Whip Hands

by C. P. Hazel

  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.

  Aunt Sophie Gets Even

  ‘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 makes
hift 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.

  With it I was led through to the back room like a pony on a trotting rein. I must admit I wasn’t putting up much resistance. That room was hardly big enough to swing a cat, as I may have mentioned, let alone to lie down in. There were just a couple of plastic garden chairs. He sat on one and reached up towards me with that smile that could charm the sugar out of your tea.

  ‘Come, be comfortable.’ He patted his denim-clad knee reassuringly and pulled me gently down by the emerald belt. How many times had he gone through this same procedure in this tiny room overlooking the garden with other women? He smelt of nutmeg, I noticed, as he enfolded me in a passionate embrace. It was just like a full-blooded holiday romance and I couldn’t help myself.

  When we came up for air, Spiro took me firmly by the shoulders. I tried to kiss him again but he wagged a finger disapprovingly. I was puzzled but, since he had so little English, allowed him to manoeuvre me into a different position. I was lying across his lap, facing up at him. He bent down to kiss me once more then deftly flipped me over so my tummy was across his knees. His warm hand caressed the rounded swell of my arse under the silky briefs.

  Supporting myself with one hand on the floor, I looked back at him in some alarm. He continued to run his fingers under the fabric, which was sticking to my skin in the heat. I felt very exposed and my skin very sensitive to his rough touch. With a grunt, he eased the skimpy garment over my hips. I pushed myself upwards with both hands to allow him to slip them over the curve of my cheeks and down my thighs. They slithered down to my ankles.

  I think I had guessed what he was going to do next. I’d heard Greek men were very dominant when it came to lovemaking. Now I was going to be able to make comparisons for myself.

  The slaps were quite moderate at first, rhythmically chastising and then gripping each cheek in turn. I started to protest only when Spiro began using the belt to pull my bum higher in the air. My fingertips barely reached the floor as he held me up like an old-fashioned set of scales. With his strength he could control my every movement.

  Already the love juices were pooling and I knew further movement would cause them to seep out on to my thighs. This was really weird. Being so under his control turned me on. It was quite different from my normal hands-on approach to sexual gratification. Knowing he would strike my bum harder and harder, I was excited to see just how much I could take.

  I turned my head. Spiro’s eyes were flashing and his brow was beaded with sweat. His blows made me rock quite violently on his knees. As I caught his eye he stopped spanking, left a hand in place and eased the tips of his stubby fingers along the well-slicked lips of my sex. I must have gasped aloud. I think he asked if I liked it. I nodded my head anyway. The spanking continued, and there I stayed, across his knee opposite an open window giving on to that peaceful, shady garden.

  There was a pause. I was drifting into a reverie as peace descended. Suddenly I felt the thin circlet of the belt being removed.

  ‘Stand, bad girl.’

  Despite the sternness of the command Spiro was smiling. Once again his eyes were dark and brimming with desire. He stroked my hair and whispered passionate Greek endearments into my ear. His hot breath made me tingle all the more.

  Spiro brought a small mirror from the shop. Looking into it I could see how angry my bum had become. He whirled me round and put one hand against the curve of my glowing cheeks. His fingers again explored the glistening cleft between my thighs, moving up to that secret and shameful spot which had never experienced penetration. I felt myself aching with desire as I was pushed towards the window.

  As I turned to face him, Spiro grasped my wrists firmly, held them together with one powerful hand and wound the supple leather around them twice, pulling the free end through the buckle. This he threaded through a metal eyelet screwed into the woodwork above the window, put there presumably to hold a curtain rod or set of blinds. Or maybe specially for this.

  What are you smirking at, you smug bastard? I’d really puke to think what kind of a picture is in your mind right now. Of me, no doubt, peeled to the buff with my arms in the air and a scarlet butt. And in full view of anyone who happened to look across the courtyard. Or are you still fantasising about Spiro, who was at last peeling off his T-shirt and jeans, you’ll be glad to hear?

  Well, join the club. Without clothes he was even more of a dish - tanned, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. Did I mention Greek gods? The thought must certainly have flashed through my mind as he came towards me, his thick shaft already bobbing at the horizontal before him.

  With one hand he grasped me round the waist and pulled me towards him. If I didn’t gasp before, I was certainly gasping now. His hands were all over me. He kissed me on my breasts, then my belly, then down the soft inner thigh area where he licked my pussy juices. Finally he reached down and undid my sandals. Now I was completely naked.

  When he eventually cupped my arse with both hands and breached me with the glistening knob of his dark-curled manhood I was beside myself with desire. I encircled those powerful hips with my pale legs and swung gently as he began his strokes. I could easily have freed myself from the bonds around my wrists. But it felt right to be restrained for his every desire. After the pain he had given me I was due unimaginable physical pleasures, I reasoned.

  And in that little, sparsely furnished room, beside an open window, Spiro did not disappoint me. I just hope all the neighbours were sound sleepers because we were both in full cry when the moment came.

  He released me and we embraced slowly and deliberately. It was only when I rubbed my arm to restore circulation that I saw the time. I had never known two hours pass so quickly! We had no time to exchange phone numbers. Not that I knew the phone number for our apartments anyway. When he saw the look on Aunt Sophie’s face, Spiro hastily withdrew without a final fond embrace.

  Maybe what brought it all to a head was the delayed flight home. It was already two in the morning and still the incoming plane was not due. Most of us had settled down to get some sleep in the departure lounge awaiting some announcement.

  Not my wonderful, vibrant aunt! She was looking for someone to blame: get mad, then get even was her motto. If she couldn’t sleep, there was no way I was going to be allowed to. So we bickered away with increasing ill-will until I went off for a puff, in the hope that she’d eventually cool down.

  When I came back, I could see she’d just been stoking her own fires. Aunt Sophie was quivering with suppressed indignation.

  ‘I blame that Spiro!’ she burst out, in a voice that approached screaming pitch. A few nearby figures looked up in alarm from their sleepless repose.

&nb
sp; ‘You’re raving, aunty. How can he have had anything to do with the flight being delayed? You must be suffering from sleep deprivation.’

  ‘Look, young lady, I’m telling you. He made the coach driver late in leaving Heraklion and everyone’s been running to catch up ever since. Do you understand now?’ She shot me a hard glance, but I was not going to let such idiocies go unchallenged.

  ‘Total baloney, dear aunt. Even if we had such a tight timetable, which we certainly don’t, by your reasoning we should have missed the flight. Whereas in fact it’s quite the opposite. We’re still waiting for it to arrive.’

  ‘Oh, you always argue the toss, don’t you? I blame my sister for it. She had no idea how to bring you up. No idea.’

  ‘Just leave mother out of it! How could you have any notion of what she had to go through to bring us both up?’

  ‘Your memory needs some attention, young lady. I was always there to help her out whenever she needed me.’

  ‘Whenever she needed you! How about when you went on those long cruises or those months away in your gite in the Loire Valley or wherever the place was? What was she supposed to do then? We were the ones who heard her sobbing herself to sleep.’

  ‘Was I supposed to be always at her beck and call?’

  ‘Typical. Typical of a childless couple,’ I muttered. Then, more loudly, ‘With no real parental responsibilities.’

  I immediately wished I hadn’t said it. It was thoughtless: I knew she and Uncle Jack had tried and tried. Aunt Sophie stiffened as if she had been struck in the face. Then she looked me straight in the eye.

  ‘Come here. I’m going to make you suffer for that.’

  ‘No way. You must be joking.’