The Black Widow (7 page)

‘This is one hell of a way to start the morning,’ Derek observed, caressing the back of Poppy’s head as she sucked on him. ‘What’s the celebration for?’

‘Poppy wanted a couple of weeks off,’ Arthur explained, allowing Poppy to gently stroke her fingers up and down his length. ‘She’s doing this for me now, and I’m going to let her have the time off.’

‘It’s a good job you didn’t ask for a rise,’ Derek said, speaking to Poppy. ‘This bastard would be fucking your arse for the next twelve months if you’d done that.’

The two men guffawed together and Poppy felt another sickening wave of humiliating pleasure wash over her. They were still speaking about her with such callous disregard that she might as well have been deaf. Their sexist banter and cold indifference should have been degrading or annoying at the very least. Instead, Poppy could feel herself heading towards another climax at breakneck speed.

She rolled her tongue wetly against Derek’s cock, carefully wanking Arthur’s with her free hand. As soon as the senior partner deigned it was time for her to move her head, Poppy felt her hair being pulled so that her mouth went over his cock. She sucked both the men, wetting their lengths with her lips and tongue and gently massaging the bases of their erections.

The fact that she was naked only added fuel to the flames of her arousal. She could not recall feeling so excited in her entire life. She was being forced to kneel on the floor and perform fellatio for her employers. The absolute degradation was so sweet she was having difficulty containing another shriek of ecstasy.

‘Suck it harder, Poppy,’ Arthur growled suddenly. ‘I’m just about ready to spunk.’

Poppy had already guessed this much. She could feel the quickening pulse in his cock against her lip. Arthur was so close to climaxing she could almost taste his ejaculation. The salty-sweet flavour of his pre-come was already filling her nostrils and coating her tongue. As she pursed her lips around his length and fondled his balls, Poppy felt Arthur tensing against the threat of his impending orgasm.

‘I want you to drink every bloody drop of this, lass,’ he growled, swallowing thickly around his cry of excitement.

Poppy could feel herself shaking. She dared to tease the tip of her finger beneath his balls and stroke against the rim of his anus. The gesture was more then sufficient to push him beyond the brink. The pulse of his climax shuddered along the length of his stiff cock, forcing the first thick spurt of semen against the back of her throat.

The sudden explosion in her mouth and the taste of his seed were too much for Poppy. She had been fighting against the onset of another orgasm but the taste of Arthur’s come was too much for her. She squeezed her tightly together and felt the warm release of her climax flood in a sticky spray between her legs. If she had not been working so furiously on his length, she would have bellowed as the pleasure tore through her.

Her head was swimming with excitement and she felt more aroused than she had imagined it was possible to feel. She heard a distant cry and, glancing up from Arthur’s cock, she realised Derek was close to coming. Acting without thinking, she moved her mouth over the tip of his shaft, just as he exploded.

Before she had finished swallowing the semen from Arthur’s ejaculation, his brother’s fluid was filling her mouth. The pulse of Derek’s cock was not as hard as Arthur’s had been, but he was spraying far more semen into her. The white-hot liquid filled her mouth and Poppy almost gagged as she struggled to swallow it all.

‘Good lass,’ Arthur Knight said, stroking her hair, and guiding her face back to his wilting length. ‘If you lick me clean now, then I’ll let you take your fortnight’s holiday.’

‘Can you get her to lick me clean?’ Derek asked, his voice shaky with the residue of his excitement.

‘When you’ve finished, lick Derek clean,’ Arthur instructed flatly, as Poppy rolled her tongue over his length. She could still feel the buzz of an electric thrill tingling her pussy lips. Poppy had already decided that she would have to play with herself to relieve some of the pent-up feelings this encounter had caused. As she turned her head back to Derek’s cock, she stole a hand between her legs and dared to tease her sex. A finger brushed over her clitoris and pleasure began to course through her as she worked her tongue over his shaft.

‘You know,’ Derek said suddenly, speaking to Arthur. ‘We really ought to offer this service to some of our more prestigious clients.’

His words, and the hint of future submissions that they alluded to, were too much for Poppy. It was not only the pressure of her fingertips against the pulsing bead of her clitoris. The euphoria of this threatened humiliation left her squealing as the thrill of another orgasm swept over her. After this, she wondered if her fortnight’s holiday might not seem like an anticlimax.

‘Bloody hell!’ Wendy whispered. She had been about to leave the east wing’s storeroom, her duties there concluded for another day, when the sudden movement caught her eye. She stepped towards the window and peered through, wondering if she had been mistaken. With her face pressed against the glass, she stared across the empty lawn towards the partially blinded window in the west wing.

The health farm’s main building had been constructed with two great semicircular wings. In the tip of each lay unused rooms almost forgotten by the staff and clientele, and seldom visited. From the pane in the east wing’s storeroom, Wendy had a clear view of the scene in the west wing.

‘Bloody hell!’ she gasped again, equal measures of shock and excitement colouring her works. ‘That’s obscene.’ Without another thought, she rushed from the storeroom, determined to investigate.

It took he less than tow minutes to sprint through the building, her pace hurried by a dark intrigue that had not touched her for months. A handful of early-risers greeted her as she trotted briskly through the corridors of Elysian Fields and she acknowledged each with a polite but cursory nod. If she had seen Bryn or Allen she would have encouraged them to join her but the masseurs were not scheduled to start work for another hour. Not giving her own safety any thought, Wendy made her way to the west wing alone.

‘Please. No. No more.’

She could hear the man’s pitiful cries of protest as she neared the west wing’s forgotten room. Normally she would have associated wails like that with pain, discomfort and agony, but this tone sounded different. There was a suggestion of enjoyment in the pleas for leniency and Wendy felt her curiosity deepen. She could recognise John’s voice beneath the unfamiliar cries for mercy and she knew he was with the woman they were calling the Black Widow. The only thing Wendy did not know was what the pair of them were doing. She approached the closed door with the stealth of a natural voyeur. Her heart was pounding and she could feel her mood being coloured by the delicious flush of arousal.

‘I promise I won’t say a word. Not to the police. Not to Faye Meadows. Not to anyone. I promise.’

Wendy stepped closer to the door, wishing it had been left ajar. There were no internal windows to the room and the only glimpse inside was afforded from the eye of the mortise lock’s keyhole. Kneeling in front of the door, she pressed one eye to the keyhole and tried to make sense of what was going on. Barely aware that she was speaking aloud, Wendy whispered, ‘Bloody hell!’

‘I thank you for your promise, John. It’s nice to finally hear some compliance in your tone. But the truth is that I can’t trust you. That’s why I’m going to have to take this measure.’

By squinting, and using a little guesswork, Wendy was able to make out the scene in the room. She could see John was secured to a contraption that looked like a birthing-stool. Towering over him, with a padlock in one hand, the Black Widow was smiling ferociously.

Allen and Bryn, the health farm’s male masseurs, had already spoken to Wendy about the new manager. Their reports had been more than a little disturbing. Her name was Sky, although she preferred to be known as the Black Widow, an epithet that both men had thought peculiarly apt. The Black Widow was cruel, merciless and uncaring, they had told Wendy. The words ‘bitch’, ‘cunt’ and ‘ball-breaker’ had been used repeatedly as the two men tried to explain exactly how bad the woman was.

Wendy had treated their comments with polite contempt, determined to make up her own mind about the newcomer. Watching the forbidding blonde woman smile menacingly down at John, she began to suspect the pair had not been exaggerating.

‘Please. No,’ John begged.

Sky was smiling, her lips twisted into a sneer of contempt. ‘You’re beyond the begging stage now, John,’ she told him. ‘You should have realised by now that it does no good. I’m going to do what I want anyway.’

Wendy drew a shocked breath as she studied the couple. John’s body was scoured with welts and lines, as though he had recently received a series of vicious and cruel thrashings.

‘Look at that,’ Sky grumbled. ‘You’ve gone hard again, John. That really isn’t helping me, is it?’ Not bothering to wait for his reply, she snatched his solid length and began to roll her hand up and down him. ‘Should I wank you off, or try and beat the come out of your balls?’

Wendy pressed herself closer against the door. John was struggling in the birthing-stool, beseeching Sky to listen to him.

The woman ignored him. ‘I could hit your balls with my crop,’ she explained, tapping a finger against the tight swell of his sac. ‘I could do it repeatedly, and I bet you’d come, wouldn’t you?’

‘Please don’t,’ he begged.

Sky’s smile was tinged with malice. She worked her hand up and down his cock in quickening movements. Wendy could see the swollen head appearing then disappearing in Sky’s fist. She saw John stiffen in the chair and realised he was close to coming. Sky moved her mouth down to her hand, wanking his cock towards the ripe swell of her lips.

‘Not again,’ John moaned. The protest was torn from his mouth as the explosion erupted between his legs. Wendy watched Sky drop her lips over the pulsing head of John’s cock, greedily lapping up his seed. She could see John struggling unhappily against his restraints as though he was not enjoying the pleasure that Sky was giving him. ‘Not again.’ Wendy’s eyes widened with excitement as she saw John thrashing wildly in a futile attempt to escape the Black Widow’s plan.

‘Please don’t,’ John insisted.

Sky had her face over his. If Wendy had not just seen her sucking John’s length, she would have expected Sky to kiss him. As she watched, she saw Sky spit John’s come into his face.

‘Bitch,’ Wendy whispered incredulously.

John was twisting from side to side, his revulsion clear in the tortured expression straining his features. A thick string of his seed trailed from Sky’s lips and she wiped it absently away with the back of her hand. After forcing him to lick her fingers clean, she held up the padlock and grinned. ‘Now that your erection isn’t going to get in the way, it’s time to use this.’

John gave a sneer of disgust and did not bother replying. Wendy could see how unhappy he was with the daubing of seed that covered his face. It the image had not been so exciting she would have empathised with his revulsion.

Sky fastened the padlock round the head of his spent cock, pressing the curved steel bar cruelly tight. ‘It’s not foolproof,’ Sky told him as she studied his secured length. ‘If you’re daring you could use a tub of Vaseline and try tearing your cock out of there, but I guarantee it would hurt.’

From her view through the keyhole, Wendy suspected that Sky was telling the truth. The padlock looked painfully tight, being fastened just beneath the head of John’s cock. Even from this distance she could see that the only way to remove it would be with the use of a key. Any other attempt would result only in distress or injury.

‘If you’re more daring,’ Sky continued, ‘you could use a hacksaw. I doubt it would work, and I’m not sure if the A and E ward that treated you would be able to do corrective surgery, but it’s always a consideration. There is a final option, and this is the one I think you should go for.’

John stared up at her, silently waiting for her to continue.

‘If you’re sensible, you’ll do as I say and stay silent.’

Wendy pressed forward against the door, curiosity pulling her closer.

‘I only need your silence for a week,’ Sky told him. ‘After that, it will be too late to change things anyway. Stay silent for a week, tell me where you’re staying, and I’ll mail this key to you.’ She flashed the padlock’s key enticingly in front of his face. ‘You’ll still be able to take a pee with that on,’ she said, nodding casually at the padlock. ‘It’s just going to make erections uncomfortable and it might hamper any developing relations that you were thinking of embarking on. But if you’re a good boy and you leave here now, you can have the key in seven days.’

‘OK.’ There was no hint of hesitancy or uncertainty in John’s reply. Wendy heard him make the promise as though it had been squeezed from his crushed body. She had never seen the manager looking so cowed and submissive before and for a moment she was stung by a wave of pity for him. She pressed herself closer to the door, wishing she could see the scene in more detail without having to kneel and squint.

‘I’ll unfasten you within the hour,’ Sky said briskly. ‘You’ll be given half an hour to pack your things and leave the building. You can send me a letter with your new address and I’ll send the key on to you. Is that acceptable?’

John was nodding miserably.

‘That’s good.’ Sky smiled. Then we have an understanding.’ She had concluded the morning’s business, Wendy thought. That much was apparent from her decisive tone and sudden change in mood. She was virtually dismissing John now that she had defeated him.

Wendy suddenly realised that her position by the keyhole was decidedly vulnerable. If she was discovered watching this scene, the punishment would be swift and unforgettable. Touched by a thrill of fear, she started to ease herself away from the keyhole. Her fingers pressed lightly against the door for balance and she tried to stand up. For the first time, she realised she had been kneeling in front of the keyhole for a long time. The position was uncomfortable enough to have left her body stiff and she heard the wet crack of cartilage as her knees popped in disapproval. The sound was accompanied by a vague twang of discomfort in her legs as they buckled beneath her. With a wail of despair she felt her body lurch forward and press heavily into the door. The door pushed slowly open, allowing her to fall into the room.

‘Who the –’

Wendy glanced at the pair of them and watched their faces change. John’s eyes were shining with a glimmer of hope, which quickly evaporated into pained despondency. Sky looked shocked for a moment. Then she caught sight of Wendy’s look of startled horror and the shock was replaces by a knowing, cruel smile. ‘Hello, Wendy,’ Sky said sweetly.

Before Wendy could respond, Sky had stepped to her side. Wendy could feel the woman’s fingers curling in her hair and then she was being dragged to her feet. She muttered a small, pained scream but Sky seemed oblivious to the sound.

‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,’ Sky said, holding Wendy’s hair tightly. ‘And since you’ve just been eavesdropping I don’t think you’ll need that much of an explanation as to what’s expected of you.’

‘No…I…’

Sky shook her head until Wendy fell silent. ‘Don’t try and talk your way out of it,’ she growled. ‘You’re coming with me, and I’m going to teach you about your new position at Elysian Fields.’

Pain erupted in Wendy’s scalp as Sky dragged her out of the room.

*   *   *

Two hours later, Wendy’s scalp still hurt when she touched it, but that was the least of her worries. She was boiling hot. Sweat streamed from her forehead into her eyes, and soaked the few clothes she was still wearing. Her short dark hair was sodden with perspiration, which trickled in rivulets down her temples. She tried wiping her face dry with sweat-drenched fingers, then stopped herself as she realised how futile the attempt was. It coated her entire body. Not for the first time, she glanced at the porthole window on the locked sauna door and wondered what was going to happen next. She was dreading the Black Widow’s return.

If her parched throat could have allowed it, Wendy would have cursed her own obsession with duty. If she had not been diligently doing her chores in the east wing, then she would never have glimpsed the intriguing sight of Sky dominating John. But Wendy knew she could not blame her work for this predicament.

The east-wing duties had been given to her six months earlier, when she started working at the health farm. Faye Meadows, the strict but fair owner of Elysian Fields, had impressed on Wendy the onerous importance of this task, stating repeatedly how vital the chore was. Her grave tone, stern expression and obvious trust left Wendy in no doubt that her duties there were crucial. Because of that conversation, she always attended to her work in the east wing before she started her shift. To leave it any later would have been a violation of Faye’s trust.

Sitting in the sauna, glaring unhappily at the locked door, Wendy tried to take some solace from the thought that she had done her job well. It was a bitter consolation. The little comfort it brought was overshadowed by her darkening fear for the future.

Since she had started working at Elysian Fields, Wendy had embraced the health farm’s hedonistic doctrine. After spending the last six months in a constant state of arousal, she could now feel herself being touched by an unfamiliar emotion. It was a feeling that had no right intruding into the warm, sunny world of Elysian Fields. It was a feeling that she had not known at Elysian Fields until she saw John being punished by Sky. The last two hours had brought it home to her. She was scared.

Wendy chewed nervously on her lower lip, glancing at the porthole window on the locked sauna door. Perhaps it would have been easier to deal with the emotion if she had been more familiar with it, Wendy thought. The last six months had been such a lavish indulgence in pleasure and fulfillment that she felt the fear like a freshly honed knife edge.

She pulled off her sweat-sodden T-shirt and sat awkwardly on the wooden bench, mopping her face with the soaked garment before angrily discarding it. Dressed only in bra and panties, she felt infuriatingly hot and was tempted to remove these items as well. If it had not been for the inevitable return of the Black Widow, she probably would have undressed completely. Wendy did not like the idea of being discovered with her sweat-oiled body completely naked. The thought made her shiver in spite of the heat.

Fanning herself with a lethargic hand, Wendy tried to stop thinking of the luxuries her body craved. Her lips were parched and a raging thirst burnt the back of her throat. Dwarfing that desire was her need for a clean, fresh towel. Sweat coated every millimetre of her muscular body and, while she might have found the sensation pleasurable under other circumstances, fear was dulling the eroticism of the moment. She wanted to enjoy a refreshing shower, then towel herself dry with a fluffy pink bath towel. Her yearning for this was so acute she felt dizzy with anticipation as she pictured it.