Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

by Lizbeth Dusseau

Zelda didn’t reply.

  “You going to answer, or shall I send you away now?” Jane prodded the kneeling woman with the crop, although she still hadn’t administered one blow.

  “I’ve seen you at Sapphos, I want what you can give me, I’ll do anything to have you, I swear,” Zelda rattled off.

  “Anything? That’s quite a sweeping declaration. I don’t think there’s anyone who could take anything I’m inclined to give them.”

  “Please, Sir Jane,” Zelda looked up, beseeching the cold mistress.

  “You could slave for me for a year, and you wouldn’t please me,” Jane retorted. She walked away then looked back to appraise the bent over woman. Zelda’s head nearly touched the floor, her ass was waving in the air. From the backside, Jane could view her naked pussy and exposed anus. “I don’t like women who throw themselves at me. Is this display suppose to turn me on?” Jane didn’t wait for a reply this time, “Come here,” she demanded.

  Zelda crawled to Jane’s feet, making an even greater effort to bow before the Domme with the right attitude of surrender.

  “You want your ass punished, don’t you?” Jane said, as she ran the crop over Zelda’s rear, for an instant pressing the tasseled end of the thing against her anus.

  “Ouch!”

  “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.

  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.

  To make things even more confusing, the way she and Robin had left each other the night before made their relationship as much a mystery to her as the case itself.

  When the phone jangled it took her four rings to get it as she stumbled over the bathroom rug.

  “Hello,” she answered breathlessly.

  “What’s going on?” Robin asked.

  “Ah, it’s you,” Leslie recognized her partner’s voice.

  “I got a call from Hannah in police records. She did a little more checking on Remy for me, I wanted to see if she could find some police report to confirm the violence that put her in Brightwood.”

  “And?”

  “Remy was arrested for slashing her lover with a knife, caught her in the thigh and abdomen.”

  “Woah. Was she tied up?” Leslie asked.

  “No.”

  “Did the victim die?”

  “No. She was slashed a little but survived. Apparently Remy went nuts, inexplicably, all of a sudden. Then at the last minute, she panicked, and thankfully couldn’t go through with the murder – if that’s what she was planning to do in the first place. Remy was sent away for psychiatric evaluation and never made it back to court after the initial proceedings. She was committed to Brightwood and stayed there for two years.”

  “Was there any indication why she wanted to murder her lover?” Leslie asked.

  “She was losing her to another woman,” Robin said.

  “How interesting. You know, Rob, I think it’s time we confronted the ladies on the hill a little more directly.”

  “Remy and Jane both,” Robin agreed.

  “And no Martha around, this time,” Leslie added.

  “I’ll pick you up at one.

  When Robin and Leslie arrived at Roman Hill that afternoon, they were in luck, finding Remy outside in the big garden by the roses with a pair of trimmers in her hand. Thinking of Robin’s report on the slashing, Leslie shivered seeing the sharp sheers.

  “I thought a few flowers in the house might brighten things. I don’t know how we’re going to get over the gloom here,” Remy said trying to put on a pleasant face.

  “Do you have a minute f
or some questions?” Robin asked.

  “Sure,” Remy answered. Her eyes twinkled softly. It was hard to believe that this woman had a history of crazy behavior. She was a shy woman and peaceful. Her quiet didn’t seem to be a disguise for a violent and troubled soul. Hopefully, she had been cured in her two year stay at Brightwood.

  “We understand that this murder has really shaken you,” Robin said.

  “Wouldn’t it upset anyone?” Remy said, her face suddenly looked quite sad.

  “I’m sure, but I wonder if perhaps this reminds you of your past?” Leslie continued probing gently.

  “My past?” The woman looked instantly distraught.

  “Let’s not beat around the bush. We’re aware of your stay at Brightwood Hospital,” Leslie said.

  Remy’s eyes changed immediately hearing the name. She lowered her head as if she was going to cry.

  “Please, I don’t really want to think about this. You’re right, what just happened here – Felicia’s murder,” she shuddered visibly, “does remind me of that … that other time. People around me were dying left and right. My mother, my brother. My father was terrible. My sanity got away from me. Sometimes I still struggle with it, but I didn’t kill Felicia, I couldn’t.” She was anxious, afraid, as if she had been accused. “I could never do anything like that, tie her up, never.” Remy paused, looking guilty just talking about it.

  “We know Martha and Felicia were into S&M scenes. Did that make you jealous?”

  “Oh no, not really. Martha is wonderful to me,” Remy’s eyes brightened. “She’s taken care of me since Brightwood. I don’t know how I could have done anything without her help – my job, my sanity, everything. I’m so much stronger because of her.”

  “You jealous of her attention to Felicia?”

  “I can’t do those things, and she enjoys it,” Remy explained.

  “That posed no problem in your relationship?”

  “No, not really,” Remy answered with a firm denial.

  “You knew Zelda from Brightwood, too,” Robin moved on.

  “Yes. A long time ago.”