I really could have kicked myself. I must have been in a dream. Meeting up for a pub lunch near Hector’s office, I allowed myself to be diddled by the oldest trick in the book.
The Grapes - I must now refer to it as The Sour Grapes - didn’t look at all inviting. I was frankly surprised that Hector had arranged to meet there. Phoney Edwardian on the outside with an absolutely deafening jukebox inside.
I suppose it was just the sort of place that appealed to a bunch of chauvinistic solicitors who wouldn’t dream of letting a woman become partner but still liked to eye up the talent over their lunch hour. When I arrived the entire clientele seemed to be under twenty, mainly whey-faced and smoking.
I had been sitting in a fairly dark corner, trying to look invisible until my pinstriped husband came to rescue me. Instead, I was joined by a couple of waifs who plonked their garish drinks down at my table and asked would I mind? Despite nose studs and chain accessories they seemed polite, so I smiled and said of course.
I’m not naturally an eavesdropper but in this case they had to shout to one another just to be audible above the jukebox, so I heard everything they were saying. The one with the long, bleached tresses had obviously just lost her job. She was asking the other one, a brunette with a pageboy bob, if she could help out. I gathered her name was Eve and she was in work - a check-out girl in a local supermarket, if you can call that work. Not that I’m the person to judge, having never stirred an industrious finger since getting married twenty years ago.
The two of them became more confidential and lowered their voices; I was determined not to look interested in their affairs, so I ostentatiously read my magazine. The next thing I knew the two of them were getting up and moving off.
‘Missus, will you look after my bag while we go to the loo? I’d really appreciate it. I won’t be long, I promise.’ That was the one called Eve. The other one was struggling with a large tapestry shoulder bag that was bulging with what I assumed to be spare clothing.
I’m a sucker for the trusting look. Only five minutes later, by which time you couldn’t see the pair of them for dust, did I think to feel around for my own bag. No sign of it. Just as I was about to howl in disbelief, Hector turned up and took charge.
The CID never tracked them down so far as I know. I rather got the feeling those two detectives considered I had received my just deserts when they visited our elegant home in an ostentatiously affluent suburb. The amount of cash was less than a hundred pounds, after all, and the credit cards were not going to be my loss. They suggested I might pay better attention to my ‘personal effects’ in public places. Anyone would think I made a regular habit of taking lunch in city pubs.
What I never mentioned to them - or, indeed, to Hector, who had already sworn direst vengeance on the miscreants - was the other main item in the bag. This was a wallet of freshly developed colour prints showing Marjorie and me in some extremely frank poses. I had picked these up from a tatty but discreet processing shop just five minutes away from The Grapes.
I expect you’re dying to know just what I mean by ‘frank’. Well, Hector and I have recently formed a kind of foursome with Kevin and Marjorie. We get together every few weeks for a bite to eat in their place or ours. The only unusual part of the evening occurs after the drinks when we go through a little bit of horseplay.
Don’t get me wrong: it’s not wife-swapping or anything kinky like that. Marjorie and I just pretend to be, well, bad girls. Hector and Kevin take it in turn to administer the chastisement, and Marje and I kneel at opposite ends of a rather nice pine blanket box we keep specially for the purpose. Round at their place we put two Sheraton-style carvers back to back. And when that’s all over we sit down to our supper.
It helps to break the ice, I suppose. It certainly seems to give the men an appetite. Marjorie is definitely keener on it than me and it was they who suggested it, as I remember. I couldn’t see what she was on about until I let Hector try out a swagger stick on me, a relic of his army career that he’d unaccountably retained as a souvenir. After that, and the extraordinary session in bed that followed, I took less persuading. Maybe getting whacked together face to face like that provided Marje and me with a bond of intimacy.
I wasn’t keen on the photographs being taken and it only happened twice. After the first time Kevin said Polaroids were much too crude, so for the next session he set up lighting and did all sorts of tests with a meter. He took so long about it that we all had too many drinks and the results were more, well, uninhibited than usual.
I had completely stripped off whereas normally we kept on underwear. Marjorie was trying out the riding crop on me while Kevin snapped some close-ups of my extremely red posterior. Hector just sat back and enjoyed the spectacle, whisky in hand. By the time Marje was bare-arsed Kevin had run out of film. Afterwards we must have eaten well, I suppose. For heaven’s sake don’t ask me what it was we had.
Anyway, it was those selfsame snaps that my light-fingered companion in The Grapes had whisked away. Presumably she had dumped them in the canal after removing the cash from my handbag. I just had to pray she hadn’t looked at them. After this there was going to be no more candid camera, I said to myself.
It was one afternoon two or three weeks later that I had a visitor. Before I’d fully taken in who it was, she produced the bag and held it out to me with a look of contrition.
‘You’d better come in,’ I said, trying to sound quietly menacing.
Eve was more formally dressed than at our first encounter. She wore an ankle-length Regency style outfit which went rather strangely with her cropped hair and emerald-streaked fake fur. Obviously out to impress someone, or was she just bolstering her own fragile self-esteem?
I opened the bag with trembling fingers and immediately saw the bright red photo wallet. It was still there, but other eyes would have seen them, too. I visualised a group of college dropouts or computer nerds slavering over snaps of my raw buttocks.
‘I had to take the money, missus,’ a small voice said from behind me. ‘It was for Janet, my pal. She was desperately behind with the rent and she’d just been given her notice. She’s accident prone, that one.’
I turned round to face her; she only came up to my shoulder. Her features rapidly adopted a look of mute appeal. ‘How old are you, Eve?’
She was clearly surprised I knew her name. Coming here was a risk; so why had she taken it?
‘I’m twenty-five. I know I don’t look it.’
‘So why did you return here with the bag?’
‘I thought there were things in there you’d be wanting, credit cards and the like. Your address book. And - other things.’
‘Like these?’ I produced the wallet of prints from the bag with a flourish. To her credit, she blushed, but I wasn’t letting the little minx off the hook so easily. ‘You know I could phone the police. You stole my bag quite brazenly and caused me real inconvenience. Tell me why I shouldn’t phone the police right now.’
Her demeanour became a shade less contrite. ‘Maybe you haven’t seen the photos in the wallet yet, missus. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I looked at them. Do you really enjoy taking a beating from a dyke like that?’
Her eyes shone with curiosity. I opened the wallet and flicked through the prints. Kevin was quite right: the quality was certainly an improvement on Polaroids. Looking at them as dispassionately as possible gave me quite a shock. I could see five or six purple stripes neatly aligned across both buttocks. I was going to get my own back next time on Marjorie for sure.
‘You’re young and you probably wouldn’t understand. I’m not a lesbian. It’s just something my husband and I do with another couple to spice up our sex lives. You may think it’s odd, but putting yourself in that position assumes a great deal of trust in the other person.’
To my surprise she didn’t smirk. There was a silence as I checked the rest of the contents of my handbag. Sure enough, everything except the cash was still there. But then I remembered that there were originally negatives with the prints. I had made sure of that at the shop. Now they were no longer in the wallet.
‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry and to ask if there’s any way I can repay the money,’ Eve went on. ‘Janet took most of it and she can’t pay me back until she’s got another job. She wanted me to give her the credit cards. She knew someone who knows how to fix them. But I didn’t.’
Her voice trailed off inconclusively and she kept avoiding my eye. It was almost as if she saw me as a headmistress figure.
‘Well, I’m sure we can investigate that aspect of the matter, Eve. In the meantime, just who has the negative film for these prints?’
‘There’ll be no hassle over them, honestly. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t shop me. I feel bad about the stealing, honest. I thought if I could do something for you in exchange then the money would be like wages, wouldn’t it?’
‘And when you were finished the negatives would be returned? You seem to have it all very neatly worked out. However, there is another person involved in this - my husband, Hector, who is quite adamant that the law should be obeyed. He is a senior partner in a firm of solicitors, you see.’
She gulped at this and pulled her fake fur close around her upper half even though the room was quite warm. I had to admit she suddenly looked delightfully gamine.
‘Well, missus, maybe you could persuade him? Please try.’
Her appeal to my softer side was having an effect. I had an idea.
‘Eve, have you ever done any waitressing...?’
The details were agreed between us and then Eve left. It was only afterwards I realised how incongruous my behaviour was. I had just acted the gracious hostess to someone who had stolen nearly one hundred pounds out of my handbag.
As you can imagine, ace photographer Kevin was delighted to have another model on tap, so to speak. Marjorie was less delighted, but I sensed she was more than a little intrigued about meeting Eve. After a long discussion with Hector I eventually persuaded him that it would be to his advantage if the police were kept totally out of the affair.
He was still visibly fuming that evening the following week when Eve arrived. I had asked her to wear black, but tight-fitting fake leather trousers were hardly what I had in mind. Eve must have realised her dress sense had once again let her down badly. Anyway, she kept dropping things, including a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil that shattered on the kitchen floor. And Hector swore under his breath when the contents of the fruit salad bowl spilt on to the white damask. I noticed he was writing continually in a small notebook at his elbow.
We invited Eve to bring the coffee into the lounge after the dessert and join us there. The tension in the room rose as we waited, with Marjorie tittering as she does in moments of crisis. When Eve entered I thought the tray she was carrying was about to be a further casualty. She gasped when she saw Kevin’s lights all set up and the pine chest pulled into the centre of the room.
‘Ah, Miss Eve,’ Hector intoned in his driest professional manner, ‘set the tray down and dispense five cups immediately. Would you like a digestif with yours?’
Naturally, I had to explain to Eve. She settled for a vodka. To give her some credit, she must have only at that moment perceived exactly how she was going to make amends. The photographs would have given her all the clues she needed, but it must have come as a bit of a shock. Anyway, the vodka went down in a flash.
‘Now, young lady,’ Hector continued, ‘I think you realise that the time has come to settle your debt to society, or at least to those of us who were injured by your crime.’
She almost snivelled. ‘But I thought the waitressing was all I needed to do.’
‘No, I’m afraid this evening’s episode if anything only compounded your criminal record. I want you to go quickly into the conservatory just through those glass doors and undress for your punishment.’
Eve hesitated only a second. I sensed that she knew there was nothing she could really do to alter the inevitable. Suddenly I realised I felt sorry for her, almost guilty that I had tricked her into this. She seemed so small and innocent, standing there in her wildly inappropriate black outfit, looking straight into my eyes before she turned and went into the conservatory.
I had no idea what Hector was planning to torment her backside with, but I hoped he would make allowances for her youth. I may have suggested something to that effect. If so, it did no good at all. For, after searching around on his hands and knees, he produced a studded leather paddle from our special cupboard under the corner bar. His face was red from his exertions.
Kevin was busy adjusting his tripod so he didn’t see Eve returning. The rest of us just gasped. She crept back in through the doors naked, but for a black satin thong; her small hands were clasped ineffectually over her surprisingly full bust.
Hector had, of course, only meant her to remove trousers and tights. But then I remembered the photographs from the handbag. In my alcohol-induced zeal I had stripped to the buff for that last photographic session. Eve must have concluded this was the normal procedure. Hector harrumphed to hide his embarrassment, conscious that I was watching him like a hawk. In truth, my eyes were fixed, like everyone else’s, on that pale, waif-like figure who had drifted in like a faery child.
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.
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.
‘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.’
Actually I’d never seen her look more serious. My confidence was seeping away. I knew what would inevitably come next.
‘You’ll do exactly as I say, young lady.’
I can’t understand what followed. Maybe it was that sharp tone of command I’d last heard all those years ago. When we heard it as kids Alec and I knew we were in for a leg smacking. It was quick and sharp, two or three frantic slaps while she gripped us by the shoulder, just a reminder that we had overstepped the limit. And so, she felt, she had the right to do likewise.
This time it would be something a little more severe, I reckoned. But I was as big as she was now. So exactly why was my mouth so dry?
Anyway, the last spanking had been a lot of fun. Perhaps this would bring back memories of that hot back room with Spiro. Only a few days ago: how I’d longed to repeat it, even though my bum was sore the next day and I had to wear shorts rather than bikini pants. When I eventually plucked up the courage to return to the shop the assistant said Spiro was out of town for the day. I thought she smirked as she said it - in perfectly flawless English - but maybe it was my imagination.
You’ll no doubt be glad to hear that the walloping I got from her couldn’t have been more different. As you would expect. You wouldn’t? Like I said before, for an agony uncle you’re a horny bastard.
She grabbed me by the wrist, managing to catch me totally off balance. With a shriek I fell across her well-covered thighs, breaking my fall with one hand. Now any remaining sleepers must be fully wakened, I remember thinking with dawning horror.
I wore some baggy beach shorts that had captured my heart with their bright, fruity colours. They were very thin cotton and underneath them all I had on was a cotton thong. Not very effective protection against the calloused hands of the aunt. I knew she was itching to spank me, but I reasoned it would be just as undignified to struggle as to stay put and take it. I miscalculated there. She started slapping me with a cupped palm, making a really gross clop-clop noise. Like an enthusiastic cook tenderising steak.
‘There, young lady. This is going to jog your memory on something you seem to have forgotten about recently. Respect. Respect for your elders and betters.’
God, she’d totally flipped. Obviously I’d not made enough allowance for the effects of recent bereavement. More clops punctuated her speech. Luckily they didn’t hurt much but, raising my head, I could see that heads were popping up all around us. One woman tugged at her partner, who was still asleep on a banquette.
‘Aunty, for God’s sake, that’s enough!’ A small attempt at struggling convinced me she had me pretty well anchored with a hand between my shoulder blades.
‘Enough for you, maybe. But not nearly enough for me, niece.’
‘I’m not your real niece. You have no right to do this.’
I realised straightaway how pathetic that sounded. She stopped and I heard her rooting around in a shopping bag made of pink plastic on the seat beside her. All her immediate necessities were in there. For all I know, she kept a change of knickers in there handy for emergencies.
‘Somehow I think you’re about to pay much closer attention to what I’ve been saying to you, young lady. Whether or not you’re truly my niece.’
She had found what she was looking for, but it was behind me, out of sight. I was not kept in ignorance for long. The next stroke was a sharp, resounding slap, unmistakably the sound of the impact of a hard, flat surface. It came quickly again before I’d had time to appreciate the full fiery sensation on my scantily clad arse.
‘Ow! No more, aunty, that really hurts!’
‘You think I didn’t mean it to? No lesson is well learned without some pain to aid the memory.’
Slap, slap; slap, slap. Remorselessly Aunt Sophie applied the hairbrush to my cheeks one at a time. I struggled to be free, but now she had me by the hair, pulling my head up but forcing the rest of me down against her knees. This demonstration of her punishment prowess was starting to gain us quite an audience.
‘Ouch! Stop it. I’m serious, Sophie! That’s enough, okay?’
‘Oh, no it isn’t. You’ve still a lesson to learn. You’re going to learn some humility, and you’ll thank me for it. Eventually.’
With this she tore the cotton shorts down over my buttocks. They were exposed for all to see, glowing beetroot. I’m sure I heard a gasp in the ensuing silence, but this time it wasn’t me. I remembered how they looked in Spiro’s shop and how proud I felt then. Now there was only the humiliation.
‘Twelve on the bare is what you’re going to get.’
Struggle as I might, I couldn’t wriggle free. What are you laughing at? She had me under her arm and dug her elbow in hard if I tried to raise myself.
Whack, whack, whack. This time they sounded like pistol shots and a crowd was gathering around us. My God, the humiliation! What was I to do?
Luckily, just as the bitch aunt completed her dirty dozen our flight was announced. People began drifting away. Aunt Sophie used the hairbrush for its intended purpose as I hastily made myself decent again. And yes, I wore sunglasses all through the flight home.
And, do you know, she didn’t refer to the incident once during the four-hour flight, and she hasn’t referred to it since. It’s as if it never happened, as if it was all a sick fantasy.
Just try repeating that to me, pal. Now how was your holiday?
‘You stupid old cow! Frig off and leave me alone!’
I heard Tammy’s shriek above the thumping of the machines as soon as I came in the door. I would have been aware anyway from the girls’ expressions that something was wrong. An employer has to have an instinct for that kind of thing, especially with an all-female work-force.
‘How dare you speak to me like that, you cheeky little tart! Tomorrow you’re out the door. You’re finished here, believe me!’
What I didn’t expect to hear was Jess’ strident tones issuing from my partitioned office in the far corner of the print works. I could see her, dressed in crimson, through the open slats of the venetian blinds I used to screen my office from the shop floor when I felt like privacy. Half-hidden was the much slighter figure of Tamara, universally known as Tammy. She was my young PA who, in only six months, had shown evidence of a sound business sense.
Jess kept out of my way these days even though she was still a major shareholder in Purple Pros, our all-women screen-printing business. Our fling had finished last year, but she still kept some of her stuff in my flat. Neither of us had found a steady partner yet, so we still met for mutual support.
Although she was loaded, Jess had an inferiority complex to more than match her bank balance. Life outside Purple Pros (her choice of trading name: at least it meant we received plenty of telephone enquiries!) should have helped me unwind from entrepreneurial stress. But that was impossible with Jess and her uncontrollable compulsion to meddle until she got her own way.
Without a doubt she would be behind the catfight that was causing havoc with the work rate at this very moment. If this went on much longer, most of the point of sale cards for the local supermarket would be badly inked and worthless.
‘Okay, girls, minds on the job! I’ll sort this out, Arlene.’ I peeled off my faux-leopardskin coat en route, addressing my anxious production manager in what I hoped was a confident manner. The lunch with a promising new customer had gone on considerably longer than planned. I was aware my mind was far from crystalline.
I pushed open the door to my office and glided in, relieved to be able to shut out the chemical ink vapours that tainted everything in the workplace: hair, clothes, food, you name it. This was despite a fortune invested in powerful air handling plant. Usually this was my inner sanctum, but not today. The two of them were still squaring up across Tammy’s desk and it looked as if claws would be unsheathed any second.
‘There you are, Jo. About time, too!’ Jess wheeled round, determined to play the role of financial hotshot and pull some rank on me. So she lost any support I might have given her with that remark.
‘Hello, Jess. This is a surprise, honeypot. I’ve just been lunching a potential order.’ We brushed cheeks ritualistically. ‘Anything urgent for this afternoon, Tammy?’ I turned in her direction.
Normally sweet and sensible, my straw-haired Tammy was transformed. Her usually placid manner had been severely ruffled in the attempt to handle Jess. Her sleepy grey eyes now flashed and her cheeks burned. My heart gave a flip. Add those rosebud lips and a retrousse nose and her angry appearance had more urchin charm than ever. She shook her head silently and bit her lip.
There was a short silence. I took the opportunity to hang up my coat and ditch the fancy tote bag, which weighed a ton. Then I took a seat.
‘Well, you two, I take it there’s been a bit of a disagreement.’
‘I’ll give you the full details once your secretary has left the room,’ Jess snarled sotto voce, tossing her long, auburn mane out of her eyes. Despite being well into her thirties she dressed flamboyantly and knew she could turn heads, both male and female.
‘Tammy is my PA. Purple Pros does not have a secretary on the premises, as you well know, Jess. She’s also a management trainee and this office happens to be where she works.’
I sensed Jess stiffen. Now she knew she had rather more of a fight on her hands than she had bargained for. She perched one buttock on the edge of my desk, leaning towards me in a confidential manner.
‘Whatever you call her, Jo, I can think of only one name that fits - a little brown-noser.’
I had no chance to find out what she was getting at. Showing more agility than I had imagined her capable of, Tammy flew over the curling carpet tiles to land a stinging slap across the face of her accuser. I sensed a communal gasp from the rapt audience beyond the glass.
The change in Jess’ expression was so sudden as to be almost cartoon-like. She glared at me, cupping her burning cheek in one hand, daring me to betray even a ghost of a smile.
‘Tammy, cool down,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen you in such a state before. Let’s have those blinds closed and lock the door. It’s beginning to resemble Punch and Judy in here.’
Obediently Tammy went round the two glass walls, closing each set of blinds with a gentle tug of the cords. Suddenly it felt cosier. I turned to Jess, who had now begun to reassert her self-control. ‘Come on, honeypot, spill the beans. What exactly is going on?’
Jess glared at Tammy’s attractive back view but refrained from any more name-calling. She began to tell me what had happened. To cut a long story short, she had just popped into the flat that morning to pick up something. Since she was still paying half the mortgage I hadn’t asked her to return her set of keys. So in she breezed and, of course, had to take a peek at everything.
This was how Jess found Tammy’s birthday card to me stuck on the pinboard in the kitchenette. Two adorable puppies in matching bows. I just couldn’t take it down. And it showed a side to Tammy that she rarely let out when she was at work.
The birthday was almost a month ago, so I had put my other cards away in a drawer, including the one from Jess, an ostentatiously arty number in which she had scribbled a load of nostalgic mush. Perhaps understandably, she had flown to an immediate conclusion about Tammy and me. As it happened, she was way ahead of the mark; but, in a perverse sort of way, her words set me wondering.
Jess’ breathless account eventually drew to a close. She had come straight here in a jealous rage, expecting to have it out with me. Instead, she found Tammy efficiently handling the business in my absence. So she staged a scene, threatening the girl with exposure and dismissal. The whole thing must have been a bombshell for my PA, since we had never discussed our sex lives or anything in that area. Frankly, we both had too much on our minds during the working day.
The phone rang, making us all jump.
‘Say I’ll call back later then take it off the hook,’ I instructed Tammy.
I thought hard while Tammy took the call. I was not my usual decisive self after that heavy lunch at Pedro’s. It was hard to concentrate on how to deal equitably with this situation. Both of them had overreacted. Jess had plunged in and made totally groundless and pointless accusations. Tamara should not have reacted so impulsively but she was young and probably felt threatened.
It was up to me to find a solution that seemed just to both sides. I certainly didn’t want to sack Tammy. On the other hand, Jess and I went back a long way and her investment was keeping the business out of overdraft. They were both standing facing me like errant schoolgirls with scowling expressions, while Jess had the fetching addition of one burning cheek only half-hidden by her long hair.
I pushed my reclining chair back a little and picked up the em-rule from its habitual position on the desk beside my PC. It was a steel ruler just over a foot long, marked off in traditional printer’s em units. Why I kept it I don’t know, since it was a relic of a bygone era. All type layout was done on screen these days.
But then, as I slid its engraved surfaces between finger and thumb, I thought maybe it had a use after all. The two of them had behaved like schoolgirls, so that was just how I would treat them. In retrospect, I put the events of that afternoon down to the lingering effects of a heavy Chilean claret, but at the time I only saw how I could defuse the situation. And also indulge myself into the bargain. I cleared my throat and sat up straight.
‘Now listen hard, both of you. I can’t have this kind of catfight going on here. For a start, it disrupts production and, secondly, this is my office as long as I run the business. So I need to make an example of you both.’
‘You surely don’t mean to punish us?’ Jess asked with a hint of sarcasm. ‘I don’t see why anything I’ve done should need to be accounted for.’
‘That’s exactly what I intend doing. Look a bit harder at yourself, Jess.’ I could feel my confidence growing as I sensed a way of getting even with her for the months of mental torment she put me through when we lived together. ‘You’re supposed to be a director of this company. You come bursting in here, causing consternation to the work-force and upsetting Tammy over some fantastic notion you’ve picked up.’
She opened her mouth but I cut in quickly.
‘And Tammy, what you did was inexcusable. No, I’m afraid an apology is insufficient and too late. I have high hopes for your career in management but self-control is an essential quality. So you need to be taught a lesson, too.’
I paused for breath. They were clearly puzzled at what was coming next. Did either of them have an inkling of what I was about to say? I slapped the steel rule into my palm, and I noticed Jess’ jaw drop open slightly.
‘You can see what I’ve got in my hand. And from what I’ve just said, you must both realise your behaviour was childish. I propose punishing you in just the way children used to be punished. Six sharp strokes on the buttocks for each of you and then we’ll forget all about it. Otherwise...’
‘This is preposterous!’ Jess exclaimed. ‘I’m not going to take this from you, Jo.’
‘In that case, I want my front door key returned right now.’
She went silent. Tammy looked thunderstruck, but then she looked across at Jess, a smile playing at her lips. The little minx was always quick to grasp a situation.
I looked them both in the eye and neither found anything to say for a few seconds. Tammy was clearly taken aback at the idea of being made to take corporal punishment, but she was probably weighing up the alternatives. She was the first to find her voice.
‘On the bare arse with that?’
‘Yes. It will sound worse than it feels. Nobody will hear above the machine noise. As long as you don’t yell the place down.’
I faced her without a smile, although inwardly I was willing her to accept.
‘Okay, just six,’ she whispered, looking down at the floor. My heart skipped a beat.
‘You will both be treated equally with regard to the severity of the punishment, and each will watch the other receiving it. Now if you’re ready, Tammy, I think you should go first.’
I stood up and removed my jacket. I swivelled the soft leather chair around so that its back was secure against the edge of my desk.
It was up to Tammy to make the next move. Giving me a brief, quizzical look, she slipped out of her mules and unzipped her jeans. Sitting on the edge of her desk, she pulled these off, revealing a pair of long, shapely legs.
She now wore only a light, tummy-length blouse and blue satin briefs which, as she turned to place the jeans on her desk, turned out to be very brief.
‘Those come off,’ Jess snapped. ‘You said bare bottom and that means a total strip below the waist.’
Tammy shot her a poisonous look. But then she looked in my direction. I nodded and, noting my reaction, she gracefully slipped the skimpy satin garment down to the floor and stepped out of it. Quickly she moved past Jess to the chair where I was waiting. I noted with satisfaction that her sparse pubic hair was exactly the same shade of straw.
‘Do I kneel?’ She looked me straight in the eye with a ghost of a smile.
I felt my mouth going dry in anticipation. ‘Lean over and rest your weight on the desk top. Now arch your back so I can get a fine view of your bare bum.’
Her fair-skinned body looked especially vulnerable against the dark leather. Her physique was supple and she did it beautifully. By bending over her I was able to savour the faintly acrid fragrance of her sex.
‘Are you ready?’
She turned and nodded. Tammy continued to look over her shoulder as I raised my hand to give her the first. It was more gentle than I had intended, and Jess noticed.
‘Harder, Jo. The girl is supposed to feel she’s being punished.’
The second and third strokes were more wristy, but still Tammy kept looking. On the fourth, which I delivered with some muscle, she flinched and turned to face the front. I noticed her petite rump was mottling over with angry red blotches. On the fifth stroke she let out a gasp and waggled her hips like a cat about to pounce.
‘Last one, Tammy. Come on, let’s see that burning backside in all its splendour.’
Bless her, she did arch herself again and displayed those perfectly rounded haunches for my delectation. I took a few seconds to take them in and notice the unmistakable glistening at the secret fold guarded by her rounded cheeks.
‘Get on with it, and make this a good one!’ Jess ordered.
The final stroke took both buttocks with equal force, the warmed steel rule flexing appreciably as contact was made with a satisfying slap. This time Tammy wriggled much more vigorously and I could have sworn I heard a soft moan. If so, it was quickly swallowed.
Slowly she pushed herself upright. Knowing that Jess and I were rooting our gaze on her rosy orbs, she walked slowly back to her desk without any attempt to cover herself. There was defiance, pride even, in her walk. But self-control, too. She quickly dressed, scarcely wincing as the jeans were pulled back on.
Now it was Jess’ turn. To give her her due, she didn’t hesitate. She removed her big, hooped earrings then unzipped the crimson creation she was wearing and pulled it over her head in a flurry of auburn tresses. Underneath she was only wearing tights and pants, so these had to come off if she was to be equal with Tammy. In that case she would face us both naked.
‘Take the lot off,’ breathed Tammy, standing with her arms akimbo, savouring Jess’ discomfiture. Jess could hardly beg for clemency since she had shown her rival no mercy.
With her tights cast aside, Jess stood in very classy high-cut briefs with lace panels. They would have taken away little of the sting, I realised, but it was only fair she should have a bare bottom, too. She slipped them off, looking straight at me and ignoring Tammy.
Undoing the top button of my silk blouse, I fanned myself. It was getting warm in here. Then I laid a hand on Jess’ familiar shoulder to push her down a little.
‘Now, Jess, are you ready for your share of punishment?’ I asked.
She grunted, and as I raised my arm I was suddenly aware of Tammy moving stealthily towards the glass partition behind us. But I needed to concentrate on Jess’ quivering globes, which clearly showed the imprint of elasticated lace. They brought back memories.
‘One.’
Jess came upright with a hiss of indrawn breath. I pushed her down again firmly and delivered the second with slightly more wrist. At that she tried to get off the chair, rubbing her cheek vigorously, but I grabbed a handful of hair to hold her in place. Relaxed by the wine, I was beginning to enjoy getting my own back.
With number three she swore aloud, but I held her fast. Her buttocks were now at least as scarlet as her cheek where Tammy had slapped her.
‘One extra for that. This is for your own good, Jess. Think about it. You’re kneeling here stripped to the buff. I would have thought you’d want to get this over as soon as possible.’
I gave her number four, keeping a firm grip on her hair. While waiting for her bucking to stop, I quickly looked over at Tammy. She caught my gaze and gave me a slow, conspiratorial smile. I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by it.
Then I noticed she held the cord of one blind and was very gently opening the louvres a crack at a time. Jess, of course, was too occupied with her discomforts to notice.
By the time I had finished with her Jess was certainly tingling. Her glowing buttocks no longer showed the lacy trim of her briefs. But she didn’t realise that she had also been granting a free show to most of the work-force. By the time she was on her feet again, Tammy had stealthily pulled the blinds closed.
I really should have punished the little urchin again for such a mean-spirited act. Quite out of character, I thought. But I was by now quite worn out with so much physical exertion in a single afternoon. And it certainly improved morale in the workplace, since no one liked Jess and her bossy ways.
Besides, I thought it would be prudent to save up Tammy’s misdemeanours for further correction. Next time we would carry out her punishment well away from Purple Pros.
‘This could be the most painful bit. But you’ve been very brave so far, Keith.’ The beautician simpered at the powerful figure as he lay flat on his back, stripped to the waist.
Raising his head slightly he could see that his chest, which once had a golden down spreading like a shield up to his pecs, was now blotched red and almost entirely hairless. Just in the immediate vicinity of each nipple there were a few long, sprouting hairs. The beautician applied a pink, pungent wax solution on a kind of lollipop stick and waited a few seconds, flashing him a reassuring smile.
She pressed down with a strip of cloth, then yanked it away. Before Keith had time to recover from the sharp pain she had repeated the process on his other breast. She showed him the cloth strip now bearing a fringe of golden hairs that had adorned his chest. Keith tenderly rubbed the inflamed area around his nipples with a fingertip. The skin felt slightly tacky and rough. He hoped it would soon return to its accustomed soft, tanned appearance.
‘Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it, Keith? I’ll clean off the remaining bits of wax and rub on some soothing balm.’
She was good, getting his name right first time, even though he had never been here before. Harry had recommended her and since Harry was providing him with plenty of work at the moment, Keith did as he was told.
Harry produced short porno videos, getting together a team of two or three amateurs for an afternoon in a suburban flat. With only a camcorder man and a sound technician to pay on top, the videos were a real money-spinner. Keith could visualise Harry blowing smoke rings on his panatella as he used that very phrase. He had taken Keith into his confidence for the first time in that dingy office over the betting shop last week.
Before then, Keith had been in half-a-dozen of these low-budget epics with inspired titles like Nymphos Meet Their Match. Harry thought them up, of course, his bald pate glistening with the mental effort. Keith curled his lip in contempt. He would show Harry a thing or two once he had learned all the ins and outs of the business. Ins and outs, that was good.
Keith sat on the edge of the beautician’s couch while she applied the herbal ointment. He admired his physique in the mirror. Though in his early thirties he looked a good ten years younger, kept well toned by regular workouts and a careful diet. Pity that a good woman couldn’t appreciate his admirable qualities. All he needed was someone with a voluptuous figure and an appreciation of the finer things in life, but not imbued with too much intellectual curiosity. Keith had tried marriage a few years back but found the commitment side too much.
He liked to keep a woman in her place. That was why he was enjoying what Harry had been offering him recently. Mind you, it was only what he deserved. Without Keith these miserable forty-minute efforts wouldn’t get made on budget.
Keith saw himself as the sugar coating on the pill. Harry got the girls to come along but it was he, Keith, who got them to do what the punters would pay to see. The girls were strictly amateurs, brought in through contact magazines and usually in need of money to eke out a student grant or settle a household debt.
Keith chatted them up beforehand, plying them with drink to relax them. That always saved time and time, as Harry kept reminding him, was precious. Having the ‘crew’ standing around doing nothing was costing Harry good money. The girls themselves would be happy with a few quid for a two-hour session. And so was Keith the first few times, but now he’d got higher ambitions.
Without him, he argued, the girls would hardly get undressed - which they usually had to do with Harry looking on and commenting - let alone do the business. Keith had the knack of making them feel at ease, and after that the rest came naturally.
He was still in good shape, Keith concluded as he got dressed, but recently he’d been finding these bonkathons were beginning to take their toll. Then he’d had a real brainwave. Why not move into CP? The girls wouldn’t need to be told beforehand exactly what they would be expected to do. Once they had their tops off they rarely refused, especially if told their fee was in jeopardy.
And Keith just loved putting the naughty young things over his knee; it helped him to get a real hard-on for the final coupling. He had become almost indispensable. And that was why this time he had told Harry he was doubling his fee.
After this shoot he was looking to walk away with a grand in his pocket. It was worth losing your chest hair for, he reflected, gingerly enjoying the novelty of being as smooth as a baby.
The location was a former girls’ school - quite a palace, with an imposing stepped portico, in a smart area of town. The establishment had amalgamated with a boys’ private school, so the building was up for sale.
‘I couldn’t believe my luck,’ Harry guffawed. He was dressed in a loud check that a racecourse bookie would think twice about wearing indoors. ‘Spoke to the agents last week and they showed me round. Told them how I was thinking of going into upmarket hotels. Said I would need to spend an afternoon measuring up. Couldn’t have been nicer, the gormless wankers. Have to return the keys tomorrow, though.’
‘So we’ve got the place to ourselves and no prying neighbours? Very neat deal, Harry.’ Keith admired the panelled hall with its open fireplace and carved surround.
‘All you need is a bit of lateral thinking, son. You can pick up all kinds of things for free. The competition just run up needless expense booking into holiday chalets or executive flats. Lateral thinking, Keith, know what I mean?’ He tapped the side of his forehead animatedly.
Keith had an idea what he meant. It amounted to screwing everyone down to the lowest possible price so Harry grossed an obscene profit on each of these grubby little videos. However, it reminded him that Harry still owed him half the fee.
‘Very good indeed, maestro. Now you can afford to raise my fee a little since your overheads are reduced. Fair deal?’
Harry drew him a sharp glance and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a stuffed envelope. ‘Come on, Keith, here’s the other two hundred and fifty. We had a deal, and it was a darned good one for you. It’s too late to start renegotiating. Besides, I’m having to pay the dolly birds more than usual.’
Keith put on his slyest expression. ‘Suddenly I can’t remember the deal, Harry. All I know is I’m expecting another half grand, otherwise I’m not available for the shoot.’
‘You’re joking, Keith. My God, you’re trying to screw every penny of profit out of me. I swear you’ll bring me to ruin.’
‘That’ll be the day, Harry. In future, if you want to secure my services I’ll be wanting a proper contract with working conditions all laid out. In black and white. Of course, if you’ve got someone else waiting in the wings...’
Harry grunted, then threw his hands into the air. ‘Did you get your chest done, like I asked?’
‘I’m as smooth as a billiard ball and I hope to be almost as shiny by the time I’ve finished with those two beauties. Have I balled them before?’
‘Julie’s a student nurse, but Maria’s got experience. Even so, I want you to take it fairly easy with them, Keith. Let them come on to you a bit. Catch my drift?’
‘You mean they’re going to be just a teeny bit cheeky to me before I get to whip their arses to a nice beetroot? Am I getting close, Harry?’ Keith gave the smaller man a comradely shoulder punch. ‘By the way, what’s the title of this one?’
Harry hesitated fractionally. ‘You’ll find it’s the usual scenario. You’re the gym teacher and you catch them smoking in the changing room. And then I’ll leave it to you. What have you brought this time?’ he asked, gesturing towards the kitbag over Keith’s shoulder.
‘The long-handled ebony hairbrush, my old favourite. Belonged to my least favourite granny. One day it’s going to split, but that wallop it makes is magic. I should know, she used it on me often enough. I’ve got a nice red leather paddle with a few studs to make it zing. This will be its maiden voyage. Then there’s the old-fashioned tawse to bring up a few stripes on those girlie butts.’
Harry nodded approvingly. ‘You should see the changing room. It’s a beauty, Keith, with all those pink metal lockers. A real fetishist’s wet dream, I’m telling you.’
‘Now you’re talking! Show me the way, Harry. That is - if we have a deal.’
‘Okay, you get another two-fifty after the shoot if you’re up to scratch. You’ve got my word for it. Follow me and I’ll introduce you to the girls.’
Keith silently punched the air, then followed the producer along dark corridors to the back of the building. A trail of cigar smoke kept him on track. Harry eventually pushed open a pair of swing doors and they were in the gym. They both stopped in amazement.
Above their heads a girl with her back to them was supporting herself on the suspended rings, her bare arms quivering with strain. Then, with no noticeable effort, she dropped to arms’ length and swung a few times backwards and forwards before flipping herself over to end up in the previous position.
She repeated the routine, her long black hair streaming out behind her. This time she released the rings to somersault in mid-air and land almost perfectly, needing only a slight adjustment to her balance. Keith and Harry broke into spontaneous applause. Turning round and seeing them, she smoothed down the extremely brief pleated gym skirt, which had ridden up over her thighs.
The two members of the film crew stopped filming and added some wolf-whistles. They both looked barely out of college.
‘Keith, meet Maria.’
Still red-faced, the girl approached Keith. He noticed her handshake was firm. She was obviously fit and also close to his height. Unlike the other girl, a bottle blonde with a pinched look to her face, a Gothic-style tattoo on one shoulder and a nose ring. She, too, was dressed in a thin blouse and pleated skirt. She had barely any figure and was without a bra. An ill-assorted pair, he thought to himself.
‘And you must be Julie, then?’ He smiled encouragingly at the skinny girl, who gave him a dismissive look. She seemed vaguely familiar. He would enjoy taming her later. He could imagine it already. He would have her across his knees in no time with her panties around her ankles, screaming for mercy. He was getting a hard-on just thinking about it. She should be no trouble, but he wasn’t so sure about the athletic Maria.
‘Time for you to get changed, Keith. We’ll go through to the locker room. Strictly it’s for girls, but I’m sure you won’t mind.’ Harry smiled and waved his cigar in the direction of a door opposite. Keith thought he heard a stifled titter as he walked off followed by the camera crew. He didn’t dare look back.
Harry was right: the changing room was a gem. It was roughly square with lockers and benches round the walls. To one side was a large shower room with a skylight.
For some reason the crew came in with him, the red light on the video camera glowing, just as he was slipping into his tracksuit trousers. He played to the camera, flexing his pecs as he pulled on his jacket. He left it unzipped to show off his gleaming chest in all its smooth novelty.
He was even more startled as the two girls strode in, looking far from friendly in their neat gym outfits and ankle socks.
‘So what are you doing in here?’ Maria strode up to him and confronted him, hands on hips. He resisted the immediate urge to back away. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Julie had taken up a position blocking any direct escape.
‘Boys aren’t allowed in here. It’s the girls’ changing room,’ Julie brayed in a voice that belied her diminutive appearance. ‘Now you’re for it, you little pervert.’
‘How do you mean, I’m for it?’ Keith found his mouth going dry.
‘You know the school rules. Any boy found in the girls’ changing area gets punished.’
This was Maria.
‘Oh, yes? Who says?’ he riposted with a show of bravado.
‘I do. And you know who I am, I suppose.’
‘Do I?’
He began to suspect they were acting from a different script.
‘Oh, come on, he’s just playing for time,’ Julie chipped in, employing a sneering, nasal tone. She had crept round behind him and now she suddenly pulled the jacket down off his shoulders before yanking it free of his wrists. It must be her nursing training, he reckoned, that made such a chit so sure of herself.
Keith stood facing his two antagonists bare-chested. If Harry hadn’t told him to go easy he would have grabbed one of them right now and had her skimpily covered arse over his knee in no time. Instead, he found himself being swivelled round to face the lockers.
‘Arms out to the side,’ Maria ordered.
The next minute he found his head being pulled back as she grabbed his curly mane and tugged it strongly to one side. This would have been alarming if it weren’t so laughable.
‘I said arms out, you Peeping Tom.’
He raised them slowly, and both began a thorough body search from his ankles upwards.
‘I’m no Peeping Tom,’ he ventured, starting to extemporise. The crew was still filming, so he thought he had better earn his fee by taking up Maria’s cue.
‘So just what were you doing in here, snooping around the girls’ lockers?’ Maria had slipped her hand under the waistband of his jogging pants and was squeezing his cock through the satin briefs. ‘Eh? Cat got your tongue?’ She put her face close up to his and blew gently on his cheek. He moaned with pleasure.
What happened next was executed with a speed that took him entirely by surprise. Almost simultaneously, a set of handcuffs was slipped on to each wrist, then he was pinioned as one arm was locked behind him. He turned to see the other arm being attached to one of the locker handles by Maria. She darted round to help Julie as he began to struggle. But he had left it too late.
‘Now, now, big boy. Don’t make a fuss about your punishment,’ Julie sneered. ‘You’re not thinking of running away.’
The two of them heaved at his free arm and attached it to another locker handle. He was at full stretch with his left cheek hard against the scratched paintwork. What the hell was going on?
‘Cut!’
Thank Christ, Harry was here. He’d put these two hard-faced bitches back in line.
He felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder and his breath at his ear. ‘How’s it going, Keith, old pal!’ he whispered. ‘I think this may possibly be the last movie we make together. I just can’t afford you any longer. But never mind. Let’s make this one to remember, eh, girls?’
‘Harry, what the hell’s going on? What kind of movie are we making here? Give us a break for old times’ sake.’
‘Don’t worry, my son, you’ll be getting plenty of breaks. Look in his bag, girls. I think you’ll soon find what you’re looking for.
‘You see, Keith, this is the same only different. We’re calling it Pussy-whipped. It’s a punishment video, all right, but this time it’s fem dom. I trust you’re familiar with the term; if not, you’re about to find out the hard way. That’s the reason I asked you to get your chest waxed, by the way. We didn’t want you looking too butch.’
‘You bastard, Harry!’
Keith rattled the locker doors as he struggled, but his wrists were firmly attached to the handles.
‘Bad language forbidden in the locker room!’ Harry laughed. ‘Ah, Julie, I see you’ve found the strap. By the way, Keith, I’m surprised you don’t remember Julie from Caned To Prefection. One of my more inspired titles. If I remember you were brunette then, isn’t that right, Julie?’
‘Yeah, and I couldn’t sit down for nearly a week afterwards without wincing. All because of that sadistic prick.’ She slammed the three-tailed leather tawse across the bench by his knee, making a loud crack that caused him to start. ‘Let’s move it. I can’t wait to get even.’
‘So I’ll send you a cheque for the two-fifty when I’ve seen the rushes, Keith. And don’t worry, you can scream as loud as you like. There are no neighbours to disturb. Sorry I can’t hang around to see your arse glowing red, but I’ve got a deal to complete with a new leading man before the day’s end. See ya.’
He heard Harry’s departing footsteps, then the purr of the video camera as the crew came in close behind him. Keith tried to look over his shoulder. He saw the contents of his kitbag were spread over the floor.
Next minute he felt the jogging trousers pulled to his knees, to be followed in quick succession by the scarlet pouch that had enough stretch to accommodate a full erection during those scenes when he was administering a hard dose of punishment. It was the appearance of the stroke marks that really aroused Keith. Now he was only too painfully aware that the camera was trained on his own haunches in the same expectation.
‘Ready for your punishment, boy?’
There was barely a pause for his reply before he was aware of a searing pain that spread from the upper slope of his buttocks, followed by two more. By the third he was writhing and tugging fruitlessly to free his arms.
‘Keep still,’ commanded Maria. ‘My, you are going red, you naughty boy. Now…’ she pulled his thighs away from the lockers towards her ‘…get that pretty little bum stuck out a bit more so we can see what to aim at. Julie’s got a leather paddle in a most attractive shade of scarlet. I don’t think she’ll stop until she has an exact match with your arse cheeks.’
‘Right on, sister. I’d thought of starting with this black hairbrush, but that’s a bit girlie for a big hunk like yourself. Agree, Keith? I’m sure you remember when you punished me you were on to the strap quick enough. God, you hurt me.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realise...’
‘Didn’t realise? I was begging you to stop, but you had no pity. I was stripped of any dignity on that video. Now I’m ready to get my own back.’
Keith’s heart sank to his tanned ankles. The punishment started in earnest. They took it in turns to give him a dozen or so at a time. Then, to save their strength, they hit him alternately from left and right. He heard a terrible howling echoing through the changing room as the two instruments merged into a single searing sensation.
They stopped once for the cameraman to load a fresh cassette. Keith smelt the acrid tang of cigarettes, then the flowery tones of a deodorant.
‘Quite a pong in here,’ Maria observed. ‘Do you want some?’
‘No, I’m dry. But he’s sweating like a pig. Here, give me the roll-on a minute.’
Julie approached Keith, who was trying to rest his aching arms. The pain from his biceps at least counteracted the stinging sensation around his haunches. He felt a coolness under one arm and then the other.
‘There, that should make the second half a bit more pleasant, eh, Keith?’
‘Are you ready yet, boys?’ Maria enquired. ‘Not quite? Let me have the roll-on, then.’
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked in a small voice.
He felt a cool sensation first on one buttock, then on the other. Ah, that was better. But then the skin started to smart, finally to sting. He couldn’t see what effect these two harpies had made on his buns, but he suddenly became aware that damage must have been done.
If only he could see or feel! He struggled to release one hand at least, but to no avail. The lockers were constructed to resist unauthorised access.
‘Okay, second take!’ announced the sound man. ‘Let’s make this one even better, girls. Everything okay with you, Keith?’
Again there was that barely suppressed snort of laughter. Which of the girls was it? Or worst of all, which of the crew? He groaned and braced himself for at least another twenty minutes of stinging humiliation.
He was earning his increased fee with interest. That bastard, Harry! He had got one up on him again. Keith sensed his glorious film career was about to come to a premature end.