“Fuck me and hurt me,” she said, “but never pity me... If you want to protect me, as a lot of the men I meet seem to want to do, then protect me from banality, boredom, mediocrity and disappointment.”
She was beautiful and delicate, like an orchid newly bloomed. But I quickly learned that her heart was dark; forged in the fires of lust and tempered in the icy waters of her shadowed past. Was I a fool to want her, was I a slave to desire or was I simply her unwitting marionette?
“Bind me and whip me and, in return... We'll fuck like you've never fucked before.”
She whispered those words to me on the sultry night we first met after we had walked and kissed for what seemed like hours along a nameless beach in the Cyclades.
~~~~~~
Later that night, well after midnight, I took her to the Villa Deianiera, the beautiful 16th-century Venetian house, in the town of Kionia, that I had rented since arriving on the Greek island of Tinos the year before. We sat on a bench in the walled garden watching the moon through the boughs of the pomegranate tree. I turned to her and was about to speak when she put her fingers firmly on my lips.
“No! Don't ask me my name. Just call me... lover, if lovers we are destined to be, and I'll grant you the same title.”
This was surely one of the strangest statements I had ever heard from the mouth of a woman I had just met, or indeed, from anyone's mouth. Already, she fascinated me but, as I was soon to discover, she would also irk, inflame and confound me to no end.
She saw my frown upon hearing her demand and her proposal but there was to be no argument. For as we sat under the bountiful branches of the pomegranate tree, she silenced me; kissing me passionately onto submission.
In the days that followed; we dined together every night in a lovely little taverna on the foreshore at Kionia, amidst the bustling life of a Greek island at the height of summer. She spoke little, preferring to let her eyes and body speak for her; and her eyes were either alight with fire and full of seductive secrets or as cold, mysterious and remote as the planets of distant stars. She moved with a dancer's grace, swam strongly and elegantly in the sapphire waters of the Aegean and always dressed in black. She was an enigma and her mystery would only deepen the more I got to know her.
~~~~~~
One night towards the beginning of June, dressed only in black fishnets, she brazenly climbed the white-washed steps to where the trellised grapevine grew upon the roof of the old house. I had asked her to move in with me that very morning and was quite surprised when she had readily agreed.
Perhaps the pale ghost of some long-dead Venetian saw her there and she was certainly spied by a brace of amorous, tiny bats that squeaked their approval as they winged by above her. But she cared not, for beyond the balustrade and not far above the sea, a far more imperious and forbidding face beheld her; the lordly visage of the full moon, a goddess like her, and her one and only peer.
There, upon that roof, I photographed her, using an old Leica left over from the war, and whatever light that we had to hand. Those photographs I've yet to see but their composition and production were the focus of her stern and uncompromising perfectionism. So, I stood back and traced the lines of her body with an artist's eye, wondering what Modigliani, Henry Moore or that prolific Andalusian, Picasso, might make of her.
Could either of them capture, in paint or bronze, the relentless spirit of desire I saw in her eye or taste the arcane essence of lust that only I could distil from the sweat of her brow? - Or so I thought at the time, in my arrogance.
And there in her hand, as always, was her most prized possession. Made of leather, ebony and cobra skin; her heavy riding crop. Fashioned long before her birth in the bazaars of Cairo, and still inhabited, I'll wager, by the cobra's unquiet shade.
After we had used the last roll of film we silently descended the steps and soon found ourselves in the cellar. It was a dry and dusty chamber, built of almost monolithic stone, but not unpleasant for it was subtly permeated by the sweet aroma of wine and pine resin, wild thyme and rosemary and other age-old scents that defied identification. I had placed two candelabras on the sturdy olivewood table near the centre of the room, with six lit candles in each. Since she did not comment on them upon entering the room, I was as certain as I could be that their presence pleased her.
Between the candelabras was a length of fine, black linen cord. Next to this, she placed the riding crop, adjusting its angle fussily until it sat on the table at just the right place. She spent all of ten seconds scanning the room then cast a glance at me with her lustrous black eyes.
“Strip.”
I did as she wanted and she handed me the rope.
I bound her wrists to an ancient iron hook, that we had earlier found bolted to the ceiling. That sturdy hook might have been placed there just for her, the perfect gift from the distant past; such was her glee at its discovery.
I took up the riding crop, turned and glanced at her. She stood with her back to me, legs parted, bare feet firmly planted on the stones and in the dust of the ancient floor. Her long black hair hung down her back; straight and shining in the candlelight. Her hips swung to one side with the cleft of her perfect ass defined elegantly in shadow.
“Don't waste time now. Beat me...and do it without warning.”
Wanting, of course, to please her, I stepped up and delivered three rapid hits on her thighs.
Crack, crack, crack.
With suppressed annoyance, she said, “I dislike odd numbers. Hit me again, in even-numbered strokes only harder...lover.”
CRACK! crack, crack, CRACK!
“Is that better?” I whispered loudly.
“Yes, but you have much to learn.”
“No doubt.”
“Now beat me while I tell you about my life.”
This statement surprised me but considering the little I knew about her, it was a welcome offer.
“Go on,” I said encouragingly, before bringing the riding crop down hard with two strokes on each of her buttocks.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
But she hardly reacted, even though the force of my blows was more than enough to swing her body forward. All I could hear was her breathing deepen slightly before she started to speak.
“I had just turned sixteen when I seduced one of the village boys back where I used to live in Connemara. He was seventeen and I took him into the chapel of the convent where I was boarding late one night. We sat in the pews and I sucked his slim young cock and let him fondle my breasts...”
CRACK! crack, CRACK! crack, CRACK! CRACK!
“Is that supposed to shock me?” I replied.
Before she answered, I listened to her breathing again; it was heavier this time but her words, when they came, were clear and full of the cobra's venom.
“No! But after kissing him and making him hard, after he had played with my perfect breasts and licked my nipples, he wanted to take me back to some filthy barn and fuck me.”
CRACK! CRACK!
“Ok yes, we would fuck, I told him but nowhere other than here, in this chapel, in the sight of God and not on the pews where we sat. If he was going to take me, it would have to be done at the place of honour; on the altar.”
I threw her hair forward and brought the crop down firmly on her back; two, four, six times, until I felt her wince. I wanted to hear the rest of the story.
“We stripped and climbed the holy stone. I lay naked upon it with all the saints and all the angels and even fucking Christ himself looking down upon me. That night I spread my legs for that beautiful lad and to his eternal credit, he fucked the curse of virginity right out of me. Never mind Abraham and Isaac, I willingly sacrificed my cunt to God and the fucker rejected it – more fool him!”
I brought the crop down upon each of her shoulders, then gave her ass-cheeks a crack each. I heard a faint moan escape her lips then, right after which she continued with the story.
“I wrapped my legs tightly around his hips and he fucked me silently until I came. His shoulders were strong and his arms rippled with muscles, from years of strenuous labour, but it was his eyes that made a lasting impression on me. There I beheld more lust and desire than I ever imagined possible – and all because of me! No wonder the Church had deemed lust a 'deadly sin' or some such absurdity. For such a young lad, he had remarkable staying power too. We fucked and sucked, licked and kissed until he blew a barrage of seed deep into my thirsty, teen-aged cunt.”
CRACK! CRACK! crack, crack, crack, CRACK! CRACK!
“Didn't I...say…even numbered... strokes!”
I hit her buttocks twice more, observing that by now, her skin was red and raw over much of her back, thighs and ass. Apparently satisfied, she continued with the story.
“Naked upon that altar with come still seeping out of my cunt, the nuns found me at 2 am when they gathered for Matins. You can well imagine what an infernal cacophony of prayers, psalms, shock and self-righteous indignation I caused that morning! I was swiftly taken; naked and with a Hessian bag over my head, to a windowless room somewhere. There I was tied to an iron ring in the wall and beaten almost to unconsciousness while the toothless old crones recited the Mass.”
Slowly I lowered the crop and a chill entered my veins as she began to recite the words she remembered in beautiful, perfect Latin.
“In nomine patri et filio et spiritui sancto. Sicut erat in principio et nunc, et semper: et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”
“Those filthy bitches thrashed me in the name of The Father and of The Son and of the Holy fucking Spirit...”
“Of course, I am eternally grateful to them.”
“Oh?”
“They introduced me to true pain. After that, I did everything possible to make them beat me; I read nothing but Swinburne, Lautrémont, Pierre Louÿs and the Marquis de Sade; difficult books to obtain, much less smuggle into a convent. I was insolent, I became a Satanist, my mouth was never free of blasphemy and naturally, I sucked and fucked any man that I could get my hands on and that took my fancy, right there in that consecrated fucking convent.”
After that, I brought the riding crop down upon her many a time that night, taking care always to beat her with an even number of strokes. She seemed satisfied until I eventually stopped and unhooked her. She got down on her knees with her wrists still bound before her, head bowed and with that indescribably lustrous black hair shining in the candlelight. She might have been an exquisitely painted seraglio slave by the hand of Jean-Léon Gérôme or one of the other French Orientalist masters.
I lifted her head and brought her face to face with my famished cock.
“Mmmm, such an interesting organ.”
“Stop talking and suck it!”
“Earn it.”
I sneered at her cruelly and without warning I slapped her cheek, following it immediately with a far harder backhander. A spray of saliva flew from her mouth as her head jerked violently to the side. She was caught completely by surprise but after she turned her head slowly back to face me, a fierce smile formed on her lips. She then opened her mouth slowly and sensuously slipped her tongue out.
I didn't think to untie her wrists. I simply gripped her head and fed her my cock over and over again until I had reached a satisfactory level of hardness. Hard, deep and unrelenting, I fucked her face that night in the cellar. She took whatever I had to give without comment and with little reaction. I began to get the impression that being at the centre of attention was her biggest turn-on.
Later, standing with her back to me, I finally found the deep and satisfying pleasure of her pussy.
“Call it a cunt lover, that's what I offer you, not a mere pussy.”
Following this, I gripped her hips and thrust my total length into her like a man possessed and with every thrust, she responded with an equally strong counterstroke. She was right, I had never experienced lovemaking such as this; her beauty, passion and obvious skills were new to me and totally addictive. Later that first night she got down on all fours and I sank my cock into her from every conceivable angle. She milked my shaft with her muscles and timed her efforts to prolong my pleasure. When I finally came she surprised me by turning and taking my cock back into her mouth where I pumped my entire complement of come. It was swiftly swallowed as she massaged my balls and then looked at me with dark satisfaction as she cleaned the last of my seed from my shaft and her lips.
In the days and weeks that followed, we made love many times, but more often than not, it was after I had hung her from the hook in the cellar and beaten her with the riding crop. Sometimes she only wanted six, eight or ten strokes but on some nights I lost count of how many times the crop came down, like Zeus's thunderbolt, upon her flesh. Invariably she seemed satisfied and repaid me with such prodigious sex, that it was easy never to look at or even think about another woman.
~~~~~~
“One night, my stable boy returned. The siren song of my cunt drew him back, as I knew it would.”
Weeks passed and I still knew very little about her, not even her name but I was becoming increasingly aware of one thing, her arrogance and conceit were simply astounding.
“...But this time he brought along a pair of friends. He had embarked upon a life of crime since I had seen him last and his accomplices had designs on the convent's antique communion silver. Like raiding Vikings they brutally took what they wanted and set the whole rotten place alight.”
“What happened to the other girls and the nuns?”
“Ha! They forced them out at knife-point and told them to run – they might have been criminals, my lads, but they were still good Catholic boys at heart. What became of the nuns after that night I don't know. They're probably now whores on the streets of Dublin, the younger, prettier ones at least.”
“Wishful thinking on your part?”
“Perhaps… The four of us then fled to a rocky hill nearby to enjoy the show. The boys took it in turns fucking me as we swigged whiskey and watched the flames. My cunt was tingling with pleasure and I reached orgasm after delicious orgasm watching that decrepit old building reduced to a smoking ruin. It was glorious!”
“I think they call that pyrophilia,” I said, pretending to sound impressed, “it's rare.”
“One of the lads had a bigger, thicker cock than any I could have imagined. That night, it was he who took my virgin ass; totally without asking. That was as it should be, for was I not one of the spoils too, like Andromache, dragged from the flaming ruins of Troy?”
What narcissism, that she should believe, or even say such a thing, I thought, but I remained silent. Part of me was seething with contempt for her but stronger instincts held sway in me – lust and desire, instincts that her story was now rapidly inflaming.
- “They all used me and then left me draped naked over a log with come dripping out of both holes. Of course, I didn't care; so enamoured was I by the sight of those roaring flames...”
“Yeah, pyrophilia,” I said coolly.
When she finally stopped speaking, I wrapped my hands around her throat. I pushed her up against the wall and dragged her panties down. Through clenched teeth, I growled,
“A pretty piece of fiction. Now shut the fuck up and spread your cheeks!”
She complied immediately, smiling in her sly way and I heard a deep moan escape her throat as I knelt and fired spit straight into her ass. I felt her ring relax as I pressed the head of my cock hard against it. Her velvet-soft hole felt like heaven and easily accommodated my thick, tapering shaft.
I gripped her shoulders and pulled them back while pinning her against the wall with my cock. I aimed thrust after thrust deep into her magnificent ass, making each thrust stronger, harder and faster than the last. My curving cock seemed the perfect fit for her ass and I could feel every inch of her clamping down on me from the rim of my head to the base of my balls.
She sighed and moaned as I began to lift her off her feet with each volley. After a while, she thrust back, revealing her strength and enjoying the friction our bodies were creating. The wall provided a perfect anvil for the lustful hammering that I wanted to give her but it was not to last.
“Fuck my ass on the bed...as I spread my hole for you,” she gasped.
I gritted my teeth and ran my fingers up her back and through her hair. I gripped a bunch of it and pulled her head back. Looking into her eyes with a dark, sullen expression on my face, I saw nothing but submission written there. I led her to the bed by her hair and she walked slowly with limbs loose and yielding. I threw her onto the mattress and she settled back immediately and spread her ass.
I paused to admire the beautiful architecture of her ass and cunt; stretched and spread, conch-pink and luscious before me. I needlessly played with my cock in the hope of annoying her but her response was to swivel her hips enticingly.
You win, I thought.
“You're such a fucking slut.”
“You'd better believe it, lover, and don't you dare go falling in love with me.”
“Love?”
“No! Hate! Hate me because you'll never own me, never possess me. I'm like sand running through your fingers...”
“I just want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.”
“Yeah, fuck me, use me, hate me and torture me and I'll thank you for it. But never, ever, fall in love with me.”
Fall in love with you? I don't even know your name…
I said nothing, as I sank my cock hard back into her ass. Now she wrapped her legs tightly around my hips and arched her back to meet my every thrust. This was the kind of fucking that I liked best. Along with breathing in the aroma of her hair and skin; lightly damp now with perspiration, she provided me with a sweet basso continuo of moans, profanities and sighs. The Marquis de Sade would have fully approved.
I looked at her face and saw her beautiful, dark eyes staring at me. With every hard thrust, her face seemed to glow with malice but malice not directed towards me, on the contrary, It was like I was her release, her vengeance on some secret adversary. Was it God, or was it some demon from her unknown past? I never found out.
“Fuck me! Fuck me! “
Her hips and cunt tensed and she held her breath. Snake-like fingers gripped my shoulders and long black nails sank slowly into my flesh. With a final, profound sigh, she came and her body shuddered. Wave after wave washed over her and she whispered a word that I barely understood.
“Fuuuuuu...ck!”
Her eyes rolled back under their lids and for the first time since I had met her, I saw a sweeter smile play upon her lips. That smile might have hinted at the recollection of something - lost innocence perhaps, how was I to know? Her eyes then opened and their look was one of pride. She lifted her legs and encircled me with them again whereupon I fucked her with renewed conviction.
When I came, I had the overwhelming desire to bite her neck but I restrained the impulse. To have done so would have been to mar her evil loveliness, even though the pain would almost certainly have pleased her. My cock tensed, my hips and buttocks propelled it home and my balls retracted under a wave of ecstasy. I breathed hard and felt the pent-up fury of desire bleed out of me at first then gush forth in a torrent.
Her arms caressed me gently and we lay with my cock still deep in her ass for several long moments. I lay on my side between her legs and looked out of the window at the faultless vault of stars above us. Finally, she disentangled our limbs and got out of bed. As I watched her leave the room by moonlight my loins still tingled and my heart was aglow.
Don't you dare go falling in love with me…
Apparently, unlike the female praying mantis, she came with a caveat.
~~~~~~
Two days later, over ouzo and Turkish coffee on the balcony, she casually informed me that she would be leaving the next day. I knew better than to ask her where she was going. She handed me an envelope containing a hundred pounds sterling in crisp new notes. I looked at her quizzically and she shook her head with coffee froth on her upper lip.
“Keep it, pay the rent...enjoy yourself.”
~~~~~
I spent a pleasant two weeks by myself; reading, writing, walking, swimming and becoming reacquainted with both the natural and man-made beauties of the island. But my chief burden was trying my best to forget her.
Then one afternoon, I met Jacqueline; a tall, blonde, twenty-eight-year-old American from St Louis, Missouri. Jacqueline was a beautiful, blue-eyed, uncomplicated girl and I soon found out she was particularly keen to satisfy her taste for cock. She reminded me of a young Lauren Bacall but I kept that adolescent fantasy to myself. I quickly steered her away from all the island's would-be Casanovas, most of whom wore wedding rings and worked waiting tables at my favourite taverna in Kionia.
“Wow, this place is beautiful,” she said upon first seeing the villa, “What did you say it was called?”
“Villa Deianieria. Dei-a-ni-er-i-a,” I repeated in my best imitation of a Greek accent. “She was the wife of Heracles and his unwitting killer, or so the myth says.”
“It's a long name.”
“We are in Greece.”
She smiled sweetly and turned to me, “When do I move in?”
Being from the American mid-west, Jacqueline had absolutely no experience of the sea and I would often amaze and alarm her with how long I could hold my breath underwater. One day I emerged from the placid waters with a gift for her; the fine skeleton of a long-dead sea urchin. For a dead thing, it was not an unattractive prize in sculptured shades of blue, red and purple. She was greatly impressed and touched by it. That night we made love, and although it was not the first time, I felt true passion and earnestness in her where before she had seemed somewhat inhibited as she fought against her instinctive reluctance.
I watched the pleasant spectacle of her svelte form departing for the bathroom later that night. She returned with a bottle of raki and two tiny glasses but in her other hand, she held up a pair of black satin and lace panties.
“Look what I found in the bathroom.”
Anxious and more than a little annoyed, I shook my head and opted for selective honesty.
“Oh, they must belong to the woman who moved out a couple of weeks ago. She often used the bathtub up here… I never caught her name.”
But Jacqueline wasn't listening. She handed me the bottle and the glasses then held the panties up to the light.
“What do you think, if I give them a wash. They're about my size and they look brand new. Do you think they'd suit me?”
