Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  The blonde detective moved around the room slowly, opening doors and drawers, but not really looking beyond the surface of things. Occasionally she looked back at the turret sitting area as if there was something there that she was trying see, and yet hadn’t been able to. She went about the whole room doing this strange cursory inspection. Her mind like a mad scientist’s. Leslie was certain that her partner would soon spin out of control if she didn’t come to a verdict soon.

  “Robin … ?” She wanted to hear her speak her mind.

  Robin stopped in her tracks, while her eyes continued to move from place to place. “You know I can almost hear her laughing at me right now, as if we’re little kids playing hide and seek, and she’s giggling in some dark corner. I know there’s something in this room that no one has seen. It’s like she’s toying with me. I’ve got goosebumps all over.” That was Robin’s sure sign of cosmic truth about to descend.

  “So, what is it?” Leslie prodded.

  “It’s so strange in here,” Robin started. She started on her trek again, opening more of the infinite cubbyholes and hiding places scattered around the room. “I guess I’m time warping, remembering this room, it hasn’t changed very much since I was here. But don’t you think it’s kinda strange, there’s really nothing that personal around here, certainly nothing of Betsy’s? And all these things, these pictures and figurines, they’re all the same as they used to be. Seems odd to me. I wonder in all her jumbled disordered life, if this room wasn’t the one place that was stable for Felicia. Perhaps this house was her anchor, what kept her from really going out of control. I was thinking about what Jane said, that she couldn’t give this up. I can’t imagine Felicia ever living anywhere but here; she was a very provincial woman.”

  Leslie listened, content to let her partner ramble.

  “She liked it here, she used to sit in the window …” Robin’s voice drifted off, as she moved toward the turret, her eyes on the footstool. Had she found something? Suddenly grabbing the small piece of furniture, Robin pried the top of the cushioned seat off the four legged base. With little effort it came loose, spilling a white dog-eared envelope onto the floor.

  “I knew it!” She threw the stool aside and picked up the envelope. Sitting down in the chair behind her, Robin opened the envelope and pulled out the contents.

  “Your source at Sapphos was right. Look,” Robin said. She handed Leslie the photographs after glancing at each one. They were pictures of Felicia tied to her bed, not unlike the pictures of her at her death. The delayed action of the camera had caught Jane Hugh in the act of whipping Felicia’s rear end. In other pictures Jane was shoving a dildo in the woman’s ass, still another showed Felicia at Jane’s feet, her head pressed to the carpet, with a riding crop at her back. Red marks showed that this was no passive staged pose; Jane was in the process of punishing her. The expression on Felicia’s face was remarkable: a little anguish, a little pain and fear, and a degree of contentment that was mesmerizing. Frozen in the white frame of the photographs, Felicia looked alive, as if she could walk right out of the picture as big as life. So very different than the violent peace of her death, though that death seemed all the more fitting after seeing startling images.

  “How did you know they would be here?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure, except that I flashed on this picture of Felicia sitting by these windows—she loved this view of the grounds. She’d meditate here for hours sometimes; I often wondered what she was cooking up in that bizarre little brain of hers. I remember walking in on her one day; she had her hand in her cunt and was teasing herself to climax. I stood stock still and watched her masturbate. She knew I was there, but she kept going, not for an instant missing a stroke. It was really lovely … Felicia there in her paisley print dress, the skirt pulled up, her naked cunt all pink and wet, responding to her thoughts and probing fingers.”

  “Perhaps she was looking at pictures then?” Leslie asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. That was long before her obsession with the camera, but I can imagine her sitting here in recent weeks, looking through these photographs and getting re-charged by what had been captured on film. I wondered where she might have hidden them and this seemed like an obvious choice.”

  “Well, you got results,” Leslie said happily.

  “Did you notice the ropes?” Robin returned to a picture of Felicia tied to the bed.

  Leslie studied the color photographs for a few moments. The ropes were tied the way they were tied in the photographs of her dead body. “Exactly, the same knots the murderer used,” Leslie said. “A reason to implicate Jane?”

  “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Robin answered.

  “Maybe it’s time to talk to her again,” Leslie suggested.

  “Yes. It’s getting very close,” Robin said.

  Chapter Nine

  Zelda walked along the garden path, making her way toward Jane Hugh’s cottage. She was purposeful in her intentions, knowing exactly what she wanted after having been at Roman Hill for the last dozen days. She hoped that she would have made as distinct an impression on Jane, as Jane had made on her. Not seeing the Dom anywhere around her gardens, Zelda knocked on the cottage door. She knocked again when no one answered.

  “You looking for me?”

  Zelda turned to see the object of her search standing behind her some five feet, looking lusciously handsome as usual. “In fact I was,” Zelda replied, flashing the woman a grin.

  “And why’s that?” Jane asked. She wore a pair of jeans, her cowboy boots and a plain black shirt. Small silver hoops hung in her ears, one with a dangling cross; otherwise she was as plainly dressed as usual. Her close cropped hair had its usual spikey look.

  “I thought, perhaps,” Zelda hedged, her whole essence seemed to change…to soften, her eyes smoldered with lust, “maybe we could spend some time together.”

  “What in heaven’s name for?” Jane asked.

  “I think we have some common fetishes,” Zelda said.

  “Oh? You want me to make you submit? That would be the only thing we have in common.”

  “I think we could have some fun.”

  “You know, I don’t do just anyone, Zelda,” Jane said. “I have to have some motivation. Your little games with Martha were hardly inspiring.”

  “That’s what I mean. Martha is rather uninspiring. And she’s kinda pent-up about Felicia’s death. I wanted someone who wasn’t so wrapped up in this drama.” She cocked her head, winsomely, which Jane thought was rather silly.

  “I’m going to the funeral,” Jane informed her. “I really don’t have time.”

  “I’m going, too, but maybe afterward? Could release a lot of tension.”

  “I see your point. But why would I want you?”

  “You have no idea how inventive I can be, how much I like to be whipped, and played with, and teased into pain.”

  “That so,” Jane said, flatly, unimpressed. She passed Zelda on the walkway, and opened the cottage door.

  “Okay, so you can suck my cunt, bitch. Bring me off, then I’ll see what I can do for you later.”

  Zelda smiled happily. Walking through the cottage door, she was about to close it.

  “No, leave it open. Anyone here can see what you’re like.”

  “Oh, my, you are devilish,” Zelda whispered.

  “I’m more than that, get on the floor, slut.”

  Zelda instantly dropped to her knees and crawled to Jane, whose pants were already open, with her pussy waiting to be served.

  “You fuck this up, bitch, you’ll get nothing,” Jane threatened. Taking a handful of Zelda’s hair in her hand, she pulled the woman’s head to her cunt.

  Zelda squealed with delight and planted her mouth on Jane’s ripe snatch. Jane hadn’t liked the woman from the moment they first met, but she was the kind of lesbian she liked to brutally ravage. The weasely affectation in Zelda’s voice, those rolling eyes, and suggestive body language was all so repul
sive that she would love to slap her face, and keep her on her knees, making her crawl for weeks and eat off the floor before she’d give her one ounce, one iota of consideration. She’d wipe the flippant grin off her face.

  Zelda did have a way with her tongue, divine technique. She knew how to flick Jane’s clitoris as if she’d been doing it for years. And then with the fingering around her sensitive hole, the Domme was quickly on the verge of orgasm. Zelda was right about one thing, the tension reliever would be welcome after all the rigmarole they’d been through in the last few days. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to Felicia’s funeral.

  Zelda played with unguarded enthusiasm; from beginning to end, her submissive inclinations were obvious, her ability as a cunt sucker just as evident.

  “Keep it up, bitch,” Jane said.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad to top. Jane didn’t really think she’d be up for the club that night, unless she raged through the place and kicked ass with all her favorites. The girls would probably be waiting for her; but then again, maybe she’d surprise them all – including herself – and stay home dispensing a weeks’ worth of whippings on this voluptuously contemptible creature.

  The more the woman sucked her, the hotter Jane got. She pulled Zelda’s hair with such abandon that the little subbie should have squealed in protest. Zelda, however, remained attentive to her task as if the outcome actually mattered.

  “Goddam fuuuucccck!” Jane blurted out, her only exclamation of pleasure, as she rocked against Zelda’s perky face with a whorish glee, spewing cum on her soft pink cheeks. Once she finished, Jane roughly shoved her away, and Zelda sat back meekly on her haunches with cum still glistening on her face.

  “Have I pleased you, sir?” she looked up longingly.

  “No,” Jane answered. “You talk too much, slut. But you come to me tonight at eight and I’ll teach you a few lessons in manners. And don’t bother wearing any clothes, I’d burn them in the fireplace if you did.”

  “Yes sir,” Zelda replied, pleased.

  “Did you get me right? You show up at my door naked.”

  “Yes sir.” The thrill was almost too much for Zelda to take in.

  ***

  “We’ll confront Jane after the funeral,” Robin announced, as she sat back in Felicia’s chair, looking out on Felicia’s world with the pictures still in her hands. The eroticism of the images had aroused both PIs.

  “You think she’s guilty?” Leslie asked.

  “Frankly no, but we wouldn’t be doing a very good job for Betsy if we ignore the fact that Jane didn’t offer any information on her relationship with Felicia and that she lied to us about her S&M and Roman Hill. That’s not even considering the ropes, which she seems to think aren’t important.”

  “Well, the woman seems to be good at explaining, let her explain all of this,” Leslie suggested. She stared down at one picture of Jane, a particularly intimate pose between dominant and submissive, one with Jane’s expression grim and caring all at the same time. It was the one expression that stirred Leslie’s sexual desires every time she glanced at the photograph. “Does Jane turn you on at all?” she asked her partner.

  “Does she you?” Robin returned the question without answering.

  Leslie stared at the picture again. “I think she does. Yes.”

  “That’s a switch,” Robin replied, thinking of the many years of Leslie’s denials. Never would a butch leather dyke catch her partner’s attention, let alone engender her lust. “All that leather is too much for me,” she’d say.

  “So, how about answering my question,” Leslie jerked her partner from her thoughts.

  Robin looked up. “Does Sir Jane turn me on?” she stared off into space. “I imagine, she could top me in a second, and I’d do everything that woman said. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s got some kind of genius about her sexuality.”

  “I didn’t think you went for her type any more than I do.”

  “Everyone’s different Les, and she certainly is. If you can change your ideas about what turns you on, don’t you suppose I can too? Jane Hugh’s about the most exciting Femme Domme I’ve ever been around. Although, I have no idea why.”

  The funeral was an exquisite piece of theatre, planned by Betsy, although Betsy wasn’t in attendance. Felicia’s death managed to attract a number of community celebrities, a few writers of some prominence, and a wide range of personalities that made her finale with the world an interesting, though uneventful parting. The service was simple, elegant and understated in a way Felicia never was.

  “She looked rather like herself, don’t you think?” Robin said, as she and Leslie walked away from the chapel. “I’m amazed what a mortician can do with a dead body anymore. He certainly didn’t take away any of her haughtiness; it was all there as plain as day.”

  “But not her mirth,” Leslie suggested. “I think that’s what I remember about her, the few times we crossed paths.”

  “But the haughtiness was more genuine,” Robin said.

  “I don’t agree, but then I didn’t know her the way you did. So, what great revelations did you get from the last hour?” Leslie asked.

  “None,” Robin sighed. “Our little women, Jane included were on their best behavior, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect. If Jane has all this affection for Felicia, she didn’t show much.”

  “Maybe just showing up was important for her. If she had the nasty kind of relationship with Felicia that everyone thought, she wouldn’t be here at all,” Robin reasoned. “If Felicia was a particularly special submissive in her host of submissives, then showing up at the funeral was a sign of respect that Jane wouldn’t give to just anyone.”

  “Maybe she was really gloating because she murdered her. She is the suspect with the most motive, opportunity, and circumstantial evidence in her favor, outside of Betsy of course.”

  “Too bad Betsy couldn’t make it,” Robin said, sadly.

  “Yeah, she cried her eyes out with John yesterday, he told me,” Leslie said. “She may have been on her way out Felicia’s door, but I don’t think she wanted anything to end like this.”

  The two detectives watched the crowd at the chapel leave for the cemetery. Martha, Remy and Zelda left together in Martha’s car. And Jane roared away in her old beat-up coupe.

  “Looks like we won’t be talking to Jane until later,” Robin said. “Maybe we can find her at the Hill tonight.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Leslie said.

  The two left in separate cars.

  Chapter Ten

  Zelda could not believe what luck she’d had to attract Jane’s attention for the night. This was one woman she’d wanted badly since her arrival at Roman Hill, though she was the one woman she figured would be off limits. The thought of being Jane Hugh’s slave for the night had her mind reeling with the terrifying possibilities.

  Now making her way into the garden by the dusky light of evening, she marveled at Jane’s innate brilliance – making her strip even before she even knocked at her door. Made the whole scene utterly thrilling. Taking off her dress, a little slip of a thing with nothing underneath, she stuffed it behind a bush, to find later when the session was over. It was not completely dark, a fact that made Zelda’s nakedness all the more titillating to the needy female. Stepping back into the path, she hustled quickly to Jane’s cottage and knocked on the door. Gazing around, she nervously looked to see if anyone was spying on the scene, being unsure whether she wanted a voyeur, or wanted to remain undiscovered. It could be a messy situation being found out like this.

  Not surprisingly, Jane made Zelda wait for several interminable minutes before she finally opened the cottage door.

  “On the floor bitch,” Jane immediately ordered, and as Zelda had done with other lovers, at other times, she instantly heeded her new Domme’s command.

  Jane clamped a collar around her neck and led the willing submissive to an empty space inside her living room. The cottage was
actually one large but functional room, complete with the living area, a bedroom alcove, and a kitchen with a small dinette sitting in a bay window, which overlooked the wooded grounds of the estate. In addition to the usual furniture, the cottage was furnished with rings embedded into the brick walls, a pulley system cleverly hidden in the ceiling, and a couple of odd looking benches that were designed for specific purposes; all these things throwbacks to the years before when Felicia had used the cottage for her secretive S&M games. The items were left in the cottage, and when Jane moved in, she appropriated them for her own use.

  Opening a cabinet on the wall, Jane revealed the implements of her craft: whips, chains, leather and ropes in an abundance of sizes and arrangements that would please any dominant – or submissive. There were ball gags, collars, clothespins, and for this occasion a long thin riding crop which she withdrew from the cabinet.

  Turning her head to the side, Zelda saw the three-inch tasseled end of the crop dangling by the side of her face. Jane ran the tassel along the redhead’s skin, against her shoulders and back, and then even across her brow and lips – an act as tender as any lover’s kiss – even the wanting submissive knew that tassel could bite like fire.

  “Well, my little bitch, you suck pussy well,” Jane said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not about to spend my time with you unless you prove you’re worth it,” Jane continued. “You think you’re an experienced little slut. You know just what to call me. All the right words, all the slavish groveling moves any good subbie knows by heart. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zelda replied. The scene was going as she hoped it would.

  “But I wonder why you bother coming here, throwing your brash little bitch body at me, when you know I don’t like you. Hum?”