by Various
‘Yeah, ninety-five sounds right . . . ninety-four maybe?’
‘No. We didn’t know him in ninety-four. So, what, you’re telling me you and he . . . shagged, while he was going out with me?’
Becky answered quickly.
‘Before, I think. That beach party wasn’t until . . .’
‘It was the day after you arrived, I remember. You’d just got your driving test and you drove us around the island.’
‘Oh, right . . . OK, OK, I didn’t want to say this, because I know you liked him, but he told me he was going to dump you, and . . .’
‘And you believed him? Becky, how could you, and you, Jo?’
I spread my arms helplessly. Becky was more practical.
‘Let’s put it behind us, yes? It was years ago, and when it comes down to it it was his fault. He told me he was free, and the same with Jo.’
Sarah nodded, although she still looked angry.
‘Yes . . . OK. I’m with Jon now, I shouldn’t worry . . . Sorry, both of you. But if I could just get my hands on the bastard, right now! I’d wring his neck, I’d . . . oh, never mind. I bet he’s married now . . .’
‘. . . and divorced . . .’
‘. . . twice, with eight kids . . .’
‘. . . and two mortgages . . .’
‘. . . and a crappy old car instead of his bike . . .’
‘. . . and a crappy old job too . . .’
Becky broke in on Sarah’s and my soul-soothing exchange.
‘No, he owns a car showroom, in Barking, apparently.’
‘Bastard! How do you know?’
‘Because I ran into his mum, in Portsmouth, maybe two years ago now.’
‘Oh . . . I wonder if he’s still there?’
‘I’ll find out. How many Calderdales can there be in Barking?’
‘No, Becky . . .’
Becky had picked the phone up, and ignored Sarah. As somebody who was obviously male answered, her voice changed from loud, drunk and boisterous to a honeyed purr. After a few questions she put the phone back in its cradle.
‘He lives above the premises, Calderdale Cars, in Redbridge Lane. Here’s his number, Sarah. Call him up and give him a piece of your mind.’
‘No! I couldn’t do that!’
I agreed.
‘Nor could I. What if he’s married, and you got his wife or something?’
‘Good. Tell her what a shit he is.’
‘That’s a bit harsh . . . on her, I mean.’
Sarah gave a wistful sigh.
‘You’re right, best let it be, but it would be fun, wouldn’t it? Just to get him back.’
Becky shook her head.
‘It would be more fun to go round there.’
‘Oh yes, and tell him to his face! I’m not sure I’d dare . . .’
‘I would! Just let me at him . . .’
Sarah shook her head.
‘He’d just laugh at you.’
I couldn’t agree.
‘No, he wouldn’t, not if you went alone. He’d try and get off with you, that was Mark’s style.’
Becky gave a thoughtful nod.
‘Yeah, you’re right . . . but . . . but what if he didn’t know we’d found him out? What if Sarah went round, pretended her car had broken down, whatever. He’d try it, he would, and then when he’s fit to burst, you could tell him, and just walk out!’
Sarah laughed and so did I.
‘Great! Imagine his face!’
‘I wouldn’t dare, not with Mark, but still.’
‘I would, and I’m going to. Let’s get a cab.’
‘Becky!’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘I am.’
‘You’re not! What if his wife answers the door or something?’
‘Then I make my excuses and go, leaving her wondering who the gorgeous brunette in designer gear was calling for her husband.’
‘Becky!’
She’d picked up the phone again, but I still thought she was messing about until she’d ordered a cab to take us to Barking. Ten minutes later it had arrived, and I had to go, if only to watch what happened, and to back my friend up. Sarah very nearly didn’t, but drink and curiosity got the better of her, and off we went.
Calderdale Cars sounded grand, and it was, or at least flashy, a double front of curving glass within a compound, with Mercs, BMWs, Jaguars and more, both outside and in. The flat above was obvious, with the lights still on and a door to one side. I’d have chickened out, so would Sarah, but not Becky. She went and rang the bell.
Sarah and I scarpered, giggling as we hid around a corner, and expecting Becky to join us. She didn’t. I heard the door open and a man’s voice, a voice that took me back in an instant to when I was eighteen: Mark Calderdale, the one boy everybody wanted. He sounded just the same, confident but full of humour, and if it was hard to make out his actual words, there was no mistaking the tone of his voice, or the honey in Becky’s as she responded. Then the door closed with a click. For a moment there was silence, before Sarah spoke.
‘You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?’
‘No?’
‘He’s going to shag her, that’s what. We’ll be left standing in the street like a pair of idiots while he talks her out of her knickers in about five minutes, and he’ll shag her.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes! Who could ever resist Mark? I couldn’t, you couldn’t, and Becky sure as hell couldn’t.’
I shrugged, not wanting to believe it. More than once when Becky could have gone off with a boyfriend she’d stuck by me. Sarah had always gone. I knew what she meant though, because just the sound of Mark’s voice had been enough to make me start to melt.
Five minutes passed, and ten, with both of us growing slowly more agitated. It wasn’t a particularly nice area, and I couldn’t help but wonder what people would think if they saw Sarah and me standing together on the street corner. To be approached by some kerb crawler would be embarrassing, and creepy. To be hauled in by the police for soliciting would be awful.
Fifteen minutes passed, and twenty. Sarah wanted to ring the bell and I was going to agree with her when a soft thump sounded from above us, then Becky’s voice, spoken in an urgent hiss.
‘Catch!’
She threw something down, which landed with a metallic clatter on the pavement: a bunch of keys. I picked them up, found the right one on the second go and we were in Mark Calderdale’s flat, running up the stairs together. I’d given up all thought of telling him what I thought of him, and I didn’t know what to expect at all, but it certainly wasn’t what we saw when a giggling Becky let us through the second door at the top of the stairs.
Mark Calderdale’s flat was more or less what I had expected: very masculine, a touch flashy, with black leather furniture and an obviously expensive deck set against whitewashed walls beneath the wooden beams of what would originally have been an attic. There were a lot of CDs, a fair few videos, a couple of magazines, a carpet patterned in a glaring black and white zigzag.
Mark Calderdale was not at all what I would have expected. Not that his looks had changed. If anything he was more handsome than I remembered him. He even had a leather jacket on, a very smart one, and designer jeans. What was unusual was his being bent double with hands tied behind his back.
A strand of thick cord tied off on the beam above him kept him completely helpless, while his face was set in an expression of wild-eyed consternation. He didn’t say anything, because a tie patterned with broad silver and yellow stripes had been tied around his mouth, leaving a wisp of pink material sticking out over his lower lip.
My mouth had fallen open, but I managed to speak, just about.
‘How . . .’
Becky was grinning.
‘Simple. Mr Macho here started his old routine and I told him I was up for it if I could give him a bit of tie and tease.’
Sarah came back like an echo.
‘Tie and teas
e?’
‘You know, bondage and that. My Ricky’s well into it.’
‘You mad cow!’
‘Be cool, will you? And stop panicking, Mark, we’re only going to have a little fun with you.’
He’d begun to thrash about a little, and her words didn’t do anything to calm him down. When her hands went to his belt buckle he really began to struggle, but it just made her laugh.
‘What a baby! Who’d have thought, eh? Big bad Mark, and he can’t even handle a little bondage, with three cuties too. Most men would be privileged!’
Mark didn’t seem to be and, although I was fighting not to giggle, there was a tiny spark of common sense trying to talk to me inside. Sarah clearly felt the same.
‘So . . . so what are we going to do? And what’s he got in his mouth?’
Becky answered as she pulled his broad leather belt from his jeans.
‘My knickers. I had to shut him up somehow. We’re going to teach him a lesson, like we said. OK, Markie baby, do you remember the summer of ninety-five? Nod if you do.’
Mark’s crazed stare didn’t change, at first, except to grow more crazed still as Becky undid the buttons of his trousers, which fell down. He had on purple briefs, very tight around his neat, muscular buttocks, on which Becky brought the doubled belt down with a meaty crack. Suddenly he was nodding, as if his head was about to come off. Even Sarah giggled. Becky gave a happy crow of laughter.
‘Good boy! There, you see, Mark, you’ve just learnt rule one. Never fight it, because it only gets worse. Next question: did you go out with Sarah?’
He nodded, but the belt smacked down anyway, making him jerk in his bonds. I was telling myself that it was because he had such a cute bottom that I was getting so turned on, and not because he was helpless and being given a belting, but I knew I was lying. It felt good.
Mark obviously didn’t agree, if the look of consternation on his face was anything to go by, and Becky had to wait until her laughter had died down before she could speak again.
‘That one was just for fun, Mark. You’re a good boy really. Now, girls, what do you think? Shall I?’
She’d taken hold of his briefs, pulling them a little way down. He shook his head urgently. She gave him an arch look.
‘Nobody’s asking you, Mark. What do you think, girls?’
Sarah wasn’t certain.
‘I’m not sure, Becky . . .’
I was.
‘Go on, Becky, pull them down. I want to see.’ Becky nodded.
‘Jo’s right. After all, what would he do if it was one of us? He’d pull our knickers down, wouldn’t he, so . . .’
She tugged, taking his briefs right down, to the level of his knees, to leave his fine buttocks naked, and everything showing between. He was quite big, and very smooth, while I could smell his male scent. His skin was marked where she’d hit him with the belt, and again I couldn’t helping giggling, both from nervousness and excitement. Becky was far cooler, standing back a little and measuring the swing of her arm against his buttocks as she spoke.
‘Yes, Mark, you went out with Sarah, and that’s OK, that’s cool, but you went with me, too, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Mark, at the Monkey’s Nuts that night?’
Her voice was full of honey, but it changed as he began to shake his head again, to pure venom.
‘Liar! You bastard! Right, that’s twenty hard ones!’
The belt cracked down on his buttocks, much harder than before, and his eyes opened wide with shock and pain, a reaction that sent a little guilty jolt right to my pussy. Becky didn’t stop, or even pause, laying in the next stroke, and the next, to set him kicking his legs with his balls and cock jiggling between his legs, and, as the beating continued, slowly changing shape. He was getting excited.
Becky stopped, laughing and clapping her hands in glee as she saw.
‘He likes it! He’s getting hard! What a dirty little boy!’
Mark had gone bright pink. Sarah had her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in delight. I was having trouble not putting my hand to my pussy. Becky applied another smack, now talking.
‘What was I on, eight, nine maybe? Oh, never mind, I’ll just have to start again, won’t I, Mark? Yeah, twenty for lying, and another twenty for two-timing Sarah with me, and another twenty for two-timing Sarah with Jo, and no, don’t you go shaking your head, Mr Casanova, because we know the truth! Oh, and twenty for two-timing me with Jo, so that’s . . . that’s eighty . . . no, let’s call it a hundred, starting now!’
She’d been using the belt with a will as she spoke, and with every smack of the leather across the hard flesh of Mark’s buttocks his cock had been growing a little bit stiffer. As the next stroke fell Becky began to count, one . . . two . . . three . . . each smack punctuated by a muffled grunt from Mark and a little writhing. I joined in, and Sarah, calling out the numbers and clapping in time to his beating, until at forty strokes, Becky stopped, now flushed and dishevelled, with her face glowing with excitement and her nipples poking up through the silk of her blouse.
‘You have a go, Sarah!’
Sarah took the belt, her face set in delight and determination as she measured up her stroke and laid in, just as hard as Becky. I began to call the count again, and to clap, watching Mark’s now rigid cock bob beneath his iron-hard belly. Becky joined in, calling out the numbers as she walked around in front of him and sank into a squat. Extending one painted fingernail, she began to tickle him under the chin.
‘Ah, poor little baby Markie, does it hurt . . . does it hurt? Yes, I bet it does, but not that much, no, because a certain naughty little boy is getting ever so excited because he’s having his botty smacked, isn’t he? Isn’t he?’
Mark held out for just a moment, and then he was nodding frantically. Becky laughed, right in his face, and rose again.
‘Harder, Sarah, go on, give the bastard what he deserves!’
Sarah didn’t need telling. All her reserve was gone, and all her ill-feeling from her long-passed holiday betrayal was coming out, the belt smacking down on Mark’s now-blazing red buttocks. She didn’t stop when we got to thirty either, but kept right on, her eyes blazing as she thrashed him. I had to speak up.
‘Hey, it’s my turn, Sarah!’
She stopped. She passed me the belt. She stepped away.
‘Go on, Jo, give him hell!’
Sarah was almost in hysterics as I laid the first smack across Mark’s bottom, jumping up and down with her fists clenched and her eyes shining with a truly wicked joy. Becky was no better, cackling with laughter, bent double with one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her tummy. It was funny too, the way he squirmed his body and kicked his legs about, with his erect cock waving wildly under his belly. I was laughing as well, having trouble aiming, but getting him, smack, smack, smack across his buttocks, not bothering to count any more, completely out of control . . .
Until he came.
It just happened. I’d caught him a cracker, right across his cheeks, and it was as if I’d knocked the stuff out of him. Thick white come erupted from the tip of his cock, all over his carpet, and again with my next blow, and again. Sarah gave a gasp of shock and delight. Becky tried to duck down to look and fell over, laughing so hard she couldn’t get up again, and wailing: ‘He’s come! He’s come! What a dirty, dirty, dirty little boy! He’s come, all over his own fucking carpet!’
I’d stopped. My whole body was shaking, and the scent of Mark’s sperm seemed to fill my head. Dizzy with drink and dizzy with need, I just had to do it, there was no choice. I didn’t even care what my friends thought as I ran to his bathroom and slammed the door. Two quick motions and my skirt was up and my hand was down my knickers, rubbing in the moist groove of my pussy and the thoughts tumbled over in my head.
Mark . . . cool, handsome Mark, the original caveman, Sarah’s gentle rogue, and we’d tied him up and whipped him . . . tied him up and whipped him with his own belt . . . tied him up and bared his bottom and whipped him wi
th his own belt . . . tied him up and bared his bottom and whipped him with his own belt until he’d come in helpless ecstasy . . . which was exactly what I was doing, with my teeth clamped tight to my lower lip as wave after wave of climactic bliss swept over me, until at last I could stand no more, and stopped. I opened my eyes to find Becky standing in the doorway, smiling.
‘Bad girl, Jo! Fun though, wasn’t it?’
‘Great fun.’
She went to the loo as I tidied myself up, and may also have sneaked a frig once I’d gone. Certainly she took her time. Back in the living room, Sarah was looking remarkably pleased with herself. Mark wasn’t. He looked thoroughly fed up, but I didn’t have much sympathy. A man like that needs to be taken down a peg or two occasionally. Besides, as Becky had said, how many guys get sex from three girls at the same time? Well, sort of sex . . .
Our one little problem was how to let him go safely. Not that he knew where any of us lived, but it wasn’t fair to just leave him, after all. I solved the problem. While Becky phoned for a cab, we tied his ankles together and to the leg of his couch, then undid his wrists when the cab was in the street. We scarpered, and my last glimpse of Mark was of him tugging desperately at his bonds, with his trousers still around his ankles.
We couldn’t stop giggling all the way back to Islington, and the cabbie obviously thought we were mad. Becky got dropped off first, and Sarah and I went on together, as we only lived a few streets apart. I still needed to calm down, a lot, and asked if she’d like to come in for coffee. She accepted, and we set off for my flat, arm in arm and silent, until she spoke up, suddenly.
‘Hang on a minute . . . Becky was lying. She never went with Mark.’
‘No? How do you know?’
‘Didn’t you see? She mentioned his foreskin. Mark’s circumcised, isn’t he, and he always was. I should know.’
‘You’re right! So she was making it all up?’
‘She must have been. Anyway, he never fancied her, and she was always jealous.’
‘Well . . . yes . . .’
‘The lying little cow!’
She paused before speaking again.
