Subculture by Sarah Veitch

of the long polished dining table, and her nipples tingled nervously. But she had to face him some time...
    Three minutes after leaving Vitality, Lisa found an English-style bus stop. She’d go to Valletta, the Maltese capital. Would stroll about in the sun and check out the shops. She felt her happiness increase as a creaking coach came trundling round the corner. Then her smile faltered; Bedford Dominant was printed on the front. The herbalist grimaced at the unintentional irony, and smoothed her pinafore dress more firmly over her hot small buttocks. For the next three months she wanted to be in charge.
    And she would be from now on. She’d simply refuse to make any errors. That way she’d avoid the man’s cane and just taste his medical knowledge and his bounteous hospitality.
    â€˜One to Valletta, please,’ Lisa told the coach driver. He was as remote as bus drivers seem to be the world over. Dropping the few cents he requested into his outstretched palm, she made her way down the half-empty bus. She’d been prepared to spend much more than this on transport - on everything. Michael was paying her a generous salary and had already left a crisp thick bundle of Maltese pounds in her room. Lisa stared eagerly out of the window as the coach drove past crop-heavy farmyards. Didn’t the Maltese keep animals? There wasn’t a cow in sight.
    When the bus reached Valletta she alighted into a boisterous modern part of her new world. She followed the guide book, till she came to the Sunday Market. Stalls stretched out for as far as her widening eyes could see. There were so many different tourists and accents and goods on offer, so much to study and ultimately understand. For wasn’t that why people travelled? To get to know the Bigger Picture in the hope that it would help them study the smaller but complex canvas that was themselves.
    She understood now that a spanking could make her wet. Lisa forced her slender limbs further into the crowd. She felt strangely safe in its midst - unwatched, completely anonymous. Was half-carried past the stalls of cassette tapes, candies, paperbacks, wood and brass. Feeling guilty about orgasming over the doctor’s suited knees, she bought an Aran jumper for Reece.
    Back at Vitality that night she napped, showered, changed into a dusky pink skirt suit that she hoped warned don’t touch me. Don’t put a hand on my shoulder, far less spank my seat. She brushed her silky hair till its auburn highlights shone in the evening sunshine. Then she applied a little diluted rose oil to her pulse spots and stared at the clock. She didn’t want to go down before 8pm, for that might look too eager. She didn’t want to go down afterwards, for the bastard might try to penalise her for being late.
    At a fraction before the allotted time, Lisa left her room and traipsed slowly down the stairs and along the corridors. Only her heart was beating fast.
    As the grandfather clock in the dining hall chimed for the sixth or seventh time, she made her entrance, took in the long rectangular table - Michael, Marie-Rose and Jamilla were already sitting there. All three were leaning forward, obviously caught up in some animated discussion, but broke off to smile at her. Lisa smiled back, and forced herself to keep smiling as Michael pulled out the seat across from his.
    â€˜I hear you took the bus to Valletta,’ he said casually.
    â€˜You seem to hear a lot,’ Lisa replied. She kept her voice equally light for the benefit of the others. Looked up, glad of the interruption as a Maltese youth of around nineteen walked in.
    â€˜Ah Bakar - just in time,’ Michael said with a very slight edge to his voice. ‘Glad that we could drag you away from exercising the horses.’ He turned back to Lisa. ‘Bakar can groom a chestnut roan till it shines; can tempt the tiniest foal into eating to get its strength up. If only his gifts extended to