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“Women like you make me want to puke. All dolled up like whores, as if that’s what’s going to get me excited.”
It was a waiting game for Zelda, a little tenuous to start, and now she had no idea what Jane would do or say next.
Jane reached down and ran her fingers along the woman’s pink white flanks. For all her revolting mannerisms, Zelda had the most satiny skin. Jane could imagine the pearly flesh marked with red lines etched there with a cane. She smacked the fleshy thigh with her hand, then sat back in a chair and watched the imprint of her hand appear like magic. Reaching down again, she fondled Zelda’s rear cleft, where there was enough juice at her cunt to lubricate the taut asshole. Pressing her index finger at the anus, it slipped inside, and Jane fucked the sub with her finger while listening to Zelda’s lusty moans.
“Like this, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Zelda answered.
Two fingers slipped inside the well-worked hole – it must have been violated many times. If she were to remain compliant, Jane could find herself liking the bitch. Of course there were a few habits that needed changing, but she needn’t worry, that could be easily accomplished. A gag would shut her up if she whined too much, and a few chains in the right places would remind her of her place. Perhaps she could have Zelda work at the club, where this great ability of hers for submission could be put to good use. She could even sell her off to the women who needed an ass to punish or fuck.
Outside the cottage, the dusky shadows had given way to darkness. Jane Hugh’s cottage lights gleamed brightly, and on approaching the place from the garden, Leslie and Robin could easily see inside to the unfolding scene.
“My god, she has Zelda in there!” Leslie exclaimed.
“Shush!” Robin whispered.
The two approached quietly, the intent of their meeting suddenly altered, now that a conversation with Jane was highly unlikely at the moment.
“Not much reverence for the dead,” Leslie observed.
“Don’t say that. People mourn in different ways, and we’re not sure Jane is mourning at all.” Robin thought of her own night following the revelation of Felicia’s death. Might be good for both women, though she wasn’t sure if Zelda even knew Felicia enough to grieve her passing.
“I suppose we’d better find another time?” Leslie said. She was about to turn back.
“But don’t you want to watch?” Robin stopped her with a hand to her arm.
The husky timbre of Robin’s voice was familiar to her. Leslie knew her partner was aroused. And if she stopped long enough to think about it, she was too.
“You had no trouble watching the other night at Sapphos, calling it part of the investigation. Besides you’ll never know what you can learn.”
“About the case, or sexually?” Leslie whispered.
“Either,” Robin whispered back.
The pair remained in the shadows, where, with the front window open, they could hear as well as see what was going on inside the cottage.
“Over the bench,” Jane ordered, prodding Zelda in the ribs with her crop. She bit the woman’s thighs with the tasseled end and watched the sub’s body jerk. Zelda’s arousal was apparent, and the erotic movement of her limbs was mesmerizing to watch. Once on hands and knees atop the two-foot wide bench, she waved her bottom lewdly taunting the uncaring Jane. The Domme was just as likely to walk away and smoke a cigarette, as pay any attention to the conniving tart; but for reasons she would hardly admit to herself, Jane was intrigued with the woman’s sassy bottom. Even more annoying than the intrigue, Jane was turned on.
Using the crop on Zelda’s ass again, Jane ripped off a half dozen cuts that made the woman yowl in pain. She cut so deeply with the slicing end of the tool that the resulting red stripes were easily visible to the two detectives on the outside.
“Damn that hurts,” Robin whispered, as if she had taken Zelda’s place on the bench.
Leslie felt it too, but not because she’d never known that much sexual pain, simply because it looked so painful.
Jane pressed her hand into Zelda’s ass again, inserting three fingers and fucking her deeply.
“Put your head on the bench,” she ordered, as she reached to the woman’s head, and roughly pushed her down, making Zelda’s ass even more vulnerable to her attacks.
How convenient that Zelda’s behind faced the windows, Robin thought silently. She wondered if the two women realized that they were being watched so closely, every move scrutinized for clues to a murder, while at the same time fueling the detectives’ own erotic pleasure. If Zelda and Jane had realized that their sex was a show, would they have cared? Or would they simply find it a part of the scene to be as enjoyed as the act itself?
As far as Leslie could see, Sir Jane was no different with Zelda than she was with her subs at the club. She wore her dominance well; not the kind of woman to waver or for even a second consider turning the tables and letting Zelda take charge.
Jane greased her hand with a slick clear fluid and began to probe Zelda’s rear. Although there didn’t seem to be any way she could thrust her whole fist inside the sub’s ass, she was not beyond trying. This would have been a good time for a smaller woman to assist her, if she wanted to see the little bitch driven to the edge by an offending fist stretching her to her limit, and then just beyond.
Zelda groaned with pleasure even as she winced with pain. Apparently used to a violation of this sort, she was willing to take all of Jane’s fist, if it were possible – even if it ripped her apart. Jane worked her hard for several minutes, but then abruptly pulled out. Taking a strap from the wall, she beat Zelda’s ass until it was a savage shade of red. Screaming was useless, this being an easy kind of pain to give and to take. After one ruthless journey across the sub’s yielding flesh, Jane began another, until the white alabaster was scorched with raw welts that would take days to heal.
“Turn over bitch,” Jane ordered.
