The Whip Hand

by the Crimson Kid

(All rights reserved. This is a modern-day story—June 2010. 2010 SSC Entry)

“She controls the money so she has the whip hand,” Darren explained to his lover Betsy; both of them were lying nude on the hotel room’s queen-sized bed.

The buxom blonde sniffed. “Fifty thousand dollars as a prenuptial settlement, that’s a lot of money.”

Her well-muscled thirtyish paramour sighed, knowing that to Betsy, who made six-fifty and hour plus tips waitressing at a diner, it did seem like quite a bit. His wife, an heiress who’d become a successful businesswoman, was worth about eighty million and basically supported his indolent lifestyle because he had value as a ‘trophy husband,’ being handsome, personable, athletic, articulate and superficially knowledgeable on numerous subjects.

Betsy was sweet, attractive, easygoing and sexually passionate, but Darren had no intention of foregoing his multimillionaire lifestyle to marry her. “From your perspective, certainly,” he acknowledged glibly.

She pouted. “You’ve got a college degree as a gym teacher, we’d have no trouble with finances once you got a teaching job—two incomes plus fifty thousand to start out with.”

Their romantic affair had reached the point of feminine dissatisfaction, that much was clear to him, so Darren said the words that would terminate it. “Perhaps you’re right, I’ll consider it.”

There was plenty of time for a farewell ‘roll in the hay,’ he calculated. Indeed, they were cuddling in the sated afterglow when the door flew open and Edwina Strickland, all six-feet-five-inches of his wife’s security chief, came striding into the room.

“Hello, Edwina,” Darren acknowledged her gloomily.

She smiled tautly, reaching into a duffel bag to withdraw padded handcuffs and a spreader bar. “Good taste this time, Darren, she’s a cutie and a sweetie—Bettina’s treating her generously.”

Betsy looked stunned. “What’s going on, who are you?”

“My wife’s strong-arm woman,” her lover explained, “Here to prepare me for Bettina’s impending arrival.”

The blonde frowned. “There’s going to be a marital confrontation?”

Edwina snickered. “No, honey, there’s going to be a marital ass-whipping, one that you’ll be paid to witness.”

Ten minutes later, when Bettina burst into the room with a dressage whip in her black-gloved right hand, her still-nude wayward husband was in expected punishment position—bent over three pillows piled at the end of the bed, hands cuffed behind his back, ankles forced thirty inches apart by the metal bar and Edwina seated astride his shoulders.

She nodded toward her spouse’s lover. “You’ve agreed to observe our little seat-striping session, I take it?”

Dressed and holding a cashier’s check for $10,000, Betsy shrugged. “I guess Darren deserves this, he’s so cowardly.”

“No, he just can’t give up living a lazy life of luxury, which I provide.” The elegant-looking businesswoman chortled. “I don’t mind his affairs—you’re number seven, by the way—until they seem seriously threatening.” She positioned herself to the left of Darren’s backthrust naked buttocks, raising the wicked-looking lash to strike.

After that air-piercing whipcracks, masculine shrieks and feminine titters filled the room.

“She really does have the whip hand,” Betsy noted, grinning smugly…

{The End}