The Black Widow

by Lisette Ashton

  Sam jiggled her breasts for him, forcing the sound of happy laughter to rise up from her throat. She had no idea what the two men might have been discussing, but she doubted it had any bearing on her case. Admittedly, they were taking about Faye Meadows, but most of the customers who used this exclusive table referred to Faye at some point in their conversation. As soon as the money was safely against her leg, she started to back away from him, lowering her cleavage down to his face as her legs danced backward.

  Arthur reached a hand up for one of her breasts. He stroked the sensitive flesh, and his corpulent face broke into a smile.

  Sam allowed his sausage-like fingers to remain against her as she tried to decide what was going to be the best course of action. Normally it was against the rules for any member of the nightclub’s clientele to touch the lap dancers. However, the rules were subject to a broader interpretation on Faye’s table and Sam was very much aware of this. Arthur’s fat fingers traced the swell of her orb. He gently massaged her breast, smiling into her eyes as he touched her. His caress was disturbingly intimate; more exciting than she would have expected from a man who was so unremarkable he was on the verge of being repugnant. With a well-practised skill, he teased the puckered flesh of one areola before rubbing his nail roughly over her nipple.

  Unwittingly, Sam heard herself gasp with surprise. The brutality of his uncouth caress was delightful and exceptional. He grinned lewdly up at her, seeming to sense her enjoyment. Without breaking eye contact, he flicked open his wallet and pulled out another note. After stroking the crisp edge against her erect nipple, he gestured for her to come closer.

  Excited by his touch, Sam was happy to comply. Over the past few days she had been manhandled and mauled by a dozen or more of the nightclub’s customers. Such touching was a clear breach of the regulations but Sam felt certain that such restrictions would not apply to undercover private investigators. As soon as she was close enough, Arthur reached for her leg. His cool fingers, still wet from holding a pint of bitter, reached for her inner thigh. The gentleness of his hand was surprisingly subtle and Sam felt her heart skip a beat. The tips of his fingers were exciting the silky flesh close to the crease of her sex. The stimulation was so delicate she did not know if it was intended or accidental. She only knew that the man was arousing her intensely. She continued to dance for him as he tucked another note underneath the elastic of her black garter.

  ‘Have I seen you somewhere before?’ he asked, when she had placed her ear close to his face.

  Sam felt herself smiling at the obviousness of his line. Even though she had thought she recognised him earlier, his words still had all the transparent charm of an oft-used chat-up line. ‘You could have,’ she told him blithely. ‘I’ve been places before.’

  She saw him frown, shake his head and prepare to reiterate his question, before giving up on the whole idea. His blatant lack of familiarity with talking above the deafening music made her certain that he was not a regular patron of the Good Night Club.

  He summoned her close again, reaching back to his wallet at the same time. Plucking out two of the largest notes he could find, he tucked them carelessly into the waistband of her short skirt. His cool fingers chilled the warm flesh of her stomach. Their intimate intrusion against the fabric of her skirt moved her excitement to a new and unexpected plateau. Gesturing at his companion, he said, ‘Dance for my brother. If you can make him hard, there’s an extra tenner in it.’

  Sam kept her expression blank, not wanting him to see how truly uninspiring the thought of an extra ten pounds really was. She reminded herself that she was working undercover, and her character was supposed to react excitedly at the thought of earning such a pitiful sum. The reminder did little to help her enthusiasm, but she smiled dutifully at Arthur and began to gyrate her body in front of Derek.

  ‘I don’t really –’ Derek began.

  Sam stepped closer to him. She placed her legs on either side of his and bucked her hips forward in time to the music. The hem of her skirt was flying upward and she suspected it was the sight of her exposed sex that silenced him. One moment he was raising a half-hearted protest, trying to say something to Arthur as he smiled apologetically at her. The next, he was giving her his devoted attention. His gaze was fixed on the vision between her legs, although she noticed that he did occasionally glance up at her breasts. The pleasure of being admired struck her again and Sam felt a gratifying tingle of pleasure wash over her.

  The thought of having men desire her as she flaunted her naked body was more enticing than she would have believed. She supposed they would have found her total nudity even more alluring but she suppressed the urge to snatch off her skirt and test the theory. She was not just there as a lap dancer, Sam reminded herself. She also had another job to do.

  Staring into Derek’s flustered features, another sparkle of recognition nagged at the back of her mind. It seemed odd that these two men should seem familiar in any respect. From the way he was studying her, beneath the surface expression of lust and lasciviousness, she guessed Derek was harbouring similar vague recollections. Dismissing the vague memory for a moment, she concentrated on her dance, trying to arouse and excite the man as much as she was able.

  Using her biceps, she pushed her arms together and forced her diminutive breasts forward. The small orbs seemed to grow as she pushed the cleavage deeper. Still writhing her hips from side to side, Sam offered Derek her sexiest pout as she bent over him.

  As she was bending forward she distantly realised her uncovered sex was likely to be revealed. It did not seem to matter at first and it was only when she felt the intrusive exploration of fingers between her legs that she realised how exposed she actually was. The cool, wet pad of a fingertip rubbed deliberately against the lips of her sex. The excitement of dancing for so many of the nightclub’s clientele had already inspired a delicious wetness and Sam had felt more than a small stirring of passion when she caught herself thinking of the waitress with the alluring smile.

  Judging by the cool chill that accompanied the moist finger against her shaven mound, she guessed she was being touched by Arthur’s beer-wet hand. He drew a line against the febrile lips of her depilated labia, easing her pussy open and daring to press inside the boiling velvet of her hole.

  Shocked and thrilled by the urgency that his touch inspired, Sam drew a shivering breath. She had been offering her breasts towards Derek in an attempt to arouse and stimulate him. Now the nubs of her nipples had hardened as the finger penetrated her sex. The subtle, circular caress of Arthur’s gently probing fingertip evoked sensations that she could only describe as awesome. The thought of lowering herself back on to the intrusive finger was appealing but she dared not act upon it. With an effort of will, Sam tried to ignore the hungry tingle that flared from the depths of her cleft. Purposefully focusing on her dancing, Sam continued trying to excite Derek. She pushed her breasts close to his face, enjoying the sight of nervous sweat glimmering on his forehead. It was not difficult for her to maintain a sexy pout. The meaty fingers that teased her hole were already inspiring tiny, electric sparkles of pleasure. A second finger had joined the first and this one stroked wetly over the hardened nub of her clitoris. The pearl was pushed rudely from its hood and rubbed with slow deliberation. Sam could feel herself hurtling closer to the brink of orgasm. The easy way in which she was transported to such a state of bliss left her gasping for breath. It was a physical struggle to stave off the threat of an impending climax.

  ‘Having fun, gentlemen?’

  Sam glanced up at the sound of the voice, then quickly looked down again. In an instant all thoughts of arousal and pleasure were wrenched from her mind. An untapped instinct for self-preservation took over and she eased one of Arthur’s hands away from her sex.

  Because she did not attempt to move the other, Arthur allowed his finger to remain on the edge of Sam’s pussy lips, still maintaining the threat of penetration.

  Barely aware of his intimate touch n
ow, Sam tried to think of a casual way to extricate herself from the table. She hoped that the blonde wig would cover her face from Faye’s view, or that the woman would be too blasé about her lap dancers to bother looking at any of them. This was Sam’s second evening at the Good Night Club and, while she was already aware of the rules that surrounded Faye’s table, she had only dared visit it while Faye was absent from the building. This was the first time the woman had come close to her, and Sam wondered if she should have gone for a more concealing disguise than the simple blonde wig she wore. Mentally, she crossed her fingers and prayed for good luck.

  Aware of a stiffening in the woman’s posture, she realised that good luck was not going to be on her side this evening. Her hopes of remaining undetected began to dissipate as soon as she felt Faye’s manicured fingers touch her bare shoulder.

  ‘Who are you?’ Faye asked abruptly. There was a shard of ice on her tone.

  Sam was not surprised to see the shocked expressions that crossed the faces of Derek and Arthur: they were clearly worried that she must have heard their conversation. They glanced inquisitively from Sam, then to Faye, then back to Sam again. She felt one of the notes being snatched rudely from beneath her garter and realised it was Arthur who had done this. He clearly did not feel any need to tip her if she was not one of Faye’s lap dancers – but that did not explain why he left his finger nestling against her pussy.

  ‘I want to know who you are,’ Faye repeated sharply. ‘You’re not one of my regular girls, but I know you, don’t I?’

  Sam raised her head slightly and risked a nervous smile through the fringe of her blonde wig. She tried to remember the name she had given on her application, suspecting she had gone for one of the character names from Star Trek. But she had filled out the form two days earlier and trying to recall the name she had glibly scrawled was now beyond her.

  ‘Tell me who you are,’ Faye said. The note of anger in her voice was now rising meteorically. ‘I know your face but you’re not one of my regular staff, are you?’ She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, summoning someone from the shadows.

  ‘Who the hell is she, Faye?’ Arthur demanded. There was a strong current of panic in his voice which made his tone sound strident and unpleasant. ‘Do you allow any strange young woman to come dancing topless in front of your patrons?’

  ‘This wouldn’t be your first visit if you thought we allowed that,’ Faye remarked dryly. She glared unhappily at Sam, then glanced past her. Her gaze returned to Sam’s face. ‘This is your last chance. Tell me now or you’ll be in real trouble. Who are you?’

  Sam realised that the summoned help was closing in and her options were dwindling. She stood up, threw her shoulders back and tried to remain nonchalant about her near nudity. With one careless hand, she snatched the blonde wig from her head and released her own glorious mane of vibrant red tresses. At the same time, she reached into the small pocket of her short skirt, produced her glasses case, then donned her wire-framed spectacles.

  Faye Meadows stifled a gasp of surprise. ‘Which one are you? Valentine or Flowers? You’re one of the investigators, aren’t you? You’re the senior partner, right? Flowers?’

  Sam opened her mouth, flattered by the promotion this client had given her. Before she had a chance to reply, Arthur was on his feet and shouting angrily at Faye. ‘Are you saying she’s a fucking investigator? Why the hell have you got a fucking investigator patrolling us?’ He glared furiously at Sam, then turned his attention back to Faye. ‘This does it for me. Derek and I are leaving.’

  Sam was about to intervene, when she felt two pairs of hands grab her from behind. She glanced nervously over each shoulder, not surprised to see two of the nightclub’s doormen staring impassively back at her. Dressed in their uniforms of black suits, white shirts and black bow ties, they looked as cold and uncommunicative as the penguins their clothes had been modelled on. She made a brief attempt to struggle free but their hands held her tightly.

  ‘I haven’t had her patrolling you,’ Faye explained hurriedly. She was struggling to keep a reasonable tone to her voice, attempting to placate the two men. ‘I have no idea why she’s here. I’ll find that out in a moment, but let me assure you I’d employed her on a completely different matter.’

  Arthur waved a silencing hand high in the air. ‘Don’t try and squirm your way out of it. You can forget about getting any help with your insurance claim now. Derek and I will return your file. You’re no longer on our books.’

  ‘No!’ Faye declared sharply. ‘This is ridiculous. Please, no!’ she glared at Sam, then glanced at one of the doormen. ‘Take her to my office, and wait in there with her,’ she barked. Realising Arthur and Derek were walking past her, Faye quickly tried to stop them from leaving the building.

  Sam knew she could not intervene. The two doormen were tugging her away and they seemed determined to follow Faye’s instructions explicitly. She allowed them to turn her round and lead her away. The waitress she had been admiring walked past, and Sam was shocked to see the woman was scowling at her. The thought that she had lost all hope of winning the waitress’s affections hit harder than the danger of her predicament. Miserably, she cursed the situation she had landed herself in. Around her, the nightclub’s music continued to beat from the speakers at a deafening volume. The rest of the clientele continued about the business of enjoying themselves, oblivious to her plight.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you,’ Faye growled as she entered the office. She stared angrily at Sam as she barked, ‘Thank you for fucking over that little deal. Thank you for fucking over a business relationship I’ve been building for over two years and thank you for pushing my business empire one big step closer to the edge of a bottomless precipice.’ She slammed the door closed as if to emphasise the enormity of her anger. Glaring at Sam, she pointed a threatening finger and hissed, ‘You’re going to pay for this, you little bitch.’

  Sam studied her with a relaxed expression, unintimidated by the woman’s menacing display. The office was a complete contrast to the dimly lit intimacy of the nightclub. This room was lit by bright neon strip lights. The walls were a sterile white hidden behind overladen shelves. Books, box files, plastic trays and bundles of dog-eared receipts completed most of the room’s decor. The sound of the nightclub’s music pulsed from the walls but now it was a distant murmur.

  Sam had made herself comfortable in a padded swivel chair. She was still wearing nothing but the short skirt and stockings, her guard having chosen lechery over chivalry. Between her legs she was holding a book borrowed from one of the shelves. She closed it slowly, allowing Faye to read the title: Greek Fables and Mythology.

  When she selected the book, Sam’s guard had made one or two remarks about her enjoying ‘Greek’, but she had ignored his comments, aware of an urgent need to look up something relevant. She made a point of letting Faye see what she had been reading before sliding the book back to its spaced on the shelf. Trying not to be too obvious, she allowed the spine to jut out a little further than the hardback volumes on either side. She had to stand up and lean over a desk to put the book away, unconsciously displaying her backside and sex to Faye and the doorman. Remembering that she was not wearing pants, she realised that her exposed sex was on view to them. Trying not to show any discomfort with this thought, she moved slowly away from the shelf and brushed the hem of her skirt back down with a gesture that was almost casual.

  ‘You,’ Faye snapped. Sam saw the woman was talking to her guard. ‘Fuck off out of here. I don’t want to be disturbed.’ There was a crisp note of authority in her voice that defied any challenge he might have raised.

  Nodding curtly, he made for the door. Sam noticed that he graced her topless body with one last, rueful expression. In his eyes she could see an unfulfilled yearning that he had obviously hoped she could satisfy. For a brief instant she thought she saw a glimmer of pity in his face, as though he knew she was about to suffer some diabolical misfortune at Faye’s han
ds. And then he was gone.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Faye flicked the button on the battered Yale, locking them in together. She turned slowly to face Sam, a cruel smile on her lips. ‘One question,’ Faye said simply. She took a step closer to Sam as she spoke. ‘One question, and I want an answer. How much do you know?’

  Stepping nervously back, Sam swallowed. ‘I don’t understand,’ she began. ‘How much do I know about –’

  Faye slapped her face. The sound of her flattened palm cracking against Sam’s cheek echoed in the small office. Sam stifled a shocked gasp, raising a hand to her aching jaw. She stared miserably at Faye, aware of the menacing glint in her ice-blue eyes. The hard set of her mouth, the thin line of her lips and the cruel sneer that curled her nose were more than familiar. At school, Sam had once been the subject of a beating from school prefects. The girl who initiated that beating had worn an identical expression to the one she could now see on Faye’s face.

  ‘This is your one and only chance to get out of here without really suffering,’ Faye told her, pointing a dramatic finger towards Sam’s face. ‘And I strongly recommend that you grasp it with both hands. Tell me how much you know or, God help you, I’ll make you tell me.’

  Sam held her ground, standing defiantly in front of the woman. ‘If you’d let me explain,’ she began, quelling the nervous tremor that threatened to shake her steady voice. ‘I only came here because –’

  Faye slapped her again. This time the force of the blow was hard enough to knock Sam down. She was fortunate that the padded swivel chair was behind her when she fell, otherwise she would have been staring up from the floor like a broken rag doll. She glared up from the seat, beseeching Faye with a pained and frightened expression. Her near nudity did not seem to trouble the woman and that realisation only added to Sam’s fear.