The Black Widow

by Lisette Ashton

  ‘I’ve decided what I’m having,’ Violet said firmly. ‘Would you care to come around here, Jo?’ she asked, sliding her chair away from the table. Her voice was rich with artificial sweetness.

  Still enticed by the vision of Wendy, Jo barely glanced at Violet. She drained her glass of Jack Daniel’s, stood up and walked purposefully round the table. Staring down at the seated woman, Jo was struck by a peculiar contradiction: the woman’s nudity should have inspired a wave of excitement but Jo felt nothing. Violet was powerfully attractive with a pretty face, and, while her naked body was not perfect, it had enough allure to make it more than desirable. Yet Jo studied her nude form with casual indifference. Her thoughts were locked on the enticing contours of Wendy’s athletic body and her mind was already indulging itself in the carnal pleasures of knowing the health farm’s assistant manger.

  Violet was as stunning as Wendy, if not quite as athletic. She was resting back in her chair. One hand was teasing the hard bud of her nipple, while the other toyed deliberately through the hairs around her pussy. Jo thought she looked like a picture of sensuality but that did not help to arouse any feelings inside her. She knew that the flutter of wet excitement between her legs had been caused by Wendy and she intended satisfying that warmth with the woman who had inspired it.

  ‘Kneel down,’ Violet suggested graciously. ‘I’m sure you’ll be far more comfortable if you do that.’

  Jo smiled and moved closer. Her mind was working quickly as she tried to think of a way out of this situation. She did not want to be with Violet; she wanted to be with Wendy. Not only did Jo find the other woman more appealing, she also believed that Wendy would be able to help her with the case.

  An idea struck her and she smiled thoughtful to herself.

  She was barely conscious of her own nudity as she stepped closer, even when her legs brushed lightly against the intimate flesh of Violet’s inner thighs. The fact that they were both stark naked was so far from her mind it was almost peripheral. Rather than simply kneeling, as she had been instructed, Jo lowered herself down slowly. She held Violet’s gaze with her own, unintimidated by the woman’s silent, against Violet’s shoulders as she moved. By the time she was actually at eye level, Jo could feel the hardened nubs of her nipples dancing coolly against Violet’s.

  Their lips were kissing distance apart and Jo could feel the woman trembling with excitement. She saw the intensity of Violet’s arousal reflected in her shining eyes.

  With a gentle flick of her head, Jo nodded backward, encouraging the woman to sit up in her chair.

  Warily, Violet eased herself forward, moving her mouth closer to Jo’s.

  Jo lowered her lips to Violet’s cheek and delivered a soft, delicate kiss. Encourage by the gentle shudder of the woman’s body, she, moved her kiss on the slender smoothness of Violet’s neck. At the same time, the tips of her fingers rubbed over the swell of the woman’s nipples. Pressing her lips below Violet’s ear, Jo allowed the tip of her tongue to trace against the sensitive flesh. Quietly, so that the others could not hear, she whispered, ‘Why don’t we do this some other night?’

  Violet sighed softly, warmed by the combination of Jo’s kisses and the stimulation of the fingers at her breasts. ‘Why not tonight?’ she asked, breathing the words in the same low, inaudible tone.

  ‘Because tonight,’ Jo reminded her, ‘you can have Bryn and Allen. If you don’t win another game of cards this evening, you might not get the chance to have them, like you wanted.’ As she said the words, Jo dared to tease a finger against the heated wetness between Violet’s legs. ‘And from what you said before,’ Jo went on, ‘I think I know just how you wanted them.’

  Together with her words, the gentle stimulation of Jo’s finger was encouragement enough. Violet took a long, lingering look at Jo, her gaze seeming to dwell on the rise of her breasts. With a smile that could have been tinged with sadness, Violet turned her head away and glanced at Allen. ‘Did you tell me to pick something nice?’ She held a hand up, effectively pushing Jo away from herself as she spoke.

  ‘I think I did make some suggestion like that,’ Allen conceded. He studied Violet with a cynical frown. ‘Have you decided that what you were planning wasn’t nice?’

  Violet dismissed his patronising tone with a wave of her hand. She glanced at Bryn, then stared directly at Allen. Jo realised she was forgotten in the midst of all this and slid easily back to her chair.

  ‘You told me the pair of you would “fill me up” tonight,’ Violet reminded Allen. ‘Was that just an idle threat or am I likely to see some action?’

  Allen laughed softly. ‘You know how to lay down a challenge,’ he observed, reluctant admiration tainting his words. Because she was sitting next to him, he was able to reach out a hand and touch her as he spoke. The tips of his fingers caressed her shoulder, moving down to her arm, then to the swell of her breast.

  Violet caught a breath in her throat. She studied Allen with the glint of renewed excitement shining in her eyes. Her hand reached out to the eager length that sprouted from between his legs. Curling her fingers round his erection, she began to tease his foreskin slowly backward and forward.

  ‘Are you sure you want to try this?’ Allen persisted. His fingertips were tracing a lazy circle round her smooth areolae.

  Jo realised that his calm voice and earnest tone were carefully calculated tools. The more he asked Violet if she was sure about what she wanted, the more she was being forced to think about the pleasures that lay ahead. Listening to Allen’s dulcet voice, Jo could picture both men in action, rubbing their naked bodies furiously against any woman lucky enough to be wanted by them. She could only imagine how exciting that thought was for Violet and she envied the woman her good fortune.

  Reaching from behind, Bryn placed a tentative hand on Violet’s shoulder.

  She turned her head so she could face him, then their mouths were locked and they were embracing one another in an awkward kiss.

  Transfixed by the scene, Jo watched the woman being teased by the two men. As Bryn kissed Violet’s mouth, Allen dropped from his chair and knelt in front of her. Her naked body was completely exposed to him and he hesitated for an instant before placing his lips against her breast. Jo could see him grinning as he did this, sliding a finger against the wetness between Violet’s legs as his tongue did a dance against the proud thrust of her nipple.

  Not that Violet was resting idly while the two men pleasured her. Allen had moved his cock out of her reach so now she was having to content herself with playing with Bryn’s erection. Her hand went quickly over his shaft, tugging him to full hardness, then rolled up and down in long, languid strokes.

  Bryn sighed heavily, still kissing Violet as she wanked him.

  ‘We have to talk.’

  Jo was surprised by the urgency of the words whispered in her ear. She tore her gaze from the scene of Violet’s pleasuring and glanced into Wendy’s concerned face. She frowned at the seriousness she saw there. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Wendy seemed to consider this question, looked doubtful for a moment, then nodded her head anyway. ‘Mrs Meadows sent you, didn’t she?’

  Jo rolled her eyes. One of these days, I’ll get through a case without being spotted, she thought. She nodded by way of reluctant reply and, in the same whispered tone that Wendy was using, she said, ‘Yes. The real Mrs Meadows sent me.’

  Wendy did not seem surprised by the way she said this. She pushed her chair back, held out her hand, and waited for Jo to take it.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Jo asked quietly.

  ‘We have to talk,’ Wendy reminded her. ‘And it really should be in private.’

  Jo glanced at the others. Violet was locked in the throes of euphoric bliss and would not have noticed if Jo and Wendy had suddenly grown additional heads. Although they did not seem to be enjoying the same exaggerated degree of bliss, both Bryn and Allen also seemed wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

  ‘We won’t be mi
ssed,’ Wendy assured Jo, ‘and this is important.’

  Nodding somberly, Jo shrugged her robe back on, then snatched the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the centre of the table. Caught by Wendy’s disapproving frown, Jo exercised a conciliatory smile. ‘We can drink and talk,’ she assured her.

  Wendy shook her head from side to side. She took the bottle out of Jo’s hand, patently intending to put it somewhere safe. Jo was attempting to retrieve the bottle when she felt the electric spark of Wendy’s touch. The woman’s fingertips seemed to brush exactly the right spot on her wrist, creating a sensation so intense that Jo felt as if she had been slapped. It was clear that Wendy had experienced the same sensation. Jo saw the woman was staring at her with wary excitement.

  Leaving the whiskey bottle, Jo took a brave step towards Wendy and pressed herself close. Her desire to touch the woman and hold her naked body was burning uncontrollably. After tugging the cord of the woman’s dressing-gown, then unfastening her own, she pulled the layers of fabric from between them.

  Wendy gave a small gasp.

  Jo barely heard the sound, busy making a similar noise herself. Wendy’s warm, nubile body was touching hers and the excitement it generated was infuriating. Jo could feel the rise of her own breasts being pressed against the delightful, unfamiliar contours of Wendy’s. Unable to stop herself, she placed a hand on the woman’s slender waist and stroked the soft, silky flesh.

  Again, Wendy sighed.

  Jo realised the woman was sharing her immense excitement even before Wendy touched her nipple with a tentative fingertip. The woman’s tortured breathing and her eager smile were giveaway signs. Unable to resist the urge, Jo pushed her mouth forward and they kissed. Their tongues met in a furious, wet exploration. At the same time, they caressed each other’s bodies with the deft strokes of inquisitive intimates. Jo could feel her excitement intensifying and wondered vaguely if she might achieve orgasm from something as simple as a kiss. She supposed it was possible, but the demands of her growing sexual appetite assured her she would not attempt such an experiment this evening. Grinding her hips against the woman, Jo moved her hands to Wendy’s buttocks. She allowed the tips of her fingers to caress the peachlike orbs before kneading the flesh in a subtle lover’s massage. Holding her gently, Jo continued to ride her pelvic bone up and down. She was purposely rubbing her clitoris against Wendy’s leg and she doubted the woman could remain unmoved by the intimacy.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when, after breaking their kiss, Wendy whispered, the tremor of dark arousal tainting her words, ‘Let’s go to a bedroom.’

  Jo nodded. ‘Mine or yours?’

  Wendy shrugged, as though the matter was of no consequence. ‘Yours,’ she began, then stopped herself. A frown creased her brow and she studied Jo thoughtfully. ‘The Black Widow didn’t get a chance to visit you today, did she?’

  Jo shook her head.

  Wendy nodded and said, ‘Then, if that’s the case, we’ll go to my room. We wouldn’t want her to come looking for you and have her disturb us, would we?’

  Seeing the exciting promise that lurked in Wendy’s eyes, Jo knew that she did not want anything to interrupt this evening. She cast a last, hesitant glance at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and then decided there were more important things. Squeezing Wendy’s hand affectionately, she took an appreciative glance at the woman’s nudity before she fastened her robe. Wendy was right, Jo agreed. Nothing should disturb this evening for them.

  Hand in hand, smiling eagerly at one another, the two women left the kitchen.

  Eight

  The deafening beat of the music rolled in waves all around her. Sam was lost in the rhythm of the music. As she rocked her head from side to side, her wig of long blonde hair whirled about her face in chaotic tresses. Beneath the pulsing lights of the nightclub, each strand shone with a million different colours.

  Because her job at the Good Night Club called for it, she was topless. Her small, pert breasts swayed with each flounce of her hips, jostling provocatively for anyone who cared to look. She was wearing stockings and short skirt, allowing the hem to rise and fall with each rhythmic sway. She did not know if any of the clientele had noticed but she had removed the cutting G-string that was meant to be a part of her costume. Rather than wearing the flimsy piece of fabric, her sex was completely naked beneath her skirt. She had felt exciting and daring in doing this. Not only was her pussy bare but she had gone to the trouble of shaving the lips so that they were now a thin pouting line of pink. Unused to the sensation of being shaved, she had spent an entertaining morning exploring the pleasure that came from touching the silky, smooth flesh of her depilated sex.

  A man snapped his fingers, summoning her presence with uncouth arrogance. Normally Sam would have feigned deafness and not even considered allowing him the pleasure of watching her dance. However, he was sitting at Faye Meadows’ table and Sam was glad of the opportunity to dance near there. Faye Meadows seemed to do most of her business from this table and Sam felt it was the right place to find out more about the current case. There was something about the limited information she had given that did not ring true for Sam. Because the workload for the new office was sparse, Sam had been able to spend several hours researching the client. Some of the things she had uncovered about Faye Meadows were quite surprising and added to the growing mystery. Because she wanted to be a good private investigator, and because this was her first real case with a wage at the end of it, Sam wanted to do things properly.

  Also, there was something irresistible about the prospect of dressing up in a wig and stockings and taking a job as lap dancer. The whole idea was so seedy she felt herself being drawn to the job’s lurid charms. Using the excuse that an undercover operation was necessary, Sam had thrown herself into the role.

  She glanced at the man who had called for her, aware that this face seemed vaguely familiar. Stepping over to the space in front of him, she continued to rock and sway in time with the music’s calypso beat. She did not think she had seen him in the nightclub before: she knew him from somewhere else. For the moment, exactly where eluded her. At the back of her mind, she knew she would have had a better chance of recognising him if she had worn her glasses. However, they were tucked away in the single pocket of her skirt and she did not want to break the eroticism of the moment by pulling them out, putting them on and peering owlishly at him.

  The dancing was proving to be a surprising amount of fun for Sam. While she had always believed herself to be slightly daring, she had never considered herself an exhibitionist. Having spent the previous night, and most of this one, displaying herself to anyone who cared to watch, she found herself thrilling to the unexpected pleasure of such perversity. The smiles of approval and the expressions of unabashed lust were more than just reward. Since starting work at the Good Night Club she had found herself in a state of almost constant arousal. Throughout the day, as she manned the office and took care of the day-to-day requirements of the business, her thoughts were constantly turning to the pleasure of her undercover work. Admittedly, it could have been a lot more fulfilling. There were times, like this one, when she was having to dance in front of someone she did not particularly like, but there were worse things in the world, she told herself pragmatically.

  And the situation was not completely lost. She was working as a lap dancer and knew that her performance was not just being admired by the men at Faye Meadows’ table. A couple of broad-shouldered guys at the bar had already passed her knowing winks, and she thought she had been graced by a daring smile of approval from one of the waitresses. It was Sam’s intention to try to find out later if the woman had been giving a come-on, or if she was simply the annoyingly friendly type. Fervently, Sam hoped it was the former of these two options. She had not enjoyed sleeping on her own since Jo went to Elysian Fields. The thought of going to sleep in someone’s arms appealed to her and the waitress’s warm smile had seemed genuine and reassuring. Determined to find the young woman once she
had finished this dance, Sam threw herself into her work. She smiled disarmingly at the man who had summoned her, allowing her grin to encompass the second man sitting beside him.

  ‘Get rid of her,’ the second man complained unhappily. ‘We have to talk.’

  The man who had summoned Sam shook his head. ‘We’ll talk when Faye gets here. For now, I want to enjoy myself.’

  ‘You’ve been enjoying yourself too much lately. You were enjoying yourself with Poppy, and that could have led to problems. We’re going to end up in serious trouble here. I know it, Arthur.’

  Arthur waved his hand in an impatient gesture, silencing his companion’s worries. All the time his gaze was fixed on Sam as she rocked her hips provocatively in front of him. His eyes flitted shrewdly from side to side as he followed the mesmerising sway of her breasts.

  Sam grinned lewdly. She watched the man reach into his jacket pocket and produce a crisp note. Wafting it in front of her, he beckoned for her to move closer.

  Smiling, she moved forward.

  ‘I don’t like this, Arthur,’ the other man mumbled unhappily. ‘We could get into a lot of trouble. If Faye finds out what we’re doing with her money –’

  ‘She won’t find out anything, Derek,’ Arthur broke in firmly. ‘Not unless you keep opening your stupid big mouth in the wrong place.’ Arthur fixed him with a silencing glare, momentarily ignoring Sam. ‘We’ve been running the risk of suffering some catastrophe since we started working for the bloody Meadows clan. Sky could have screwed our practice with a bigger fucking lawsuit than we’ve ever dealt with. Instead, she’s being fair with us. She just wants us to help her get what she thinks is rightfully hers.’

  ‘It’s called stealing, Arthur,’ Derek insisted. He folded his arms and frowned heavily. ‘No matter how you dress it up, it’s still stealing.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘You’re a pious twat,’ he muttered. Turning back to Sam, he reached out with one hand and stroked the top of her stocking-clad leg. Raising the hem of her skirt slightly, so that he had access to the elasticated band of her black garter, he pushed the crisp note against her leg.