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Authors: C. P. Hazel

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Whip Hands

BOOK: Whip Hands
10.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Title Page











C. P. Hazel



Publisher Information


Whip Hands first published in 1999 by

Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy


Digital Edition Converted and Published by

Andrews UK Limited


New authors
are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to
hear from you


This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex


This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.


Copyright C. P. Hazel. The right of C. P. Hazel to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The Secret Classroom



Verity mounted the steps and stopped under the Regency-style portico. She was flanked by massive white-painted columns and a panelled door with a semicircular fanlight which blazed with light. Although the night was unseasonably mild, she shivered slightly. As she summoned up the courage to press the bell, her knee-length coat moved easily over the sheer skin of PVC she wore underneath.

It being a Sunday evening, the streets were quiet. If only Karl could be with her now! But that was impossible, as Karl had explained patiently. He had insisted she come on her own. It was like being caught in one of those tunnel mousetraps where you can see the exit behind you and would take it if only you could find a way of turning around. And why had he been so insistent she wear this catsuit for Miss Praeger?

Miss Praeger was her boss at the branch library where Verity had worked since leaving college. So unlike easygoing old Mr Burbage who had retired from the post last year. Now Verity was kept up to the mark collecting fines and ensuring no more than three books per ticket were issued.

‘Discipline, Verity. That's what we need to set a good example.' Miss Praeger was always keen to emphasise. ‘If a borrower cannot return a book on time it shows an elementary lack of self-discipline. The fine imposes no hardship, after all. As my papa used to say, self-discipline is the only basis for success and fulfilment in life.'

The impressive front door of Miss Praeger's house swung open with a faint creak, startling the slight figure on the porch. Although the lights were on, the entrance hall appeared to be empty. She crept in, pushing the door closed behind her, at the same time noting that the latch was controlled by a wire cable which climbed one wall via a small pulley.

‘There you are at last, Verity. I thought you'd never come.'

Looking up, she saw Miss Praeger leaning over the banister under the dark skylight. The woman's voice still echoed in the marble-floored stairwell.

‘Up you shin,' she called in a friendly tone, but the underlying timbre of her voice still made Verity flinch. As she climbed towards Miss Praeger's dark figure she tried not to think of black widow spiders. In Verity's gloomiest moments she could lighten her mood by picturing her boss in this way, but now the last thing she felt like doing was reciprocating the confident smile that greeted her. Tonight she saw a new Miss Praeger, whose raven hair fell free to her shoulders - unlike in the library, where it was kept in a severe bun - and whose clinging dress was ankle-length.

‘The stairs shouldn't be a trial for a young thing like you,' Miss Praeger said.

She insists on treating me as if we were from totally different generations, thought Verity, even though there's scarcely ten years between us.

‘You'll find the flat is quite cosy,' Miss Praeger continued, as the door closed softly but firmly behind Verity. ‘When I was a girl we had the whole house, but when papa passed away my mother divided it into flats. Somehow I've never felt like leaving. I suppose I must be stuck in a groove.' This was accompanied by a refined growl, the nearest Miss Praeger got to light-heartedness.

Verity stood in the corridor that now served as a hall, still with her coat buttoned to her neck.

As always when she was alone with Miss Praeger she felt resolution ebbing away with each passing second. Normally in the library Verity was out of reach, working at the issue desk. But at least once a week Miss Praeger would stick her head out of her office to strike dread into the heart of her assistant with the words, ‘When you've a minute, Verity.'

She still remembered one such occasion, barely a month after Miss Praeger's arrival.

‘Verity, I hope you won't take what I'm going to say too much to heart.' This had been accompanied by a bewitching flash of pearly white teeth.

‘I'll try not to, Miss Praeger,' she had stuttered, wondering what she had done to earn a ticking-off. Had she absent-mindedly shelved a romance under ‘Westerns', or placed a horror novel under ‘DIY'?

‘It is to do with your mode of dress, my dear.'

Miss Praeger had sounded exactly like Verity's mother, with whom she still lived.

‘I couldn't help noticing that several of the male readers were watching your derrière just now as you bent down to restock the shelves.'

‘But surely you don't think I...?' Verity had felt her treacherous cheeks beginning to glow.

‘Verity, dear, you must try not to be so sensitive. All I'm saying is if you must wear jeans, and there appears to be nothing whatsoever in the library regulations to forbid it, then you might consider a more appropriate style of undergarment.'

Verity had felt her head begin to spin with the onset of panic.

‘You wear such skimpy things, Verity, and they are so apparent from the rear,' Miss Praeger had continued. ‘Any young woman with a neat figure like yours must be aware of the effect you create in a pair of tight-fitting trousers. Now, all I'm suggesting is that you wear something more ample underneath to discourage those furtive looks. There, I'm sure I need say no more on the subject.'

She had been dismissed, like some fifth-former who had been caught writing a love letter in class. So what was she to do? Karl, as always, had had the answer. He had gone with her to the street market the following weekend, and together they chose a selection of lacy thongs.

‘At least the Fraülein Praeger will not be complaining any more of a visible panties line.'

His unidiomatic English had for once gone uncorrected as the two of them burst into gales of laughter.

It was while trying on the underwear later that Karl had first taken her over his knee. He'd wanted to go further, but she knew she must make him wait. Her mother had not yet met him and Verity suspected she might not approve of this penniless student who had come to England to study law.

Verity had thought she would never have the courage to wear them to work. At Karl's prompting, however, she did. And no more was said on the matter, even if she had been aware of Miss Praeger's eyes boring holes in her behind...


‘Well, aren't you going to take off your coat?'

Verity came back to the present with a bump. Slowly she undid the buttons, knowing that she was, by this action, creeping further into the trap. But why had Miss Praeger invited her here? And how did she know about the coral-pink catsuit?

She became very aware that the figure-hugging outfit, with its back lacing down to the cleft of her buttocks, left nothing to the imagination. She took a deep breath as the last coat button was undone and Miss Praeger slipped it instantly from her shoulders.

The sensation left Verity feeling as if she were utterly naked. To her surprise, instead of a gasp of shocked disapproval from Miss Praeger she received a frankly approving look from tip to toe.


The catsuit had, naturally, been Karl's idea. They had gone together after work on Friday to the fancy-dress shop for a weekend hire. With his encouragement she tried it on in the dressing room and then dared to face herself in the full-length mirror.

When she saw every curve sharply outlined she had scarcely needed any prompting. It was like a second skin, somehow accentuating the thrust of her pert breasts and buttocks. She could not stop admiring the new side of her personality the catsuit revealed. The urge to create a sensation by walking straight out the door in the catsuit had been almost irresistible.

Once they had got home, of course, the shiny PVC suit went straight back on. She could tell that Karl was getting as excited as she was. He had begun by sliding his hands down her arms and then transferring his touch to her thighs. The slight veiling of sensation made her yearn for his real touch all the more. Then his hands moved round to her buttocks which, after pinching quite roughly, he treated to a few playful slaps. His hands moved over her hips and down towards her sharply delineated pubis. She had been panting with desire as his fingers teased the sensitivities of her labia through the second skin. It somehow felt safe but at the same time extremely decadent. I'm not really naked, Verity had to keep reminding herself.

She didn't remember how she ended up lying over Karl's knees with her sleek coral-clad buttocks so prominently positioned. His initial slaps had gained in strength as he began to establish mastery over her, crooning all the time in his strongly inflected English, ‘Nein, nein, meine Madchen, you must not struggle so. This is your big brother Karl who wants to make you into a good, good little girl.'

Soon his more vigorous smacks were echoing round the bare walls of his small rented room and Verity had begun to fear that the next-door lodger would hear. She found it difficult to get him to stop and, in a sense, she hadn't wanted to even though the pain was becoming quite sharp. Karl's hand had gone to the nape of her neck, starting to unthread the laces, which Verity prevented by twisting like an eel, to see that he was very red in the face and sweating freely.

There had been only one way to get Karl to stop. Verity agreed to do a strip, so that he could inspect the effects of his handiwork on her skin. Luckily, she reminded herself as Karl finished unlacing her, she had a pair of briefs on underneath. But as she hesitantly peeled off the catsuit, acutely aware of how it seemed to cling, she had nearly lost the flimsy undergarment. Pulling the white cotton back into place she noticed that its crotch was warm and wet with her desire. So she had barely resisted as Karl reached up from where he was sitting to pull down the waistband at the back. It seemed the most natural thing to step right out of them.

He had given a low whistle, stroking the angry red patches on each buttock which made a startling contrast to the whiteness of the rest of her body. He brought over a small shaving mirror so that she could see for herself. As she'd looked she felt the heat spreading down her belly and under, infusing the lips of her sex with a glow. Her labia pulsed and seemed to protrude in a way she could not remember before.

Verity just had to check for herself, her fingers sliding down her soft belly to explore. She'd seemed to forget for an instant Karl was there. To his delighted surprise, one hand reached down and furled around her mons. Soon she had been lost in her own self-induced bliss, a finger parting lips now well slicked with her own juices.

Karl had needed no second bidding, peeling off his top with ardent fingers. Verity stood almost on tiptoe before him, one finger still tracing her blushing cleft while the other hand lifted her light hair from her neck. She'd seemed to be floating away on clouds of desire.

Karl's athletic physique had been revealed as he stood before her, dressed only in jeans. He grasped her by her forearms and they embraced in the most passionate of kisses. Releasing her arms, he began to kiss her neck and then her quivering breasts, each nipple straining outwards as if vying with the other for his attention. She felt herself swooning as he'd moved downwards with his lips. His hands had been all over her back and her glowing haunches and then they'd come round her hips and he turned her sideways to infiltrate a finger between her thighs.

And it was then that she remembered Mother. She'd come quickly to her senses and pushed him firmly away. It had been a near thing.


‘Well, Verity, now we can have our little talk with no interruptions.' The husky voice of Miss Praeger was a harsh awakening from her dreamlike memory. ‘Come along into my boudoir first of all, and we'll have a drink and relax a little while I explain what this is all about.'

As they made their way down the narrow corridor, Verity noticed there were five or six doors before they reached Miss Praeger's so-called boudoir. She could scarcely suppress a gasp as she was shown inside. It was like no other room she had seen before.

It reminded her of a very large sheikh's tent. On the walls there were animal skins and tapestries. More fur rugs were scattered about the floor. The lighting was low and it was several seconds before she could fully make out her surroundings.

To her right was an antique dresser that was used as a drinks cabinet. Otherwise the only furniture was a long leather-upholstered divan in the centre of the room, facing the curtained window. Incense sticks added to the unreality of the environment. From concealed speakers a hyena-like female crooned longingly to an exotic backing.

Verity felt herself succumbing to the hypnotic spell of these sensations, coming to herself again as a cool glass was pressed into her hand. Miss Praeger stood close beside her and, for the first time, she noticed that the long dark gown was entirely made of supple leather.

‘I think you'll like this drink; it's a herbal distillation that is claimed to energise vital forces. Now let's sit down and talk.' Miss Praeger indicated the swelling divan which squeaked slightly as they sat down together.

The smell of the leather enveloped Verity, reminding her of tight-fitting gloves and new shoes, and one favourite handbag that had eventually come apart at the seams. It also reminded her of something Karl had shown her much more recently. But no, she didn't want to think of that just now.

‘You haven't tried your drink,' Miss Praeger continued, taking a dainty sip of hers. Verity raised the glass to her lips. The drink had a sharp aftertaste that she did not much fancy, but at least it helped to overcome the dryness of her mouth.

BOOK: Whip Hands
10.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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