The Black Room (22 page)

Cautiously, she crept to the door of the dining room. She did not want to embarrass her husband by bursting in on him and his colleagues. She was only dressed in her dowdy night clothes and she knew such an intrusion would be an embarrassment. The door was closed firmly but she bravely pressed the handle down and pushed it slowly, forcing it slightly ajar.

For an instant she was surprised by the brilliant white explosion of light. The explosion occurred a second and then a third time before she realised it was simply someone taking photographs. Hoping that the flash bulb was enough of a distraction to allow her to open the door, she pushed it slightly more ajar. She could only see a small part of the room but what she saw was enough.

Save for a blindfold across his eyes, her husband was naked. He was on the floor, kneeling on all fours with his buttocks thrust high up in the air. As Kelly had suspected, he was entertaining a business colleague. But not at all in the way she had expected.

Vanessa Byrne stood over him, completely naked except for a strap-on phallus. She was just putting down the instamatic camera she had been using, and did not seem to be looking at the door.

Kelly watched as the woman picked up a short, severe riding crop. Vanessa’s attention was focused on Mr Rogers. She stood behind him and, as she pushed her makeshift cock into his backside, she brought the crop down on to his bare thighs.

Kelly’s husband stifled a groan, a smile of delight showing his true feelings about the game. His tiny cock, an organ she had so rarely seen or used, stood proudly beneath him. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress Vanessa,’ he mumbled. His voice was a choked whisper of delight. ‘Please don’t beat me again.’

Ignoring his request, Vanessa sliced the crop down sharply three times in swift succession. It bit the air with a fearsome whistle and striped his flesh like red paint.

It was obviously the punishment he wanted, Kelly thought. She watched her husband’s cock pulse furiously and shoot tiny dollops of semen on to the carpet. A grin of broad delight split his masked face in two. Even though he wore a blindfold, Kelly knew his eyes would be closed with dreamy elation as his orgasm pushed the seed from his body.

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye as she studied the scene. She could not define her emotions. She did not know why she was crying and she could not be bothered to try and work it out. Idiotically, she stared at the scene, wondering what was going to happen to her marriage now.

‘Lick it up,’ Vanessa barked. ‘Lick it up now,’ she hissed. ‘And if there’s a drop left when you’ve finished, I’ll make you drink my piss, do you understand?’

Kelly heard her husband groan excitedly. He hurriedly whispered his agreement. She watched as he moved his head down to the floor and began to blindly lap up his own cream.

Mistress Vanessa still had him impaled on her strap-on phallus and Kelly noticed she was sliding in and out of him as she barked her commands. She fixed her attention on the woman, wondering what she possessed that her husband had found missing in his wife.

Before she had the chance to draw any conclusions, Kelly realised Vanessa was staring at her. Their eyes met and Kelly saw an encouraging sparkle in the woman’s eyes. Vanessa tossed her long golden curls away from her face and smiled softly. With one neatly manicured fingernail, she beckoned Kelly to join her.

Kelly stared at her, unable to believe the woman’s audacity. She watched her husband licking his own seed from the carpet as this other woman fucked him with the plastic cock she wore. Her welcoming smile and obvious enjoyment seemed so wholly sincere that Kelly felt as though she was being awkward for not accepting the invitation.

Horrified by the thought of participating, Kelly fled the room.

*   *   *

Sitting in Mistress Vanessa’s lounge, Kelly was fervently trying not to think about the scene she had witnessed. Stubbornly, it would not leave her mind’s eye. The whole scenario explained so much about her husband she felt stupid for not having anticipated it.

In the early days of their marriage she had coyly suggested that they should experiment with role-playing games. His reaction had been derisory, and now she knew why.

He was as sexually submissive as she was but he was scared to tell her. That fact alone would not have bothered her. She would have been happy to try any game or activity that brought them closer together. In spite of their sexless marriage, she was not a prude.

The thing that bothered her was that he had shared his fantasies with another woman. Not only had he shared his fantasies with another woman. Kelly had watched as he turned them into a reality.

‘It’s not uncommon,’ Vanessa explained.

Kelly was surprised by the note of tenderness in her voice. She found herself studying the mistress warily.

‘I’m no philosopher,’ Vanessa went on, ‘but there’s a Yin and Yang to most people’s nature. It makes them want to experience both sides of life. I know a heavy-metal guitar player who spends his free time listening to ballet music and opera. It’s the same thing with your husband. Like a lot of aggressive businessmen, he needs a release for the submissive side of his nature. It’s not uncommon. It’s the same with me.’

Kelly stared at the mistress uncertainly. ‘But, mistress,’ she said carefully, ‘you’re…’ She paused, aware of the damning indictment she had been about to make against a mistress. Swallowing nervously, aware that Vanessa was studying her closely, Kelly quickly reconstructed the sentence in her mind. ‘You enjoy an aggressive, dominant role in your social life.’

‘Yin and Yang,’ Vanessa explained glibly. ‘At work I’m a real pussycat.’

‘But…’ Again she stopped herself, aware that she was on the point of causing offence.

‘You were going to say that I acted like a real bitch today, weren’t you?’ Vanessa asked slowly.

Unable to meet her eyes when she responded, Kelly nodded.

‘I was a real bitch to
you
,’ she said. ‘I was also a real bitch to Helen and Russel. With everyday clients and customers, trust me, I’m a real pussycat.’

Kelly could not picture the image in her own mind. Her thoughts and emotions concerning Mistress Vanessa were still too personal and one-sided. However, she did not doubt the woman was sincere and she nodded her understanding.

‘Yes, mistress,’ she said quietly. ‘And you’re probably right about Mr Rogers’ nature.’ After a moment’s thought, Kelly added, ‘I bare the man no ill will, but you are wrong about one thing.’

Vanessa frowned at Kelly, reminding the redhead exactly where her place was.

Bravely, Kelly continued, ‘Since the day I left his house, I have stopped thinking of him as my husband.’

The stern frown vanished. Vanessa leant forward and stroked her curled fingers down Kelly’s cheek.

‘His loss,’ she breathed softly, ‘is the Pentagon Agency’s gain.’

She pressed her mouth against Kelly’s lips and kissed the redhead passionately.

Jo walked quietly with the two security guards, uncomfortable in the stony silence. She was still naked and the scent of their lovemaking still filled her nostrils. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the reminder.

‘I hope I haven’t screwed up your jobs here,’ she said, addressing them both.

Bob smiled at her. ‘I was getting fed up with the work anyway,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Besides, Terry and I have been thinking of going into business together. So I suppose you’ve just hurried the process along.’

‘Yeah,’ Terry agreed, his voice an embarrassed mumble. ‘It’s no big deal.’ A broad smile split his face and his cheeks turned crimson. ‘And, anyway, you were worth it.’

Jo stopped and looked at the two men hesitantly. ‘You’re not just saying that are you? Not the bit about me being worth it. I know that’s bound to be true. Were you really fed up with the work here?’

Bob’s smile tightened and he gently encouraged her to start walking again. ‘It’s not us you have to worry about now,’ he said carefully. ‘You’ve got to look out for yourself in this place. I’ve heard terrible things about this black room.’

Not knowing why, Jo shivered. She too had heard many things about the black room. She had not heard anything specific. None of those she had spoken to had actually been taken there. They were only repeating hearsay and third-hand accounts.

In spite of that, Jo had heard enough about the place to dread being taken there. She wondered if she should make a break for it. She knew she would not need to put up much of a fight. It was even possible Bob or Terry might lead her to the front door of the building and let her go. She would need to find some clothes first but, again, she could see a way around that.

Jo discounted the idea before it was fully formed. The two guards were in enough trouble already. If they allowed Jo to escape they could face far worse punishment. Jo knew she could not ask them to take that risk. Bravely, she turned into the final corridor that led to the black room.

The door was open and she bit back a cry of alarm. The thought that she was so close to being a prisoner in the black room chilled her. Unconsciously, she slowed her pace down to a crawl.

A figure appeared in the doorway. It was a tall man, dressed in pale jeans and an open shirt. Jo recognised Mr Smith instantly and she swallowed nervously. Her arse still stung from the spanking he had administered at her interview. At the time she had realised he was holding back. Now she wondered just how far he was likely to go.

Behind him she saw a smaller figure, meek and cowering. Jo guessed the woman was one of the Pentagon Agency’s trainees. More specifically, she realised the woman was the latest victim of the black room.

Tears stained the woman’s face. Her entire body trembled beneath the baggy folds of the towelling dressing gown she wore. She stared at the floor. As Jo neared her, she realised the girl’s teeth were chattering.

Mr Smith was addressing the blonde in a kind, almost avuncular manner.

‘You see, Helen, we weren’t lying about how bad the black room is?’

Helen shook her head, still staring at the carpet.

‘I trust you’ll remember everything that’s happened in here,’ Mr Smith went on. ‘It should help you to realise that we don’t tolerate insubordination here at the Pentagon Agency.’

Helen nodded quickly. She had still not dared to look at the man who was talking to her. Jo noticed that everything about the woman’s posture and body-language indicated she was terrified of Mr Smith. If he had reached out to touch her cheek, Jo guessed the blonde would have screamed in horror.

‘Now you can go back to your training and become the best temp we have on our books,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘I’ve never known a trainee yet who’s needed to endure a second visit to the black room, although…’ His kind smile disappeared for a moment. A dark malevolent frown crossed his brow and his tone of voice was drained of all its former warmth. ‘It has been agreed by the directors that a second visit to the black room will be a lot more memorable.’

Helen sighed miserably. Her shivering intensified and the chattering of her teeth was now clearly audible.

For the first time she seemed to notice Jo and her escort. She glanced nervously at the three of them then turned away. After a moment she cast her frightened glance at Jo again. Jo stared into the girl’s eyes and was shocked by what she saw there. Despite her terror and discomfort, the blonde was staring at Jo with an expression of anguished pity.

God only knows what she’s been through, Jo thought, panic rising in her chest. Whatever it was, it was sufficient to make her sorry for the room’s next unfortunate victim.

Mr Smith turned his attention to Jo and studied her calmly. ‘Two visitors to the black room in one night. There’s one for the record books.’ His smile broadened. ‘Do I call you Jenny Vaughan?’ he asked. ‘Or do you prefer to be addressed as Jo Valentine? I really do have difficulty knowing how to address a spy properly.’

Jo considered replying with a smart ‘fuck off!’ but she stopped herself before the words were properly formed. Whatever Mr Smith had lined up for her, Jo knew it was not going to be a pleasant experience. He was already upset by her presence in the hostel and she realised that it would not be sensible to antagonise the man any further.

‘Call me Jenny,’ Jo responded evenly. ‘I don’t know who Jo Valentine is.’

‘If that’s the way you want to play it, Jenny,’ Mr Smith replied tonelessly. He turned his attention to the two guards. ‘Take her for a shower, guard the door whilst she’s in there, then bring her back here. The room will need to be prepared again.’

Helplessly, Jo allowed the two guards to lead her down the corridor to the shower room. A feeling of relief washed over her as she realised that her visit to the black room had been postponed. Admittedly, it was only a temporary reprieve. The short trip to the shower room was only delaying the inevitable. However, she found the prospect of the black room so utterly terrifying that any reprieve, no matter how small, was a consolation.

*   *   *

Helen was led back to her room by a fellow trainee. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she did not even know if it was a man or a woman leading her. All she was aware of was the hand on her dressing gown and the silent figure escorting her through the hostel’s corridors. The trainee took her back to her room and sat her down on the bed. Without a word, the unseen figure turned off the light and closed the door, leaving Helen alone.

Helen collapsed on the bed and gripped her thighs tightly. They still ached and she relaxed her grip so she did not have to endure any more pain. She had already experienced enough of that for one night. Trying not to think about the last three hours, Helen closed her eyes and tried to shut the memories out. Her fingers moved up the sore flesh of her inner thighs and she quivered as a tingling ache rekindled the memory of her suffering. Her hands moved slowly upward and she found her fingers were hovering dangerously close to the lips of her vagina. She was scared to touch herself, fearful she would still be in pain and unsure if self-pleasuring was permissible. She did not dare to consider touching her own breasts. The rough fabric of the towelling robe she wore was already irritating the tender flesh of her nipples. To actually touch them was unthinkable.

She remembered Mr Smith’s parting words as she had left the black room. He had told her that she would spend the next day confined to her room. She would be brought her meals and supplied with whatever books she required. He had also told her she could come to terms with her punishment in whatever way she thought best.

Helen licked the tip of her index finger and tentatively moved it towards her pussy.

The ache in her loins was tremendous and unsatisfied. She yearned to feel the thrill of pleasure she had previously taken for granted. Her finger moved towards the hood of her clitoris and she shivered feverishly. Her eyes were still closed and in the darkness she hoped that any pleasure she could give herself would start to wash away her memories of the black room.

As her finger touched the soft pearl of exposed flesh, Helen was split by conflicting feelings. She could have screamed loudly as the tip of her finger met the flesh: she was still sore and the last thing her clitoris needed was such intimate contact. She was also in a state of unnaturally high arousal. Eagerness smouldered inside her like a fever. The need to satisfy herself was stronger than she would have believed and, because of this, Helen continued to play with herself.

The pain acted as an aphrodisiac, she noticed. The more she pressed against her clitoris, the more it hurt. The more it hurt, the greater her enjoyment. Within a moment of her fingers beginning to explore, Helen realised she was on the brink of an orgasm.

Her shivering had subsided slightly. When she licked a second finger and allowed that one to stroke the tender folds of her pink pussy lips, the tremors returned.

Although it felt uncomfortable, Helen believed her moistened fingertips were acting like a soothing balm. As she rubbed herself lightly she knew it would not be long before she experienced the blessed relief of an orgasm. She had convinced herself that such a wave of pleasure would release her body from the misery she was currently enduring. The thought was an appetising one and she held on to it with a zealot’s faith.

It was true, she had been in the black room. From now on, Helen realised she would always be a different woman. She would do as she was told. She would obey instructions and never break the rules. She had experienced the black room and she had no intention of returning there.

The orgasm swept through her and she cried softly. Desperately tired, she felt unable to find the energy to give proper voice to the strength of her climax. A chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions filled her mind. Even though she had not touched them her nipples throbbed with a delightful aching pleasure. Her clitoris screamed with the furious burning of delight.

Exhausted and spent, Helen turned her face into her pillow and took comfort from the moment’s reprieve her orgasm had given. As the waves of pleasure had flooded over her, the pain of her aching body had briefly subsided. The sensitivity of her nipples, the burning fire between her legs, the throbbing ache of her backside: they had all paled into insignificance. In that moment of pleasure, Helen had been able to forget her misery and revel in the euphoria of pure elation.

Before the pain had a chance to return, Helen took a moment to think about the brunette she had seen at the door of the black room. She had never seen Jo Valentine before and did not know who she was. All that Helen knew about the woman was how strongly she pitied her. It was unsettling to think of someone else enduring the same things she had just experienced. Quickly, Helen tried to close these thoughts from her mind. The relief of her climax was already beginning to ebb away. As it did, the aches and pains of her suffering returned. They were still poignant enough to remind her of all she had been through.

Helen pushed her tear-stained face into the pillow and prayed for sleep. I’m a changed woman now, she told herself, unable to believe the transition had finally been made. I’m a changed woman.

It was a comforting thought and she supposed she ought to have been grateful to Mistress Stacey and Mr Smith for their lesson. However, the lesson had been severe and she could not summon up the magnitude to be grateful.

As sleep enveloped her, Helen’s last waking thought was for the woman they had been taking into the black room.

You poor bitch, Helen thought. You poor, unfortunate bitch.

*   *   *

In spite of the room’s warmth, Jo shivered nervously. Her hands were manacled above her head and she knew there was no escape.

You shouldn’t be here, Valentine, she thought unhappily. This room is for submissives and you don’t fall into that category.

She swallowed nervously as the truth struck home.

She was a prisoner in the black room.

Jo took a moment to study her surroundings. One wall was lined with mirrors from ceiling to floor. The others, as she had half-expected, were lined with copious drapes of luxuriant black velvet. Aside from a closed cupboard in one corner, the rest of the room was bare.

It was not the torture chamber she had been anticipating. There were no severed heads impaled on spikes protruding from the walls. There was no discreet rack in one corner with a choice of cat-o’-nine-tails hanging from it. Most surprisingly, the walls were not carved from stone and daubed with the blood of previous victims.

Like everywhere else in the Pentagon Agency’s hostel, the black room was nothing more than a subtly converted room from a detached suburban residence. Jo suspected that the only thing that made this place any different was the people who inhabited it.

Muted lighting increased the air of hushed anticipation and Jo began to suspect the room was sound-proofed. The silence was so profound she thought it was deafening. Admittedly, she did not expect to hear many sounds at one o’clock in the morning but would have anticipated something. She strained her ears to hear any sound other than that of her own nervous heartbeat. There was nothing.

Studying her naked reflection in the full-length mirror, Jo wondered what they had in store for her. She had been left in the middle of the room. Her hands were manacled above her head. The manacles were secured to a chain suspended from the ceiling. She was having to stand on tiptoe to keep in contact with the rich pile of the carpet. Her legs and arms were already beginning to ache.

She wondered what else she would be subjected to before the night was over. It was a thought she did not dare to contemplate too deeply. She could still recall the expression of mournful pity Helen had graced her with. That expression, and its myriad implications, had been deeply unsettling.

She watched the door open behind her. It came as no great surprise when Mistress Stacey and Mr Smith entered. They were both dressed in their normal day-clothes. Each carried a menacing-looking cane. Jo swallowed nervously.