowls with chocolates and nuts while Diana’s other protégé, a handsome junior named Carl-Adam Johanson, carried in a keg and tapped it. His trim waist, remarkable shoulder spread and chiseled profile caused Lupe to stare, but Diana whispered, “Alas, he’s submissive.”

      “All six foot four of him?”

      “Oh, Lupe, look who just walked in,” Diana whispered, “that gorgeously eccentric Clarence Gerard. I’ve suspected for quite some time that he might be in the Scene!”

      Lupe had already learned to admire that absurd creature. He wasn’t precisely gothic, had no long fingernails or deadly pallor. But he would affect breeches, top boots and waistcoats over shirts most days. He wore his light brown hair long and though it suited him, Lupe found it difficult to resist the impulse to pull off the black grosgrain ribbon that bound his elegant ponytail.

      He was a history major, music minor, captain of the fencing team and avid devourer of two hundred year old novels. On set crew at the Powerhouse Theatre, Lupe had been watching him rehearse one of the lead roles in The Rivals for the past two weeks and was already fixated on the flamboyant junior.

      She murmured to Diana, “His dad is a Silicon Valley magnate yet he himself won’t even pick up a mouse. He writes out everything in long hand and pays some scholarship kid to key it in.”

      “I’m becoming more charmed by the moment. Wouldn’t he be perfect for you?”

      “Bet you he’s a sub,” guessed Lupe.

      “You’re probably right,” Diana sighed, “though in all probability he’s a switch.”

      “I hate long hair on boys. It only serves to me remind me that my parents wore bell-bottoms,” the girl from Los Angeles reflected with a shiver.

      “But what hair, he’s looks like the lead singer from The Cult.”

      “You mean to say you admire his affectations?” Lupe demanded.

      “He’s very appealing.”

      “At least he doesn’t seem to be pierced or tattooed,” Lupe granted.

      “And mar that flawless skin?”

      “He’s noticed us looking at him.”

      Diana waved at the young man, who immediately crossed the room to them.

      “Hello,” she said. “I’m so glad you could join us! My friend Lupe and I were just trying to guess your orientation.”

      “Really!” This was pronounced with such irony that Lupe waited for him to produce a quizzing glass to scrutinize them through. Instead he merely asked in the same haughty tone, “And what was your conclusion?”

      “Submissive!!” Lupe cried, causing Clarence’s eyebrows to jump.

      “I was going to say it was too early to tell,” Diana chided her friend.

      “Submissive!” Clarence rounded on Lupe, a fine color rising in his face.

      “Not submissive?” Lupe replied innocently. Clarence glared at her and stalked off to take a seat behind the piano, whereupon he began to play jagged airs from Kurt Weill’s German period with excessive violence.

      “He looked like he wanted to slap your face,” Diana murmured to Lupe. “I wish he had!”

      “Thanks!”

      “I’m sorry, but that kind of thing turns me on.”

      Diana chaired the meeting while Lupe took the minutes, Clarence remaining at the keyboard to accompany Diana’s opening remarks with the overture to Peter and The Wolf.

      Nearly thirty students had arrived, with an even number of men and women. When Diana observed that they were numerous enough for a party, she received a roomful of blank looks, yet the word germinated in all of their brains as she spoke in practical terms about the dungeons and sex clubs of Manhattan.

      Then the concept of a party was revived. They wondered with one voice whether they could have a party on campus?

      “Out of the question,” Clarence snapped, abruptly ceasing to play.

      “And why is that so?” Lupe demanded.

      “The noise would disturb the other students,” he pointed out.

      “Any boom box will drown out a whipping,” Lupe observed.

      “The feminazis will prevent you,” he warned.

      “Really, Clarence, in spite of what you may choose to believe, we’re no longer living in the 18th century,” Lupe casually remarked, flushing his fair complexion for the second time. Instead of retorting, however, he simply narrowed his eyes at her, subsided on the piano bench and fell to playing something gloomily Russian.

      “I quite understand Mr. Gerard’s concerns,” said Diana judiciously, “and I believe they may be minimized by holding the proposed party in one of the townhouses facing the woods.”

      “I live in a townhouse,” Carl-Adam volunteered.

      “Would your roommates object to a party?” Lupe demanded.

      “Certainly not!” replied the flaxen haired youth with conviction.

      “What might occur at such a gathering?” queried one thoughtful girl.

      “Well, what would you like to occur?” Diana threw out.

      There followed a period of quiet reflection as the sexually disenfranchised of Vassar decided how best to articulate their most private obsessions. Meanwhile, the muted rumble of Scriabin provided a suitably dramatic backdrop. A thunderstorm had commenced as well and presently the noise of a heavy downpour augmented the emotion charged atmosphere of the wood beamed common room.

      “A bondage demonstration,” suggested a pale boy with blue-black hair.

      “I own six yards each of the finest white and black nylon rope, and will happily volunteer to be a subject,” Diana assured the enthusiast gravely, rendering him speechless with enchantment. “What else?”

      “A piercing demonstration,” a heavily pierced girl suggested.

      “That shouldn’t be hard,” mused Lupe, “students seem to get pierced on a daily basis around here.”

      “More’s the pity,” Clarence mused with a shudder, hoping the impertinent brat taking the minutes would never do so.

      “You mentioned whipping before,” said another brave coed, nodding towards Lupe, “I’d be interested in that.”

      “Nothing can be accomplished more easily,” Diana promised.

      “I wonder why no one has mentioned spanking,” said Lupe.

      “Are you volunteering to be demonstrated on?” asked Clarence casually.

      Lupe’s chin came up but then she rather saucily replied, “Why not?”

      After that Lupe and Clarence seemed to run into each other everywhere. And after the unifying support group meeting, they were also beginning to share the same friends. But Clarence persisted in returning Lupe’s friendly smiles with perfect sheets of ice, making it clear that she would not be soon forgiven for assuming him to be submissive.

      Then a small incident occurred that gave Lupe to understand