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The two began to move away from the garden, Robin giving the statue in the center one last longing glance. “Just be sure you get a good look at Jane in action,” she reminded Leslie.
“Like, what am I suppose to see?” Leslie asked.
“Get your information, but watch Jane’s style, see what kind of Domme she is. Might tell you a few things we need to know.”
Leslie nodded, not sure exactly what Robin met, but she was certain that she’d soon find out.
Chapter Four
“Remy’s sleeping peacefully. This has really rocked her,” Martha said as she returned to the kitchen from upstairs. Zelda was wiping the counter tops and putting away their picnic basket. “I gave her a sedative, I hope it will knock her out for a while. She really needs the rest; she hardly slept last night from all her crying.”
Zelda looked up at Martha, smiling generously.
“I should have known something like this would happen,” Martha continued. “I knew it was much too frenetic for us, even if this house seems like such a stable place, up here out of the way. The stress on Remy is really too much. She shouldn’t have had to live through it. I blame myself. I mean does it hurt to have a little something extra for yourself?” She looked at the bright faced redhead with a quizzical expression.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Zelda assured her. “Who could have predicted that this would happen? I mean I hardly knew her at all, but it seemed like Felicia created the chaos around her, and had done so for a number of years. That was part of the fun, at least until now, don’t you think?” She was trying to be sympathetic.
Martha tried a smiled. “No, absolutely not. I’m not sure what I would have done with Remy if you hadn’t been here to help.”
Zelda put the sponge back on the sink and deposited the cleaning things underneath the counter, then turned back to Martha, a soothing soft expression emanating from her face. “You’re afraid Remy killed her, aren’t you?” Zelda said.
Martha bristled. “I think Betsy killed Felicia. Remy is just remembering her past,” Martha stated flatly.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” the redhead replied, moving closer to the woman at the other end of the counter. “Perhaps her trauma is just remembering her past,” Zelda offered. Her lips curled into a tiny smirk. “So, she’s sleeping, huh?”
“Yes,” Martha sighed.
Zelda leaned forward on the counter, picking grapes from a bowl and popping them in her mouth. The way her lips curled about them, the way she smiled, the way her eyes lit with a lush glow reminded Martha of Felicia—just for a second. Though she was nothing like Felicia, a far warmer, less disturbed aura surrounded her.
“Tell me,” Zelda said, “what did you do with Felicia?”
Martha chuckled darkly, remembering. “Felicia had voracious appetites for every kinky thing. As you can guess, she liked all kinds of B&D and S&M, and good heavens, I’m not sure what else. I k
now she liked her sex spontaneous. I don’t doubt she had great sex with Betsy, but no one woman would satisfy her completely,” Martha advised the redhead. “And you know, she wasn’t as much a Mistress as everyone thought she was.” Martha’s eyes glimmered in a gossipy way.
“Oh?”
“She asked me to spank her ass one day when I was making dinner.”
“Really? Right here in the kitchen?” Zelda’s eyes flashed.
“Yes. I was chopping stew beef with a meat cleaver, and she sidled up to me like you’re doing now.” Martha paused to appraise Zelda’s look, realizing she was being seduced into something. “She said: ‘I’ve got to be spanked real hard, would you bend me over?’ She had that big flat butter paddle in her hand.” Martha pointed to the utensil hanging on the wall with a half dozen other spoons and spatulas.
“This one?” Zelda said, grabbing the wooden implement from its place.
“Yeah.”
Zelda ran her hand along the smooth surface of the paddle. “So what did you do to her?”
“I spanked her, just like she asked.”
“How?” Zelda’s breasts gleamed in the heat, as they seemed to be spilling out over the top of her low cut blouse. She pulled herself from the counter and moved closer to Martha with her eyes communicating desire.
“You want me to tell you what I did?” Martha said, a little embarrassed.
“No,” she replied with a gay smile. “I want you to show me.”
Martha’s eyes flared brightly, then dimmed as she considered the woman’s proposal. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?
