She heard Poppy release a low moan and then felt her straining against the bindings at her wrists. Surprisingly, Sky saw the weights on the pec deck move a little as Poppy struggled physically against the intensity of her orgasm. Before Sky had a chance to comment, she realised Poppy was lapping greedily at the spent wetness between her legs. Her probing tongue rubbed over the tingling lips of Sky’s sex, deftly rekindling the embers of her desire.
Seemingly oblivious to the effect she was having on Sky, Poppy continued to lap up her pussy honey with an avaricious tongue. Within moments, Sky felt the blissful delight of a second orgasm tearing through her. She screamed as the waves of pleasure cascaded over her. Furiously, she rocked herself against Poppy’s tongue.
Poppy’s mouth was working hungrily against the lips of Sky’s sex and her cries were a mixture of protestation and delight. As Sky’s body approached the pinnacle of pleasure, she twisted her heel hard against the whip between Poppy’s legs, forcing the handle roughly against the woman’s sodden lips. Sky’s excitement was momentarily intensified by Poppy’s squeal of elation, but the woman’s enjoyment was still peripheral to sky. Her own satisfaction was of far more importance.
To add excitement to her domination, Sky snatched the whip from Poppy’s sex and climbed down from the pec deck. With a malicious grin, she began to strike at Poppy’s bare breasts again with the tip of the sauna whip.
This time, instead of shrieking and crying out in complaint, Poppy moaned with joy. Instead of cowering away from the punishing tendrils, she thrust her breasts forward as though she was relishing the whipping. Her enjoyment was infectious.
Breathing heavily, Sky stopped flogging the wanton woman.
Poppy continued to groan, thrashing herself from side to side as her body visited planes of unimagined euphoria.
Watching Poppy’s body being racked with tremors of delight, Sky teased the tip of the whip’s handle against her own sex. After having the woman’s tongue tease pussy so adroitly, Sky’s need for penetration was intense. With a firm hand, she guided the rounded head of the whip against her eager hole, and pushed it upward.
The handle slid effortlessly inside. She could feel her own urgent wetness soaking the length of hard leather, facilitating its smooth passage into her warmth. The sensation of its wide girth, parting her and filling her, was intoxicating. The thrill of an orgasm rushed through her before she had pushed the handle all the way inside. As soon as the last quivers of the climax had subsided, she drew the handle slowly out of her sodden pussy.
With a cruel smile, she pushed it in front of Poppy’s nose and forced her to lick the leather clean. Again, she found herself excited by the sight of the woman’s mouth accepting the phallic-shaped length. The arousal was so swift and sudden that, before she could stop herself, Sky had snatched the whip from Poppy’s mouth and jumped back on to the pec deck. Thrusting her sex against Poppy’s tongue, Sky held the woman’s head and forced her once again to lap the wetness from between her legs.
She lost count of the number of orgasms Poppy gave her. The woman’s gift for submission and her squirming tongue were enough of a distraction to make the morning pass without Sky noticing. Sky did not realise she had lost track of time until she saw Allen appear in the gym’s doorway.
Her first thought was that a problem had occurred.
‘No problem,’ Allen replied simply. He seemed torn between staring at Sky in her psycho-bitch costume and admiring Poppy.
Strapped to the exercise machine, her hair plastered with sweat and pussy juice, and her exposed nipples thrusting forward, Poppy looked beautifully vulnerable, Sky thought. She could appreciate the lingering look that Allen bestowed on Poppy and concurred with his good taste.
‘Where’s Wendy?’ Sky asked sharply. ‘I asked her to call back here for me when I’d finished. Why are you here? Where is she?’
‘Wendy has some duties to attend to in the east wing,’ Allen said simply. ‘She asked me to call and do whatever you asked.’
Sky nodded thoughtfully, frowning to herself. Thinking back to the previous morning, she remembered that Wendy had spotted her with John from a room in the east wing. It occurred to her that there was something in that part of Elysian Fields that she knew nothing about and she supposed that she ought to try to learn exactly what it was. Considering the way that Wendy had been trying to keep it secret, Sky guessed it had to be important. She was about to ask Allen if he knew what was in the east wing when he spoke, destroying her train of thought.
‘Wendy asked me to go to the reception desk and see if anyone else had called with one of your special invitations, but there haven’t been any,’ he told her.
‘There’s only one other card,’ Sky replied darkly. She was frowning, unconscious of the disturbing effect this had on Allen. ‘If the recipient hasn’t arrived yet, it doesn’t look like she’s going to.’
‘Only one other?’ Poppy asked curiously.
She was still tied to the pec deck, looking weary and defeated, but her eyes sparkled with a dull luster of excitement. She fell silent until Sky looked at her, and the Black Widow realised she was waiting for permission to carry on. That thought alone brought a wide smile to Sky’s lips. Relishing her position of power, Sky nodded at her.
‘That woman I met at the reception desk seemed to know all about those special invitations,’ Poppy explained. ‘She said that a friend of hers had received one and she was trying to find out who sent mine.’
Sky frowned. ‘Who’s this?’ she demanded. She switched her glare from Poppy to Allen, then back to Poppy. ‘What woman?’
Poppy furrowed her brow in serious concentration. ‘Jo Valentine,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s her name.’
‘Jo Valentine,’ Sky repeated thoughtfully. She pursed her lips and frowned unhappily. ‘I think that I’m going to have to meet this Jo Valentine. The woman seems to know more about my special invitations than is healthy. When I’ve finished with her, she’ll have told me all she knows, and a whole lot more.’ The sound of the Black Widow’s malicious laughter echoed against the mirrored walls of the gymnasium.
Seven
There were two reasons why Jo thought it was best to start investigating the case at midnight. First and foremost, her hip flask was empty. Jo stared at the silver bottle with the hurt look of someone who has been betrayed. She pulled the cord on her dressing gown tighter, stepped into a pair of slippers, then reached for the door handle.
She was desperately trying to convince herself that her other reason for leaving the room had something to do with the case. When she had climbed out of a restless bed two minutes earlier, the case had been an overriding factor in her thoughts. Now, with her fingers brushing the polished brass of the door knob, she could not recall exactly what she had intended doing in order to make some progress. All that seemed important was her insatiable craving for a drink.
Dismissing the case as being unimportant, Jo stepped out of her room and into the hall. She walked quietly through darkened corridors and unlit areas, knowing it would be most prudent to start her investigation in the kitchen. Perhaps there would be fewer pieces of helpful or incriminating documentation resting in the pantry, she realised, but Jo suspected they were bound to have a bottle of cooking sherry, or something. Even a miniature bottle of rum flavouring would have sufficed for the moment, she thought miserably.
She quietened her pace as she neared the kitchen doors, aware of a silver of light sliding beneath the bottom. It seemed peculiar that someone was already there, especially at this late hour. Walking silently and stealthily in her carpet slippers, she pressed her head against the door and listened intently for any telltale sounds.
Strains of muted laughter reached her ears but the muffling door snatched all traces of gender from its lilt. Jo pressed her face closer to the lacquered wooden surface, listening hard. She was trying to guess who might be laughing in a health-farm kitchen at such a late hour. She supposed it could have been the cook. She did not k
now the person, but she felt sure that whoever had prepared the afternoon’s meal was blessed with a sense of humour.
Jo caught the murmur of words mingled with the laughter as she strained her ears, but there was still no revelation. After taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she pushed the door ever so slightly ajar. With squinting eyes, she tried to make sense of the slice of room that became visible, but the door was suddenly snatched from her hand and pulled sharply open. Jo stumbled towards the floor, shifted her feet to steady herself, then realised she was standing in the centre of the kitchen.
There were three people sitting round a circular table and they studied her in sudden silence. Laughter was caught in throats, and drinks hesitated against lips. Jo glanced from one face to the next. Her heart beat fast and for an instant she wondered if she had made a grave mistake.
‘Good evening, Jo,’ whispered a male voice from behind her. ‘I thought you might come down and join us. You look the sort.’
She turned and found herself staring at Allen. His long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and an easy, welcoming grin rested on his lips. Jo could sense no hint of a threat in his expression and she gave him a smile. Her fear of any danger quickly evaporated. ‘Allen, what are you doing in here?’ she asked. Turning to glance at the others, she found her curiosity getting the better of her, and asked, ‘What are you all doing in here?’
‘The same thing that you are,’ a woman at the table replied sharply. They all chuckled among themselves and Jo took a moment to study them.
Sitting furthest away from her, she recognised the dour-faced Wendy from reception. Rather than looking surly and unpleasant as she had that morning, Wendy seemed relaxed and almost approachable now. There was a sparkle in her dark-green eyes that reminded Jo of Sam’s constant allure. The thought brought the stirrings of a warmth between her legs as she nodded polite acknowledgement to the woman.
Beside her sat Bryn, the health farm’s other male masseur. He had the same magnificent physique as Allen but most of his face was hidden behind a full, luxuriant beard of the same rich, dark-brown colour as his hair. Jo had already seen him at work after her induction with Allen. At the time she had promised herself that she would become better acquainted with the man.
The other woman was also vaguely familiar, Jo thought. She had seen her dining in the eatery. As Jo recalled, the woman was the same one who had been offering loud opinions about the ‘rabbit food’, on her plate. The combination of belligerence and arrogance was an unpleasant blend that Jo would have been happier avoiding.
‘This is Violet,’ Allen said, introducing the woman. ‘You know these other two, don’t you?’
Jo nodded at everyone and allowed Allen to guide her towards a seat. She was still confused as to why they were all down in the kitchen. She was also wondering why they were all wearing dressing-gowns. Admittedly it was late, but still the attire seemed very informal. The only saving grace she could find in their common uniform was that she did not feel out of place. ‘So what are you all doing down here?’ Jo repeated. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’
Violet spoke before anyone else could offer a reply. ‘After that crappy excuse of a meal this evening, I came down here to see if they’re hiding the food from the paying customers.’
Jo smiled.
‘Allen said if I was still hungry at midnight he and Bryn could fill me up,’ she went on. The room was filled with the sound of shared laughter.
Jo smiled dutifully at the woman’s rudimentary sense of humour, prudishly deciding that she did not approve of such coarseness. As she settled herself in the seat that Allen offered, Jo tried to keep the disapproval from her face. She had met women like violet before and knew that they could behave like bitches when they believed themselves to be slighted.
Allen sat next to Jo and quickly began to shuffle a deck of cards between his long, broad fingers. ‘We all know the rules,’ he told them. Casting a kindly glance at Jo, he added, ‘You’ll pick them up as we go along.’ He turned to face the rest of the table. ‘The game’s pontoon, because Bryn here is too thick to know how to play poker.’ The two men cursed one another playfully but there was no real antagonism in their words. ‘We all know the stakes too,’ Allen went on. ‘So, if someone could pour Jo a drink, then we’ll begin.’
Jo glanced at the centre of the table and her face lit up. Staring back at her was a familiar, square bottle, filled with golden nectar and labeled in stark black paper with distinctive white lettering. ‘I’ll have a Jack Daniel’s, please,’ she said. ‘No.’ She quickly amended her hasty decision. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a large Jack Daniel’s.’
‘Jo will have a mineral water,’ Allen said firmly. ‘She hasn’t won a real drink, yet.’
Jo frowned. ‘We’re playing for drinks?’
‘Amongst other things,’ Allen replied, grinning.
‘We’re playing for whatever is at the table,’ Violet explained tersely. ‘You don’t have a problem with that, do you?’
Jo sensed the woman was implying something more than just food and drink, but she let the matter go for the moment. There was a challenge in Violet’s voice that Jo did not want to rise to. An atmosphere of anticipation hung over the table and her natural curiosity was insisting she find the cause.
A small voice at the back of her mind wanted to remind Allen that this was probably one of the bottles he had stolen from her room. If that was the case, then she did not need to play games to win the right to drink it and she felt justified in mentioning this. However, she knew that such a statement would sound churlish in front of the others and she stopped herself from voicing the sentiment. Nodding morosely at Wendy, Jo said,’ I’ll have a delicious glass of your finest mineral water. Hold the flavour.’
‘Ice and lemon?’ Wendy asked, pouring water from a pitcher into a glass.
Jo nodded. ‘And scotch,’ she attempted weakly. She was warmed by a murmur of soft laughter as she took her drink.
Wendy placed the bottle back in the centre of the table between an unopened litre of vodka and a half-empty carafe of red wine. Littering the remainder of the table were a couple of dozen bars of chocolate, various bags of flavoured crisps and a couple of packets of biscuits. Jo saw a brimming fruit bowl as well. She guessed that these were the prizes they were playing for and wondered whose idea this midnight feast had been. She thought of asking, then decided it was of no consequence. All that mattered was winning her first hand, and getting a proper drink. It occurred to her that if she hit a lucky streak she might indulge herself in a bar of plain chocolate, but she could not anticipate that luxury with the same degree of excitement as the whiskey inspired.
Allen flicked cards briskly across the tabletop, sending two to each of the players. Because she was sitting on his left, Jo was able to watch everyone else play before she took her turn. Violet smiled confidently and said she was happy. Bryn twisted, then threw his cards down in disgust Wendy took two cards, then shook her head when Allen offered her a third.
‘Go on,’ Bryn encouraged her. ‘A five-card trick beats everything.’
‘It doesn’t beat a pontoon,’ Wendy reminded him.
Violet made a tired sound. ‘Are we going to have to explain the rules of how we’re playing again?’ she demanded.
‘I meant it beats everything except a pontoon,’ Bryn growled defensively.
‘Whatever it beats, I’m not having another card,’ Wendy said firmly. She glanced at Allen and said, ‘I’ll stick.’
Jo studied her cards with a frown. ‘Am I meant to be getting twenty-one?’ she asked.
Violet sighed heavily. ‘Should we be playing snap, or is that one over your head too?’ She shook her head in exasperation and leant across Bryn so she could speak to Wendy. ‘This is like playing cards at a chimp’s tea party,’ she confided loudly.
Allen waved a silencing hand at her. He glanced over Jo’s shoulder and studied her cards. ‘Bitch!’ he cried softly. ‘You’ve got a pontoon.�
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The other players threw their cards down and muttered with annoyance.
Jo grinned at each of them while Allen studied his own cards. He shook his head as he looked at his losing hand. ‘Pour the lady her Jack Daniel’s,’ he said simply.
‘Are you sure that’s what she wants?’ Wendy asked quietly. She smiled suggestively at Jo. ‘There’s an awful lot on offer at the game tonight.’
Jo studied the woman with a curious frown. ‘What else could I have?’
Laughing, Allen shook his head. ‘Pour her a drink,’ he said firmly. ‘She’ll soon get the hang of how we play things here.’
Wendy shrugged and poured the drink, exactly as Allen had instructed. He dealt the cards again, and, as Jo took her much needed sip of whiskey, she listened to the idle conversation being passed around the table.
‘How did you get on with the Black Widow?’ Wendy asked, directing the question at Allen.
He shrugged and shook his head. ‘That woman has got a screw loose. I can understand why you’re doing everything she tells you.’
Wendy took offence at the comment. ‘I am not doing everything she tells me,’ she declared indignantly. ‘I’m simply trying to keep hold of my job under bloody difficult circumstances.’
Allen dealt the last card and raised a pacifying hand. ‘I didn’t mean that as it sounded,’ he apologised. ‘I guess the new regime here has got us all on edge. She didn’t even seem to understand me when I said you were attending to your chores in the east wing.’
Wendy groaned loudly. ‘Say that you didn’t,’ she growled unhappily. ‘Say that you didn’t really tell her I was in the east wing.’
‘Wasn’t I meant to?’ Allen frowned.
‘Even I’ve worked that one out,’ Violet said, laughing sourly.
Wendy shook her head and glared sullenly at Allen. ‘You’re an arsehole, Allen. An absolute arsehole.’ She raised her fists and beat his arm angrily, her lips curled with exasperation.
‘And I’m a winner.’ Violet said suddenly. Her words cut through the argument and she placed her cards on the table so that an ace was showing over a face-down card. ‘If anyone can match a pontoon, speak now…’ She allowed her voice to trail off as the others good-naturedly cursed her luck. ‘And as for my prize,’ she continued thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to see Wendy and Allen kiss and make up.’
The Black Widow Page 13
