“If you didn’t like Felicia, you fought with her, there wasn’t much in between. And we didn’t like each other. Besides ladies …” There was a mocking tone in her voice, a look in her eye as if she was imagining the two detectives in bondage. “ … I was at the club the night she died, you can check that with the crowd there, they know me well. Even the police, as inefficient as they are, have already figured that out.”
“The club?” Robin asked.
“Sapphos In Chains,” Jane replied.
Robin had heard of it.
“And those ropes,” Jane continued. “Anyone can tie expert knots in minutes. It’s hardly an art.”
“If you didn’t commit the crime, who do you think did?” Robin asked.
“Any of those dames in the big house, who’s to say? Probably Betsy, she may look like an innocent little thing, but she’s a hellion at heart.”
“You know firsthand?” Robin asked.
“Wish I did, but no. I could have really given that wench a good time, better than Felicia. Miss High Horse always pressed people too hard; she didn’t understand tact, and timing and how to use a little gentleness with her obsessions. Then again, that’s likely what killed her, the obsession made her lose her judgment, not that she ever had good judgment, she’d just run out of lives. You know, like a cat, she was on the ninth.” Even as she spoke of Felicia with a healthy degree of scorn, a trace of melancholy remained in her voice.
“Thank you for your help,” Leslie said, with a hasty grin.
The woman nodded and returned to her work.
Leslie and Robin meandered toward the garden on their way to their cars. Stopping at a small patio at the center of the wild vegetation, Leslie eyed an attractive stone fountain, unused, and now filled with dark shiny leaves floating with algae on top of the stagnant water. Rising from the center of the decaying piece, was Venus, naked, standing in an alluring pose of beckoning, with downcast eyes and a facial expression that betrayed her lust.
“Felicia posed for it,” Robin said.
“Why does that not surprise me,” Leslie said, while admiring the simplicity of the well-carved stone. It had once been a lovely statue.
“I watched her for two weeks, standing stock still in the middle of this garden, exactly where the fountain stands now. There was some cosmic reason for that, which escapes me now,” Robin explained, “she was quite stimulating, shivering here with nothing on. It was fall, just before the bad weather, when the days are still warm. I remember the leaves, like they are now, beginning to fall, the red and orange and brown making the picture look as sad as any autumn day. She insisted on posing nude like that even when it was getting too cold. She had to have the work finished by spring, although she was really mad that she couldn’t find a female stone cutter, and all her secrets were carved by a man. Just goes to show that Felicia didn’t always get everything she wanted.”
“What did she want?” Leslie asked. “I mean, for all her wild lifestyle, what was she looking for?”
“I’m not really sure,” Robin answered with a bit of a melancholy sigh, “I certainly don’t think she knew. I suppose if you asked her, she’d tell you what she wanted for that instant. But whether she got what she really needed? I doubt it.”
“So what do you think?” Leslie asked. “Give me the answer: Will we have this wrapped up by the end of the week?”
Robin shook her head, “No. This one is going to take some time. If everybody has their airtight story, we’re going to have to find the flaws, and that’s going to take some searching. One of us needs to check on Jane, the other on the ladies from Maine, and that little tart from New Orleans. If she’s spent two weeks in New Orleans I’d be surprised,” Robin added with a caustic twist.
“I’ll check the club,” Leslie volunteered.
“Really?” Robin looked at her surprised. “I thought you’d leave that to me.”
“No, not on this one, I’ll be more objective. You might end up being the entertainment, rather than getting the information we need.”
“Yeah sure, that’s not my style. I don’t play around in public clubs. But you go ahead and check the place out, it will do you good.”
“What’s that suppose to mean? I’ve been to places like Sapphos before.”
“This time, maybe you’ll appreciate the games, get into them a little, it might help you understand Felicia, and this case, and her killer.”
Leslie considered for a moment her feelings about the S&M scene, one she’d viewed with a good deal of distaste and a dash of judgment, even though she always tried to have a ‘live and let live’ point of view.
“You might understand me better too,” Robin added sardonically.
“I’ll keep that in mind. So what do you have in mind for those three inside?”
“I have a few hunches on the others I want to follow. And I’ll need to talk to Betsy. I haven’t really gotten the flavor of things between all these women yet. There was obviously a lot of fucking around going on, but we’ve got to get behind that to what’s not so apparent between them.”
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?
“Why yes,” Zelda replied, as if Martha should understand completely.
Martha took the butter paddle from her, inspecting the redheaded vamp with a careful eye. They didn’t know each other well, having Remy in common, but little else. Even she could be the murderer. But it still didn’t detract from the delicious redhead’s erotic allure. She wanted her hands on her breasts. She wanted to kiss her neck and run her nails down her torso. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to start her with a red ass. A sudden explosion of unfulfilled needs raced through Martha’s veins. She missed this kind of thing; Remy only wanted her sex soft and gentle. “Drop your shorts,” she said, taking on a commanding tone of voice.
Zelda smiled happily, her eyes seductive and warm, as she backed away from the counter and reached for the waistband of her shorts. She did a fine job playing the naughty vixen.
“You know it’s not quite the same,” Martha said, “Felicia was wearing a red flowered sundress. I remember it so well.”
“But an ass is an ass,” Zelda said, sweetly, as she unzipped the pink shorts and let them fall to the floor.
It was a sweet cunt that gazed back at Martha, a luscious little triangle between a pair of white thighs, with soft red curls that were already dewy wet.
“Felicia bent over the table and pulled up her dress. I didn’t even have to ask her,” Martha continued.
Zelda bit her lip while smiling coyly and turned around, bending over the heavy butcher block table behind her.
“She spread her ass for me with her hands, digging her nails into her bottom until her cheeks blushed pink,” Martha added.
Zelda reached around and planted a hand on each ass cheek, squeezing her bottom roughly, then pulling the cheeks apart the way Felicia had done.
Martha viewed with mounting lust the alabaster white bottom, which was now beginning to turn red. She remembered Felicia’s well; it was only weeks ago that their games began. Always out of the blue, moments of stolen lust when Remy and Betsy weren’t around. This ass was whiter than Felicia’s and broader. The pleasantly plump Zelda, like her name, was a woman from another time—and maybe not unlike Felicia, Martha was beginning to think. Although she figured that Zelda was more of a dabbler than Felicia was—the Diva of Roman Hill was serious about her infinite lusts.
“She wanted it to hurt,” Martha said approaching the fine round ass.
“Hummm yes, make it hurt,” the redhead murmured, taking her hands from her bottom, and grabbing the far edge of the table.
Martha waited until the red scratches faded away before beginning. Then drawing back her arm, she brought the paddle down firmly on Zelda’s naked bottom. Martha watched the woman’s body jerk, her flesh jiggle, and the red rise in the imprint of the paddle’s oval end, right at the center of the round ass cheek. She smacked her a dozen times more, hearing a low sensuous growl from Zelda’s lips.
Then Martha suddenly dropped the paddle, wanting to feel Zelda’s flesh. She slapped the surface with the palm of her hand, and noting the way the woman whimpered, she guessed that Zelda wanted more. More enthused than ever, Martha pelted the redhead with one sharp strike after another. Then she picked up the paddle again and began another ferocious excursion around the bright red flesh.
“Oh yes, please!” Zelda cried, “Make it hurt more, damn yes!”
A burning heat rose between Martha’s thighs, the sensation torrid like a wonderful bath of pleasure – just the way it had been with the sultry sorceress of this house. Dropping the paddle again, Martha’s hand reached into Zelda’s cunt and found a wet stream of female juice flowing over her hand.
“Have you cum yet?” she asked.
“No. Spank me more!”
“More?”
“Yes, ma’am, I want to cry,” Zelda purred. For a moment the redhead reached back and played with her own red ass, but then anticipating another round of blows from the paddle, she brought her hands back to hold on to the table edge.
This time Martha paddled the woman in a rain of blows that didn’t cease until she heard the woman cry, and saw that a flood of tears had finally spilled from Zelda’s green eyes. However, there was little protest coming from the spanked redhead; the abuse was what she longed for. Although on the heels of the painful punishment, Zelda’s need to be hurt transformed into a need for sexual release.
“Please, suck me,” she groaned loudly. As the paddle halted its vicious excursion, Zelda provocatively swayed her red ass before Martha’s eyes.
“You little slut!” the woman gave her butt a hard smack. “Get on the table and show me your tits!”
Zelda stood up, turned around and pulled her blouse away, revealing her voluptuous body, now sticky with sweat and her chest heaving with desire. “God. I need you now, let’s go upstairs.”
“No. No. Not upstairs, on the porch,” Martha countered, taking the redhead by her hand and leading her to the back porch, where Felicia’s pink floral chaise lounge lay empty.
Martha stripped while Zelda lay back looking at the woman’s naked breasts. Martha’s soft body would be a mellow pleasure to enjoy. The wispy black hair covering her cunt was glistening with obvious sexual arousal.
“You like your body spanked?” Martha asked, as she descended on the reclining Zelda.
“Yes, I do, and I like sex rough.”
“You like leather and whips too?”
Not hearing an answer, Martha put her head between Zelda’s tits and kissed her there, then she squeezed the fleshy mounds so hard that the woman squealed, the hurt as delightful as Martha’s kisses.
“Oh ma’am, more,” Zelda moaned.
“You lovely bitch,” the older woman softly exclaimed. She nibbled at Zelda’s soft pink nipples, then bit the white skin, sinking her teeth into the pearly flesh. When she backed away, there was a quarter-sized red mark against the pale background. Martha smacked her more, on her thighs, her breasts, her raw ass, making her way about the eager body with equally eager intent. She pulled the red pussy hair, and listened to Zelda squeal. She pulled on it harder until tears formed in the slut’s green eyes. Three of Martha’s fingers slipped inside the wet sloshy cunt, while her mouth descended on a bright pink swollen clit.
Zelda gasped loudly as her body tensed, released and tensed again, so that Martha could feel the muscles pulsing against her penetrating fingers.
“Oooo, my yes more,” Zelda’s quiet wh
imper continued, as she lifted her groin to meet the hardworking mouth.
Then, suddenly, she went limp… the climax had come and gone in one crazed moment of bliss. For some moments, a calm silence surrounded the two until Zelda opened her eyes to see Martha staring at her from between her wide open legs. “You’re a fine Domme, ma’am,” she purred, meek as a kitten. “I’ll bet you want yours now, don’t you, ma’am?”
“Yes, I’ll have mine now, little bitch, or I’ll really whip you,” Martha said.
“Hum. What a choice!” Zelda pulled Martha down against her sweaty flesh, and they exchanged places on the chaise. With Martha’s legs spread wide, Zelda made a feast on the succulent cunt, running her tongue along the wet hole, sucking at the hard bud of her clit, and pulling gently at Martha’s plump labia. The redhead listened for the response, hearing a welcome groaning noise greet her ears, so melodic and intensely private a sound, until Martha’s cumming deepened. As the fluid orgasm rippled through the voluptuous body, she let out a vibrant, “Ahhhh, yes.”
The two remained pressed against each other on the small space of the chaise lounge, quietly recovering. So intimately intertwined, it almost seemed that they had been lovers for years, not just an hour. They heard the birds and their pleasant afternoon chirping, the hum of insects, and the distant sounds of the city.
“Maybe this was a way to repair ourselves after the death,” Martha suggested, as much to herself as Zelda. It had been a good release.
“Maybe, I guess for you perhaps,” Zelda suggested. “But I hardly knew her.” The once warmly passionate redhead sounded strangely cold and detached now.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Martha agreed.
Zelda propped herself up on one elbow and looked at the naked body next to hers.
“Felicia let you make love to her?” the redhead asked curiously.
“I wouldn’t call it making love. Love was never the feeling I had with Felicia. She liked to play with me, and she liked me on top,” Martha replied.
“You were her Mistress?”
“Not really, I always had the feeling that she had someone else that took her places I’d never even think of going.”
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