Chastise

“And the fires of hell shall burn the very souls of the sinners who refuse to repent. Think of this brethren, an eternity off damnation. A thousand lifetimes to consider how foolish , wicked and selfish you have been in this life on the Earth that the good Lord in his infinite wisdom and mercy has bestowed upon us, his unworthy children. So I want you to go forth from this sacred building and sin no more.” With that the pastor slammed shut the Holy Book, cast a menacing gaze over his flock, made his way to the front of his small chapel and awaited his flock as they made their way out.

“A fine sermon there, Reverend, full of the predictable fire and brimstone, but edifying just the same.” said Alexander Armstrong-Smith. He then gripped his wife Elizabeth’s arm and rushed ahead of him before the minister could reply.
Two small and very sheepish children followed, each held a hand of their mother, whose Facial expression betrayed her before she could finally manage to speak. “My dear Mr Elphinstone I do wish you would remember that some of us have to bring small children to church with us on a Sunday, since you have taken upon yourself to ban the Sunday school, which we in this church have relied on for many, many years, to look after our children, both physically and spiritually. And that you should therefore moderate your sermons likewise and not terrorise them every Sunday, with threats of eternal damnation.”

Jonas Elphinstone was a master of condescension and duplicity and smiled unctuously, “My dear Mrs Macpherson let me assure you that the decision to close the Sunday school was not entirely mine, but had been at the insistence of the Church Committee in Edinburgh, as a cost saving exercise and also the lack of a suitable candidate for the post of teacher, since Miss Montgomery left so suddenly, and as far as the children hearing the True Word of God from the pulpit that, surely can do them no harm, indeed I believe it will be the making of them, as true God- fearing Christians.” Realising that she was not going to win the argument Wilimina Macpherson stomped off.

Having said his farewells to the last of his congregation, Jonas re-entered his church and headed for the back door to the manse, ensuring that he picked up the collection box on the way.

“Miserable bastards, £33.45, two buttons and 5 sloti note. Right who went to Poland lately? I’m sure the Cameron’s holidayed there this year. I bet it was that swine Patrick. Fuckin' chancer!” with that he pocketed the £30, put the rest in the Church strong box and left the building, all the while rehearing his sermon for the following Sunday on the topic of greed and paying unto God that which is God's.
Jonas Elphinstone was a creature of habit and that Monday morning followed like every other Monday that he could remember. He boarded the early morning train from Gourock to Glasgow and read the racing paper, surreptitiously hidden within a copy of the wee free monthly magazine; you never know who you might meet.
He enjoyed the anonymity of the big city and had done since he had trained there for the collar, all those years ago. His first port of call was a bookmakers hidden in a side street just off Argyle street. There was no need for carelessness, after all one bookie was the same as any other.

He spent the afternoon in a cosy little pub in the east end, well away from any possible prying eyes.

Then it was time for his other guilty pleasure. Something that filled his waking hours and very often his dreams too.

Although it was a bright sunny evening in Glasgow, the narrow lane he turned into was dark and this suited Jonas. He gave his customary knock on the heavily painted door, which was opened by a very large lady, at least Jonas had always believed she was a lady, but was never totally sure. He entered.

There was the familiar smell of cheap perfume and body odour which, in any other circumstance, would have repulsed Jonas, but strangely here, he found it exciting, even arousing.

Passing a series of doors along a long narrow corridor, Jonas could hear a variety of very familiar sounds. This for him was his appetizer and he was becoming more excited with the anticipation of what was ahead. He stopped at the green door. He loved that green door. It was his gateway to paradise. His fantasies always began at the green door. He knocked. The door swung open and Jonas entered. It took a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, but what he saw did not surprise him. Everything was as it was meant to be. He undressed, and knelt on the floor, his head bowed.

He heard the click of her heels first. He hoped that this time she would allow him to look at her. He knew he would have to be a good boy for that to happen. From his position he could see the whip’s tail snaking across the floor. “You want this, don't you boy?”

Initially Jonas was distracted. This was not the voice of his mistress. When he saw the whip disappear, he gathered himself together and said, “Yes mistress.”
Gingerly Jonas dressed. Everything hurt. He had never known such pain and such ecstasy. His new mistress was sublime. She had taken him to places he had never thought possible, but he paid for it. Paid for it in spades. He left the building a satisfied and broken man.

She laid the whip on the staffroom table, removed her mask, kicked off her heels, unclipped her stockings and threw them on the floor. “For Christ’s sake Maggie is that blood on those heels?” asked Mildred who had just arrived to do her first shift. “It sure is. The bastard deserved it. He got his money's worth.” replied Maggie as she lit a cigarette.” “That sounds personal. Dae you know him? Asked Mildred. “Oh Aye ah know him alright. Ah had a nice wee number teaching at a Sunday school ‘til that bastard got me fired so hat he could pocket ma wages. So from now on when he comes in, he’s mine.

Return to writers