The Black Room (23 page)

She was determined to keep her fears to herself. ‘Great,’ she said, with brash self-confidence. ‘I’m pleased you two could make it. Now, I hope you both realise, I summoned you here for a very serious purpose.’ Her heart was pounding fiercely in her chest and she could see that her reflection had paled significantly. Bravely, she tried to continue with her confident façade.

Mistress Stacey walked over to Jo and stood directly in front of her. She held the cane loosely in her hand, as though she had forgotten she was carrying it. Placing her mouth over Jo’s, she kissed the investigator passionately on the lips.

It was an unexpected gesture and Jo was surprised by the instantaneous response her body supplied. Her nipples hardened against the swell of Stacey’s chest as the woman pressed close. The dull pulse between Jo’s legs began to throb and she inhaled the soft, subtle fragrance of the mistress’s perfume.

When Stacey stepped away she stared into Jo’s face with a broad smile on her lips. A sly expression of enjoyment lit her eyes. Almost casually, Stacey reached out and stroked one of Jo’s rock-hard nipples.

Jo shivered, not having anticipated such intimacy.

Behind her, she felt a hand caressing her buttocks. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it was Mr Smith. His rough palms brushed over the bare flesh of her arse and he kneaded the skin with a careless disregard.

It was a peculiar situation, Jo thought. She could have tolerated his unsolicited attention a lot more easily if she had not found herself responding to it. Stacey’s kiss and Mr Smith’s touch were unsettlingly exciting. The pair were good, she conceded. They were very good. It would have been easier to deal with the black room if it had not begun like this, she thought. The hint of forbidden pleasure was something she had not anticipated. She could feel her control of the situation slipping away. It was a sensation she was not used to.

‘What are you doing here?’ Mr Smith asked, his lips pressed close to her ear as he whispered the question.

Jo glanced up at her manacled hands, suspended from the ceiling. ‘Would it sound trite if I said I was just hanging around?’ she asked glibly.

Mr Smith’s smile disappeared. Jo watched his reflection in the mirror as he raised his cane and brought it smartly across her buttocks. She stifled a gasp of surprise. The sting of the rod bit cruelly into her. It was a powerful blow, stronger than she had been expecting.

Stacey placed a kiss on Jo’s mouth. She cupped the swell of her breast with one cool hand. Their tongues entwined. It was the fluid motion of warm desire. Again, Jo was not expecting it and she was surprised by the way her body reacted. The combination of pleasure and pain inspired her arousal to a degree she would not have thought possible.

‘Your name is Jo Valentine,’ Mr Smith said stiffly. ‘You are a private investigator by profession and we’d like to know what you are doing here at the hostel.’

It was a shocking statement for him to make. At first Jo could not accept that Mr Smith knew so much about her. It was possible that a member of staff or a trainee had recognised her but Jo did not think it was likely. Trying not to dwell on the matter, in case he saw the consternation on her face, she tried to salvage her assumed identity. ‘My name is Jenny Vaughan,’ Jo replied defiantly. ‘And I am here because I’m training to be one of your temps.’

This time the cane stroked her arse three times. Once for each buttock, then once across the pair of them. The force he used was intolerable. Jo could feel the muscles in her legs wanting to give up. The pain was so excruciating it took a concentrated effort to stop herself from falling. Not that she would have been able to fall, Jo realised. The manacles would stop that from happening. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back, determined not to start crying. Her backside was a fire of flaming coals and she doubted she could endure much more of this punishment.

There was only one saving grace in all of this, she realised. She was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but the pain was not just causing discomfort. She had never anticipated that she was the sort of person who could get pleasure from being submissive. The notion had always been alien to her. Now, as she endured Mr Smith’s caning, she began to wonder if there was a masochistic streak lurking somewhere inside her own make-up. It was a disturbing thought and she did not want to dwell on it for too long.

‘Jenny Vaughan signed her agreement to all punishments here at the agency,’ Mr Smith said quickly. His voice was ragged and Jo wondered about the cause. He could be angry, or breathless with exertion after beating her with the cane. There was a third option, she realised, but it was not one she wanted to contemplate.

It was unnerving to think Mr Smith was aroused by the punishment he had administered. Whilst she suspected this was the cause, Jo tried not to let her mind dwell on the matter.

‘If your name isn’t Jenny Vaughan, if you’re not one of our trainees, then we could release you from this room.’

Stacey pressed her face into Jo’s neck and nuzzled her gently. The palm of her hand moved down over the flat of Jo’s stomach. Slowly, it went further. She trailed her fingers lazily through the dark curls of Jo’s pubic bush. ‘That’s right,’ Stacey whispered. ‘If you’re not Jenny Vaughan, then we have no right to keep you here.’

‘All we want to know, Jo, is why you’re here,’ Mr Smith told her. From behind, he reached around her body and caressed one breast. His fingers found the stiff bud of her nipple and he squeezed it roughly. His body was pressed against her back. Even though he was still fully clothed, Jo could feel the swell of his erection pressing through the fabric of his trousers. The urgent hardness pushed uncomfortably against her bare backside.

Unwittingly, Jo responded with a sigh of delight. She realised this was just a beginning and wondered if there was an easy way out. They already seemed to know too much about her. Considering this, she knew lying would accomplish nothing.

‘OK,’ she agreed heavily. ‘You’re right. I am a private investigator and my name is Jo Valentine.’

‘Very good,’ Mr Smith said encouragingly. As his right hand continued to play with her breasts, his left went between her legs.

Jo felt his fingers stroking clumsily against the swell of her sex. Almost unconsciously, she shifted position so he could touch her more easily.

‘You seem like a fast learner, Jo,’ he told her. His mouth was close to her ear and he whispered the words softly.

Stacey pressed her mouth against Jo’s other nipple. She flicked her tongue against the taut bud of flesh. The stimulation was incredible and Jo shivered excitedly as she enjoyed the man and the woman attending to her like this.

Mr Smith pressed his lips close to her and blew against the sensitive flesh of her neck. When he spoke his words were soft and almost loving. ‘So, your name is Jo Valentine. You’re a private investigator by occupation, and you’re here because…’

‘I’m on a case. I can’t say any more than that. You know, client confidentiality and all that,’ she added glibly.

Mr Smith’s fingers were still on her nipple. He squeezed the bud hard and twisted it roughly. The effect was dynamic.

Jo heard herself scream but could not decide whether the sound was caused by pain or pleasure. The two sensations, which had once seemed to be at opposite extremes, were becoming inextricably linked inside her mind.

‘I’d rather hear the truth,’ Mr Smith said with disdain. ‘But if you want us to play rough, Jo, then that is what will happen.’

Jo barely had a chance to take his words in before she realised the pair had moved away. Mr Smith left the room. Stacey was moving towards the cupboard in the corner. From her position, Jo could not see what she was getting, but all became apparent when the woman turned around. In her hands, the mistress held a shaving mug, a brush and a cutthroat razor. She smiled sadly at Jo as she moved towards her.

If she had not been manacled to the spot, Jo would have backed away from the woman. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked nervously.

Stacey ignored the question. ‘You really should have told us the truth,’ she said softly. ‘It would have been a lot easier for you.’

‘I am telling the truth,’ Jo told her desperately. She stared at the razor in Stacey’s hand. ‘What are you going to do with that?’

Stacey shrugged, a disarming smile on her lips. ‘I’m just going to shave you,’ she said innocently. ‘That won’t be so bad, will it?’

Jo doubted her explanation was as full as it could be but she nodded reluctant acceptance of the situation. She watched as the mistress knelt down in front of her and began to create a lather with the soap and brush.

If I was James Bond, Jo thought desperately, I could kick her unconscious from this position, reach my legs up, pick the lock on the manacles with my toenails and make my escape. It was a ludicrous thought and she smiled at the farcical image it presented. Even if she had the ability to pick locks with her toenails, Jo knew that there was no way in hell she could lift her legs up that high. Sourly, she wished she had kept up her new year’s resolution about the exercise video.

Jo watched as Stacey placed the first creamy dollop of lather into her pubic bush. She had been excited whilst Mr Smith and Stacey had been touching and caressing her. It did not take much for the strange feeling of the lather to reawaken her arousal.

Stacey teased the foaming brush through Jo’s pubic mound. She eased lather into the neatly trimmed triangle of hairs and then moved downwards. Without a word to Jo, she slid the brush between her legs and lathered the lips of Jo’s vagina.

Jo felt her breath deepening as she enjoyed the stimulation. She was uncomfortable. Her arse still burnt from the caning she had received and her arms were a dull constant ache. However, she could not deny this whole experience was having a powerful effect. She wished her hands had been free so she could either caress herself or touch Mistress Stacey.

Stacey moved the cool blade through Jo’s pubes with a well-practised ease. She handled the razor with skill and had shaved her bare within two minutes. Her fingers slid against Jo’s soapy flesh and held her steady as she used the razor. Without employing any intimacy, she shaved each dark, wiry tendril from the lips of Jo’s pussy, leaving a smooth, pink expanse of flesh.

It was an unnerving experience. Jo knew she could not trust Stacey. Whilst she doubted the woman was going to use the razor as a weapon, the fear was still there. She held her breath as the blade scratched the hairs from her skin. She was aware that her entire concentration was focused on the area Stacey was shaving.

When Stacey finally folded the blade into its handle, Jo breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. She took a moment to collect her thoughts then stared at her bare reflection in the mirror. Almost absently, she tried to decide if she liked the look.

It seemed unreal to be considering such a thing. The danger of her situation had not escaped her. The enormity of the predicament still weighed heavily on her mind. But Jo knew there was also her vanity to consider.

The shaved look was not something she had ever contemplated before. She had always been rather fond of the curly thatch of pubes that covered her sex. Since they had first appeared during the early years of her adolescence she had considered the hairs to be an essential part of her femininity. She wondered idly what Stephanie would make of the bald pussy she now sported. Pragmatically, she reminded herself that she and Stephanie were not yet on such intimate terms.

Stacey took the shaving equipment back to the cupboard and reached for something else. Jo was trying to see what the woman was getting when she heard the door open.

She swallowed a nervous mouthful of fear when she saw Mr Smith had returned. He was wearing a pair of sturdy gardening gloves and in each hand he carried a prolific bouquet of lush, verdant foliage. Her heart began to beat nervously.

Jo knew very little about flowers and plants. In a florist’s shop she could just about tell the difference between the yellow roses and the red ones. However, even she knew what these plants were.

‘Nettles,’ she gasped. She was horrified by the thought of why he might be carrying them.

Mr Smith graced her with a tight smile. He was obviously enjoying her discomfort. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Nettles. Perhaps these will encourage you to tell the truth.’

Jo closed her eyes and considered her predicament. They were offering her a simple choice, she realised. She could either tell them all about Mr Rogers and his missing wife, or she could endure a nettling, along with whatever else they had in store for her. To Jo’s practical mind there should have been no contest between the two choices. She had always adhered to the rule of client confidentiality before, but she had never had to pick from two such options.

‘I’ve been trying to locate a missing person,’ she said carefully. ‘I trailed her to this address and saw that the only way in was to disguise myself as a new recruit.’

Mr Smith and Stacey exchanged a glance.

‘Go on,’ Mr Smith encouraged her.

Jo considered telling him about Kelly and Mr Rogers but she could not find the words. The fact that she had never betrayed a client had not seemed important before. Now it seemed paramount.

‘That’s it,’ Jo assured him.

‘Can you supply us with any names?’ he asked.

‘I’d rather not,’ Jo replied evenly.

Mr Smith turned to Stacey and nodded meaningfully.

Jo watched the woman approach and kneel down again in front of her. She had a tube of fluid in one hand and she squirted some on to her fingers. Without a moment’s hesitation she smeared the ice cold liquid over the lips of Jo’s newly shaved pussy.

‘Is that some sort of soothing balm?’ Jo asked nervously.

Stacey shook her head solemnly.

‘It’s an electrolyte,’ Mr Smith explained calmly.

In this context, Jo thought, electrolyte was quite a frightening word. ‘An electrolyte,’ she repeated numbly. Whatever else the pair had planned for her, Jo doubted she was going to find it a pleasant experience.

‘Yes,’ Mr Smith explained patiently. ‘An electrolyte. It helps to conduct the electricity more efficiently. I believe it’s some sort of saline solution, although I’m not very technical with these things.’ He graced her reflection with a wry smile. ‘Mistress Stacey is the expert. That’s why she operates the controls.’