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The possibilities inherent in the demand were not to Zelda’s liking, although she was obliged to obey. Moving awkwardly, she turned and lay down with her back against the hard bench, feeling her stinging backside suffer with discomfort. Jane fastened Zelda’s arms overhead, so her breasts were stretched tightly. Her nipples jutted from her chest, erect, invitingly erect. Spreading the subbie’s legs wide, Jane tied each ankle to a leg of the bench and tethered them tightly with rope.
“See the knots,” Robin whispered,” what did I tell you about clues?” she chided her partner.
“Pretty efficient.”
“Of course, she’s done them a thousand times, if she’s done them once.”
The pair continued to watch as Jane left Zelda’s side and strolled to the back of the cottage, d
isappearing for a while into the bathroom.
“Sir Jane!” Zelda suddenly called out, after some moments alone. She squirmed uncomfortably in her bonds. “Jane, please don’t leave me here.” She called out louder this time, apparently unnerved by her helplessness.
Jane returned seconds later, quickly clamping the woman’s nipples with raw edged pincers.
“I’m going to gag you,” Jane said, almost kindly.
“But I have to pee,” Zelda replied.
“That’s okay, I’m almost finished with you. But if you pee on my floor, you’ll lick up every drop,” she warned. Jane stuffed a ballgag into Zelda’s mouth, and secured it from behind with a rubber strap. Then picking up the riding crop once more, Jane smacked Zelda’s cunt, an act the woman did not enjoy, although her hips bucked wildly, and her cunt reached even higher to greet the small leather end as it stung her tender lips and inner thighs. She seemed to be working toward some pinnacle, cumming, possibly, then at last, her chest rose toward the ceiling as her back arched and her muscles went taut. While muted by the gag, the resulting cry was filled with pleasure nonetheless.
Zelda response seemed to invite more, which Jane gave her. Ruthless cuts were leveled against her inner thighs. Then in the middle of the punishment, Jane picked up the chain that was attached to the nipple clamps and pulled it tightly, so that Zelda’s breasts were stretched taut. Jane beat the stretched out breasts with the end of the crop. The pain would be excruciating. But even though Zelda screamed behind the gag, her whole body looked as though it were asking for more.
Jane paused for a time and stared thoughtfully at the woman. Then with no more warning than that, she suddenly dropped both the chain and the riding crop, and walked away.
Leslie saw a different Jane than the one she witnessed at the club. No tenderness, no self satisfaction – at least none that she could see. Maybe it was a different kind of turn on, maybe none at all.
At the kitchen counter, Jane poured herself a shot of bourbon and downed it in one gulp, then returned to the bound submissive and appraised her raw looking pussy. Zelda stared back in vacant anxiousness, her eyes riveted to Jane’s face.
“Had enough?” Jane asked.
Zelda shook her head no – much to Leslie and Robin’s surprise.
“Well, I have,” Jane said. She leaned down and loosened the ropes to the redhead’s ankles and wrists, then Zelda removed the gag herself.
Sitting up now, she looked at Jane with an expression as deliberately seductive as she’d been before this all began, as if the scene that had just played out had never happened, as if she could start all over again from the beginning. Beaten, abused, raw from the biting wounds, she still wanted more.
“Hey, we should cut out of here now,” Leslie suddenly suggested with some urgency. Robin agreed and the two quickly retreated to a safer place, hiding in the bushes, where they could still see inside the cottage – although it was impossible to understand what was being said from such a distance. A cryptic exchange between the women followed as a pleading Zelda looked up at Jane, imploring her, suggesting that the insatiable slut still wanted to be whipped.
Jane shook her head, dispassionately listening to the woman’s pleas, and just shook her head again.
“This is really strange, don’t you think?” Leslie murmured.
“Yeah it is.” Robin had no idea what was bothering Jane, but it was clear to her that the Domme was disturbed by what had just taken place.
A moment later, Robin and Leslie watched a naked Zelda run from the cottage. She dashed towards the garden, finding her dress hidden under a shrub. Without bothering to put it on, she hurriedly made her way to the house, her white raw body disappearing out of sight, her red curly locks bouncing, just as her marked breasts bounced in the night air.
“So, I don’t suppose we confront Jane now,” Leslie said.
“No. I think I want to wait until tomorrow.” Robin stared into the well lit cottage, watching as Jane took another drink and then slumped down on her sofa. Robin was still troubled by the finale of the SM scene, as troubled as Jane appeared to be. Feeling so uneasy, it was no time for confrontations.
Chapter Eleven
Scenes and images of S&M sexuality dominated Leslie’s dreams that night, and she rose from bed feeling as if she’d actually lived through all the twisted nightmares. She was glad that Rosalie was off on business again; she rather not bring her into the confusing picture of murder suspects and clues and crazy sexual practices. Going to the bathroom she splashed some water on her face, then went to her closet to find something to wear. She dressed in jeans and a low cut sweater, much more daring than what she’d normally wear. For reasons she wasn’t ready to admit, she was dressing to tease Robin, and maybe even Jane. She wasn’t sure which one, although she was sure her motives had everything to do with drawing their attention.
It seemed to Leslie that this case was going nowhere: loose ends everywhere, suspects only more probable all the time – Remy once institutionalized for some yet undisclosed violent encounter, and Jane looking like a sitting duck with photographs of sexual scenes with Felicia that seemed to duplicate the murder scene. Who’s to say what role the overprotective Martha and the curious Zelda had in this drama.
And of course there was the sexuality that surrounded the murder, which was becoming more intriguing all the time—a fact Leslie wasn’t sure how to handle. Watching Zelda and Jane was even more enticing than her voyeuring at the club. It wasn’t Zelda she was so much interested in as Jane’s style, the way she moved, the expression on her face, and the sternness in her voice. The Domme’s understated sexuality had gotten inside her, strangely working on her the way new lovers always did. She hoped that this wouldn’t skew her viewpoint of Jane as a murder suspect since that could be a dangerous mistake.
