Search This Blog

Saturday, 19 October 2019

Sweet Music

A photo-story from Janus 21
Record producer Robert Ricks is a man of considerable talent and expertise — hence the many silver discs which adorn the walls of his St John’s Wood, London home. Life is at last becoming interesting for him, for after twelve years in the music business, initially as a bass guitarist, it is only in the past 15 months that he has known real success — having come up the hard way of divorce, bankruptcy and ruthless recovery. He’s determined to impose his dreams on reality and stamp out any obstacles to his total satisfaction, and he stands a pretty fair chance of succeeding with his tense combination of ambition, acumen, graft, guile, overweening egocentricity and the necessary viciousness to make it in a bizarre and opportunistic industry. Probably his greatest asset, apart from his musical skill, is his constantly smouldering inferiority complex, derived from his small size, in a field where image and appearance are paramount: spurring him to fight it out with his trauma in public battles to prove himself a near-genius.
One of several relatively recent rewards of Rob Ricks’ achievement has been his acquisition of a very pretty live-in girlfriend-cum-unpaid-assistant named Cynthia, whom he pulled with his customary flair and insincerity in one of two discos he now part-owns. Cynthia — ‘Sin’ to everyone, and she even spells her name this way, with a certain difficulty — is most accurately described as his slave. She may draw no salary but she lives in the lap of luxury with easy access to the semi-famous, and she gratefully recognises that this is the closest she has so far come to fulfilling her desire to be a super-groupie by appointment to the stars. Under Rob Ricks’ roof, all Sin’s needs are catered for — including, most important of all, Sin’s sexual needs. Her sponsor is a man with a high libido and a constant need to prove himself, and some of his OTT fantasies really get her going…
Like right now, for instance, Robert Ricks is caning her as a punishment for flirting with some long-haired young singer. And there’s nothing like sexual jealousy for turning him into a cruel avenging bastard, whipping his swishy bamboo rod across the horny little girl’s posterior as she bends precariously over the back of that jerking rocking chair. He really intends to thrash her this time — he prefers caning to fucking anyway — but alack alas he only manages to deliver three painfully stinging strokes before his doorbell starts to chime frenziedly.
Sin doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or frustrated when her lord and master angrily decrees that she now has to stand up, pull up her white knickers and adjust her white tunic so that she can let in the first of his afternoon’s appointments.
‘Don’t you worry, you naughty girl! I’ll find time to deal with you properly later!’ Although honestly he would have preferred to finish the job in one; now he will feel pent-up until he can get back to her. His adrenalin is pumping like a central heating system controlled by a blown-out thermostat.
‘Coral Posey, sir,’ Sin says softly, ushering the attractive dark-haired singer in for her audition. The visitor gasps as she enters the room.
Rob Ricks, playing his usual opening gambit of nonchalantly slotting one of thousands of records into place on the shelves, is too busy acting busy to find time to turn and acknowledge her entry for some ten seconds. When he does look at her, he too expresses shock.
GLADYS!’ he shouts.
‘No, Coral… I’m Coral Posey these days,’ she says as he grasps her arm, still feeling startled. ‘I can see you’ve hit it now.’
Sin giggles, imagining stupidly that Coral, alias Gladys, is referring to her still smarting bottom. Robert Ricks has his own reasons for feeling delighted and curtly orders his girlfriend to go and make some tea.
He used to know Coral Posey — under her pre-professional name — quite well when the going was still tough for him. She hadn’t eased his problems, either. In fact she became his biggest problem. His infatuation with her did not cease with the disillusioning discovery that she was nothing but a prick-teasing bitch stringing along those she hoped could further her career. A male chauvinist he may be, but compared with Coral Posey his feelings for her had been innocent in the extreme. ‘Your obsession with me is naive,’ she had told him terminally. ‘You’re no use to me.’
Now however fate has re-cast her in the role of the applicant, and he intends to make it supplicant. It’s high time all his vain hankering after her were transformed into pain for her behind. Let her suffer for a change. She spreads enough of it around.
All this passes through his mind in shock waves as she removes her raincoat unveiling a calculatedly provocative rig-out. The music business revolves around sex and money and power, and Coral plainly plans to titillate and subjugate her way to fame. Oh yes, he’s heard those stories about how this girl gets a big turn-on from having influential men kneel at her feet — and worse…
He decides to put her on the spot by auditioning her ‘live’ and unaccompanied. There’s no surer way to find out if she can really sing, but as Coral starts to croon he finds himself getting high on her strung-up, self-conscious embarrassment. He sits on a stool and conducts the audition at close range.
‘Well, yes, you’ve improved,’ he tells her silkily when she’s finishing singing. ‘I may even be able to help you — I’ve got a band that are looking for a new female vocalist right now, only days away from a recording contract.’ She simpers just adorably but he rants in reply: ‘This is going to cost you, girl, and I don’t need to tell you why. We’ll just call it simple old-fashioned getting-my-own-back and leave it at that… SIN! FETCH ME MY STRAP!
Coral Posey is no stranger to ‘S and M’ as she casually calls it. But she likes giving it out not taking it, and she hates pain. She also hates the idea of losing a round to Rob Ricks.
She finds she hates the reality of being disciplined by him, too. He makes her stand with her black-gloved hands on her head, her naughty dress lifted up, while strap in hand he gives her a piece of his mind. She has lost none of her sexual appeal to him and so he secretly gets really excited putting her ‘on parade’, very definitely under his control for a change. His arousal increases as he compels her to bend over in front of the stool and then press her breasts down on its seat and grip the bar on the lower far side, yanking the gusset of her gauzy black knickers up into her posterior crevice to render her fine buttocks absolutely receptive to the stinging, smarting tongues of his punishment strap.
Bringing it down in swift and severe retributive attack on that round curvaceous bottom — the highest portion of Coral’s body, atop her taut-stretched thighs and calves — is something better than mere ecstasy for him. To be able at last to thrash and counter-thrash her upended bottom as hard as he wants is stimulating beyond his wildest dreams. As he beats her he feels uplifted and excited… the more he straps her the harder his excitement grows… her gorgeous bottom is like a magnet to his tawse… beating her is throbbing bliss. Coral’s facial reactions and her little gasps and cries, giving way to shriller cries and then pleas for mercy, are powerfully and profoundly erotic to him. She is helpless. She is at his mercy. He really flays her buttocks cruelly with that three-tailed strap, and her quivering, shaking arse-cheeks and her squealing, expressing face which she keeps turned towards him, send the blood pounding to his head. It is an immaculate whacking, producing the requisite effects.
Rob Ricks can soon tell from Coral’s writhings and mewings and her manifest inability to keep her churning buttocks still that she has now taken just about all she can. He loudly orders her to stand up, and takes a heavy pleasure in lounging back against the quadraphonic console, appreciating very dearly the charming vision of this sexy ex-girlfriend who had spurned him, stretching with legs parted all in kinky black, massaging her burning bottom with both hands. She won’t look at him because she doesn’t want him to see how much he’s made her suffer — that sting in her tail is quite sensational! His eyes lap up her hot torment. Never before has he found punishing a girl such an exciting experience…
Finally he allows her to sit down — gingerly! — and then he tells her: ‘Alright bitch, I’ve given you a taste of your own medicine. But I don’t need to crucify you. How do you fancy doing a number on my pretty little assistant?’
‘Like hell,’ Coral smirks. She never disguised the fact she was bi.
‘Poor little Sin,’ Rob says insincerely, and the two conspirators laugh.
All the imagination that Rob puts into his supremely professional and highly creative productions suddenly surface, do a quick U-turn and apply themselves to the other side of his character. As Sin would tell you, it’s the kinkiest character this side of Abbey Road — about 200 yards away. A bit like that pedestrian crossing on the famous Beatles album; first black then white, then black and then white again. Sin is about to see the ‘black’ side…
By now she recognised The Look. She’d seen it before of course, the last time was when he’d received yet another of his numerous gold discs. But there had been other times. Usually these were when her cute little Cockney tail was bared and he had dreamed up another perverse deviation on his ‘kinky caning kick’, as she often called it. It was the other side of his stroboscopic little mind.
She had recognised the signs and she wasn’t disappointed. When he told her to get ‘the gear’ she thought she knew what to expect. She had used it a number of times on other girls and although it didn’t give her sexual satisfaction, at least she’d have the pleasure of getting her own back on the whoring little bitch that had arrived on HER scene. Sin didn’t like her meal ticket getting his rocks off with some jumped-up tart who thought she had talent to command his professional attention. This was going to be a pleasure!
She opened the cupboard beneath the stairs. The large poster of Mantovani taped neatly to the door smiled sleekly down at her. She hated it but at least it did its job. Nobody, but nobody, went into that cupboard.
Rob’s eyes lit up when she re-entered the room, but unfortunately she had misinterpreted that look of his and was in for a rude awakening. It took a full two seconds for the realisation of what he was asking for to hit her. My god, he wanted HER to help THAT bitch into her own gear!
Rob watched the little ritual he had carefully composed, with mock interest. In reality he could hardly wait for the action to start. This was what it was about and this was where he was at! Images buzzed around in his brain like the frantic notes from The Flight of the Bumblebee! Not only was his retribution upon the sexy singer virtually complete, his ultimate fantasy was about to reach a crescendo. He had always planned that one day he’d find the right girl who could punish the submissive Sin almost as well as he did. Now THAT would be worth watching.
Coral Posey, alias Gladys Poskitt, found that her emotions were somewhat confused. Although she didn’t particularly dislike the leggy little Cockney, she did resent her presence. It cramped her style and she wasn’t able to get what she wanted, in the way that she wanted to get it. Out of choice she wouldn’t have gone through this ridiculous charade for a Rob Ricks contract. She would have much preferred to have lured him into the sack where she could call her own well-rehearsed tune. Still, if this was what it took to make the big breakthrough, so be it. Que sera sera, as they say!
Sin was amazed at how quickly and easily the singer’s clothes came off. It probably wasn’t a coincidence either, it would be just like the bitch to make it easy for some gullible record producer! It gave Sin some consolation to see the girls well-warmed buttocks — at least it hadn’t come easy.
‘Right, Sin!’ Rob announced in his best ‘dominant ace-producer’ voice, ‘I told you we’d catch up with what Miss Coral bloody Posey interrupted, didn’t I?’
He handed the cane to the now eager singer who immediately started to prance around her like she was on stage and had just received her third encore.
‘Hands above your head girl… touch your toes… turn around… quicker, quicker… head up… head down… arse out… arse in… tits out… shoulders back… my god, you’re absolutely useless aren’t you? AREN’T YOU!
Sin mumbled acquiescently. She was shocked. The bitch was enjoying this and this was definitely going to hurt!
Of course Sin was right, Coral was enjoying it, but then she’d had a lot more practice than either her or Rob had even suspected. Miss Posey’s talents didn’t just start and finish on the down-beat. The music world was a tough business and Coral had resolved a long time ago that if she was to survive then she would be tougher than most. It hadn’t been difficult to keep the promise she had made to herself, because Coral had found a lot of little men hiding behind a big facade. Almost all of them totally insecure and susceptible to the demands of a strong feminine mind. She often found that she dominated her relationships and became, not only a lover, but a teacher too. Subjugating poor little Sin was hardly any different to the domination she had exercised over many of the men in her life. A basic streak of cruelty which lay just below the sexy surface made it that much more enjoyable. Rob Ricks of course knew nothing of this. He was simply delighted that his plan was working as well as it was. The adrenalin was pumping again and the sure knowledge that Sin was about to ‘get it’ almost blew his mind away! He felt the tension building somewhere inside him and for a moment allowed himself the luxury of indulging it. Finally he stood up and looked at Coral, raising his eyebrows as he lifted Sin’s short dress.
‘Well, c’ mon then, he crooned. ‘Get on with it.’
A moment later Sin was bent over the stool. Oh well, she thought, back in the old routine. Her skirt was lifted yet again, this time by the bitch. She could see the long thigh-high boots as she looked beneath her left arm. Ahead of her Sin was aware of Rob slapping a tape into the Technics recorder Almost instantly she heard the unmistakable beat of the Rolling Stones. He always put the same damned tape on when he caned her! The first couple of tracks weren’t so bad but it was the third track, Paint it Black, that she hated. The bloody thing seemed to go along at 100mph and inevitably the tempo of Rob’s arms would quicken to match the rhythm. THAT was when it really began to hurt and she hoped that the bitch was insensitive to early Stones.
The first one didn’t seem to hurt too much. Sin jumped a little, her glorious mounds absorbing the exploratory stroke quite easily. She curled her fingers around the legs of the stool and wriggled a bit. It was a pity she was facing the lounging Rob, that little wriggle always turned him on. (In truth, it turned her on too, just to know that Rob was getting his kicks from her abused nakedness.)
Coral wasn’t entirely unaffected either. The girl’s bottom was really very sexy and it was rather nice to feel the cane rebounding from the springy moons. A surge of excitement welled up inside Coral as she took deliberate aim, swinging her shoulders back and then letting fly sadistically.
Yeouw!’ This time it really did hurt and poor Sin nearly shot over the front of the stool. The cane singed her arse like a laser. She fought back the tears, blinking through them as she strained to look at Rob. He had catapulted forward in the rocking chair, his hands clenching his bony knees. Christ, she thought, the bastard is enjoying this almost as if he was caning her himself — perhaps even more so! For a brief moment she hated him. She thought that he looked like a demented garden gnome.
The third, fourth and fifth strokes didn’t seem to be quite so hard, but they sure as hell stung more. Sin noticed that the bitch was beginning to get into a rhythm. The last three strokes had been delivered after each alternate bar, with a malicious, hexy smile now fixed on her cupid-bow lips. Sin began to count the beats, took a deep breath on the sixth and exhaled on the eighth. Her timing was almost perfect. As her breath was released so the cane made contact, but its pain was blunted by the technique that Sin was applying. It didn’t actually stop the hurt, but it just took the edge off it and allowed the girl to concentrate her senses on the sexy warmth that was starting to curl around her soft loins. Pain and pleasure, Sin had discovered, were two things that went hand-in-hand.
Whilst Sin burned, Coral slipped smoothly and easily into her own special fantasy, which in its way was a form of retribution against Rob Ricks. Apart from finding the pliable little Cockney something of a turn-on, Coral began to derive a great deal of vindictive satisfaction in punishing what was obviously Rob Ricks’s private property. In a very special way, it was a bit like hurting him. Rob Ricks naturally didn’t see quite like that. He was far too insensitive.
Coral put her left foot on one of the bars of the stool. Gritting her teeth she brought the cane down with all her strength. The tip of the rattan rod screeched through the air like a guided missile, homed in on the target and exploded with cataclysmic force. Shock waves of pleasure surged from the twanging cane right through her tingling body, flushing Coral with rare excitement.
Sin squealed with agony and shot bolt upright, her back straightening as taut as a bowstring. Frenetically she rubbed her seared bum.
‘Hands on your head, girl!’ Coral snapped, ‘and keep ‘em there!’
She walked around the unfortunate girl just once. The skirt had stayed miraculously up around Sin’s waist, allowing Coral to gloat over the poor scorched buttocks. She patted them with the cane, smiling smugly to herself as Sin winced. This was proving to be very, very enjoyable.
Eyes blurred with pain and tears, Sin stood rigidly to attention, waiting, waiting, waiting. The sound of the Stones seemed louder now, every beat pulsing through her like a jungle rhythm, heightening her senses and stretching her nerve ends until time seemed eternal. It wasn’t and the next explosion of the cruelly wielded cane on her distended buttocks shocked Sin back into real time. She yelped and writhed her hips in agony; still in a standing position.
Rob Ricks was in ecstasy. He’d never caned Sin in an upright position before and the singer’s perverted variation was giving him a few creative ideas of his own.
After the second stroke, all of Sin’s bottom end was hotter than a pepper sprout. She was almost numb to the pain, aware only that she was feeling more and more randy with each succeeding stroke. Her fanfare was almost as hot as her bottom.
‘That’ll do!’ shouted Rob, leaping to his feet. He’d seen that look on Sin’s face before. He’d also detected the slight, almost imperceptible writhing of his girlfriend’s bottom, a sure prelude to one of her caning orgasms. It usually happened about three strokes after the writhing had started.
‘Right… both of you — hands on heads!!’ he yelled.
He was so quick, Coral lost the cane before she realised he had spoken. Damn it — once again he was the master and very much in control of the situation. How could she have underestimated him so? The old Rob Ricks that she knew in the early days would have been much slower on the uptake. She had to hand it to the little bastard, he had certainly changed for the better. Besides, she rather liked the dominant side of his character that success had obviously uncovered.
She stood there, hands on head, whilst he ranted and raved, her mind doing somersaults and computing the odds. She hardly heard him, but she did admire him. He was so much more a man these days. She felt sure that she could make sweet music for him. There was just one problem of course… his obsession with this Cockney tart. But then he had been obsessed with her a few years ago and besides, a plan was beginning to take shape in her devious and calculating mind…

1 comment:

  1. Bob here.
    High notes,low notes...and plenty of
    beats for the girls to groove to.
    Sweet music indeed!