The Black Room (24 page)

Jo stiffened, aware that her heart was now pounding furiously inside her chest. She stared unhappily at Mistress Stacey, then at Mr Smith. Her hands strained against the manacles that held her but she knew there was no way out of the situation. She would have to endure whatever they had planned for her.

It was a chilling thought.

Mr Smith walked calmly behind her. He was carrying one of the bouquets of weeds in his thickly gloved hand. As he passed Jo, he brushed the nettles lightly over her back and buttocks.

The touch of the nettles was not as bad as she had anticipated. She stiffened herself against the million pinpricks scratching at her flesh but the pain was minimal. However, the stinging that flared inside her flesh afterwards was the real agony. The gentle brush of the nettles was almost a caress in comparison. The red-hot burning of their aftermath was the real cause of suffering.

Mr Smith walked around to Jo’s front. His cruel smile was despicable yet, when he leant towards her and kissed her, she responded eagerly. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, exciting and thrilling her with his intimacy. Jo felt her arousal being rekindled and she writhed her legs together with urgency.

Instead of holding her or caressing her, Mr Smith drew the nettles over Jo’s flat stomach. With slow deliberation he moved the greenery up towards her breasts.

Jo groaned. It seemed incredible that this sort of torture could feel so exciting. Her body was responding so eagerly she had difficulty believing it. Her inner muscles were throbbing with a hungry desire that demanded to be satisfied. At the same time, her tits were stinging furiously and her buttocks felt as though they were on fire. Neither the humiliation nor the physical pain seemed to dampen her arousal. Contrarily, it seemed both of these factors were stimulating her.

She watched as he rubbed the nettles roughly against her breasts. He tapped the leaves and stems almost playfully against her nipples. A cry of unbridled anguish welled inside her but she stopped herself from releasing it. Her breasts felt as though they were on fire. Her nipples burnt, as though they had suffered a thousand bee stings. In spite of this, or because of it, she felt dangerously close to orgasm. Her breathing deepened and she began to pant with obvious arousal.

Mr Smith stepped away from her and allowed Mistress Stacey to move in. She was holding a small black box in her hands. Thin wires trailed from the back of it and they swung lightly in the air as the mistress approached.

‘Who is this missing person, Jo?’ Mr Smith asked kindly. His tone was so friendly and genial she found it difficult to believe he had just been inflicting so much suffering on her. ‘Who are you looking for? If you tell us now, it will be a lot easier for you.’

Stacey nodded her agreement. ‘That’s right,’ she agreed. ‘If you don’t give us any names, then we have to consider that you might be investigating the agency.’ She ran her finger over Jo’s breasts as she spoke.

The nipples were painfully sore but they hardened at Stacey’s touch. Jo shivered with delight as the woman squeezed one agonised bud between her fingers. The discomfort was greater than anything she had ever tolerated. At the same time, the pleasure it inspired was magnificent.

‘I can’t say,’ she whispered softly. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t tell you.’

Mr Smith patted her warmly on the shoulder. His smile was warm and reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, Jo,’ he told her confidently. ‘You will tell us.’ He snapped his fingers in Stacey’s direction.

At his command, the mistress began to work. She had been extracting the wires from her electrical box with careful deliberation. At Mr Smith’s signal she moved closer to Jo and began to attach the leads to her body.

She had four wires in her hand and she attached them to Jo with scrupulous care. Each of her inner labia was clamped with a tweezer-like connector, and the third connector was placed on the hood of Jo’s clitoris.

The feeling was excruciatingly uncomfortable but Jo tolerated it without a frown. She watched as Mistress Stacey took the fourth electrode and applied the electrolyte solution to it. It was a long, slender length of metal, and Jo was not surprised when she felt it being pushed up between her legs.

She noticed that Stacey’s finger lingered a long time over the lips of her pussy. The woman seemed to extract a good deal of pleasure from teasing the lips of Jo’s labia with her long fingers. The electrolyte gel was cool against her sensitive flesh but Jo realised it was also an ideal lubricant. Stacey rubbed her fingers over Jo’s pussy until the stirrings of her arousal were a strong, urgent heat.

When Jo had begun to pant excitedly, Stacey stepped away from her. She carried the little black box in her hands. She graced Jo with a sad look then glanced at Mr Smith. When he nodded, Mistress Stacey pressed a button on the box’s console.

Jo gasped. Her body was struck by an unprecedented wave of shock. The lips of her labia thrilled to the sensation of a shrill, bristling charge, as a low-voltage current brushed against them. Deep inside the velvety depths of her hole, Jo felt her muscles clamping furiously in response to the tingling electrode. The strength of her orgasm was phenomenal.

She stared from Mr Smith to Mistress Stacey, her expression somewhere between dull fury and eternal gratitude.

‘You’re our second guest in this room tonight,’ Mr Smith said conversationally. ‘Helen, the girl who was in here before you, had to be taught a little discipline.’ He smiled tightly, oblivious to the whirling emotions Jo was experiencing. ‘She was fitted with those same electrodes you’re wearing. And I used a similar bunch of nettles on her body too.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that this is what you do with all the girls?’ Jo asked dryly.

Mr Smith’s smile faltered. His good mood evaporated instantly and Jo knew she had made a mistake. The thought was terrifying. A cold sweat erupted over her entire body and she shivered. When she thought of all the things Mr Smith had done to her whilst he was in a good mood, she did not dare think how he might respond in anger.

‘I’m trying to tell you what Helen went through,’ he explained tersely. ‘She had to hold the nettles between the cheeks of her arse. If she dropped them, she got lashed with them. If she managed to hold on to them, she got a reward.’

Jo shivered at the thought of what Helen had been through. ‘Why would she have dropped them?’ Jo asked.

Mr Smith nodded at Stacey again. Before Jo could say a word in protest, her body exploded again with a furious, electrically charged orgasm. The tingling began in the pit of her stomach and reached out to every erogenous zone in her body. She felt herself shivering and trembling. Even when she saw Stacey was no longer pressing the button, Jo could still feel tremors causing spasms in her body. The pleasure of the orgasm was euphoric. It was an intense explosion of pleasure that filled her every pore. Her clitoris was sparkling with the most intense delight she had ever experienced. Not just one orgasm struck her but wave after wave rode through her. The thrill of so much pleasure left her breathless and frightened. She had always loved good sex and had been proud of her ability to enjoy it. Even so, she had never experienced anything of this magnitude.

‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you,’ Mr Smith said conversationally. ‘That a press of the buzzer was the reward she received.’

Shivering, Jo fixed him with the sternest look she could manage. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she asked quietly.

He smiled. ‘I’m trying to set up a comparison for you,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘Helen was a problem we have to deal with here on a fairly regular basis. As you saw, she was properly subjugated when she left. You, on the other hand, are a far more serious problem. We intend to deal with you. I just want you to know that it might take quite a lot of effort on our part.’

Jo was terrified by the prospect of what he might be planning. His sadistic enjoyment of her plight was so obvious it was almost tangible.

A knock at the door of the black room disturbed the moment.

Mr Smith and Mistress Stacey exchanged a puzzled frown.

It was clear to Jo they were not used to being disturbed like this. She found herself wondering who had dared to risk interrupting the pair in such a way.

Mr Smith opened the door and left the room quickly.

Jo tried to see who was there but the figure outside was draped in shadows. Alone with Mistress Stacey, she smiled uncertainly at the other woman.

‘I’ve told you everything I can about my case,’ Jo explained. ‘Do we really have to carry on with this?’

Stacey graced her with a questioning look. ‘As Mr Smith said, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell us more.’

Jo was about to add something, a desperate plea for solidarity or sisterhood, she had not decided which. Before she could speak, the door opened again.

‘Change of plan,’ Mr Smith said dourly. He glared at Stacey as he spoke. Jerking his thumb back at the door, he said, ‘He wants her blindfold.’

Stacey responded quickly.

Jo turned from the mistress to Mr Smith, unable to keep the panic from her face. She wanted to ask who Mr Smith was referring to. She also wanted to know why she needed a blindfold. She was willing to tolerate just so much but a blindfold was stretching it. She did not bother asking the questions because she knew they would not be answered. A moment later she felt a large rubber mask being placed over her face. The black hood covered her eyes tightly and blocked out all light. There were holes beneath her nostrils and around her mouth but they were the only openings in the mask. Now she was aware of nothing but a rich, all enveloping blackness.

‘Secure?’ Jo heard Mr Smith ask.

‘Secure.’ Mistress Stacey repeated the word flatly.

Jo heard the door open. She strained her ears to hear what was happening. A cool draught blew from the door across her back and she suppressed a shiver of nervous anticipation.

‘I trust I will see you later, Jo Valentine,’ Mr Smith told her.

‘Who said that?’ Jo asked, for no other reason than to hear her own voice. She knew things would be easier if she acted with servility but the rebellious streak inside her did not seem to care.

She heard Mr Smith’s impatient growl and realised he was addressing someone else when he next spoke. ‘She’s been full of smart-arse crap like that since she was brought in here,’ he exploded. ‘I do hope you won’t be lenient with her.’

Jo felt a chill as she heard his words. With her vision cut off, she could not see who he was talking to but she knew it was the room’s new occupant. The newcomer made no reply to Mr Smith. The next sound she heard was the door slamming.

‘Would you like me to leave?’ It was Stacey’s voice. Jo realised the question was not directed at her. She listened for a response but only heard Stacey’s reply.

‘Very well, sir.’

It was a man, Jo thought. She would have guessed this much anyway when a pair of masculine hands began stroking her body. The fingers moved over her sore arse, cupped her bare breasts and then moved down to explore the heated cleft between her legs.

‘If you want
me
to leave, I will do,’ Jo said quickly. It was a slim chance, she thought. The line would be more likely to antagonise the newcomer than make him set her free but she couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

She felt a second pair of hands, Stacey’s she thought, removing the clamps from her labia. The tapered electrode that had been resting in her vagina was gently pulled out.

All the time, the man was touching her. His fingers played with her breasts and stroked her body with a care that was almost loving. Although she felt aroused by his touch, Jo was simultaneously chilled. This man had acted like Mr Smith’s superior and to Jo’s mind that meant he had to be far more dangerous.

It did not take long before her worst fears were confirmed. A hand, broad, masculine and hard, struck the left cheek of her arse. Jo flinched, surprised by the blow. She suppressed a cry of surprise, determined that this unknown newcomer should not know how easy it was to hurt her.

He followed up his first blow with a second one. The hand smacked so hard against her nettled cheeks that Jo sucked in her breath noisily. She briefly congratulated herself on the fact that she had not exclaimed, but it was small consolation. If it had not been for the arousal she felt, Jo would have been frightened.

‘That one.’

His voice was disturbingly familiar. She tried to place it. There had to be a reason why she thought she knew this man. It niggled at the back of her mind like the title of a forgotten song. She would have dwelt on the thought longer but Mistress Stacey’s words brought her attention back to the black room with a resounding jolt.

‘The sauna whip?’ It was a question.

Jo guessed that because the woman had not been contradicted she had selected the right implement. Her fears were proved correct a moment later.

The stinging pain that bit at her aching nipples could only have been caused by a flexible sauna whip. Jo had seen one of the trainees being punished with one earlier that day. She could mentally picture the short leather strands at the tip of the cruel whip.

First he flogged her left breast, then the right. He repeated the action again and again until she lost count of the number of times he struck her. Relentlessly, he administered blow after blow. Each crack of the whip landed with cruel accuracy, inflaming her nipples with a wealth of pain so debilitating it was exquisite.

Unable to stand the pain any longer, Jo let out a soft groan of pleasure. She did not want to beg her captor for anything but it seemed she had no choice. The words spilt from her mouth without her realising she had spoken them.

‘Please. No more,’ she begged softly. ‘No more.’

Her nipples stung with a biting raw pain that was blissful. If she accepted any more of this pain, Jo believed she would explode. It was like music to her ears when she heard the heavy thud of something falling to the floor. He’s thrown down the whip, Jo thought, relief sweeping over her. He’s thrown it on the floor. She would have extracted more pleasure from the thought if her mind had not rushed ahead: what’s he going to do now? she asked herself.