Whip Hands (18 page)

Without further instruction she knelt at one end of the chest and laid her torso across its honey-coloured lid. Kevin could not believe his luck and his shutter was already wheezing away. This time, I felt sure, he had brought along more than sufficient film.

‘Now, Miss Eve, you are to be made to realise the error of your ways. Yes, ahem. So first you are to be chastised for the recent errors you made whilst serving at table. Then we shall come to the question of appropriate reparations for your more serious crime.'

The first stroke of the paddle caught Eve unawares and her eyes, which were turned in our direction, opened wide in surprise, then she gritted her teeth. Between each delivery Hector felt obliged to explain each fault she had made. He even referred to the notes he had taken at table. As a result the procedure was in danger of becoming ludicrous as he pompously ranged from dropped forks to untidy hair.

Luckily he ran out of further mistakes to itemise. Eve had not made a sound. She was allowed to rise to her feet as he stomped back over to the corner bar.

Marjorie had calmed herself and tried to say something soothing, but Eve was too preoccupied with rubbing her glowing cheeks, which were divided artistically by the black satin of her thong. She really had the most ravishing figure, small as she was, and I felt a strong desire to enfold her in my arms and caress away her pain. However, I knew that would be a cruel deception. Hector was even now advancing across the deep-pile rug brandishing a dark, whippy rattan.

Eve was about to say something to me when she became aware of him standing behind her and turned her head. We could see her body stiffen as she realised there was far worse to come. But still she said not a word.

‘Now, Miss Eve, I want you to stand and reach down to grasp your calves. Exactly so, but this time on top of the chest. You will receive six strokes of the cane and after each I want you to say loudly and clearly that you will never again steal another handbag. Do you understand? By this means we can only hope you may correct your ways in the future.'

Without protest she stepped up on to the box and did exactly as she was bidden, her lean thighs standing out in proud profile under Kevin's probing lamps. Hector kept her waiting for nearly a minute. She maintained the position without a quiver. Then he stepped forward, with the cane under his arm, and smartly pulled the satin thong down almost to her knees.

Marjorie drew a sharp breath and looked at me to see my reaction. The stripping was completely unnecessary and it only increased the girl's sense of vulnerability. But she had no leisure to reflect on that. A swish heralded the first stroke. Eve swayed slightly but after a moment spoke clearly. ‘I will never steal another handbag - as long as I live.'

The next one landed within a few millimetres of the first and I sensed Eve was measuring the pain before she spoke, but once again her voice was level. By the time we got to number four she was having difficulty controlling a sob that threatened to overwhelm her. But she called on inner reserves and the last stroke, which Hector delivered diagonally, to make that five-barred gate pattern beloved of masters of the cane, was spoken in a mere whisper.

There was a pause as Kevin took one further snap. Then slowly, with an awareness that the pain from the swelling weals on her rump was now starting to subside, she stood upright. In the same action she restored her thong to its correct position, thus denying Kevin and Hector the peep at her pubic region which they had been counting on. No one spoke. She looked down on us as if we were worshipping at the altar of her physical perfection.

Eve gave me a quick look that surprised me. Instead of anger there was a slight smile on her lips. Then, with an ostentatious show of pride in her youthful allure, she stepped off the chest and strode slowly across the room and into the conservatory, closing the door behind her. Her buttocks were marked with lines that I recognised from the photos of my own chastisement. But on her pale skin they stood out like burning brands. There was a faint whiff of sweat in the air, mixed with cheap scent.

Kevin started to pack up. I sensed he wanted to be away before Eve returned fully dressed. I said goodbye to Marjorie and made for the conservatory. I felt I owed it to the girl to ask if she wanted any soothing treatment for her stripes.

I turned the handle of the conservatory door. She was standing there, trying to catch a reflection of her backside in the darkened glass. I started to say something. She turned to me and put her finger to her lips. Then she stood facing me for a moment, her hands at her sides, before darting behind a giant parlour palm we had repotted with enormous effort the previous autumn.

I pushed quickly through the fronds, my heart beating faster. When I reached her she looked up at me with wide eyes, too much like a child. She reached up and planted a long, lingering kiss full on my mouth. I felt my senses swooning as we separated. Then she was pulling me down, down on to my knees, on to the linoleum floor. I knelt with my head exactly on a level with her navel.

I looked up to see her smiling down at me. Her hands came down to her hips. She grasped the thin waistband of the thong, slipped it down her thighs and let it drop at her ankles, gasping softly as it grazed over the tender area of her buttocks. Then she daintily stepped out of it and, moving forward, brought her dainty black triangle close up to my face. I was at the moment of truth. Did I admit to my attraction or did I push her away in a fit of moral rectitude?

I thought of Hector, whose droning voice I could hear through the glass doors, and then I knew the opportunity for a new experience was before me. I gently reached out and closed my fingers tenderly around the girl's tortured buttocks, feeling the heat they radiated and the fleshy furrows caused by Hector's cruel strokes. I felt Eve shiver and she caressed my hair.

Then she eased herself back, pulling me towards her spread thighs. My lips brushed her springy bush and my tongue probed for her soft moistness. It was like a dream. Her crotch pressed softly against me, the tip of my tongue her point of ultimate pleasure, touching and then not touching. I tasted her saltiness and the strength of her desire, inflamed perhaps by the scene where she had just played a starring role.

Within a minute or two at the most she was breathing heavily and close to climax; her grasp on my hair was insistent and I was caught both physically and emotionally in her approaching ecstasy. As her orgasm overtook her in palpable waves I gently supported her with my hands. She reached down and knelt beside me, kissing me passionately, her love juices passing from my lips to hers.

Who knows what might have happened next had I not heard Hector bidding our guests farewell. He would come looking for me once they had left.

‘Quick, you must go!' I whispered in a fever.

Without a word she slipped into the black leather trousers and top. It was done in a second. She pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and turned to face me. It was a napkin with a phone number on it.

‘I will phone. I must see you again, Eve!'

She smiled enigmatically. I heard Hector humming to himself, getting closer. I unlocked the French window that led out on to the patio and pointed the side passageway out to Eve. We kissed briefly and then she melted into the darkness.

I had to pinch myself to believe it had really happened. As I made my way back towards the bright lights of the lounge I saw something lying on the conservatory floor near the potted palm. I swept up the scrap of her thong and palmed it before rejoining Hector and playing the adoring wife again.

It was only later that night, unable to sleep and restless in my own thoughts, that I realised the little minx still had the negatives. But then I knew she wanted to see me again, and blessed her for it.

 

 

 

‘You'll do exactly as I say, young lady!'

I hadn't heard my aunt speak to me like that since I was in my early teens. She used to look after me and my kid brother sometimes when my stepmother wanted to escape from us. She and her sister were very close, and she lived only a few streets away, so Alec and I saw plenty of Aunt Sophie while we were growing up.

We were sometimes a handful, particularly during those difficult teenage years, I guess. I can remember her screaming at one or other of us because of something we'd promised to do then forgotten about. It was usually me, now I come to think of it. Alec was younger and more easily cowed by Sophie on the warpath. I was the argumentative one, but there was always a point beyond which lay uncharted territory.

‘You'll do exactly as I say, young lady!' was her regular refrain when I'd failed to tidy my room or take the dog for a walk after swearing I would. It had an edge of menace that mother's weary requests lacked. Sophie had no children. Sometimes we weren't sure if she knew the limits when dealing with us, even though she never hit us hard. It helped her to let off steam, I reckon. On reflection, I think she needed us more than we needed her.

So it had a strange effect when she used that same warning in the airport departure lounge. Just last week. Get this, I'm twenty and in my final year at art college. As you know, I do part-time waitressing to help buy extra materials. I'm running my own life and I certainly don't need mum's big sister to keep me on the straight and narrow.

So how exactly did I end up across her knee, half-undressed, getting a walloping with several complete strangers in close proximity?

That's what I've been asking myself ever since. Did I secretly crave this punishment? Was I feeling guilty for the way I'd behaved during the holiday? Was I hell! Okay, I'd been a bit wild, but what are holidays for if you can't go ape? What do you think, agony uncle?

 

Maybe I'd better go back to the beginning so you get the full yakuza. It shouldn't take long; I can see you're already getting a boner at the image of me with my pants stretched in a white line across my tanned thighs. Yeah, I said tanned. Take it both ways, if you want, thanks to the bitch aunt.

It was her big idea to invite me to go with her to Crete. Uncle Jack had died the previous year and she'd not been on a real holiday. It was a first test of her independence, I suppose, and maybe I could have been a little more supportive. Just maybe.

Actually, I think I was pretty considerate during the first week. Later, the room we shared came to seem like a shoebox. I just had to get away for part of the day, not forgetting the night, too. Aunt Sophie said I should go out and do my own thing and not bother about her. Of course, she made me feel guilty as hell when I returned.

Maybe it was a mistake to always come back so late. One time I had to wake her up at about three in the morning to ask for the taxi fare after a massive disco night. Then I slept so soundly she couldn't wake me up for the bus tour. Actually, we did get to visit the palace at Knossos. The heat was terrific. But perhaps I shouldn't have gone off afterwards with Spiro to his shop. In a martyr's voice, Aunt Sophie said she would do the museum of antiquities on her own.

Spiro was the souvenir seller, by the way. It was thanks to him I nearly missed the return coach. In fact, I certainly would have if Aunt Sophie hadn't delayed the driver. Are you absolutely sure you want to know how she did it? By pretending she was desperate for a pee. That's probably why she refused to speak to me for the rest of that day.

Yes, Aunt Sophie was a mite tetchy by the end of our holiday together. But then, we all have to learn to take the rough with the smooth. And with Spiro it was definitely the rough you had to take. But that's another story...

Oh, so you want to hear about that, too? I'm really beginning to suspect you might be getting cheap thrills out of this. And I thought you were supposed to be my gay friend. Oh, I see, it's Spiro who's your hero, not me.

Message received, amigo, Roger and out. Here goes, then...

 

When Spiro showed me into his sweet little souvenir shop in Heraklion it was about time to close up for the afternoon. The assistant was sent packing for her siesta. There was a back shop; there always is. And I didn't kid myself that I was the first foreign girl to set foot there. But I must admit this pad was a knockout, even if it was tiny. Large windows opened out on to a garden just big enough for a banana palm and a patch of greenish grass. Next to the windows was a fire escape that made a makeshift balcony, by this time also blissfully in the shade. I could have spent the day there sketching.

Somehow I didn't think Spiro was just intending to give me a VIP tour of the shop. His English was patchy and the pronunciation difficult to follow, especially as he became more excited. Which, sure enough, he soon did.

‘You like this?'

Spiro drew my attention to a wire carousel of leather belts with bright chrome buckles hanging by a shelf of imitation Cretan-ware vases. Some were beautifully embossed with traditional geometric patterns; others bore fashion brand names.

I nodded with a smile that owed more to nervousness than enthusiasm. What was I doing here alone with this thirty-something, dangerously dark-eyed hunk? With the shutters down and the door closed it had become oppressive and stuffy. I suddenly felt rather short of breath.

‘You try?' Smiling, he moved closer to me. He was holding a thin belt in an attractive emerald green. It was like a snake. He slipped it round my waist. Of course, having got so close, his strong hands didn't let me go. We locked in a kiss that made my head spin. Within seconds he had pulled my light sundress up and over my head. All I wore was a pair of French knickers and sandals. Oh, yes, and the belt. Now I knew why Spiro had buckled it so loosely. It hung around my hips.