Black Widow (Duet) Read online

  Black Widow (Duet)

  Lena Austin

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2021 Lena Austin

  BIN: 009901-03212

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  315 N. Centre St.

  Martinsburg, WV 25404

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Anthology Editor: Karen Williams

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  Adult Sexual Content

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  Table of Contents

  Black Widow (Duet)

  Black Widow

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Spinnerette

  Spinnerette

  Safe, Sane, and Consensual

  Lena Austin

  Black Widow (Duet)

  Lena Austin

  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to take BDSM lessons? Wonder no more. I’ll tell you.

  The Black Widow: All Calder wants when he infiltrates the local BDSM community is a clinical, unprejudiced view of the world of BDSM. He isn’t counting on Kelly.

  The infamous Dominatrix, The Black Widow, accepts a passionate challenge from this man who won’t submit. Their journey of discovery will lead into the depths of both their souls where dominance and submission have no meaning. But Calder must keep his assignment secret, or risk the bite of the Black Widow.

  Spinnerette: Dante comes to Black Widow for Domination lessons, but that doesn’t mean he only gets to watch.

  Black Widow

  Lena Austin

  Calder must infiltrate the local BDSM community for a magazine article. All he wanted was a clinical, unprejudiced view of the world of BDSM. He wasn’t counting on the Black Widow.

  Kelly’s profession as the infamous Dominatrix, The Black Widow, has brought her fame and fortune, but not love. She accepts a passionate challenge from this man who won’t submit. Their journey of discovery will lead into the depths of both their souls where dominance and submission have no meaning. But through it all, Calder must keep his occupation secret, or risk the bite of the Black Widow.

  Chapter One

  The jangle of the ringing cell phone disturbed Calder’s peaceful contemplation of the words on his computer. Writing the Great American Novel didn’t pay the bills, so Calder picked up the phone when the caller ID displayed his agent’s number.

  “Hey, Calder, my man! Glad I caught you. Got a job I know you’re gonna love,” Ruben Grimes proclaimed, as he always did.

  With a purely internal sigh, Calder said, “Yeah, yeah, Ruben. That’s what you said about the article I did for that parents’ magazine where I ended up on a Greyhound bus full of thirty screaming kids going to a theme park. My ears still haven’t recovered.” The article might have brought him money, but the cost to his nerves had hardly made it worth his while.

  Still, he couldn’t help but like Ruben. The guy worked hard to find Calder steady jobs so he could pay the bills until his first novel sold. Calder had forgiven Ruben the day the check arrived. His disability pension didn’t cover enough, and he didn’t want to use Social Security. His pride wouldn’t let him until he had no other recourse.

  “No, this time I’m positive it is right up your alley. That degree of yours is finally going to get some use. You hit the big time, my man! You may have hated that article in Parents Weekly, but your take on how theme parks can be healthy experiences caught the eye of an editor who happens to have kids.”

  Ruben drew breath and launched into a spiel that actually had Calder grabbing a pen and notepad in a hurry. Calder couldn’t believe his ears. It was the big time, with a correspondingly huge payoff, if he could deliver. No deadline, and that alone was impressive. There was only one catch.

  “No wonder they aren’t giving me a deadline date. Geez, Ruben, I don’t have a clue how to get involved in a BDSM society, much less penetrate its secrets,” Calder protested.

  “That’s the trick, buddy. Look, an ex-cop with psych and sociology degrees has the best hope of getting in and writing that article. I sold you to them on this, and they agree. You gotta try. What have you got to lose?”

  “My skin?” Calder suggested. “I have dire visions of losing precious flaps of epidermis I’d rather keep intact.”

  “Tell you what, Calder. Do some research on the Web, read a couple of books on the subject, and get back to me.” Ruben disconnected, probably because he was afraid Calder would refuse.

  Calder sighed, and opened up his browser.

  A few hours, and more cups of coffee than his stomach could handle, later, Calder pushed back from his keyboard with a groan. His eyes burned, and his hand hurt from all the notes he’d made. The legal pad was full, and it had only been half-used when he’d started.

  “Geeee-zus!” He rubbed his eyes. “This is like learning a whole fucking new language. Safe words, releases, equipment, and that’s just the start. Okay!” Calder pushed to his feet. “First things first. I’m going to make a monster sandwich, then I’m going to the library.”

  The pickles had just hit the plate to complete a sandwich worthy of the Tower of Pisa when the cell rang for a second time. Ruben again.

  “Pushy, aren’t you?” Calder said in lieu of a greeting. But he said it with a grin. “What, Mrs. Grimes wants another diamond or something that you call me twice in one day?” He bit into his sandwich.

  Ruben chuckled. “I just figured you had enough time to log on and get intrigued. Was I right?”

  Swallowing so he could laugh, Calder let loose a vulgar epithet. “Yeah, you got me. And I’m more than intrigued, you sneaky bastard. Though what the librarian is going to think when I ask for a book titled, Screw the Roses, Give Me the Thorns, I don’t know.” He contemplated the filthy looks he’d get as he swallowed another bite.

  The snort over the phone was worthy of a thoroughbred. “You never can tell, bud. She might be a member of one of those clubs. It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for.”

  “Ruben, you married a Broadway actress. You wouldn’t know quiet if it bit you in the ass.”

  “So, can I say you accept?”

  Calder finished his sandwich and let Ruben stew a minute. “Yeah, okay. Any way I can get an advance? This one may take some time.”

  “Not likely, but I’ll see what I can do.” Ruben sounded thoughtful. “Tell you wha
t. If you think it can happen this way, write me up a proposal and I’ll pitch it as a book as well as an article.”

  “Deal.” Calder disconnected, stuffed his cell in his pocket, and headed to the library.

  * * *

  Surrounded by books was the way Calder liked to be. He’d lugged home a huge stack, topped by the Screw the Roses book that hadn’t even gotten him a raised eyebrow from the librarian who’d checked his books out.

  He now sat on the couch with stacks of books organized in piles. It had been easy enough to separate them into two main groups. He could tell which of the books had been written by tight-assed scientists, and which had been written with humor from actual participants.

  “This is why you never got that doctorate,” he muttered to himself. He was afraid he’d have ended up a dried-up old prune, writing about life instead of living it.

  He’d lived that true-crime thriller Ruben had touring New York editor desks. Calder rubbed his right knee. The replacement surgery had worked, but his career as a cop had ended when the bullet did the initial damage. Maybe someday he’d make enough money off the book to make up for losing his career.

  Calder put on his glasses and picked up a book from the “participant” stack. “Another day, another project. And at least this one is as far away from the halls of academia as you can get.” He settled back on the sofa and began to read.

  This was Monday. Wednesday, he had a call to make.

  * * *

  The nearly naked man in front of her offered her another cup of coffee, but Kelly didn’t give any indication she noticed his bare state. She glanced up from her paperwork and took the delicate china cup and saucer. Sipping the hot brew, she nodded her approval.

  The man departed silently. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He’d been trained well. Her blue-eyed gaze followed his sculpted ass without appearing to leave the stack of forms in front of her.

  “That new thong looks good, Angie,” she commented to the black-haired beauty sitting on the left side of her desk.

  Angie saluted with her cola can. “It should. It cost the moon. But I saw those spangles and just had to decorate Troy in it.”

  “Yeah? You’ll have to share the catalog. By the way, I appreciate your bringing Troy along while you help me with this crap.” She gazed with hatred at the stack of receipts and tax forms in front of her.

  “Hey, what’s your accountant for, if not helping you sort through paperwork for your quarterly tithe to Uncle Sam?”

  “I wish I didn’t have to do it at all. It’s getting to be too much for one person to handle.” Kelly stared out the window and tried not to think about the past. A year had come and gone since Denny’s death, and she should start living again.

  “What you need is a partner, Kelly. Someone with the brains to handle the business end and won’t choke over how you make your living. Ideally, someone who could be your partner in all things, but that may be asking the moon and stars. Denny was one-of-a-kind.”

  “What I need is a life.” Kelly got up from her desk and moved around the room sipping her coffee. She knew it irritated her best friend the way she could never keep still, but sitting in a chair for very long was more than she could bear. “I thought when I retired from the profession that a little volunteer work would be enough to keep me occupied, along with a few private clients. It’s not working. I’m bored.”

  Angie kept right on working, her fingers busily tapping on the calculator or adding numbers to the computer that usually sat in lonely state behind Kelly’s writing desk. “Yeah, well, it was getting too rough to continue being a professional mistress since that conservative bas -- I mean, our beloved mayor, decided he was going to clean up the town. Idiot.” Angie sneered at the thought of the self-righteous right-wing bureaucrat up for reelection at the end of the year. “Closing the bars around the military bases was dumb enough. Where did the soldiers end up? Causing trouble downtown, in the mayor’s backyard. So, he reopened the bars and started trying to shut down all vice in this city. All he did was drive out legit business owners like you. I haven’t seen any reduction in the hooker population.”

  “I’m not arguing with you!” Kelly threw up her hands in mock defense against Angie’s vehemence. It was an old rant. “But you and I both know I was ready to retire anyway. When I wasn’t running around with my kit to the airport hotels to beat on some fly-by-night business traveler, I was spending way too much time downstairs trying desperately to come up with something new for insatiable regular clients.”

  The silence lengthened, punctuated only by the occasional tapping of keys as Angie prepared Kelly’s taxes for the quarter.

  Kelly was considering turning on the stereo just for some background noise, when Angie finally turned around and laid her glasses on the desk. “Okay, so you’re bored. Obviously, the volunteer work isn’t enough. You’re used to a much faster-paced lifestyle. How about charity work?”

  “Oh, I can see that now!” Kelly laughed mockingly. Then she went into a wicked imitation of a snobby matron having a mock heart attack, and said in a quavering voice, “The infamous Black Widow daring to want to give us her dirty whore’s money?”

  Angie chortled. “No, you’re right. They would never understand that you have an unbroken rule never to have sex with your clients.”

  With a contemptuous sniff, Kelly fiddled with the curtains at the window. “Who would want to? And even if I did, that would put me into the legal realm of prostitution. No, thank you. It’s my business to perform BDSM acts for money, not sex. It would be the same as asking Picasso to paint a house,” Kelly pronounced with some pride.

  “Now that conjures up a visual,” Angie drawled. “So, we’ve circled back around. You need a new occupation. Something besides working at the hospice. Okay, charity work is out. How about going back to school? Learn a new skill.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on her chin.

  “Oh, yippee-skippy. What would I take? Creative Basket Weaving? Somehow, I don’t see myself back in college. Even if I did, what would I do with a degree? Soon as any employer found out about my past, my ass would be bouncing on the sidewalk.” Kelly would have laughed, but it wasn’t all that funny. She felt trapped by a profession she had loved for so long.

  “Then you need to be self-employed. As your accountant, I recommend you think about it. Uncle Sam will take a huge bite out of you until you find somewhere to invest besides CDs and T-bonds,” Angie warned.

  Kelly snorted. “I could always find myself a gigolo to spend my money on. Some handsome guy to complicate my life, spend my money, and keep my name in the scandal sheets.” The suggestion was amusing, but easily discarded.

  “That’s not a bad idea, pal. The getting a guy thing, anyway. Someone better than Michael.”

  Kelly groaned, and began to pace again. “Whatever possessed me to accept him as a subbie, I don’t know. He’s so pitiful.”

  “What’s his latest trick to get your undivided attention?” Angie rested her chin in her hands.

  “Does it matter anymore? He’s tried hypochondria, failing to pay his bills until he had to file for bankruptcy, and beating on my door at two AM because he got locked out of his apartment.” Her feet made no sound as she paced across the office, but the carpet felt good to her bare soles. Wearing heels was such a bitch that Kelly ran around barefoot at every opportunity.

  “I remember that one,” Angie chuckled. “He got one helluva shock when he found out you’d gone to Vegas with a client for the weekend.”

  Kelly snickered. “Yeah, that one backfired. After the neighbors called the cops on him and he spent a night in jail for disturbing the peace, he meekly paid his rent and hasn’t tried that kind of idiocy again.”

  “When are you going to get rid of that twerp? He’s more trouble than he’s worth.” Angie never made any secret that she disliked Michael in the extreme. And so did everyone else.

  The feeling was mutual, unfortunately. Michael knew Angie saw through
him, Kelly deduced. “What Michael needs is a full-time Mistress he can live with and cater to in abject servitude.”

  Angie stood up while the printer spit out paper in the background. “Well, honey, you’re not that Mistress.”

  “Oh, hell no! If I wanted a man in my life, I’d rather have an independent, quiet soul. I like my life uncomplicated.”

  Angie brandished the total taxes due form. Kelly winced and wrote a check. As Angie stuffed forms and calculator into her briefcase, she had to have the last word. “That’s the trouble, hon. If it has tires or testosterone, it will be trouble!”

  * * *

  Calder rolled out of bed with the speed of summer lightning when his alarm sounded. It was a habit he couldn’t break from all his years on the force. One efficient slap and the old Westclox wind-up ceased to be an annoyance. Why had he set his alarm? He couldn’t remember until he was halfway to the coffee pot.

  What would be unintelligible mumbles to anyone else was in actuality, “Oh, yeah. I’ve got to call Brad before he goes to work. Coffee. Need coffee. If God had wanted more people to see the sunrise, he would have made it later in the day. I hate mornings.” At least the elixir of life he made from his own pot wasn’t the sludge he’d drunk for years at the cop shop.

  Cupping the mug of precious liquid, he stumbled to his desk and pulled his ubiquitous legal pad in front of him to go over his notes until he had more than two firing brain cells. Another mumble translated as, “Got to have all my ducks in a row before I call Brad. Who would have known dirt on my old college roomie would come in so handy?”

  Despite the differences between a math major and a psychology major, he’d gotten along reasonably well with Brad in that dorm room. Calder had even been an usher at Brad’s wedding. He hoped nostalgia would unlock a very tightly closed door. He’d known Brad indulged in the BDSM lifestyle, but had turned a blind eye to the occasional evidence. And he’d kept Brad’s secret even after they graduated. He hoped that loyalty would buy him something now.