Whip Hands (28 page)

‘Er, I need to put something on first. It's in my trouser pocket.' He tried to sound in control.

She bounded free and, with a giggle, threw his trousers up to him. The next minute she was up on the bed beside him, like a naughty child, her chin on his shoulder as he applied the condom.

‘Now, you're going to get what's coming to you,' he said with his lazy smile. His hand went down between her legs and he rubbed the slipperiness of her folds with two fingers. Her eyes closed as she groaned softly and he felt her subside against his supporting arm. He had regained the initiative.

Within minutes they were joined. Initially she fought his entry but soon he was deep into her. His insistent rhythm was instantly picked up. Her thighs rubbed his hips as she scissored him. Their indrawn breaths were briefly synchronised. Then her long moans began, cutting across the counterpoint of his thrusting.

They started as barely a whimper, becoming louder, guttural and percussive, as he mastered her. They were given full voice as she arched her back and her arousal reached fever pitch. As the man felt himself on the numb point where release was imminent he stopped, trying to delay its coming. But she, with one hand gripping the small of his back, ran the nails of the other down his left buttock. He opened his mouth wide in soundless pain and thrust savagely in uncontrollable retaliation.

Their coming together was unforgettable. The man was in the grip of some fierce power that shook him like a doll. His arms lost their strength. The girl gave several high-pitched whimpers before silencing herself with the back of one hand as she came. She lay silent for a second, her eyes half-closed, then she smiled and reached up to kiss him on the forehead.

Then the doorbell rang. He swore. But she only smiled secretively and pushed him gently away. ‘That will be Homer. Make yourself reasonably respectable before you let him in, please.'

‘Who the hell is Homer?'

‘He's my husband. It's his money I've spent on this place. American money. It was his idea to let out the west wing. Try to keep him talking for a few minutes while I make myself decent. I'll be in the living room.'

With his mind in a whirl Dino pulled on his chinos and shirt, then opened the door. Homer was around twenty years older than the girl and, to his credit, didn't try to hide it. His hair was already beginning to grey and thin on top. He was dressed in lightweight tweed-effect plus-fours with an open-neck check shirt. He held a mobile phone at his side.

‘Hi there! I think you must have already met up with my wife, Jane. I'm Homer. Welcome to Witchwood. Do you like what you see?'

The older man's smile was full and sincere. Did he really not suspect what had been going on? The young man didn't for a moment believe he was the first. She had seduced him with a confidence and finesse that betrayed expertise.

‘Er, yes. Very much indeed. It's quite a place you have here. The improvements must have cost a fortune.'

‘Indeed they did. And the land, too. Did Jane mention that I breed thoroughbreds in the fields at the back? By the way, where is she?'

Dino sought a delaying answer, but then, as if on cue, Jane came out into the hall, immaculately dressed once again, her ringlets back in a ponytail. She smiled at her husband in a conspiratorial way.

‘Honey, it's Sara for you.' He extended the phone in her direction. ‘She said it was fairly urgent, so I thought I'd bring it over. You left it on the porch.'

‘Silly me! In this pile you need to take a mobile everywhere you go,' she said to Dino as she squeezed between them to take the call out in the open air.

 

Turning down the offer of tea, Dino Dimarco returned to his hotel to pack. By lunchtime the following day he was comfortably settled into the cosy flat. He had happily paid a very modest month's rent in advance. He mentioned this to Jane as he left, but she shrugged it off.

‘Don't worry, Homer knows what he's doing.'

Most fine days Dino was out quite early on the shoot. He always looked for unusual light conditions so he was often away early or back late. There were few chances to talk with his landlords, especially the extraordinary Jane. Perhaps she was avoiding him out of embarrassment. Or else she had work that took her away for most of the day. Occasionally she went off with Homer but more often on her own, in a bright orange sports car that must have cost a fortune. So it was not until the weekend that they came face to face again.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Unequal? Does the horse never win?'

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

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

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

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

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

‘The stables. Didn't Homer tell you?'

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

‘Well, come on then!'

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

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

‘Listens to what?'

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

‘How far is too far?'

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

‘He knows about that?'

‘Yes. I told him.'

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

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

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

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

‘So what do I have to do?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, now, hurry!' she gasped.

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

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

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