Brought to Book, part 1

Today's offering is the first part of a rather long but very good story, "Brought to Book", from Kane magazine. The author is not credited, but I assume it was written by the very prolific spanking writer, "Anonymous". There is some offensive language, but it's all part of the plot.

"Look, Mr. Martin, they've done it again!" Miss Lovestock, senior assistant librarian at Sandbourne library, was almost speechless with rage as she waved the books at the Chief Librarian. "Not one, but two this time. And this Leonardo cost us £25!" From her outrage it almost appeared that Alice Lovestock considered the books to be her own. As indeed she did. She was certainly their custodian, and as such took their defacement as a personal affront.

"Just look at this, Mr. Martin." Despite working together in close proximity for six years, Miss Lovestock and Malcolm Martin had never reached the familiarity of first name terms. "Cherubs with beards drawn on them and this Madonna with...with..." she blushed, " well...rude additions. It's not only vandalism, it's sacrilege!"

Her boss sighed. There had been a spate of graffiti among the art books in the reference library, and, despite their best endeavours, they had not yet caught the culprits. They assumed it to be more than one because of the diverse style of the amendments. One person clearly favoured an artistic approach while the other preferred to write rude limericks in the margins. The Chief Librarian had to admit that, despite his natural repugnance at the sheer wanton stupidity of it, there was not only a certain artistic ability but also a semblance of wit about the verses. He read:

The virile Sultan of Algiers,

to all of his wives said, 'My dears,

you may think it odd o' me

but I've given up sodomy,

I'll be fucking tonight!" to loud cheers.

Mr. Martin was not sufficiently versed in this type of poetry to know whether this was original or not. As he leafed through the pages he saw another that very probably was!

A dried up old spinster named Love

does things with the thumb of a glove

pulled over a candle

it's too hot to handle

she says 'Fuck it!' and gives it a shove.

Mr. Martin closed the book hurriedly. He hoped that Miss Lovestock had not seen this particular entry, and she had better not! Really, it was too bad! The culprits would have to be caught and punished before the entire art section was ruined. But who...and how? The obvious suspects were adolescent boys, but one thing puzzled the librarian. The writing was too small, too neat, almost feminine in its formation, while the 'art work', if it could be so described, also had a faintly feminine look about it. Surely not! But it was a possibility. He and Miss Lovestock had concentrated their time and energy in watching suspicious boys. But girls? Was that possible? The difficulty was that due to local government cut-backs they had so little staff for supervision, and there were so many 'blind spots' in the roomy, Victorian-designed reference library.

Not for the first time, Mr. Martin envied his Victorian predecessors. They knew how to deal with vandals in those days. His particular interest was the history of libraries in general, and that of Sandbourne library in particular. He had always savoured that part of the Malicious Damages Act, a worthy piece of Victorian legislation, which unequivocally stated that those found damaging books and other articles in a public library could '...being duly convicted, be liable to be imprisoned for any period not exceeding six months; and, if male, during the period of imprisonment, be put to hard labour, or once, twice or thrice privately whipped, in such a manner as the court shall direct' (Malicious Damages Act, 8 and 9 Victoria, Cap 44).

It was that last bit he liked, 'in such a manner...' Ah what pictures it conjured up! Those were indeed the days! But, he often wondered, why only the males?

Mr. Martin was not a sadistic man, but, like Miss Lovestock, he venerated books and was proud of the condition of his library. His thoughts roved off on a satisfying daydream in which a young Victorian wench, petticoats raised, and frilly drawers lowered, squirmed and howled across the desk of Mr. Podmore, the first librarian at Sandbourne (1880-1902). It was all neatly catalogued in his mind from his researches.

"What can we do, Mr. Martin?" It was Miss Lovestock's voice calling him rudely back to earth.

"Nothing," he replied. "Only keep an extra sharp watch. Something tells me we need to start studying the girls too." He saw her give a start of surprise as the possibility struck her. "Leave the books with me, please." Miss Lovestock gave a grim-lipped smile and returned to the readers' information desk. Girls, indeed! Now why hadn't she thought of that?

* * *

Mr. Martin was still preoccupied with his vandalism problem the next afternoon when he returned from the bank, where he had been paying in the fines and other receipts of the last few days. As he went up the flight of stone steps that led to the library entrance he noticed two schoolgirls on their way in. There was nothing odd about that, girls and boys of all ages used the library on their way home from school, but there was something familiar about one of the girls. She was a well-built brunette, seventeen or maybe eighteen, who filled out her navy blue High School uniform in a manner that was almost erotic. The other girl was smaller, slimmer but blonde and very attractive. Mr. Martin did not know her. It was the taller girl who struck a chord in his memory. And then he remembered. She was the younger sister of Heather Gibbs who used to work in the library. That was it; the resemblance was quite remarkable. Many was the time that Mr. Martin had paused to admire Heather's opulent charms as she shelved books in the lending library, or stood on a stepladder to return them to the higher shelves of a stack. Heather had always been worth a second male glance.

Then came the scandal. Money was missing from the fines box and from petty cash. From the girls' lockers in the staff room too. The police, who had been called in, advised planting a marked five-pound note, and it had vanished, to be found, after a search, in Heather's handbag. Heather had professed her innocence to the last, but the evidence was considered conclusive. Heather had been charged, and at the Magistrates Court had been put on probation for a year. She had, of course, also lost her job at the library, much to the regret of the gentlemen regulars.

Mr. Martin thought that both girls gave him a sharp look as they passed him. His imagination, perhaps, but nevertheless it might be worthwhile to keep an eye on both girls. After all he had no better leads.

From his office, which had once been Ewen Podmore's, he had a partial view into the reference library, and he saw the two girls come in and sit down at a corner table which was flanked by the wall on one side and a press of books on the other. They whispered together and then Heather Gibbs' sister got up and went over to the Fine Art section, and, after a pause for selection, came back to the table with two large illustrated volumes. The Chief Librarian felt his hackles rise. His hunch was paying off!

The books were hidden behind the girls' bodies. They could be doing virtually anything with them, unobserved. However, Mr. Martin knew his library. At that time of the day the room was half empty. Quietly going to the double-sided book stack which flanked the table at which the two were sitting, he very quietly removed a row of books from a shelf at a convenient height to the table top on the other side of it. Martin knew from experience that the case was merely separated, back from front, by a wire mesh rather than by board. Why, he had never discovered, economy perhaps; now he was glad of it.

On the girls' side, as he had hoped, the shelves were not tightly packed with books and he was able to peep through a gap to where the wreckers were seated. His fears were realised. The Gibbs girl was opening one of the books and there was a giggling consultation. Then from out of her pocket she produced a plastic pack of coloured felt-tip pens. The work of Rubens was about to undergo a complete and violent transformation!

"You girls! Stay exactly where you are, and put that pen down! I know who you both are, and if you attempt to run I shall call the police."

The words were not shouted. They were uttered with quiet but compelling clarity, and seemed in some uncanny manner to come from a solid bookcase. Both girls froze and, before they could gather their wits, a coldly furious Mr. Martin was confronting them.

"Follow me to my office!" he commanded, and as the trio, followed by the eyes of several curious readers, passed through the lending library he said to one of the staff who was shelving, "Maureen, will you ask Miss Lovestock to come to my office immediately, please?"

"I-I think she's at tea, Mr. Martin," muttered the assistant.

"Then get her out of tea! This is important!" The Chief Librarian wanted the moral support of his ally, especially where two attractive teenage girls were concerned.

Minutes later, two scared but unabashed young ladies faced the librarian and his assistant across Mr. Martin's desk. The two girls, looking vulnerably innocent in their school uniforms, were attempting to brazen things out.

"We weren't doing anything," said Jackie Gibbs, for such was her name.

"And you can't prove otherwise" added Millie Roberts, her slimmer companion.

"You were caught red-handed trying to deface library property, as you have with seven other books over the last fortnight."

"Bollocks!" said Millie, rudely. "You haven't got any proof. We were just doing coloured sketches for our art homework."

Despite the damage to his beloved books, Mr. Martin wished that he had actually witnessed the girls damaging a colour plate. As it was the evidence was purely circumstantial. It was Miss Lovestock's keen wits that saved the day for the prosecution. While this exchange had been taking place she had quietly left her chief's side, and while all three were occupied, she had been examining Millie's school exercise books in her school case. Suddenly Miss Lovestock turned and slapped a couple of exercise books upon the table, together with one of the library books damaged earlier. It was open at a verse that began:

'A dried up old spinster named Love'

Oh dear, she did see it, thought Martin.

"And that, I suppose, is not your writing?" snapped Miss Lovestock. "Admit it, it's identical!"

After that, it was all over bar the shouting. Shaken, both girls admitted their guilt.

"But why?" asked the perplexed librarian. "What made you do such a dreadful thing?"

"You!" snapped Jackie Gibbs, close to tears, "You and your stinking library. You ruined my sister's life. Do you realise that she has been on the dole since she was sacked from here?"

"I'm sorry," said Martin helplessly, "but..." and he spread his arms in a futile gesture.

"And I'm Jackie's friend," said Millie Roberts, almost gleefully. "What she does, I do!"

Martin looked at her in wonder. Was she quite right in the head? With a sigh he reached for the telephone.

"What are you going to do?" asked Jackie in alarm.

"I'm ringing Mrs. Hennessy, your headmistress at the High School," answered the librarian. "I want to talk the matter over with her before I decide whether to prosecute."

Jackie turned pale. "Please don't do that," she begged, "It's coming up to our 'A' level year. We'll be expelled for sure, and both Mil and I have been promised university places on the strength of our getting good results."

"I'm sorry about that," said Martin," but what else do you expect me to do?"

"Can't we pay for the books?" asked Millie eagerly. Malcolm Martin, a kindly man, hesitated.

"Oh no!" cut in Alice Lovestock. "It's not as easy as that. What about that scurrilous filth you wrote? You realise I can sue you for defamation of character?"

"But that was Millie!" said Jackie, not very loyally.

"Thanks a whole bunch! It was your idea!" snapped her confederate, stung by the betrayal.

"I'm afraid it's no use," said the librarian, making up his mind. "Switchboard, will you get me..."

"Nooooo, please," begged the delinquents loudly, more or less in unison. "Let's talk about this. There must be some way."

"Hilary," said Martin down the phone, "about that call, don't bother. I've changed my mind." He put down the receiver. "Now then..."

"Perhaps we could make reparation," said Millie," Come and work in the library after school or something."

"I wouldn't have you two little vermin anywhere near the place," said Alice Lovestock, cuttingly. It looked like an impasse. Then she spoke again.

"I know what I'd like to do with these wicked little madams!" said Miss Lovestock.

"What's that?" asked the librarian, who was beginning to think that the situation had passed him by. He was never a decisive man in an emergency,which was why, at fifty-two, he was still at Sandbourne rather than a larger library.

"Give them both a jolly good hiding. It's no more than they deserve. It's what I would have got from my parents." As she spoke she remembered the time she had 'borrowed' a pound note from her mother's purse and the hairbrush whacking she had received in consequence. Her hand went to the scrawny arch of her buttocks, as if in remembrance of the smart of it.

The girls' faces turned white. "You're not smacking me!" shrilled Millie.

"Alright then," said Miss Lovestock, "ring Mrs. Hennessy, Mr. Martin, we've wasted enough time."

"No, please wait," said Jackie desperately. "If that's the only way, I-I'd rather have that than the shame of expulsion. Wouldn't you, Mil?"

"Oh I suppose so!" replied Millie, sulkily.

"Very well," said the assistant librarian, who had taken charge of the situation, much to Mr. Martin's dithering relief. "Then I suggest we go down to the library basement where we shall be completely undisturbed, and these two little vandals can yell as loudly as they like!"

"Wh-What are you going to do to us?" gasped Millie, her face ashen.

"Jackie, I suggest Mr. Martin takes you over his knee for a good old-fashioned paternal spanking. As for you, my girl, I am going to thrash your bare bottom with this!" She picked up a three-foot solid wooden ruler from the librarian's desk. "I'll teach you to write filthy poems about me!"

Next week, the naughty girls get their just desserts.