Whip Hands

by C. P. Hazel

  The doorbell rang early on the Sunday evening and there she was, wearing only a man’s striped shirt and a pair of leather espadrilles.

  ‘Jane - what a surprise. Would you like to come in for a drink?’

  She shook her head impatiently and pushed her way past. ‘Hasn’t Homer told you of our little game, Dino?’

  As she headed for the living room, he noticed she had a hank of white cord rather like a clothesline in one hand and her mobile phone in the other.

  ‘Er, I suppose so. Yes, of course. Now I remember,’ he prevaricated.

  He and Homer had met up by arrangement the previous morning at the stable block to the back of the house. Dino knew very little about horses but had listened with interest to the finer points of breeding as Homer explained patiently. Clearly this was the fulfilment of a lifetime’s dream for the American. He had made a fresh start after spending thirty years clawing his way up the corporate ladder, as he put it with a modest chuckle.

  His interest in horseflesh had come from his German mother, who had taught him to ride while still young. When his second wife died, and with his children grown-up, Homer decided to move to England, where he was already part of a consortium of stud farm investors. He had met Jane at a race meeting three years ago. At that time she was a semi-professional jockey looking for an opportunity to escape. From his account it was mutual attraction at first sight despite the difference in their ages. Soon afterwards they had found Witchwood and managed to buy or lease the surrounding land. They worked for owners, taking in their yearlings and training them. Homer’s dream of his own racing stables had happened and now he had a wife who loved riding the horses.

  ‘So Jane goes out to visit owners and see their new foals?’ Dino had enquired. ‘She must spend a lot of time on the road.’

  ‘But she always returns at night. That’s something we agreed on from the outset. She has her independence, but there are conditions. She knows that.’

  The abruptness of the reply had made the younger man decide on a change of tack.

  ‘So you take young horses and turn them into champions. Nothing to it?’

  ‘We achieve it by a mixture of kindness and coercion. But first we have to break the yearling so he will accept the rider.’

  ‘A struggle between man and beast? I’d love to try photographing it.’

  ‘It takes a long, long time, I’m afraid. You wouldn’t find it that interesting.’ Homer had chuckled to himself. ‘It’s an unequal struggle.’

  ‘Unequal? Does the horse never win?’

  ‘Not in my experience. They know who the master is. It’s the natural order of things, you see. It can be the same between men and women, too.’ Homer had looked at him penetratingly for a brief second. He somehow made the observation seem extra significant.

  Homer was on the surface a contented man, but in a remote corner of his mind he must have been curious about his new wife’s activities. Dino had wondered whether he should tell Homer of the extraordinary encounter the day he arrived, still fresh in his memory, and risk destroying the man’s peace of mind, or continue to be two-faced. He could not deny he had been hoping for a repeat performance...

  His reverie was rudely disturbed. Here she was, standing in front of him only partly dressed. But why the rope?

  ‘So, are you ready? Let’s go!’ Jane’s eyes were flashing and her raven ringlets showed signs of disorder. It was a startling transformation. She quivered from head to foot. A whimper that mingled apprehension and eagerness escaped her lips as she stood impatiently in the middle of the room, sneaking anxious glances through the window, like the first time she had grabbed his hand. ‘Quick! We mustn’t waste time! Homer is waiting.’

  ‘Where are we going and why are you half-dressed?’ Dino was able to appreciate the surprising muscularity of her pale legs as she strained to be gone from the room.

  ‘The stables. Didn’t Homer tell you?’

  ‘He said that men and women were always competing for mastery. Just like with the horses you train,’ he ended lamely, not having previously considered the implications of the analogy.

  ‘Well, come on then!’

  She pulled him out of the house and round to the stable block, which was on the far side of a five-barred gate. A line of horses’ heads turned to observe their approach. She pulled open the door of an empty stall. The straw had been changed, he noticed. Jane threw the hank of rope to Dino. Then she pressed a key on her mobile. She stiffened as she heard a voice respond.

  ‘What must I do now, master?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Oh, God, not that! Yes, I think he’s strong enough.’ She pressed the secrecy button on the mobile and turned to Dino, her dark eyes flashing fire. ‘Please help me! That’s Homer. Now it’s what we call breaking-in time. He listens over the phone.’

  ‘Listens to what?’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you all this? Every so often he tells me I’ve overstepped the mark. I need to be restrained and taught a lesson. I go too far, you see.’

  ‘How far is too far?’

  ‘Well, our little fling in the flat last week, for example.’

  ‘He knows about that?’

  ‘Yes. I told him.’

  There was a pause. Dino’s mind reeled in disbelief.

  ‘You see, Dino,’ she continued, anticipating his question, ‘we have this agreement. He allows me my head, but then he tells me it’s time. Time for me to remember who’s master.’

  ‘Just like the horses. He said they must learn to respect their master.’

  ‘Exactly. Well, if you understand the way Homer’s mind works you’ll not be surprised by all this.’

  ‘So what do I have to do?’

  ‘For a start, you have to tie my wrists together behind my back.’ She shivered slightly in anticipation.

  ‘Some kind of control freak, uh? Is that all?’

  ‘No, there will be further instructions as we go along. You will need to hold the mobile so I can talk directly to Homer and he can hear me. But you mustn’t ever speak to him. This is between him and me. You’re just the facilitator. You must do exactly as he says. I hope you don’t mind: I did warn you.’

  He began to tie her wrists. The mobile lay on the feed basket, next to something leather.

  She whimpered. ‘Tighter! That is how the master requires it to be,’ she shouted, her head turned towards the mobile.

  When he had finished, she turned to face the entrance. Through the open top leaf a shaft of evening sun entered the stall, bathing her standing figure in a golden light.

  ‘Now strip me. You will need to tear the shirt to get it off. Make it sound as violent as you can.’

  He gaped at the prospect. What kind of crazy world was this where a man got a thrill from hearing his partner being willingly molested?

  ‘Help me. Oh, mercy!’ she shouted melodramatically.

  He hesitated. She looked at him and in a whisper said: ‘It’s okay. Go on, you’re doing great.’

  He put both hands inside the neck of her shirt and pulled them fiercely apart. There was a slight tear as the first button went, but he knew greater force would be needed. A series of hard pulls tore the two sides apart. He pulled the ruined garment back over her shoulders. She made whimpering noises whilst giving him a small encouraging smile. She stood facing him with her small, pink-tipped breasts exposed. Now all she wore was a pair of white briefs.

  The exertion was making Dino sweat. He held up the mobile to her ear and Jane listened once more to her instructions. ‘Yes, master, on the floor. On my front. He will tie them tight.’

  She kneeled down, almost losing her balance. Her pale skin looked golden in the sunlight. Her pubic bush was plainly visible as it sprouted in profusion to either side of the gusset.

  ‘Are these to come off, too?’ Dino asked.

  ‘Yes, now, hurry!’ she gasped
.

  He put one hand inside the waistband at the back and the other to the small of her back. He tugged suddenly and felt the elastic give. Moving round to her hip, he tugged again and she gasped at the suddenness of the movement. The side stitching was almost gone. With two hands he finished the job. The briefs hung down from one thigh only. Her pubic hair was revealed as a black shield below her belly.

  ‘Now, quick, put me on my front and bind my ankles together, but make sure they are crossed.’

  Leaving some slack between the wrist and ankle ties, Dino did as he was told. He was beginning to enjoy having mastery over this young woman who, if she were to face him on level terms, would probably give as good as she received. According to Homer, she was still a tireless horsewoman.

  Now she lay trussed at his feet, her legs stretched out but slightly bowed because of the way her ankles were tied. He knelt beside her, holding the phone to her ear.

  ‘Okay, now hog-tie me.’ Jane’s voice was muffled by the straw. ‘Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Link your wrists and your ankles, right?’

  ‘Right, but pull me back up into a kneeling position first.’

  The hog-tie was quickly achieved by taking up the slack in the cord behind her back. Jane knelt facing the light, her arms thrust back, her pelvis pushed forward with her thighs splayed. She was panting and moaning as he did it. It was a position that caused a woman to be at her most vulnerable.

  ‘Yes, master. I understand.’ She listened attentively, her eyes unfocused. Her thighs strained to hold her trunk upright.

  For all Dino knew Homer could be just outside the door, getting a close-up view. He was past caring. He reached down to the scrap of cotton that still clung by the elastic to one of her pale thighs. It came away with a loud, tearing sound.

  Jane squealed, partly in surprise but partly in genuine pain. He noticed that the action had left a dark red line on the inside of her taut thigh. Instinctively he put his hand down to touch. As he did so, the back of his hand brushed her springy bush. It was sopping wet with her juices. He gasped with surprise.

  ‘Dino, the bridle!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Hanging from the feed basket, behind you!’

  He picked up the piece of leather strapwork with puzzlement. The restraint had a dull glow that signified careful treatment and the bit was of highly polished chrome. It looked too small to fit on a horse’s head.

  ‘Hurry. I can hear him coming!’ The tendons on her neck stood out as she strained to see what he was up to. ‘Put it on me, quick!’

  Dino was aware of the horses in the nearby stalls becoming restive. He himself could hear no human footsteps. He strained to fit the black leather straps over her head. As he fumbled with the buckle at the back he heard whinnies of recognition coming from not too far away. Sweat broke out on his brow.

  ‘Slip the bit into my mouth, then go! Thanks for your assistance, Dino.’ Her eyes narrowed as she strained to see if her husband was coming through the door.

  ‘But what will he do to you?’

  ‘Never mind. It is as we arranged. He must reassert his mastery. Now go!’

  Feverishly he slipped the chrome bar between her teeth and tightened the strap.

  ‘Okay?’ The question was foolish. How could she answer? But she nodded exaggeratedly as if to make doubly sure there was no misunderstanding. Her gesture was unnervingly like that of a horse turning mettlesome.

  Clearly it was time to leave; his role was over. What kind of a freak was Homer to get his sexual kicks like this? No wonder they lived in the back of beyond, so that no one could spy on them. Well, almost no one.

  He dashed out through the door. He was blinded by the sun setting over the roof of the opposite stable block, but coming towards him was a striding figure. Homer passed him with a grunt. Dino noticed the other man was wearing riding boots and, as he turned in through the stable entrance, he slapped one leg with a riding crop. The door was pulled shut with a bang, but the top leaf remained open and attached to the wall.

  He went back to his car and picked up his camera. Just as Homer had instructed, Dino had loaded slow mono film. As he walked back towards the stable block he could already hear the slap of the leather shaft followed by a shriek and faint moans and cries. He could imagine Jane’s strong haunches, marred by the dark lines made by the cropping she was receiving. He realised the bit was strangling any words she might have been trying to form. The image was already making him hard, and the thought of her paleness in the shaft of sunlight.

  Taming a woman with a crop: there was something incredibly gross about it. But she seemed to derive considerable excitement from it. And, Dino suspected, he was going to get his share of kicks as well. He came closer and heard her quick breathing and the whimpering she was making despite the bit between her teeth.

  Once Homer had finished with her the slate would be wiped clean and she could start to ‘go too far’ again. Which was just fine by him. But first he had to concentrate on the job in hand. In the distance he could hear horses becoming restive. He had to creep into the neighbouring stall, which was empty, and cautiously take his pictures over the divider without Jane seeing him. Homer would have her positioned by now.

  Not quite as artistic as restored tithe barns, but it would pose its challenges. He had to try and take each shot as the stroke fell, thus hiding the sound of the shutter motor. Dino could develop the prints himself in a friend’s darkroom and slip them to Homer without his wife knowing. That was the deal. All for free. That was why Homer had specified a photographer as tenant. And now Dino knew why the rent was so low.

  Two hard strokes in quick succession, and a piercing shriek came from the other side of the wooden divider. Dino could almost smell her musky juices, imagine her taut muscles straining at those bonds he had tied. He realised he was sweating in anticipation.

  Dino silently manoeuvred himself into position and peered over into the next stall, camera at the ready.

  -oOo-

  Sashay

  Enjoy more erotic damsel in distress adventures by C. P. Hazel in Sashay, also published by Chimera:

  How long had she been locked in the stocks now? How long since the two hateful women had left her alone? Tears filled her eyes and meandered down her cheeks as loneliness gripped her heart, and thoughts of poor Kiki being taken away again filled her with fear. Would her friend survive without help? Would she ever see her again?

  Her eyes closed…

  Mystery, Masochism and the murky world of modelling!

  Natasha and her friend Kiki leave art college in Scotland and head to London for some excitement. Natasha’s Slavic looks lead to an offer from a modelling ‘Academy’. Seduced by glamour she meets up with men who prey on the submissive streak in her nature, which she increasingly realises she cannot control.

  After a traumatic episode in Paris Natasha returns to London, and both girls get involved in a risky escort agency run by a Russian mafioso. Kiki disappears. Natasha returns to Edinburgh, but soon longs for the hand of a dominant master and is persuaded to run off to Prague.

  She finds herself working in a converted palace, used as a front for an infamous BDSM bordello. Here Natasha’s craving for dominance is tested to the limits, and she must find a way to escape this cruel prison.

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