Whip Hands (27 page)

‘Oh, Jen!' I gasped in horror. When she saw where I was looking she put her hand down to feel the area of flaming red.

‘Wow, that's really something! My mark of shame. Thanks, Guy,' she said. And it was he who got the special view as she ran her fingers over the afflicted area and down underneath. Her fingers came up wet and she didn't try to hide the fact. She gave Guy an inviting look. I gave him one to equal it as I quickly handed Jenny her jeans.

 

Over the next few days I could sense the ground shifting under my feet. I couldn't put my finger on what was happening. The punishment episode was not repeated, and none of us talked about it. Well, neither of them spoke to me, anyway.

It was a couple of weeks before I met Jenny again, although we talked over the phone as usual. She called me at work one morning in great excitement to say she had been offered a real job.

‘A store detective!' I gasped in disbelief. ‘What kind of qualifications do you need for that?'

‘You need to be alert and sharp-eyed. Bit like a squirrel, really. It's only three days a week. I don't wear a uniform. I have to mingle with the crowd and watch for shoplifters. It can be boring, but when it gets busy you hardly know which way to look!'

We met up a few days later and she told me all about it. The day before she had made her first kill, as she put it. A young woman in jeans and a puffer jacket. She and another woman detective took the culprit up to a special room at the back of the store and made her take the jacket off. There were half a dozen secret pockets in the lining. She had pinched loads of expensive lingerie, even a cashmere jumper, and was already through the checkout when Jenny pounced.

‘So what happened?'

‘We had her on video, fortunately. She was charged, but not until we checked she hadn't anything stuffed up her knickers.'

‘Jen! You're joking!'

‘I thought it was a bit extreme. Not according to my superior. Women customers get up to all kinds of tricks in the cubicles, apparently.'

She had a fund of stories to tell me, and I was glad to see Jenny more like her old self. I hoped she had forgotten all about the fake traffic warden and this unhealthy masochistic streak she had revealed to me. And, of course, to Guy.

But, unfortunately, the talk returned to the caning evening and she wanted to know when we could do a repeat. I just couldn't go through it again. So I told her that neither Guy nor I wanted to repeat it and she dropped the subject.

Another week or so passed. One night Guy was round and he tried to get me to borrow the cane from Jenny so he could give me a taster. He got quite shirty when I reacted with horror, admittedly a little exaggerated, but I wanted him to know this was a road we were not travelling.

Next thing he's suggesting we should see a little less of each other. I was taken aback. Our relationship wasn't madly passionate any more, but we had been together for a couple of years and friends considered us as good as married. I had to find out what was behind it.

Guy wasn't very forthcoming at the best of times, but I soon made him feel ashamed of his behaviour towards me, and he eventually confessed all. Jenny had been in touch with him and asked whether he enjoyed caning her and would he like to do it again? That was just before he asked me if I would. Always the gentleman, our Guy.

Anyway, they hatched a little scenario between them. She told him about the interview room at the department store and he agreed to go round one afternoon when she was on duty. He was there in the lingerie section talking to Jenny when he got cold feet about the whole escapade. He said he was going to leave right then. She told him he wasn't and suggested he looked in his jacket pocket. What should he find but a matching lace bra and panties Jenny must have planted when she had hugged him.

Naturally, my blood was boiling by now. I could see the way Jenny's mind was working. She had been tricked by the fake traffic warden, so she was getting her own back with something equally devious. If Guy kicked up a fuss he would have been in worse trouble. I saw his predicament without feeling in the least sympathetic.

They went up to the interview room. She locked the door and closed the porthole. Guess what she had rolled up in cardboard in one corner of the room? She told Guy they often used it on younger shoplifters who considered it a better option than being taken home by a police officer. I didn't believe any of it. But he swallowed her tale.

In a trice she was out of her kit, telling him to pretend she was the shoplifter. He thought briefly about it, he told me, before agreeing. Of course he did. He had nothing to lose and the chance to eye up Jenny's cute little arse for the second time. And he certainly gave her her money's worth this time, with her kneeling Islamic-style on the floor, even by his own account. His only concern was that her yelps would cause someone to investigate, so she agreed to bite on his belt to stifle the cries.

All this went on for a good twenty minutes and Jenny was red raw. She then flipped over and lay on her back with her knees spread, the randy little cow! I suppose I can hardly blame Guy for it. He did seem upset and even glad he had confessed all. I sent him away and told him not to phone. I would call him when I was ready.

Now I'm awaiting Jenny's call. I shall be interested in hearing her version of events. I shall suggest she comes around as soon as possible with that pale, whippy cane. She seems to have got quite a taste for the kiss of the rod. But, believe me, she will also feel its bite when I give it to her. If this is the only way to keep her in check, I must learn to be cruel to my best friend.

 

 

 

The car turned off the country road at a wrought-iron sign. It bore the Gothic-style inscription Witchwood. A long, tree-lined drive obscured any view of the house until the last moment. There were already two cars pulled up on the gravel in front of a well-preserved Georgian facade. The driver continued on round to the left as instructed.

He got out and took a closer look at the house from the back. It was a hot afternoon in early summer and he was glad to be able to stretch his legs. Through the tall, narrow pointed windows he could see that a small flat had been created within the later Victorian wing. This was definitely the place. He peered in through one of the mullioned windows but could see no sign of anybody.

‘Mr Dimarco?' A young woman in her twenties stood before him, hands on hips. She was dressed in jeans and a plain cotton singlet, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Her dark, ringletted hair was partially held in a ponytail. ‘Hello, I'm Jane. Glad you found us.'

‘Hello. Why don't you call me Dino?' The broad-shouldered young man removed his sunglasses and gave her a keen look from piercing grey eyes. It was a move that was usually effective with women. This one, however, gave only a slight smile.

‘Shame, I'd hoped you might be called Tarzan.'

There was a second's silence as he assessed her reply.

‘I get it. Well, Jane, this is quite some place you've got here. Much grander than I'd expected from the ad. It looks as if you've been carrying out some restoration work. How long have you been here?'

‘Nearly eighteen months now. And still the work goes on. The west wing is just completed, where the flat is. If you want I can show you around. I chose the colour schemes.' Jane ran her fingers nervously through the tight ringlets that framed her small-featured face.

‘Yeah, I'd like to, Jane. I'm working on an assignment in this area for the next few months, did I mention that?'

‘You're a photographer?'

‘That's right. Publishers approach me for a picture portfolio on a particular theme. For coffee table books.
Gites
in the Dordogne,
capanne
in Umbria, that kind of thing. It seems to sell and they keep on commissioning me. So I'm not complaining.'

‘It sounds very exotic. What brings you to the Home Counties?'

‘Barns. Or rather converted barns. People seem to like turning them into a rural retreat. Lots of people dream of doing it, according to my publisher's research. So a picture book is needed
pronto
.' He practised his confident smile. ‘Before a rival gets in first.'

‘I'm not surprised. Mind you, I think I could convert a barn in my sleep after the problems we've encountered with this pile.'

The girl's well-modulated vowels, usually a sign of an expensive education in Dino's experience, led him to believe there would still be plenty in the bank. So why rent out the flat?

She eyed him up frankly and he gave her a similar treatment. The jeans were fashionably tailored, tight-fitting. Her nails and make-up looked too good for doing plastering and painting. The embossed calf-length boots hardly looked everyday country work-wear, either.

‘Shall we go?' she demanded, one dark eyebrow cocked. With a finger she drew one ringlet away from her face to look at him more carefully.

Despite its Gothic exterior the converted west wing was quite intimate in scale. They entered by a small porch to the rear. In the diminutive hall they were faced by four or five doors. They both paused. The man felt his pulse begin to race in the silence.

‘Which room would you like to see first, Dino?' She stood closer and smiled up at him. Her breast brushed his forearm as she moved past him. Her attitude was quite different to the cool, appraising manner she had adopted outside. She was definitely acting provocatively.

‘I think the bedroom.' He paused for effect. ‘If that's all right by you.'

‘No, I think we'll start with the living room.' She turned on her heel, then pushed open the door immediately before her.

The room was surprisingly spacious, with a sofa and two matching leather armchairs. The view was out to the front drive and beyond to a line of trees shielding the house from the road. The girl turned and faced him, standing against this rural backdrop.

Holding his gaze, she raised one leg and then the other to slip her boots off. Unzipping her jeans, she eased herself backwards on to the couch to free her legs from them. As she stood up again Dino saw that she was wearing pale blue pants, just visible below her T-shirt. And that was all.

He had lost the initiative. He could only stand in front of her, speechless.

‘Cat got your tongue, Dino? I think we've seen enough of the living room, don't you?'

She stood up, discarding the jeans. Impulsively, she reached out for his hand and pulled him back into the hall. Suddenly they were in a smaller room dominated by a brass bed and a fitted wardrobe with mirror doors. Facing the foot of the bed was the long, pointed window he had noticed on arrival.

Within seconds she had unzipped him and pulled his chinos and underpants down to his knees, pushing him back on to the bed. She peeled off the white singlet in one fluid movement. She dangled it above him, dropped it on to his face then stepped between his legs. She stood with both arms stretched up above her head, emphasising her slight, boyish figure, then lowered both hands to her hair, which she released from its decorative band and shook free.

‘Now, what else would you like to inspect?' she whispered, reaching down to unbutton his shirt and run her fingertips across his smooth chest. ‘Or are you satisfied with what you've seen?'

She pulled his clothes down to his ankles. She spread his knees as far apart as they would go. He grunted in surprise. In the confined space created she did a mini-strip, easing the thong down her white thighs to the floor. Then she toppled forward on to him. Holding his wrists, she pushed his feet free.

He tried to take her slender body in his arms, but was unable to do so. She held one wrist pinioned above his head, the other by his side. Her face was only inches from his. He felt the ticklish sensation of her bush on his thigh. She was rubbing it against him.

She proceeded to lick him from the side of his chest across his ribs down to the beginning of his pubic fringe. His rod had responded without further encouragement. Its tip brushed her ringlets as she moved her head up and down. She was surprisingly lithe, almost like an athlete.

‘Cat got your tongue again?' she asked with a look of innocent inquiry. One finger was now circling the purple bulge of his glans, going teasingly towards the tip before retreating down the length of his shaft, dragging the side of a sharp nail in its wake.

Dino reacted instantly to the pain, but she was ready for him, restraining him by holding on to one wrist. He was released as she slid further down. The next minute his urge to resist was diminished as she took him delicately between her lips, kneeling on the floor between his thighs.

She looked up and watched his face with a level gaze for reactions of pleasure. She held his shaft playfully between thumb and forefinger and twitched it across her full lips. He groaned uncontrollably.

Reaching round to the back of her neck, he took a handful of her mass of curls. He slowly but firmly pulled her head back and away as he eased himself up into a sitting position. She looked at him through eyes misted with desire.