[Start at The Tawse’s Tale #1; but the current story starts at The Tawse’s Tale #4.]
The message was from Margaret Dick. The family business, by now about 127 years old, had descended to her. She said she’d be pleased to supply a traditional John Dick’s tawse. They had two models available, a heavy tawse, two-tailed, using a very thick piece of cowhide, and a lighter model. Would either of those suit?
This was great, I wrote back. I’d probably want the heavier one, if that was the one that was actually used in schools, the one with a bit of history to it. But I was leaving Scotland in the morning, which would be Saturday, so would they be open? Would I be able to come to the factory, perhaps, to pick it up?
No. It wouldn’t be possible to let customers visit the factory for insurance reasons.
That was a pity. I’d hoped to take a sinister photo of tawses hanging on the wall and lying on tables in various states of completion. A photo to make a submissive’s blood run cold. Still, they were running a leathergoods factory that made bags and belts and other non-pervertables, and they were probably sick of the tawse enthusiasts mooching around, dressing as schoolgirls and breathing in the leather. That’d be reason enough for keeping the factory off-limits.
I said what a shame that was, since I’d come so far…?
So she offered to meet me in a tea-room in Cowdenbeath, a town a few kilometres from Lochgelly. She’d bring both the tawses, because I hadn’t yet decided which model to go for. That was very nice of her.
Next morning I got up early. I’d dreamt about Gemma. In the car, driving south, I thought about her some more, naked on her knees, her face and breasts pressed to the sheet, ass up and glowing hotly. And I hoped happily. I’d have to make that happen, and not give her the option of getting nervous. I’d have to get to Cowdenbeath by 9.00 am. I put my foot down.
I was a little worried about having to explain this to a Scots traffic cop: “Sorry, officer, I’ve got to get a tawse for a girl in Rome. She needs one. Yeah, a tawsing, strictly speaking. Course I’m in a hurry.”
But I got to Cowdenbeath on time and uninterrupted. Margaret Dick was in the tearooms, as advertised, with a couple of neat and tidy packages, long, slender and wrapped in gauzy paper.
[To be continued]