Authors: Justine Elyot
“What?”
“With my belt,” Rocky clarified, reaching for the length of supple leather, releasing it from his trousers and doubling it into a loop.
“Oh God, won’t that really hurt?”
“You can find out. Would you like to?” He bent his lips to her ear. “Do you trust me?”
Flipp swallowed. She rotated her hips, missing the percussive pressure of Rocky’s hand on her backside already. Did she trust him? Of course she did.
“Yeah, I do,” she admitted in a whisper. “Go on, then. But will you stop if it gets too much?”
“You know I will.”
Kneeling by her side, Rocky let the cold, smooth leather drift over Flipp’s warm arse cheeks, making her sigh with pleasure at the contrast.
“Oh, that feels nice,” she muffled into the sleeping bag, her arms relaxed in front of her, her legs now flat, sinking down.
Rocky grabbed a pillow and placed it under her stomach, elevating her bottom nicely and separating her thighs just enough to grant him a peek between.
“Nice, eh?” He let the leather dip between her parted legs and rubbed it up and down inside Flipp’s slick pussy lips. Feeling its surface and texture on her clit, Flipp began to breathe quickly, realising that it would take very little of this treatment to make her come again. But she knew that Rocky had other things on his mind. All the same, her disappointment was keen when he whipped the belt out from her thighs and then flicked it smartly over the centre of her bottom, the sting enhanced by her own wetness on the leather.
“Oh.” Flipp’s cry of shock soon turned into a deep sigh. The sting was sharp, but it soon spread and glowed into the heat of pure desire.
Does this make me a masochist?
she asked herself, surprised by her capacity to endure and enjoy pain.
Psychological ponderings were soon driven out of her head by the next stroke, fiery and sweet, lighting her up again. Rocky delivered twelve of these, varying the force and speed, making sure that Flipp never guessed where the next one would land, only finishing when her bottom was glowingly hot all the way down to her thighs.
“You haven’t begged me to stop yet,” he noted, putting the belt down. “Will you be disappointed if I do?”
“Mmmm, not disappointed.” Flipp stretched her legs out and flexed her toes, dizzy with the radiant warmth that circulated around her body. “Depends what you’re gonna do next. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t fuck me senseless.”
Rocky grinned and sat up on his heels. “I’ll definitely be doing that again, then,” he promised. “Get you good and wet, did it?” He reached down and fingered her clit for evidence. “Oh yes, I see it did. You kinky little minx. Well, I don’t want to disappoint you. Get up on your knees.”
Flipp knelt up on all fours, thrusting her sore, hot bottom out in brazen invitation.
Rocky, shuffling behind her, dipped as many fingers as he could cram into her slippery lips and cunt, getting them shiny-wet before using Flipp’s own juices to lubricate her arsehole. So copious were they that it was a matter of a few minutes before his fingers were gliding in with ease, spreading and stretching that private place, preparing it for its impending use.
“Ready?” he whispered, shucking off his lower garments and lining the head of his cock up with Flipp’s slippery rear entrance.
Flipp, jelly-legged and locked into a strange place of submission, could only whimper her assent. Her bottom cheeks felt tight and tender, and their heat throbbed through her, distracting her only slightly from the nudging cock tip between them.
She winced and puffed through his slow push forward, grateful for the hands on her hips that prevented her from flopping or bucking away, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for that worst moment of splitting-in-twoness to be over.
A cry, then a deep breath, and he was in all the way, ready to ride her, ready to thrust up against her strapped bottom, reawakening the soreness and heat and adding it to the sum of sensation. A heady stew, a bitch’s brew, swirling away with its epicentre at her cunt, simmering, simmering until the surface began to bubble and pop and then…
Flipp came hard, so much harder than through regular penetration, trying not to wake the campsite but finding it impossible to mute her animal howl. Rocky poured in, hissing victoriously, then sinking his teeth into her shoulder, reminding her that she was owned, possessed, marked.
That night the creaking guy ropes did not keep Flipp awake too long.
She woke up, nestled in Rocky’s arms, her eyes sticky and body cold with last night’s sweat, to beaming sunshine bleaching the canvas above her.
“Rocky. Wake up.” She elbowed him in the ribs and he was galvanised into action, sitting bolt upright, clutching at his head and staring wildly around him.
“What? Fuck, Flipp, don’t do that. I thought you were Cordwainer. Was having a dream.”
“Sorry.” Flipp bit her lip. “But you’d sleep all day if I let you. Can you get me the shampoo and shower gel from your backpack? Got to shower. Feel like I could win the Olympic gold medal for ickiness. Thanks. Oh yeah, toothbrush and toothpaste too, please.”
Later, in the small on-site supermarket, Rocky was frowning at a shelf of mouthwash and disposable razors.
“No lubricant,” he muttered. “Call this a holiday camp?”
Flipp laughed gaily from the opposite shelves. “Will this do?” She held up a catering-sized bottle of cooking oil.
“I don’t think so. Wasn’t planning to deep-fry you.”
“There’s always butter. Ever seen
Last Tango in Paris
? You be Marlon, I’ll be Maria.”
Rocky smirked over at her, his eyes transmitting waves of love and amusement. Flipp flushed and reached out for his fingers, curling her own around them.
“We won’t be here long anyway, will we?” she whispered. “You’re going to see your mate about that boat today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Meant to be meeting him at the harbour at twelve-thirty.”
They squeezed hands, leaving the mutual hope for their future unspoken, and walked together around to the next aisle.
A woman was selecting cheeses and cold meats from the refrigerator, bending down to compare prices and ingredients. Flipp thought she looked a little bit familiar.
Rocky’s fingers tensed around hers and he made to yank her back around the corner, but before they could disappear from the woman’s sight she had straightened up and looked directly at them.
She half screamed and dropped her packages of cheese and bacon, making a dash for the exit.
“Michelle.” Rocky called after her, pulling Flipp along behind him until they were outside the supermarket, in a small car park between it and the pool area. “Stop.”
Reluctantly, seeing that she had nowhere to run and no way of eluding Rocky’s long, long legs, Michelle halted and turned to him, her face defiantly set.
“Sent you after me, has he?” She looked around, noticing a small clutch of breakfast-bound holidaymakers stopping to rubberneck. She raised her voice, deliberately appealing to them. “Well, if you’re going to take me down, you’ll have to do it here, in public. Take note,” she shouted to the tourists. “My name’s Michelle Roberts. This is Rocky Anderson. If you read a Missing Persons report in the paper with a picture of me, you know what name to give the police, right? Rocky Anderson. Professional heavy. That’s him.”
“Michelle, please,” Rocky hissed in an appeal for calm.
Flipp wondered if he was going to take Michelle by the arm and drag her somewhere less public. She looked around, fearing intervention from onlookers or camp staff.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not here to find you. Tell her, Flipp.”
“He isn’t.” Flipp backed him up. “I don’t know why you think he is.”
“Well…obviously because…” She turned around to check on the little crowd, moving closer to the pair, keeping this part of the conversation private. “Haven’t you heard? Hasn’t it been in the paper yet? Surely by now…”
“Listen, I think we need to talk,” Rocky said. “Let me buy you breakfast up at the complex. Nice and open up there, plenty of people around. You’ll feel safe. Yeah?”
“Okay.” Michelle grudgingly accepted before turning on the onlookers and yelling, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”
They trudged off, muttering amongst one another, cheated of their hoped-for spectacle.
“But first,” Rocky said, heading back into the supermarket, “I need to see the local rag.”
He bought a copy of the
Gazette
and swore explosively at its front page, which depicted a large photograph of Cordwainer beneath the headline The Godfather of Goldsands.
“You knew about this?” he spluttered, shaking the paper in Michelle’s direction when they were out in the car park again.
“What? What is it?” Flipp plucked eagerly at the newspaper, but Rocky held it out of her reach.
“That breakfast?” Michelle seemed alarmed at Rocky’s demeanour, but surely she knew nothing could happen to her out here in the open or in the crowded cafeteria inside the complex. If Rocky was a problem, she could simply call the police. Flipp couldn’t see that she had anything to worry about. It wasn’t as if Cordwainer was here in person.
Huddled at the corner table with their plates of congealing bacon and egg and toast, the trio pored over the newspaper, spread open in the centre of the red Formica.
“Jeez,” muttered Rocky, his face contorting into new expressions of awe and dismay with each sentence he read. “I picked the right time to leave.”
“You don’t work for him anymore?” Michelle stopped pushing bits of frilly caramelised egg white around her plate and stared.
“No. Quit three days ago. But I didn’t exactly hand in my notice.”
“You’re—are you in hiding? Here?”
Flipp and Rocky looked at each other, as if agreeing the level of secrecy required, then both nodded.
“So am I.”
“You aren’t running the Fairhaven anymore?”
“No. Cordwainer, um, we split up. And when I found out about his plans for the nature reserve, I wanted to do something. He needed to be stopped. Don’t you think?”
“So it was you who went to the press?” Rocky raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. “That’s quite a risk to take. I wanted out, but I would never have gone that far. I know his connections. He’s not a man to cross, Michelle. I hope you’re going to be okay.”
“I hope so too,” she said, palpably nervous. “But the
Gazette
man promised he’d take care of me. He seemed very sure he could take Cordwainer down.”
“Of course he seemed sure—to you. He wanted your story. But Cordwainer knows a lot of people.”
“Yes, but now it’s in the public domain, he can’t get away with it, can he?” Michelle’s tone was pleading. Rocky squeezed and relaxed a fist around the salt cellar, ruminating.
“He’ll take me down with him,” he said. “Flipp, we’re going to have to get away today, I think. The fall-guy look doesn’t suit me. If Cordwainer doesn’t find us, the police will.”
“Okay.” A subdued Flipp had little appetite for the plate of food in front of her. She gulped at her coffee instead.
Michelle turned curious attention to Rocky’s companion.
“You worked in the arcade, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. For my sins.”
“I always thought Cordwainer had an eye for you. I thought you were going to be my replacement.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Hard to believe that I was jealous of you for that.”
Flipp looked up with a rueful grimace. “I think he thought that too. I had ideas of my own, though.”
“You and Rocky—I suppose he didn’t know about that?”
“God, no. Though now…”
“Perhaps he thinks we’ve both run off with Rocky.” Michelle laughed, more genuinely this time, and gave Rocky the ghost of a batted eyelash.
“I should be so lucky,” said Rocky gallantly, but he took Flipp’s hand and squeezed it, making it quite clear that he was happy with his one woman, just in case.
“He’ll kill us if he finds us,” said Flipp. “I wonder if he’s looking for us right now.”
“As soon as we’re done here, we’ll?” Rocky hesitated. Michelle looked interested, but he lowered his voice as he spoke to Flipp alone. “Do what we were planning to do. Go and see that guy. You know.”
“Right.” Idly, Flipp turned the page of the
Gazette
, wanting Cordwainer’s beady newsprint eyes off her while she tried to tackle her breakfast. She sucked in a breath and spilled coffee over the Formica at the unwelcome sight that met her eyes. Her own face in a corner of the page, underneath the headline Womanhunt.
“What the…?”
Rocky snatched the paper and read it with gathering consternation.
“Fucking hell, Flipp. Now they’ve got the police after you as well.”
Flipp, pale and nauseated, could only sit and shake.
“Somebody must have seen me. One of his officers. Maybe on holiday or something. Oh God. Let’s go now, Rocky. Can we go? Can we just get away? Never mind packing the tent and all that. Can we just go?”
She carried on repeating the plea, mindlessly, over and over, while Rocky made his apologies to Michelle and escorted Flipp out of the cafeteria.
How many of these tourists had seen the paper? How many people might be calling the police helpline number even now? Yes, they had to go. There was no alternative now.
Rounding the corner of the entertainment complex, Rocky and Flipp dodged back again, flattening themselves against the wall and peering round at Reception, in front of which stood a pair of black-and-white uniformed police.
“Oh no.” Flipp could barely breathe, her vision disintegrating into blur. “Rocky.” She jerked his name out. It was hard to speak with lips paralysed by fear.
“We’ll go along the beach. It’s less than a mile to town. Come on.”
He ran, dragging her along after him, down the hill to the shingle beach, not stopping until they were behind the cliff, beyond sight of any official eyes.
“Not the easiest stuff to walk on,” Rocky conceded as their feet sank into the tiny pebbles. “At least we’ve got good boots on.”
“Rocky, if he finds me…”
“He won’t find you.”
“He’s got everyone believing that I’ve escaped from a mental hospital. That’s what it said in the
Gazette
. It’s not true, though. You don’t believe it, do you?”