The Black Room (13 page)

Russel bit back a cry of ecstasy. He could feel himself on the brink of orgasm, a position Helen seemed to have held him at throughout the evening. The pleasure that emanated from his anus was stronger than any he had enjoyed before. If he had been forced to endure this humiliation in front of Mistress Vanessa, his fantasy would have been complete.

Thoughts of Mistress Vanessa made his cock shiver impetuously against the mirror. He knew she would be offended if she discovered what he and Helen had been doing, but that thought brought pleasures of its own. She would be angry, but she would not be upset. He could imagine that she would punish him for this misdemeanour and that realisation thrilled him beyond belief.

‘You’re close to coming, aren’t you?’ Helen noted. ‘Do you think another finger might help?’

Before Russel could reply, he felt her index finger slide from its warm haven inside him. His sphincter tightened on the finger’s egress, sending a thrill of pleasure through his body. The thrill was nothing compared to the joy he received when Helen shoved her index and middle fingers inside him. She pushed them roughly into him, unmindful of the sensitive tissue inside. He was wet with his own arousal and the digits easily pushed his tight hole wider as they slid deeper and deeper into his backside.

Russel gasped for breath, aware that his climax was imminent. Helen’s fingers moved in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. The fingers of her other hand moved tentatively between his legs, toying lazily with his balls. The combination of sensations was more than he could take and Russel bit back a cry of desperation. He dared to open his eyes and glance at the reflection of himself in the mirror.

He did not really look like a woman, he was not foolish enough to convince himself of that, but, nevertheless, he found his mirror-image arousing. He looked at how his cock had pushed itself free of the skirt and was pressed urgently against the mirror. He could see his legs and he had to admit that Helen’s stockings looked very good on him. The shapeliness of his calves and the slenderness of his thighs was feminine enough for him to wear the nylons without looking foolish. He also thought the blouse looked good on him, along with the hint of bra he could glimpse inside the open buttons.

‘Quite a pretty little thing, aren’t you?’ Helen observed. She smiled knowingly at his reflection.

Russel started to reply and then realised Helen was trying to insert a third finger inside him. He tried to protest but she shushed him with her soothing voice.

‘Take it easy,’ Helen insisted. ‘You’re not the first young woman I’ve ever deflowered,’ she laughed. ‘I think I know what I’m doing. And I think three fingers is enough for you to remember that this has happened.’

Russel did not really think this evening would be one he could ever forget, but he did not tell Helen this. His thoughts were focused on the debilitating pleasure she was inflicting up his arse. His bumhole felt full to bursting, as did his balls. He felt as though he was being stretched to the brink of tolerance.

He felt the orgasm begin in his balls. A pulsating throb of pleasure released itself from somewhere between his anus and his scrotum. His dick stiffened and, before he realised it, he was shooting semen all over the mirror. A giddying whirl of pleasure rushed through him as he came. The muscles of his arse tightened forcibly around Helen’s fingers as the climax washed over him.

‘Very good,’ Helen said encouragingly. She removed her fingers slowly from him, then moved so that she could kiss Russel’s face. She drew one hand through the semen that covered the mirror and tasted it avariciously.

Russel watched as she licked it from her fingers. A salacious smile rested on her lips.

‘You taste nice,’ she told him, scooping up another fingerful of his seed from the mirror. Before Russel could stop her, she had smeared the seed over his lips. She wiped her finger all around his mouth and then pressed her mouth against his.

As she kissed him, Russel heard her moan softly. He wondered if she was deriving her pleasure from the actual kiss, or the taste she had put there. He did not have time to ponder these thoughts before Helen began tugging him towards the bed.

‘Screw me now, Russel,’ she implored him, holding his cock in her hand. ‘Screw me before this gorgeous monster of yours goes limp.’ She fell on to the bed, pulling him on top of her as she went. Her hand guided his length towards the welcoming warmth of her hole.

Within moments of him climaxing, Russel realised he was on the brink of having Helen.

She groaned quietly as his dick prodded at the sensitive flesh of her pussy. It was a large cock and Helen knew it would be a tight fit. As it began to slide between the lips of her labia, Helen realised just how big it was. Russel’s cock filled her. The vast size of his girth was the broadest she had ever experienced. She gasped breathlessly as he pushed it slowly inside her. She had never felt so full and the stimulation was so total it was sublime. Each and every inch of her inner muscles were being forced apart by the mammoth length that pushed into her. The tip of his knob began to nuzzle at the neck of her womb and she bit back a scream of surprise. She had been unaware that an orgasm could steal over her so unexpectedly.

Russel rode her with inept deliberation. He was an inexperienced lover. Vanessa was the first woman he had ever seen naked. Helen was the first who had ever encouraged him to do something like this. Nevertheless, what he lacked in experience, he made up for in obedience and enthusiasm. He pushed himself deeply into Helen before pulling back, then pushed in again at a pace that would have been too eager for a man with a smaller cock.

Thrilled by the pressure of his enormous manhood, Helen did not care about his pace. Each inward thrust forced Helen to experience a climax of devastating proportions. Wave after wave of delight swept through her as he rode her. The intensity of each orgasm increased until she feared how powerful the next would be.

His strokes quickened swiftly, as did Helen’s orgasms. She struggled to keep her pleasure silent, mindful of the ever alert security presence in the hostel. As Russel neared his own orgasm, Helen was too exhausted to care. She felt his cock twitch inside her and distantly heard Russel moan a soft sigh of joy.

The sound was only faint: her own orgasm was so ferocious she was deafened by the sound of the blood pumping savagely in her temples. If he had not worn her out with his stamina, Helen knew she would have screamed ecstatically as this final orgasm struck.

Russel pulled his cock from her slippery hole, aware that Helen was smiling coyly at him.

‘Was that all right?’ Russel asked uncertainly.

Helen smiled through her exhaustion. ‘Adequate,’ she said, after a moment’s pause. ‘We’ll have to try it again some other night. In fact, we’ll keep trying it until you get it right.’

Russel frowned again when Helen mentioned a repeat performance. He began to remove the items of her clothing that he still wore, taking off the stockings first, then the skirt, blouse and bra. ‘What if we get caught?’ he asked unhappily.

Helen shrugged, putting the clothes on as he took them off. ‘If we get caught, we end up in the black room. I doubt it’s such a big deal,’ she told him, trying to sound confident about this.

Russel doubted this was true, but did not say anything. ‘What if I don’t want to do it again?’ he asked, not daring to look at Helen.

She leant across the bed and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. ‘Why, Russel, darling, if you really don’t want to do it again, that’s not a problem.’

He glanced up at her hesitantly, aware that her voice was too sweet and pleasant to be proposing something he would like.

Helen gave him a guileless smile. ‘If you really don’t want to spend a night like this with me again, the solution is simple.’ Her pleasant smile turned into the bitter expression of cruelty he was used to seeing on her face. ‘Under those circumstances, I’d just have to force you,’ she explained.

Russel stared at her, unable to keep his unhappiness from surfacing on his face.

Helen finished dressing and stood up in front of him. A mischievous light glinted in her eyes and she reached for the hem of her skirt, lifting it up in front of him. ‘Take my knickers off, Russel,’ she commanded briskly.

Russel frowned miserably, but knew better than to argue. He slowly removed her knickers.

‘Well done,’ she told him, helpfully stepping out of the underwear. ‘Now put them on, and keep them on until tomorrow night. I’ll be back to reclaim them then. I hope you’ll be ready for me,’ she added with a broad grin. ‘I might even bring a friend to share that gorgeous rod of yours.’

Russel frowned at the pants he held in his hand, wondering if he should do as Helen wanted. His own feelings ceased to be an issue when she said crisply, ‘Put them on now, Russel. I might decide to check if you’re still wearing them sometime tomorrow, and I’ll make you very sorry if I discover you’re not.’

Hurriedly, Russel began to slide the skimpy cotton panties over his feet and up his legs. He started to phrase another question for Helen, hoping he could find a way of dissuading her from her plans. However, when he had finished putting the knickers on, he realised she had already left the room.

Stephanie and Jo sat in the parked car trying to avoid looking at one another. Unusually for them, Stephanie sat in the driver’s seat, with Jo as the passenger. Although the engine was still, the air conditioning ran noisily, filling the car with a cool, necessary breeze. A bright, cheerful Mozart symphony spilt from the car’s CD player, rushing along at its own vigorous pace.

Nick’s words came into Jo’s mind: ‘You can’t listen to Mozart and stay miserable.’ She would have liked to have him sitting in the car now. An impenetrable silence had fallen between the two women. The atmosphere was heavy and neither one of them was listening to the music.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Stephanie said dourly.

‘This is our last chance,’ Jo replied in a solemn voice.

It was a beautiful summer’s day. Sunlight filtered its way through the canopy of heavy foliage lining the avenue. An elderly woman, tall, dignified and refined, walked slowly down the street, holding the leash of a poodle. Trimmed into a show-cut, the dog looked just as tall and dignified as its owner.

The woman and her dog were the only pedestrians the two investigators had seen. Aside from them, the avenue was deserted. The fronts of the executive abodes in this area were shielded by lush, verdant shrubbery. Each had a long driveway, and Jo guessed this would reinforce the sense of seclusion. It seemed like the ideal place for an organisation like the Pentagon Agency. Whatever they were up to, they had no worries about discretion. Jo had already decided that each property enjoyed a good deal of isolation.

She kept her thoughts to herself. Stephanie was already unhappy with this stage of the assignment and Jo did not want to worry her partner any further. She also suspected that Stephanie had worked out all these things for herself.

‘Nice street,’ Jo remarked simply. ‘You and I could retire if we came trick-or-treating here next Halloween.’

Stephanie snorted derisively. ‘You have a more optimistic view of the future than I do. I can picture you still being on the missing-persons list by then.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ Jo replied softly. She reached out, intending to squeeze Stephanie’s hand reassuringly. Jo realised the gesture was a mistake as soon as she had started it. Stephanie had her hands in her lap. As she clumsily reached for her friend, Jo felt her fingers brushing against the cool, creamy skin of Stephanie’s thighs. She had still not dared to reveal her feelings, even though the longing had not abated. Her need for Stephanie was transforming into an emotion so powerful it was almost tangible.

They had been working diligently on the Rogers case for the past week, but Jo had still found time to discreetly study Stephanie’s body. Long nights at Stephanie’s apartment, discussing possible leads and different perspectives, had meant they were spending a lot more time together. Those nights had been torture, and Jo had fought to keep a tight reign on her feelings when they were inevitably stirred.

She had managed to keep her desires secret so far but, as she put her fingers in Stephanie’s lap, she turned again to the idea of confessing exactly how she felt. It was a ridiculous notion and she discounted it before it had properly formed.

The sudden closeness was too much. She simply squeezed Stephanie then moved her hand away. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she repeated huskily.

‘Surely there must be another way,’ Stephanie implored her. ‘This can’t be our only option.’

Jo shook her head. ‘We’ve been over it and over it, Steph,’ she said quietly. ‘Every lead we’ve had has drawn a blank. Nick either can’t or won’t help us. None of our usual contacts are in the same league as this Pentagon Agency and your computer seems to point to this street as being the next location for our enquiries to continue.’

‘Is it worth it?’ Stephanie asked.

Jo grinned. ‘Only if you want to eat next month,’ she replied. ‘You dealt with the Pentagon Agency yourself when we were making enquiries. You’ve hacked their database, and seen the name Kelly Rogers on their records, yet still they’ve denied all knowledge of her. Add that to the little I managed to get out of Nick, and we’ve got all the makings of a lead that is being well and truly covered up. When you consider those names that were in the agency’s database, and cross-reference them with the PNC’s list of missing people, you begin to realise how big this thing is.’

‘Which is why I think it’s too big for us,’ Stephanie said tiredly. ‘What’s wrong with passing it all over to the police and sitting back whilst they do the work?’

Jo grinned. They had been through this several times before. ‘There’s only three things wrong with that,’ she said quietly. ‘First, the police won’t do the work; Nick told us that much. Second, our client doesn’t want the police involved, slimy little wretch that he is. And third, if we do that, we don’t get paid.’

Stephanie shook her head, knowing she was not going to make Jo change her mind. ‘You won’t let me talk you out of this, will you?’

‘No.’ Jo smiled sadly. ‘But that’s only because I know I’ll be all right. You seem to forget, I’m a born actress. This is going to be the perfect role for me.’

‘You’ll need to be a born actress,’ Stephanie said unhappily. ‘You’re not the type of person these people usually recruit. That application form we completed wasn’t just assessing your temping skills. That form was designed to get a specific psychological profile.’

‘Which is why we took so long filling the damned thing in,’ Jo reminded her. ‘And we must have done it right, otherwise I wouldn’t have managed to get this interview with Mr Smith.’

Stephanie looked away, not trusting herself to say anything about the doubtful Mr Smith. She had no trace of a man called Smith being involved with the Pentagon Agency. The name was so obviously an alias she was worried by its blatancy.

‘So how come you’re going undercover as the temp, and I’m relegated to back-up?’ she asked eventually. ‘When it comes to typing, they’d call you ham-fisted if you used more than two fingers. Your shorthand is illegible and your spelling is atrocious. Why aren’t I going undercover as the temp?’

Jo grinned. ‘Because it’s a temping agency,’ she explained. ‘I can make crap coffee, be rude on the telephone and turn up late better than anyone else you know. Try and distinguish my behaviour from a temp’s in any way at all and I’ll let you do this damned assignment.’

‘And you still insist on going in naked?’ Stephanie enquired.

Jo nodded. ‘Figuratively, of course,’ she said with a grin. ‘According to the form I filled in, I’m Jenny Vaughan. I have a limited social circle, so I have no need for my laptop, filofax or mobile phone. If Mr Smith thinks I will be a suitable candidate then my two weeks’ residential training course will begin immediately. I’ll do my damnedest to contact you each night, at your home, around eleven. I’ll find some way of doing it from the phones they have inside, but I can’t risk taking a phone in with me. That would look far too suspicious.’

‘It still sounds too dangerous to me,’ Stephanie said with despair in her voice. ‘What if something goes wrong? What if they turn nasty? Do you think Jenny Vaughan can handle this situation if it starts turning bad on her?’

Jo shook her head. ‘Of course she couldn’t, spineless bitch that she is.’ She gave Stephanie a knowing grin. ‘If things get out of hand, Jenny Vaughan is going to disappear and Jo Valentine will take over.’

Stephanie shook her head. ‘Perhaps, when we got that psychologist to look over the application form, we should have booked a therapy session for you and your schizophrenia.’

Jo glanced at her watch and then confirmed the time with the dashboard clock. ‘I haven’t even got time to insult you for that little jibe,’ she said quickly. ‘If I don’t set off now, Jenny’s going to be late for her interview, and Jenny is always punctual.’ Seeing the frown of concern on Stephanie’s face, she leant across the gear stick and planted a soft, tender kiss on her cheek.

She had intended it to be platonic and reassuring. Instead, Jo found herself amazed by the emotion this simple kiss inspired. A charge of excitement seemed to bristle against her lips. She glanced into Stephanie’s eyes and saw an expression there that she had only dreamt of seeing previously. The glint of desire and anticipation in Stephanie’s mellow brown eyes seemed to mirror the longing Jo knew was in her own. She paused, uncertain of what to do next. She wished she had the time to talk about this with Stephanie, but the case in hand intruded impatiently on her thoughts.

‘Take care,’ Stephanie said quietly, putting a hand on Jo’s.

Again, Jo sensed that electric tingle of attraction. She had considered making some light or witty comment before leaving the car: ‘I’ll get out of this in one piece, or my name isn’t Jenny Vaughan’ was the line she had intended using. Now, wondering if Stephanie really was aware of her feelings, and daring to hope she might feel the same way, Jo doubted the joke would be appropriate.

‘I’ll take care,’ she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat before she spoke. ‘We’ll talk tonight, OK?’

Stephanie nodded and watched Jo climb from the car. Not trusting herself to watch her walk away, she started the car’s engine and drove quickly away.

Jo watched the car drive swiftly down the impossibly still avenue. A faint smile creased the corners of her mouth. She wondered how close she and Stephanie had come to confessing their feelings for one another. ‘It’s going to happen one day,’ she told herself. ‘And, the sooner I can solve this case, the sooner Stephanie and I can get down to discovering one another.’

It was a warming thought and she carried it with her into Mr Smith’s interview room.

*   *   *

Tall, broad, dark and commanding, Mr Smith exuded an air of controlled power that was positively chilling. He conducted the interview with a crisp voice that sounded uncompromisingly austere. His steel-grey eyes studied Jo relentlessly, frowning darkly on the rare occasions when she dared to meet his gaze.

Jo realised that if she failed to meet with Mr Smith’s exacting standards, she would be banished from his office with no hope of ever returning. It was an intimidating thought and she struggled valiantly to answer all his questions with the most suitable answers.

‘Perhaps you’d like to know a little bit more about our organisation,’ he said eventually. There was an undercurrent of a foreign accent in his voice but so subtle it was barely more than an inflection. ‘Here at the Pentagon Agency we strive to provide a very special kind of temp for our more discerning clientele. We employ ordinary temps for a lot of our tasks but those whom we train here at the hostel are destined for our exclusive client list; an inner pentagon, if you will,’ he said, testing an unfamiliar smile across his lips. ‘Aside from selecting candidates with a high degree of administrative skills, we are also looking for a particular type of person. A person who embodies the corporate image of a Pentagon Agency temp.’

Jo nodded, a sweet, understanding smile on her lips. Occasionally she glanced at Mr Smith whilst he spoke but, on the whole, she studied the painfully neat surface of his desk, seeming to be too timid to dare to meet his gaze.

‘We’re called the Pentagon Agency because we were originally founded, ten years ago, by a group of five business associates. All of us knew what we wanted from a temping agency. None of us knew where to find it. We decided to join forces and train temps to our own standard of excellence.’

‘It sounds like it was an ideal arrangement,’ Jo said politely. ‘Were you one of the founders?’

He nodded. ‘As I said, there were five of us who set up the company and we worked very well together. Each of us contributed something unique to the company: marketing skills, specific legal knowledge, recruitment and training techniques, amongst other things.’

Jo nodded, not daring to ask what these other things might be. The way Mr Smith alluded to them made it clear there would be no detailed discussion on the subject. She did not mind. She was learning more about the Pentagon Agency.

‘Four of the founders remain the same today as they did at our commencement. The fifth member, our man with the specific legal knowledge, sadly passed on several months ago.’

‘My condolences,’ Jo said quietly.

Mr Smith exercised his tight, humourless smile. ‘His replacement is just as knowledgeable. He is also equally in tune with the rest of the directorship, in terms of what he wants for the company. It is down to his foresight and acumen that we are currently enjoying a period of expansion, allowing us to employ and train a greater number of temps than ever before.’

‘Does that mean you’re accepting my application for training?’ Jo asked cheerfully.

Mr Smith smiled sardonically. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure yet, Miss Vaughan. According to your previous-employment record and your application form, you seem perfectly suited for training with the inner pentagon. However, I have reservations that you would be uncomfortable with some aspects of the training.’

Jo swallowed. ‘What are your doubts?’ She kept her voice quiet. ‘Perhaps I can assuage them?’

His smile resurfaced, as though he had anticipated her saying something like this. ‘I’m not sure it’s as simple as that,’ he explained slowly. ‘Here at the hostel, we employ a strict regime and a disciplined environment. I’m not sure you would be happy with it.’

Jo smiled disarmingly. ‘If you’ve read my CV you’ll notice I was educated in an all-girls boarding school from twelve to twenty-one.’ She watched Mr Smith pick up her papers from his desk and glance at this piece of information. ‘Now, I’m not trying to say we endured KGB-style training whilst we were there.’ She grinned. ‘But there was little tolerance for unruly, or inappropriate behaviour.’

‘They used corporal punishment?’ Mr Smith asked. He seemed intrigued.

Jo nodded. ‘The headmistress used to cane naughty girls. She didn’t have any of these special tawses or paddles you hear about nowadays. All she relied on was an old birch cane.’ She smiled, hoping the expression looked like genuinely fond recollection. ‘God, could she use that cane!’

‘You sound as though you appreciated the benefits of that environment.’