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The Black Widow

By: Shvensky



The three of us had planned our approach our entire lives. We were the best students the class had ever seen yet somehow there was still a heap of other little spiders with their heads removed and bodies turned to raisins.

She sat in her web getting even more enormous daily...ominous in fact towering over us. Her sensuality beaconing through the woods stronger than any other desire. I couldn't escape this luscious call for the life of me...which is what my bud just lost.

The two of us contemplating what to do next. We had just watched our best friend get eaten, dismembered and tossed on the heap like a number. My remaining friend was now contemplating celibacy. I could see it in his eyes. If anything my desire to sex this arachnid goddess grew to an obsession I had to see through this very day.

I threw out all the crap schooling had filled my head with and drew up a plan. Rather than approach with this self inflated view of myself of studliness I would approach with a gift. I spent the morning trying to trap a specific gnat that was the tastiest I had found so far. I approached with this under a couple of my legs. As well I ate a common caterpillar that would sustain me for the coupling ahead if I lucked out enough. I thought that if I ate something less appealing than she wouldn't sense this on me and instead find me less of a food option.

It didn't take long for all her eight eyes to notice me approaching. I tossed the gnat on her web and sure enough she went for it. I was wishing I found a few more as my time was running out fast. I circled around her...oh her energy was heavenly. I began cutting her webs so she couldn't sense me approaching. The one thing I took from class that seems to be helpful so far is that she can't see very well so removing her webs seemed to be working...not mistaking me for food. I was in range now of her sex and the aroma was intoxicating. 

Her labia were huge. These lips calling me like some kind of exotic flower that seems to effect all the bees. I reached forward and stroked her silky lips. My Venus I will call her stopped eating and I could feel the air around me vibrating 'mmmmmm'. This is a good sign. I'm not dead yet and she seems to be enjoying this new approach. Feeling a little more bold now I inserted my thumb in her and began stroking her g.spot from behind and then furled my fingers to rub her clit and stroke her lips. More moaning 'mmmmmm'. A drop of pre cum dripped from me and landed on a web strand and all at once her legs wobbled...as if she sensed me and my desire for her.

I couldn't take it anymore I had to taste her. I withdrew my thumb and stopped the petting reaching forward to....

...and was snatched into the air and brought to the front of her. I thought this was it. It was all about me...I know I shouldn't have been so greedy wanting to drink her nectar. I resorted to the classic textbook activity I knew and began stroking her chest wildly with all my legs so I wouldn't get eaten. I noticed little black nubs on her and realized they were nipples and began tweaking and rubbing them. More moaning and then I was struck by the beauty of her eyes. All eight looking right at me. They radiated feminine arachnidness melting me. 

Then all of a sudden she engulfed my cock. Her creamy labia pressing against me. Her kiegel muscles grabbed a hold of me and she became this massive milking machine. Riding up and down on me slurping on me with her vagina. A glazed look began shading over her eyes and I couldn't hold myself anymore. I exploded into her all the while she still milked me up and down..slurping on me until I barely had a few seeds to rub together.

Like a rag doll I was then slung over to near my friend onto the hummusy forest floor. My friend was in awe watching the whole thing. I managed to get myself up and began making my way towards her again mumbling 'again' and 'again'... 'must have more'.. 'unbelievable' when my friend jumped on me and began dragging me into the forest. He said I was too valuable now and I must share my experience with all the other horny little students who still wanted to live. What if you went back there and she lost her patience and it was curtains....

The two realizing their ultimate score scurried off back to arachnid civilization.

The Black Widow Case



By Likegoodwine copyrighted February 2012

Here's another story for you. It will be published in 3 parts. There is almost no sex to speak of in this one. Enjoy! Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing.

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

Chapter 1

My name is Allan Smith. I am a private detective. I normally investigate dubious insurance claims, performing due diligence searches on prospective employees and the like. But when business gets slow, I work a few unsolved murders provided there is a nice little reward for any new information that might lead to solving the mystery. 

A few months ago, I found a very interesting case: $100,000 for information that would identify the murderer of a healthy businessman in our city.

Now that's a very good incentive for me. So I used a police contact and got a copy of the investigation files. Then, I stumbled upon a name, Martha Cicerone. I had a friend in grad school named Martin Cicerone and the two names Martin and Martha were very similar. Nothing very interesting you might say, except that it was not the first time I had made the same connection.

Two years ago, a personal trainer of an upscale gym was found stabbed multiple times in the back alley behind the gym. It was first assumed that it was a robbery gone wrong when the police arrested a man trying to pawn the trainer's Rolex. He was simply a vagrant that had discovered the crime scene and decided to relieve the dead man of his valuables. 

Apparently the trainer had no known enemies. He was well liked by everybody. He was not into drugs, and he didn't owe money to any suspicious characters. The police were unable to come up with a shred of motive. All they could surmise was that it was personal. The trainer had been stabbed numerous times when he was already dead. Since the reward wasn't that large, I didn't pursue that investigation then.

The name Martha Cicerone appeared among the persons interviewed as an acquaintance of the victim. That is a very weird coincidence: that the same person was somehow involved with two murders in a span of two years.

Then Martha reappeared in another unsolved case. One morning, Matthias Raymond seemingly drove himself off a cliff. At first, everyone thought it was an accident until they discovered that his brake lines had been tampered with. This time there were plenty of motives. Matthias was a successful businessman with a reputation of taking no prisoner when dealing with the competition. In a word, he was a ruthless businessman.

Being recently divorced, his ex-wife came under suspicion but she had an airtight alibi. So were his most offended competitors. Then the name of Martha Cicerone came up: she had been seen with him on a few social events.

All of a sudden I wanted to know: who is Martha Cicerone? She became the focus of my investigation. The police had previously covered all other avenues; I only had the long shot scenarios.

Martha Cicerone, born Nesbitt, is a prominent patron of the art in our small city. She works as a senior partner in a public relation firm that caters to many powerful companies. At 37-years old, she is an extremely attractive woman, tall, slender, blonde, and with a flawless body that only numerous hours in a gym can provide.

I have been following her on and off for the last two months and I can say that has a very charming personality, classy but warm, a rare occurrence. All the males of her acquaintance seemed to be under her spell. In a word, she is a husband's nightmare. And that was before I surmised, then verified, that she was hopping from bed to bed, keeping the gentlemen interested and anxious to be the next lucky one.

That leads me to her husband, Hector Cicerone. He is a 51-year-old electrical engineer. He works for a small company that is a subcontractor for many US army weapons manufacturers. He is a non-assuming individual, friendly with everyone, from the janitor to the chairman of the board. Just over 6' tall, he still carries a leanness gained from his military training in the 90's and preserved from a regular regime of exercises. Did I mention that he was also a war hero?

In 1991, during the first Gulf war, Lt. Cicerone was the engineer in charge of restoring power using an old diesel generator in a small Iraqi town. Since they were far from the front line, his unit was escorted by a few infantry soldiers when they came under attack. Most of the escort was mowed down in a matter of minutes. Lt. Cicerone and his team were stuck inside the building housing the generator. Because there was heavy fire, one injured soldier was unable to get back to shelter. Without a second thought for his own safety, Cicerone had his small team of technicians provide cover while he went and brought back the soldier. In the process, he suffered a non life-threatening injury. Not long after that, they were rescued, the injured soldier received medical attention and Cicerone later was awarded a Silver Star. 

After his return to the States, Cicerone met Martha Nesbitt and within a year they were married. They never had children.

I don't know where their marriage went wrong but she started cheating on him. I don't know when it started, but right now all I know is that she cheats on him left and right. 

The funny thing with this couple is that she is very fond of her husband. In public, she beams while holding his arm or simply hovers around him. In private, with her friends and lovers, she has only nice things to say about him. He has similar feelings toward his wife. Always proud to be with her, his whole face lightens up when she enters a room he is in. Kisses, caresses, and small loving words are part of their daily life.

If she could only keep her legs close, they would be a perfect couple. But as the matter stands, I can see her through my small monitor in a van parked outside her lover's nest. She is now standing on her elbows and knees while a guy named Thomas Nelson is pounding her pussy.

"How does it feels Baby?" asked Thomas.

"Oh, so good!" whimpered Martha.

"Hubby can't take good care of you the way I do, does he?"

"Don't go there, Tom! Just keep fucking me."

"Well, I am the lucky one who can pound this gorgeous ass while your wimp of a husband has no clue that I can give you what he can't," Thomas said while thrusting hard into her pussy.

Without a word, Martha disengaged herself from his grip on her hips and jumped out of bed, leaving Thomas Nelson dumfounded, still on his knees, his erect wet penis standing up.

"What the fuck! What are you doing? I'm not finished. Get back in bed."

"No!" Martha said. She grabbed her clothes lying all over the floor and headed toward what I knew was a washroom.

"Martha, what are you doing? What's this all about? Was I going at it too hard?" asked Thomas.

At the door of the washroom, Martha turned toward him. "I told you numerous times not to talk about my husband. You are not half the man he is and I will not let you belittle him. I'm gone and remember that rule the next time we meet, if we do..."

"That's a stupid rule. Why do you cheat on him if he is such a great guy?"

Martha shrugged. "Not a man in this world can satisfy all my needs, not him, not you - that's for sure - nobody. No man is good enough."

"Bitch!"

"Moron! And don't forget to call me Thursday, I might be available."

"Will do! Can I talk you in finishing me off before you leave?"

"Not a chance! Look at it as a hard learned lesson."

Thomas looked at her, dejected. "You know that you are the only woman that could leave me with blue balls but I would still eagerly welcome back in my bed?"

She came back in the bedroom and kissed him gently on the lips while caressing his deflating cock. "I know! Men are all like that, all 3 billions of them. And you are one of the sweet ones."

She went back to the washroom and within minutes, was dressed and prepped-up ready to go back home. End of the show for today, folks!

In the van, I zipped myself back up and started to think about the case.

I was not surprised that the investigators didn't pursue the links between Martha and each murder victims. Everything in her behavior was kosher! She was a loving wife. She was a nice lady. Every man was in her thrall when meeting her. She exuded sensuality with every pore of her skin. In my opinion, she was lucky that no one in the investigating team members was a female. I had to fight very hard not to dismiss her as a suspect. But now there were $110,000 reasons to pursue the matter.

I was busy over the next three months with two cases of cheating husbands and a case of a missing child in a bad divorce case. The funny thing about that last case was that I provided the husband with the proof of his wife cheating. One year later, after an aberrant court ruling that gave the wife sole custody of the kid with little visitation rights to the father, I had to find the poor sap. I did but it didn't give me joy. It did however inflate my bank account by a few thousand dollars. Hey, welcome to America! Like we say: business is business.

Chapter 2

One morning, while reading the newspaper, I almost choked myself on my coffee. On page 1, was a headline: "Prominent lawyer found dead". 

There was a story about Thomas Nelson being found dead in his mansion. The story gave almost no information: he was found dead in his bathtub around midnight when his wife came home from a social event. I tried calling the police contact but it was off-duty. 

Since I had previously hidden a GPS tracker in Martha's car, I ran to my computer, to locate the car. After what seemed to an interminable wait, the blip of her car appeared on a map of the city. I though for a second that she was parked, but then the blip started to move. Knowing her habits, she was on her way to work. I ran out the door.

She always stops at the same coffee shop near her office. Every morning she would get a cappuccino coffee, a muffin, a light yogurt, and the newspaper. With some luck, I could be there just in time to see how she reacted to her lover's death. I beat her by a few seconds. We were both walking toward the coffee shop from opposite directions so I had time to scrutinize her. Nothing seemed amiss. She was beautiful as usual. I slowed down and we reached for the door at the same time. 

I opened the door. "After you Miss!" I said bowing my head slightly.

"Well, thank you sir!"

I was right behind her. She grabbed a newspaper and so did I. I made a show to look through the newspaper and then I said:

"Oh my God" I exclaimed, attracting the attention of everybody in the coffee shop. Martha had instinctively turned around to look at me.

I looked around apologetic. "Sorry Folks, I just read that a friend of mine has been murdered last night.". I went back to the story and Martha turned toward the clerk to order her usual.

"I can't believe Tom is dead," I said, muttering just loud enough for Martha to hear. "Well I guess there will be no Thomas Nelson Jr. Sad, real sad!"

I have to give her credit: she didn't turn around. I could see her hands shaking when she took her coffee, muffin and yogurt but that was the only sign showing that she heard me. Any person learning that a close friend was murdered would have been all over a copy of the newspaper. Of course, I invented the murder part, to see her reaction. Was he supposed to have died of a natural cause, a freak accident? I don't know. But it sure shook her up to hear that foul play was openly acknowledged.

She quickly glanced at me on her way out. I love to make an impression on a woman, and I am sure she won't forget me anytime soon. I wish I had a listening device for her thoughts. As a matter of fact, I don't even have a listening device in her office, the security being too tight.

Back in my van, I was finally able to reach my police contacts. So far, no foul play was suspected. Darn! But my contact knew me better than that. He tried to get some information from me, namely the reasons behind my interest. Lying through my nose I said that a client who was an acquaintance of the deceased expressed surprise that such a young man, would die so suddenly. My contact didn't believe a word I said but he let it slide.

Well, three dead guys in just over four years! Folks, we officially have a black widow in our hands. Now I had to find more information about her. What traumatic event in her life might have screwed her so bad: an abusive father, molesting siblings, a high school date rape, what? There must be something to explain that a woman chose to kill three -- as far as I know -- lovers. 

I know that all three had a wife or girlfriend. They were cheating assholes and for some people, that alone was a good enough reason to terminate them. But it can't be her reason as she herself is cheating on her husband. Well, let's face it. If she really is screwed up she could probably provide an explanation that no sane individual could comprehend.

The big problem was she comes from out of state. Investigating her that far would be too expansive for me to undertake. I already learned everything to learn from my Internet research and there was nothing on her youth.

Then an idea occurred to me, an idea that would give me several bad nights of sleep mulling over it. Can I learn it from the horse's mouth itself? Can I get close enough to have her confide in me?

This idea was still running through my head when the autopsy report came. He didn't die of a heart attack: he was electrocuted. The same day the information was provided to the media, his law firm posted a $250,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the murderer.

Talk about an incentive! For that price, I was willing to try and get closer to Martha! A woman that I had fantasized about since I first laid eyes on her! A woman of dream, a woman of nightmares! But still, a woman that gives me a hard-on on a regular basis, even through a small 7-inch monitor.

Oh shit! I suddenly remembered the surveillance equipment I had left at Nelson's apartment. If the police are investigating a homicide, they will soon discover his love nest. I have a lot of equipment there and I wanted it back.

I jumped into my van and was soon in front of the apartment building. Monitoring the signal from my cameras (bedroom and living room), I ascertained that they were still active and that nobody was there.

In a matter of minutes, I was in the apartment and removed all my equipment. Finally satisfied that nothing was amiss, I left the apartment and headed toward the elevator. 

When the door opened, there was Martha. Face to face, we exchanged a look of recognition. Neither of us moved. It was so surprising that I wasn't sure how to react. It was obviously the same for her. The elevator door started to close but I put my arm up and it reopened. I stepped in and pushed the ground floor button. No button was lit. She was coming to the apartment.

"Good morning!"

"Good morning!" she said almost inaudibly.

"Do we know each other? I'm sure I saw you before, probably talked to you because I really recognized you, but not many times, I am sure..."

She had a hesitation. "I have a friend living in the building, and I also kind of remember seeing you."

"I am flattered. It's a no brainer for me to remember you, as you are simply breathtaking. But I don't usually have women take notice of me," I said smiling and showing all my teeth.

I knew that her mind was already set on a retort but a reflex must have kicked in. "Don't sell yourself short," she said a slight smile appearing on her face. "I am sure many women take notice of you... as I did". Her eyes were modestly cast down at the end. This woman has class.

The elevator finally reached the ground floor. I stepped out and, as expected, she stayed in.

"Sorry! I forgot something at my friend's apartment. I have to go back up. Nice talking to you again," she said.

"It was a pleasure," I said with my upper body leaning right to keep eye contact with her while the elevator door was closing.

Too bad all my equipment was gone. I wish I could look at what she was doing in Thomas' apartment.

She certainly looked strained today. Her make-up did a good job to hide the obvious signs of stress on her wonderful face, but not that good.

Chapter 3

Knowing all of her habits, I spent the next few days trying to figure out the best way to get close to her, without arousing suspicion.

At the gym? That was an option but I didn't really want to fork the few hundred dollars needed to take a membership. But I could probably find a good enough explanation for my presence there.

At work? That would be difficult if not impossible. There is no way I could bluff my way as they cater to well-established firms. Anyway, her job is not a front line position with the public.

In her social circle? That would also be hard, as I didn't associate around her kind of crowd - not even close.

I was still debating the different possible approaches when Nelson's funeral was held.

Over 200 mourners were attending at the Church. As expected, Martha, her big boss Henry, and her immediate supervisor -- and sometime lover -- Bill Braden were there.

So were a couple of familiar detectives from the police department, Tim O'Hara and Duncan O'Toole. O'Hara had a long look toward me when I came in, question marks stamped all over his face.

At the end of the ceremony, when people started to leave the Church, I happened to bump into Martha. I said a quick apology, turned my back to her, stopped in my track, and turned back toward her. What do you want? I am a gifted actor.

"Hey! Hi! Nice to meet you again, although I wish it was in different circumstances," I said while offering her my right hand.

She tentatively shook my hand. "Hi! Again!" she said, the beginning of a shy smile appearing on the corner of her luscious lips.

"My name is Allan by the way."

"Martha."

"So, you knew Tom?"

"Um! His law firm was a good client of ours. I worked on their web site and also on their annual scholarship program. I work in PR and marketing."

I wanted to keep it going, but it was wiser to simply let go. Let's say that a funeral might not be the best pick-up place.

"Well, I have to rush back to work so... Have a nice day Martha!" I said, offering again my hand.

She shook it again, more firmly this time, in a warmer way it seemed. "Same to you Allan."

It had been very difficult to let go of her hand and initiate the parting. In her presence, I only wanted to bask in her proximity, to talk to her, to touch her. But I had 360,000 good reasons to keep my head level.

In the background I saw her supervisor, Braden, looking at us. He didn't seem happy with the attention Martha was paying me. Trouble in paradise?

Two days later, making sure that she saw me, I entered the coffee shop a good 30 seconds ahead of her. I was waiting in line when I felt somebody tapping on my shoulder. I turned around ready to present the nicest smile I could when my eyes fell on Sergeant detective Tim O'Hara. My half formed smile froze on my face.

"Hi Smith! Mind if I have a word with you?" he asked.

I could see Martha looking at us. I had to play it cool.

"Tim! Just let me order a couple of coffees and I will be ready to talk shop after a few sips. What do you want? You take cream and sugar? Is Duncan here too? What does he drink?"

I knew I had him off-balance. "E... yeah! Cream and sugar! Yes, Duncan's here! He takes cream only."

I look at the line-up. "I'll be there in a minute."

One minute later I walked to their unmarked car, opened the back door and climbed in. I distributed the coffee around.

"Hi Duncan! Here's a coffee, cream only. And here's the cream and sugar for you Tim."




The Black Widow Case Pt. 02



By Likegoodwinecopyrighted February 2012

Here comme the second installment of 3. There is almost no sex to speak of in this one. Enjoy! Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing.

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

Chapter 4

I concluded I had been bumping into Martha by total 'coincidence' too many days in a row. My training told me that it might look suspicious. So, I decided to cut back a few days before meeting her again by 'chance'. As my coffee shop routine was now well established, I managed to be there around the same time each day but letting Martha only get a glimpse of me coming out.

Four days later, I timed my arrival so I would be right behind her in line. 

"Martha! How are you doing?" I asked, very upbeat.

She turned around, smiling. "Hi Allan! I'm good. It's nice to meet you again. If I didn't know better, I would say that you are stalking me."

Oh my God! She is coming on to me. This might just be easier than I thought to get close to her after all.

"Oh, but I am! It has been such a long time since I met a woman worth stalking, and there you were, splendid, classy, and wonderful. As a matter of fact, I have a GPS tracker in your car. It makes stalking so much easier." I was smiling from ear to ear, not only to appear friendly, but also laughing inwardly at my statement of the truth. "But you know what?" I asked while digging in my coat inside pocket to retrieve a fake business card. It read 'Dupuis Inc., Allan Smith, Researcher.'

I handed her my card. "My cell phone number is at the bottom, just in case my GPS tracker quits on me. So if you phone once in a while to let me know where you're at, I would greatly appreciate it."

We both started laughing. She finally dug in her purse, retrieved her own business card and gave it to me.

"Stalking is a lousy business. If you are in need of a PR professional, you will know who to call."

"PR like in 'Personal Respite' from a boring day at work?" I asked, , flirting shamelessly. 

She looked straight at me. "Yeah! Something like that!"

We finally reached the counter. I pushed her a bit on the side and ordered. "Two Cappuccinos, one with one sugar and the other with two sugars." I turned toward Martha and said not very loud, "Stalking has its advantages. You ordered that the other day." 

We kept silent while the coffees were made. A few minutes later, we parted. She left for her office but after a few seconds she gave me a last look over her shoulder. I was still looking at her going away. I waved at her, she smiled, and she walked away.

An hour later, I was in my van. I've followed all her moves since the death of Nelson. Work, home, work, home! She followed the same routine, day after day. She didn't have a chance to meet a lover. I am not that familiar with serial killers, but there must be a period where they have no need to kill right after a fresh kill.

I think she is ripe. I called her.

"Hello, Martha Cicerone speaking."

"Martha, it's Allan Smith. I'm bored. I am in dire need of some PR. Could we meet for lunch? Please, pretty please!"

She let out a heartfelt laugh. "Yeah, why not! Where would you like to go?"

"Well, there's a little Thai place not too far from where I work. It's simple, fast and, most importantly, tasty," I said remembering a restaurant she goes at least once a week at lunch.

"Oh the Taste of Siam. I know it. It's a date. See you there shortly after 12."

A few hours later, we were sitting at a small table in a restaurant full of office workers. We chatted mostly of our work, me of my fake job as a researcher of a pharmaceutical company, and her of her work as marketing consultant.

Towards the end, we touched more personal matters. As part of my cover, I told her I had a wife but no children, her choice, not mine. Martha told me all about her wonderful husband, Hector. 

We soon shook hands before parting with a promise to do it again, soon.

For the next three weeks, this was my modus operandi. At least twice a week, I would see her at the coffee shop, and at least once a week I would invite her for lunch. Our time spent together was wonderful. We learned more about each other with each meeting, finding many common interests and tastes. Slowly, I prodded her about her youth. She could become a very effective politician by the way she deflected the questions but always without blatantly avoiding it. Often, the question was simply redirected toward me. Nevertheless, I was gaining more insight on her.

That third week, she surprised me by inviting me for lunch. That would become a pivotal moment in the investigation.

"What about lunch today?"

"Sure!" I replied.

"Kyoto, corner of Lance and Duvall, at 11." she replied back.

"Shit!" I thought. "Raw fish again.."

"See you there!" I answered back.

I arrived at Kyoto right at 11. A petite Asian woman came to greet me, a smile showing all the creases of her advanced age. "Welcome Sir! Welcome to Kyoto's Restaurant. Place for one? Only one?" she asked with a very heavy Asian accent.

"No!" I answered. "As a matter of fact, I am meeting a friend here. A lady friend."

If possible, her smile widened.

"Oh, you must be guest of Ms. Citrone. This way please!" On that, she turned around and led me toward the back of the restaurant, away from the main floor. In a hallway, four open curtains were revealing tables that ensured complete discretion.

"Here, sit! Ms Citrone will be here shortly." The lady said, then she left.

It was a small round table surrounded by a curved seat covered with plush cushions. I sat and surmised that it was really intimate. I guess the food would be awful but I kept this place as a reference for future meeting with cautious clients.

Martha soon appeared with the small lady. I stood up and we exchanged a peck on the cheek. She turned toward the Asian lady and said: "Thank you Asuka! You can start to serve us now."

Asuka bowed, closed the curtain, and left.

I sat on one extremities of the curved seat and Martha sat on the other but moved further down till she was almost next to me.

"I am glad that you could make it. I don't know what came over me," said Martha. Her voice lowered a bit, became husky. Her hand touched mine. "I had to see you. I keep thinking about you." That was what I call a direct approach! Before I had time to found my voice back, I heard the clattering of silverware in the hallway. Soon, an old Asian cook was parting the curtain and started to put a few covered dishes on the table. He was gone in a matter of seconds, without uttering a single word.

"I hope you like Japanese cuisine," she asked while removing the cover on each dish, revealing food that I had never seen before.

"Well, I've never eaten Japanese food before, but as soon as you uncover the Japanese burger, I'll be fine."

Martha let out a nice throaty laugh. She grabbed a pair of chopsticks and looked me straight in the eyes.

"It's alright! I'll be your geisha today. I will feed you." 

On that, she picked something that looked like some fried vegetables. She said the name but I couldn't repeat it even if my life depended on it. She put the morsel to my mouth and I took it. I cautiously chewed on it and I must admit that it wasn't bad at all, and I said so. As soon as she finished her own bite, she took another morsel, dipped it in a little bowl of sauce and put it to my mouth. I wasn't quick enough and a bit of sauce dripped on the side of my mouth and down to my chin. I feared for a second that it might be a very spicy sauce, but was surprised by the sweet taste of it that mixed very well with the other vegetable, something a bit spongy, like a mushroom.

As I was grabbing a napkin to clean my chin, Martha put her hand on my hand holding the napkin. "How clumsy of me! You have sauce all over your face. Let me clean it," she said. She came closer to me. I barely noticed that one of her breasts was now touching my arm because her magnificent face was now inches from mine. Her eyes never leaving mine, her lips parted and she licked the sauce from my chin to the side of my lips. She finished with her tongue licking my lips slightly and her own lips brushing mine.

In the process, she had moved right beside me, and she continued to feed us both. Towards the end of the meal, it was with trepidation that I felt again some sauce dripping on my chin. Sure enough, she glued herself to me and licked it clean, her lips searching mine, and our tongues meeting for the first time. We kept kissing and I sensed her hand going up my thighs and coming to rest on my raging hard-on.

She broke the kiss as her hand started to stroke my cock through the fabric of my pants.

"I can see that your personal geisha did a good job today," she said. She then proceeded to unzip my pants and got a firm hold of my erection. "Do you mind if I leave the normal reserve of a geisha and become the assertive American woman?"

Not knowing exactly where she was heading but hoping that she would not leave me with a bad case of blue balls, I simply nodded and croaked "Go ahead!"

She went down on me and engulfed my cock. I looked toward the curtain. Martha was looking up at me and stopped her sucking for a second. "Don't worry! They will not bother us." And on that she resumed her blowjob.

I had seen her give a few blowjob to Thomas Nelson. But it was an entirely different experience to be at the receiving end of it. I was ecstatic. Her tongue was playing around the rim of my penis while she sucked lightly on it. Then she proceeded to take me deeper, creating enough friction to drive me crazy. While her warm mouth was around my cock, I knew that she could probably grab a knife and plunge it in my heart, and I would still die with a smile on my face. She was that good.

As the pressure was mounting in my balls, I took a hold of her head and followed her up and down motion. Suddenly I erupted. She took it all, swallowing everything.

"Hum! I like the dessert in this restaurant," she playfully said.

"And the service is four stars," I replied in kind.

She pushed herself a bit deeper on the seat, away from me and lifted her dress to reveal her bare pussy. I don't know if she doesn't wear panties at work or if she lost it on the way here, but when she spread her legs, it was obvious what I had to do.

Eagerly, I dove between her legs to have my first taste of her welcoming pussy. She was already wet. With my tongue, I prodded the folds of her pussy, found her clit and started to gently suck on it. Her hands grabbed my head and pushed me harder on her pussy. I started to lick in earnest, my fingers finding the opening of her pussy. In a matter of minutes, I had repaid her for her nice service and she had a quiet but strong orgasm. I kept kissing her pussy for a few more seconds, losing myself in her scent.

We straightened up on the seat, staying close to each other and kissed with abandon.

She left a trace of kisses all the way from my mouth, up to my cheek and ended near my ear. "Wait till we have supper together. I promise even more services."

"When would that be?" I asked.

"Not his week , but maybe next week. I'll see and let you know. What about you? Will you be available for a late supper?"

"I am always available," I said. Then I remembered my lie about having a wife. "Or I would work very hard to be free for you."

We parted soon after, with Asuka winking knowingly at Martha and saying: "Good for you. He nice and young!"

Before leaving, I had a quick look inside the ground floor part of the restaurant. I thought that I faintly recognized somebody but it took me a while to place the person. It was Bill Braden, Martha's supervisor, sitting alone at a table, his back toward the entrance. It's his reflection in the window that I glimpsed.

Chapter 5 

Jealousy is a pretty strong feeling to get rid of. I learned a lot about Martha over the course of the next month and I started to have a weird sensation each time I knew she was meeting another man. Call me stupid if you want, but I was feeling jealous. The only one that did not evoke these feelings was her husband. Towards him, my most noticeable feeling was guilt. I was screwing his wife. Yes, at least once a week we were able to find some time to fuck.

How could a working professional woman get away with so many late lunches? The easiest way: by fucking her boss. I have it in my logs of her sexual bouts. They were fucking at least twice a week and this is without knowing if they had sex at work. Good for him as he was divorced, but bad for all other lovers, including yours truly.

I have to say that my little writing pad wasn't enough to keep track of all the sexual encounters of Martha. I really needed to start a log on my laptop. As I never saw her look at an electronic scheduler, it was a wonder to observe her mind abilities to keep track of all her dates. Some were following just a few minutes after the last one on her most hectic days. The list of her lovers included her boss, a work colleague, a client, her husband and me.

The problem was that I wasn't making any headway in trying to decipher her, to know more about her previous deceased lovers or her past life. As open as she was in bed, she was closed when it came to more personal matters. Anyway, I was taking it slow. I didn't want to scare her.

One Friday, Martha offered me a nice surprise when she asked me what my plans were for Saturday morning. I had none and told her so. She invited me to meet her at a very nice little Inn of the Interstate about 20 miles out of town. A room would be booked under her maiden name.

After one hour and a half of nice and slow fucking, we ended up chatting lazily on the bed. At that point, I decided to go for it and hoped for the best.

"Martha, how many lovers do you have?" I asked.

She looked at me with a baffle look on her face. I felt her insecure for the first time. She bent toward me and gave me a gentle kiss.

"Just you handsome, just you," she finally said.

"Martha, I wish it was so, but I have to admit that I did stalked you last week. Well, I wanted only to say Hi or at least wave at you from afar. You were having lunch at the Hilton with an old guy and you never saw me. I saw you leave the restaurant and go up with him toward the rooms. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy, but I had an urge to know what you were doing. I was still nursing a drink when you came down one hour later."

I did pile up a lot of horseshit in that statement but it had the expected result. A lot of emotions crossed her face among which were a slight annoyance, some bewilderment, and -- most surprisingly -- a trace of guilt. She finally cuddled to me, avoiding looking at me in the process.

"Don't be like that Allan. I feel real cozy with you and I don't want you to start being jealous or something. I love when I am around you, when I am with you, having sex with you. It has to be enough. Anyway, why would you be jealous? You also have another lover, your wife. And I don't feel bad about that. Why should you?"

Damn she's good! Maybe I could be better.

"I can't help it. This is the first time that I have been unfaithful. I am head over heels with you. No other woman can compare to what I feel for you. I accept that you still love your husband, always will. But it kind of crushed me when I saw you with another man. Thinking 'how many there are?' How many guys out there are just waiting for a call from you? Don't you feel a little something about me?"

She kissed me again, more forcefully this time.

"I have many lovers Allan! I told you before, 'not one man can satisfy my sexual needs'. But it goes beyond my sexual needs. I also need to be loved, to be cherished, and to be coveted. One thing is sure: I also feel the same way toward you as you feel toward me. It is more than simple sex appeal or lust. I also feel as if you know me better than I know myself. I wish that we could meet more often, to be together longer. That's why I asked you the first chance I had to be away from home or work for more than a couple of hours. You also grew on me, Silly. Can't you just love me? Without the drama?"

I almost felt guilty lying to her. I often had to remind myself that I was on a job worth $360 grand. I decided to change tracks in my questioning.

"Sure I can. I already feel silly, and I can't wait for the next kiss."

She kissed me, lovingly, tenderly. In that kiss, I felt loved, cherished, desired. With that kiss, I fell in love with her all over again. 

"I love you Mrs. Cicerone. And I don't say it to get in your pants as I am already there."

We kissed again. It was getting late. I knew she would be soon taking a shower and head back home. I had to work harder to get more information. She started to play with my penis, which was coming back to life.

"Tell me about your childhood, your youth, your first years as an adult. I want to understand you better. Why so insatiable about sex? There must be other men and women like you, but you are the first I've ever met," I asked Martha.

"Or I am the first one that you notice. I don't think I am that much different from a bunch of people. Hey I often went to swing clubs. I can tell you I am not the only one. I am lucky and cursed to have a husband like Hector. If he loved me less, he would be going to these clubs with me. He would have as many pussies as I would have cocks, I would be satisfied - I think -- and there would be no need to lie. But I am cursed to always lie to him. And lucky to have such a husband," she said.

"Are you sure that nothing in your childhood can explain that?"

"No, nothing. I had a normal childhood with very regular parents that are still together. I don't follow the same pattern it seems."

"No traumatic event when your were a teenager?"

"My goodness! Aren't you the shrink today! But to answer your question, nothing! I was 17 when I first had sex -- it wasn't that great -- no fond memories of my first time as it is often the case. After that I had regular sex, always protected, always willing, very willing as a matter of fact. Well, there was that college guy when I was in my last year in High school. That's when I started to get wilder."

"Did he rape you?"

"No! He revealed to me how good sex can be. He was very experienced. Before that, I had been mostly with first timers, beginners with no skills. He gave me my first orgasm. After that, I became unstoppable. If a guy had no skills, I took time to show him how to do it." She giggled. "I believe there are many women that could thank me if their boyfriend or husband is so good at love making. I made them."

She looked at the alarm clock and suddenly jumped out of bed. She looked at my now very erect cock that she had been handling for the last few minutes. "Sorry if I leave you in that state. I have to get a shower." And she darted toward the washroom.

 To be continued



The Black Widow Case Pt. 03



By Likegoodwinecopyrighted February 2012

Here's the last installment of my story. There is almost no sex to speak of in this one. Enjoy! Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing.

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

Chapter 6

As summer was in full swing and the golf season was all out, I had more occasions to share precious Saturday mornings with Martha. Hector is an avid golfer and dutifully had an 8:30 a.m. tee time that day.

Slowly, I learned more about Martha. There was no dark event in her past. I was able to read her true to form and she wasn't lying. The only questions that she avoided were those about her ex-lovers. But I was still digging. Even if I now doubted my first assessment that she was responsible for her lovers' death, I kept asking questions, smoothly.

One morning, after a nice lovemaking session, she had her head on my chest and her arms were holding me. Being a married couple with no schedule, it would have been the perfect moment to simply fall asleep in each other's arms after some nice lovemaking.

"Martha?"

"Hum!"

"Was Thomas Nelson a lover of yours?"

I sensed her tensed. 

"Why do you ask that?"

"At the funeral, I was watching you. You were the only person I recognized there. And I believe Tom wasn't only a client of your firm. You had tears that you kept hidden from your boss."

She didn't answer at first. After a while: "Yes, he was a lover!"

And she started to cry. I hold her firmly.

"You loved him too?" I asked.

"No, not really. He was a nice man, confused about many things, but I didn't really love him, even if he wished differently," she said, sobbing.

"Why did you took it so hard then?"

She didn't answer at first, crying her heart. 

"We were supposed to meet at a restaurant after work then go to his apartment. We had the whole weekend since Hector was going fishing with his buddies. He never showed up, and the next Monday I learned that he was dead."

"Was it the first time you had to deal with the death of somebody close to you?"

That was a make or break question. I don't know if she felt how tensed I was.

She must have because she let go of me. She backed off slightly from me and looked straight at me.

"Allan, why are you asking all these questions?"

"No reason," I lied. "You looked like you were shaken to the core at the funeral, more than the death of a friend or lover could warrant. You looked scared out there."

"You saw that?"

"As I was telling you, I fell in love with you at first sight. I was looking only at you. I was wondering why you were so distressed. And I am still wondering why. It wasn't the first time you lost somebody you loved, isn't it?"

She stayed silent for at least 10 minutes. I didn't want to push further. She wasn't looking at me anymore. Her gaze was lost, vacant. I waited. I was hoping that something would come out of that.

What happened next came a bit as a surprise. I am not lying when I was telling her that I was in love with her. I was starting to second-guess my initial hypothesis. Up until this defining moment, I was starting to believe that something else was afoot. But she finally revealed herself.

She jumped out of bed and started to gather her clothing.

"Hey what are you doing? We still have plenty of time."

She stood up from picking her nylons on the floor and looked at me, her face a blank mask to me: "I am going home where I belong. I think you are going too far with this. I don't love you, never did and never will," she said. Her tone was getting louder. "Who are you to ask me questions when you are cheating on your wife? You think that you are better than I am? You are simply a pig, like all the other pigs that only want to get in my pants. It was fun while it lasted, but now it's over. Don't phone me and don't try to contact me. If you do, you will regret it."

She went in the bathroom and within minutes, she came out dressed and stormed out of the motel room.

Chapter 7 

True to her word, she refused all my calls and didn't reply to my messages. She even avoided the coffee shop where we first met.

I stalked her and found out that she soon had a replacement in her bed, Bill Braden, her supervisor. It was obvious that the guy was totally smitten with her. 

I wasn't sure what my next move would be. I had now a better idea that she saw her lovers as pigs, as less than human. Cocks to deliver orgasms! But I still didn't have enough to go to the police and try to cash in on my hard work. Ok, I enjoyed the ride, but it was still work.

Who am I kidding? Despite knowing how deadly she could be, given a chance I would run back to her. Being rebuffed by her was like being torn apart. There was no future with her, except death, but the delicious moments spent together were almost worth it.

I tried harder.

It took me two months to finally have her to break the silence.

Using a fake email address I sent this message: "I am a researcher. That's what I do, and it became a professional hazard in my life. If I have a question that bothers me, I dig and dig and dig till I find an answer. I was trying to cure myself of that disease but I think I am now cured. I simply needed a shot of common sense and a slap in the face from the woman I loved. I am really sorry about that and I have only one wish: next time we see each other in public, don't run away. The moments spent together were too beautiful to sully them with hate and spite. I will not contact you again, but I sincerely wish that I could still warrant a little smile if we meet. Truly yours forever, Allan."

It took her a whole week to answer and it was a simple word: "OK!"

The next morning, she came in the coffee shop, right behind me. When I turned, I saw her. She looked at me, smiled then turned her attention away. I was surprised to see Braden just behind her. He was glaring at me. I saw a glimpse of pure hatred in his face but just for a fraction of a second. He gave Martha all his attention.

Martha and I danced around each other like this for the next two weeks. Then one day, she made her move. When I was putting cream in my cup of coffee, she came and reached for another creamer, her breasts rubbing on my arm in the process. She smiled at me coyly.

"Oops!" she said.

I returned the favor the next day to test the water. 

I was right behind her in the line-up when I dropped my newspaper. On my way back up, the newspaper accidentally got caught in her skirt and I lifted it almost all the way to her crotch.

"Oops!" I said.

Later that day, I received an email.

"Hubby is away with friends for the long weekend. Sunday, same time, same place. M."

"I'll be there!" was my reply.

Friday, I went out with some friends. I drank a bit too much and decided to walk back to my apartment and fetch my car the next morning.

I was almost home, lost in my thought, thinking about Martha and very little about the case. I heard a car revving at full speed. I looked up and saw a dark blue pick-up truck headed toward me. I barely had time to jump back toward the sidewalk and I felt the gust of air when the truck missed me by a mere few inches. The truck never stopped. It speeded away and disappeared around the next corner.

Without my car, there's nothing I could do. I ran to my apartment, turned my computer on and launched my GPS tracking software. I wanted to know where Martha was, or at least where she last left her car.

Damn! There was no signal coming from the GPS tracker located in her trunk. I realized that I forgot to replace the batteries as scheduled last week. The last signal received was the previous day. With no car at hand, a bit drunk, I decided to wait the next day to replace them.

'Devious bitch!' I thought. She had me believe that everything would finally be all right between us, and bang, she tries to kill me! I realized that I had really made an enemy when I tried to probe into her past. There was still something there that scared the shit out of her.

After hours of thinking about it, I finally gave up trying to figure out what made her tick. She was one sick puppy: a deadly puppy!

In my head, I made a checklist of things to follow-up after that near miss by Martha. First, replace the batteries. Second, try to ferret out where she was able to get her hands on a pick-up truck. Third, and that would be hard without a functioning GPS tracker, find her whereabouts last evening.

Hubby being away for the weekend, I had assumed that she would be fucking her way from one lover to the next. I now knew she had other plans. I wondered what would be her reaction Sunday when I showed up at the motel. I will have to be on my guard. 

Or should I change my plans? All I needed was evidence of her murderous behavior. I could probably just follow her hopping from one bed to the other, catch her red-handed, report it to the police and cash in the rewards. The only problem with that is that I would have to be a passive witness of a murder, or, if lucky, of an attempted murder. Despite all my flaws, it didn't sit well with me. No, I would stick to my original plan.

What a mess! There I was, in my bed, rationalizing the need to continue fucking Martha when I couldn't stay away from her even if my life depended on it. 

Saturday, I woke up late, went back to the bar to retrieve my car and headed toward Martha's home. Her car wasn't there. Shit! I had a headache - thanks to the booze and lack of sleep – and I wasn't in the mood to drive around town from one love nest to the other. I decided to simply catch a sorely needed nap.

I don't know why I didn't do it before but, for the first time, I decided to pack a gun. My little .38 would help me feel better.

Suppertime came and went with still no sign of Martha. I knew that when I meet her tomorrow, she would be well fucked. I hope she will not come to meet me and offer me sloppy-seconds. There's a limit to what a guy will do for $360,000!

Still burping my last Big Mac, I finally saw her car pull into her driveway. It was almost 9:00 p.m. Holding an overnight bag, she went inside. It was still bright enough that I couldn't risk checking my GPS tracker. I waited till darkness settled and traffic got light on the street.

Making sure I was unobserved, I went to her car. I now had duplicates of her keys and I opened the trunk. This SUV model has two small compartments on the side for storing small items and tools. I reached for the right side compartment, opened it and after a few seconds I dug up the GPS tracker. I slid off the battery cover, extracted the used batteries and put fresh ones in it. Despite doing everything in complete darkness, it took me less than two minutes to complete the task and be back in my car. 

There, I settled again for the stakeout. It is hard to simply sit and observe. You are always doing small little things, just to avoid going crazy. At one moment, I had the two used batteries in my hand and was rolling them together between my fingers and then it hit me. These are not my batteries! I bought a shit load of lithium batteries just a few months ago, and these were not lithium. What the fuck? I was sure that I put fresh batteries in the GPS tracker.

I booted up my laptop and launched my GPS tracker software. Sure enough, I still didn't have a signal from my tracker.

I went back to the car and searched the compartment. There was only one GPS tracker. I risked turning on a small pen flashlight and saw that it was the same kind of tracker as the one I use. I then searched the left side compartment. Surprise! There was another GPS tracker. I changed the batteries in that one and on a whim I decided to switch the dead batteries into the other tracker.

Back in my car, I made sure that my GPS tracker was back online. It was.

Shit! Who else was stalking Martha beside me? I doubted it was the police. Thank God: my rewards were still safe. It left only one suspect: Hector. I don't know for how long Martha has been cheating on him, but he was bound to finally wake up to the stark reality of his marriage. I wonder if he was doing it by himself or if he had hired one of my fellow private dicks. What could that poor sap do against the army of dicks fucking his wife? I knew I was really tired when I started to laugh non-stop with that lame pun.

With a lot to think about, I decided to head home.

Chapter 8

At 7:00 a.m., I was back on duty, watching Martha's car. I had to know who was also keeping track of her. I am pretty sure that the loss of signal from the GPS tracker would force that person to do exactly as I had done.

Nothing! Shortly before 10:00 a.m., I saw her come out of the house and get in her car. For a second I was wondering where she was going until I remembered that she was on her way to meet me. I could have surmised many things about that. But the only thought that crossed my mind was: no sloppy seconds!

I followed her at a great distance and arrived just a few minutes after her at the motel. I knocked on the door and she opened it right away.

I hadn't spoken to her in over two months. I had rehearsed a little speech to apologize for my past behavior and to renew my devotion to her. Well, we didn't speak to each other for the next 10 minutes.

As soon as I was in, she launched threw herself at me and we kissed like there was no tomorrow. We didn't tear our clothes off. We didn't fuck each other brain's out as soon as the door closed. We simply grasped each other, violently, falling together on the bed, and kissing two months worth of unfulfilled wants.

After 10 minutes, I looked at her and said: "I missed you so bad."

Her eyes were shinny from all the unshed tears. "I missed you too."

And we resume our kissing, our hands finally beginning to rediscover each other's body. Then we tore our clothes off and at the fist chance I was letting my lips and tongue renew their acquaintance with her nicely trimmed pussy. I think she had an orgasm within seconds of my tongue licking her clit.

Forcibly, she pulled up my head and she had me climb on top of her.

"I need you in me. I want you in me with your lips on mines, your eyes in my eyes. Fuck me!" she demanded, her voice a coarse sound echoing the depth of her desire.

In one slow steady thrust I had my cock deep inside her, and we renewed our kissing, each other losing our souls in that moment. Her dark blue eyes never left mine for one second. We made love and we did it many times because I had two months of abstinence to shed.

And again, our lust having been fulfilled, we soon found ourselves in each other's arms. This is the most magical moment in all my encounters with Martha. When we had finished satisfying our basic sexual needs for each other, we always shared as much time simply holding each other. An encounter made even more enjoyable by the simple caresses without sexual tensions.

"Why did you take so long to reach for me? I was dying inside each day we were apart. Now I feel complete!" I finally said, breaking the silence.

I wanted to say something like that just to be in synch with the moment and foster some warm feelings that would lead again to a reconnection with my prime suspect. The funny thing is that it echoed exactly what I felt. These marvelous moments when we lay in each other arms after an intense lovemaking session was something sorely missing in my life. In my attempts to deceive her, I was more truthful than I have ever been before with a woman.

I was really dying inside a little bit at a time when I was away from her.

Instead of answering, she simply cried, her tears running down her cheeks and on my chest. I let her be. I simply kissed her head and hold her close to me.

"I'm so fucked up!" she said.

"No don't say that! Say instead: 'I am so well fucked!' It will do wonder for my self-esteem." I quipped.

She let out a welcome giggle. She rolled on top of me and looked at me, her eyes still very moist from her earlier tears, staring at me.

"I missed that! I was mad at you for a while, but I have to admit that you grew on me. I also missed you a lot," she said.

My hands went down her back, cupped her soft ass checks for a second and came back up. I grabbed her head and pulled her for a long sensuous kiss. 

"I love you!" I said, quietly, hesitant.

She looked at me for a few seconds, an eternity spent lost in the depth of her eyes.

"I love you too," she finally said softly.

We resumed our soft kissing and fell asleep in each other's arms. Soon after waking up, we dressed and left, promising to get together as soon as possible.

I was lost in though all the way back to my apartment. My mind was in turmoil. I can't be falling in love with my prime suspect. There must be a rule somewhere against that. She was everything I always despised. She was a cheater. She was a slut... She... She was beautiful.

How could a very straightforward investigation turn into such an emotional mess? How could I ever convince myself to give her up to the police? I was losing my will to push further my investigation. I only wanted to be with her even with danger looming over me.

I guess my mind was still a bit aware of my surrounding. On my way home, I noticed a familiar pick-up truck following me. He really looked like the one that almost ran me over the previous evening. I sped up a bit, and the truck followed suite. Damn! It was way heavier and more powerful than my van.

At one moment, I cut in front of another vehicle and turned right. The pick-up truck didn't turn either because it wasn't following me or because it couldn't take the sharp turn in the traffic.

Soon I was back heading toward home.

When I turned on my street, I noticed again the same pick-up truck. I slowed down and intended to have a good look at the driver. All I could see was a silhouette turning away from the street. I couldn't identify who it was.

"Fuck, Martha!" I thought. "What are you doing?"

I went to my parking spot. Making sure my revolver was within easy reach; I got out of the car and walked towards my apartment. I let myself in. I couldn't see the pick-up from my place.

What was she planning?

Cautiously, I inspected my apartment. Nothing seemed amiss. From time to time I would look out inconspicuously, but I never saw a movement toward my apartment. Day turned to dusk, then to night.

Around 10:00 p.m., I turned all my lights off.

11:00 p.m. came, and nothing!

Midnight came, and still nothing!

Finally, a bit before 1 o'clock, I heard a noise at the back door. I silently made my way toward the kitchen and the back door. I had my .38 cocked and ready to fire.

I heard a clicking noise coming from the lock. There was no mistaking it. How the Hell did she learn to pick a lock? Sure enough, the door was soon open. My aim real steady, I turned on the kitchen light. I was in for a couple of surprises.

Chapter 9

The first surprise was a relief. It wasn't Martha. It was Hector.

The second surprise was not good. Hector was handling a .45 automatic. My .38 looked pitiful at that very moment except that I was aiming straight at him while his .45 was still in its holster.

All along, I felt bad for the guy. I felt jealous of him, knowing Martha kept coming back to him every night, but also a bit guilty for screwing his wife. Just a bit! If not me, it would be somebody else. I had to say something for his sake.

"Hector, don't do nothing foolish!" I said. 

He didn't listen. I saw sadness in his eyes, a sadness rooted in his understanding of the situation. I had my aim straight. I could probably let a couple of rounds by the time he made any threatening moves. I believe his sadness arose also from the realization that the game was up. 

We stayed like that for a few seconds. He was looking straight at me, an accusatory look that would haunt me the rest of my life. He broke into my house, but I was the thief. I was the one that was stealing his wife from him. I felt guiltier than he must feel. I was the intruder. I was a welcome intruder from Martha's point of view, but an intruder nevertheless. I felt bad for the guy despite my discovery that he was the serial killer I was hunting for.




The Black Widow Case Pt. 03



"Hector, Please don't do anything rash. We can deal with it." I said. "I'm really sorry!"

It was a bit of an empty statement because I knew that I wasn't that sorry to have met and fucked Martha. As a matter of fact, it was such a lie that even Hector in his distraught frame of mind didn't believe it. I saw it in his eyes. And I saw his determination. I recognized the same impulse that probably had him to run and rescue his fellow soldier so many years ago. 

Slowly, he unclipped his holster.

"Please Hector! Don't do it!" I implored but to no avail.

Rapidly, he grabbed his .45 and took it out from the holster.

"No! Don't..." I said but didn't finish as he was leveling his .45 toward me.

I had time to fire two shots before he had time to shoot. I knew that my aim was true, but I also felt it when I took a bullet. Everything faded to black.

*** 

I woke up at the hospital. Instead of pretty nurses looking like angels, I woke up to the sight of an old nurse with a moustache and with detectives O'Hara and O'Toole standing in my room. It is not my idea of a nice awakening if you ask me.

"Hi guys! What's up?" I asked. "I'm really touched that you felt like taking care of me."

All I got was a frown from the two detectives. With my hand I felt a bandage on my head, but I wasn't feeling that bad.

O'Hara spoke to the nurse.

"Is he alright? Can we ask him a few questions?" he asked the nurse.

She shrugged. "As far as the doctor said, it was only a concussion from a bullet grazing his skull. Be my guest!" she said, and left the room.

"Hi Smith! Care to explain how you ended up with a corpse in your apartment after a shoot out?" asked O'Toole.

I spent the next few hours explaining my investigation on the three murders, embellishing it a bit to let them believe that I had Hector as my main suspect all along. They took a lot of notes. It is not everyday that a shooting leads to the resolution of that many murders.

When they were finished, they asked me to hang around as they might have more questions. In return, I asked them if they could help me keep a low profile in the event. I knew it was impossible to keep my name out of the case, but maybe if they could skip the part about me being a private investigator. They agreed and I found out that they were true to their word in the following days as the newspaper clipping referred to me only as a poor victim of a conjugal drama.

I soon started to contact all the parties that were offering rewards. Only one contact balked at my claim for the reward. It was the parent of the gym trainer. They were offering the reward for information leading to the prosecution of the murderer. As Hector was dead, there would be no prosecution.

However, I was still in good shape to receive $350,000 for less than a year of investigation. Not bad! Not bad at all!

It didn't take long for the first payment to arrive. Thomas Nelson Sr. sent me a $250,000 check for solving his grandson's death. I cashed in the check the same day, but I felt like I was cashing the payment for a hit. The note with the payment kind of helped me feel like that.

"Thank you for getting rid of that murderer," read the note. 

One month later, I received the reward for the murder of Matthias Raymond. There was no note except to say that it was a reward for uncovering the murderer.

I am not rich, but I never earned that much money in one year. Hope Uncle Sam won't take too much! I should probably consult a fiscal advisor.

Epilogue

As much as I was excited earlier by the prospect of earning that much money, now my life simply felt empty. I have spent nearly one year on these cases, including six months dating Martha. I didn't miss working the cases. I sure missed seeing Martha.

But there was nothing I could do. My involvement was public. I shot Hector. I killed her husband, the man that she loved deeply despite her cheating ways. I have now a scar on my forehead, a memento from that fateful meeting with Hector. 

With an inflated bank account, it was difficult to get my head back in the investigating business. My heart wasn't in it anymore. I had enough to put a down payment on an old building that could house my office and my apartment, as well as a few tenants. Something good was coming out of my newly acquired wealth, but not much.

Life must go on! At least, this was what I kept telling myself, but it was hard to believe, and harder to live by.

I never tried to reach Martha again. I was ashamed of my part in her husband's death. He might have been a serial killer, but he was still a man she loved deeply. I finally realized that her love for him was such that she must have guessed he was killing her lovers, and she never acted on that knowledge. Was it out of guilt or out of indifference? I don't know.

And she never tried to reach me either. Until today!

I heard a knock on the door of my new office.

"Come in!" I yelled.

The door opened, and there was Martha, sublime, exquisite.

Our eyes locked. I don't know if she felt my insecurity, my guilty feelings, and my bone-deep shame. However, my analytic mind saw an echo in her: guilt and shame. And above all, I saw a sadness that was carved in every new creases of her face. In a matter of one year, she had aged so many more. But she was still the beautiful woman I felt in love with.

We didn't say a word for many minutes: 10? 20? An hour? I couldn't say. She finally broke the silence.

"That scar on your forehead, is that from your... your meeting with Hector?" she asked.

Involuntarily my hand reached for the scar on my forehead.

"Yes, this is where the bullet hit me," I replied.

She cringed at that fact.

"I'm sorry!" she said.

"You don't have to apologize. I knew well in what I was involving myself with," I answered.

"It's a lie. You didn't know. I spent the last year going all over it, and I am sure you didn't know what I knew, or suspected," she said.

She paused a few more seconds. " It's a lie, like all your other lies. Like you being married, like you being a researcher... But I can't blame you. Because I didn't tell you the truth either."

Her beautiful eyes abandoned me, left me stranded in a void, and went toward the floor.

"I knew something was wrong. I thought that Hector was responsible for the death of some of my lovers, but it wasn't all of them. I wasn't sure. And I didn't want to believe it. He was such a nice and decent man. He couldn't be a murderer. And I lied to myself, believing it was only bad coincidences. I lied to myself, and it almost cost you your life. I'm sorry!"

She paused for a long time.

"It took me a whole year to realize my mistake. I had many lovers, but the only one that Hector killed were the ones I started to have deep feelings for. All the others, the one-night stands, the fuck friends without any feelings, were never in trouble. If I hadn't been so self-centered about it, I would have discovered it earlier. For that, I'm sorry!"

She was stripping herself bare in front of me. For honesty's sake, I had to be as honest.

"Martha, you don't have to apologize. You know by now that I am a private investigator. I made many mistakes in that investigation. First, like you, I didn't find out that the only victims were the one you fell in love with. I never even realized that your feelings were involved," I said. 

"I am sorry!" I added more forcibly. "Because all along I though you were the killer."

On that her eyes looked back up. "What? You though I was the murderer?" she asked.

"Yes!" I said softly. That was my turn to have my eyes cast down.

"But... But... you made love to me. You didn't just fuck me like many others. You made love to me. I don't understand," she said.

"That was my second mistake in that investigation. I fell in love with you," I answered. "It didn't matter that you were a slut, that you were a cheating spouse or that I thought that you were a murderer. I wanted to be with you. I really believed that you were a killer and that my life was at stake each time I was with you. But I would have given my life any time just for those few-shared moments. It was totally outside of my life experience. I had no points of reference. I was willing to die in your arms just for that. That's why I pleaded with Hector not to start shooting. I understood him. I knew what he was feeling. Hector showed you that you are a woman worth killing for and I am showing you that you are a woman worth dying for."

She turned around, ready to leave.

"Martha, wait! Don't leave. I also have to apologize."

She turned around, looking at me. We stayed silent for many seconds. It was my turn to be unable to talk. What was I thinking? I was the guy that killed her beloved husband, even if we all knew that he was a serial killer. I was the guy that lied to her for months. I was the guy that believed she was a murderer. I was the guy that earned a nice profit from her husband death.

"You asked me to stay, now take your time and talk. I don't anymore have the strength to talk or share anything with you... But I am willing to listen. Talk!" she asked softly.

And talk I did. I wanted her to know everything about me; what my job involved, what were my motives when I started to investigate her, and what I erroneously believed about her. Then I told her about the final deadly meeting with Hector. I also told her about the way my feelings for her grew with each encounter, explaining that, at the end, I didn't care if she was out to kill me. I told her everything.

She didn't say a word, didn't ask a question. Tears were regularly coming down her cheek, the only sign of her emotions. When I was finished, we stared at each other again without saying a word.

She finally broke the silence.

"All that you said, I already knew or assumed. I had many weeks to just think about it," she said. "I spent too many weeks alone with my guilt. I don't think you can appease it. It was foolish of me to hope otherwise. You pulled the trigger, but I was the one that led him to his death. He was a wonderful human being and I transformed him in a savage revengeful murderer. But still, I hoped that you would say something that could help me deal with what I had done. Again I was being selfish."

I fretted a bit but finally tried to answer. "I am glad that you came. I realize now that I needed it. In my own personal selfish way, I needed to see you. I have no other ulterior motive or well-thought master plan, just a basic need to see you again."

"Really?" she asked.

"I have to tell you that I also feel guilty about Hector's death? I PULLED THE TRIGGER. I had that revolver for years and never shot at anybody. Everybody knows I did it in self-defense. But I also spent the last year thinking that if I had decided to simply follow you instead of going for the easy fuck, everything would have been different. That's what it was at the beginning: an easy fuck with an incredibly beautiful woman. There you were, a sexy, classy, beautiful slut that couldn't keep her legs close. I went for it. Now I know that if I had kept it at that simple fucking level, everything would have been fine. But I had to fall for you, despite all your flaws as a wife or as a girlfriend. I never saw it coming. And now I believe this is what triggered Hector's murderous behavior. He knew I was in love with you."

"No, don't think that," said Martha. "Hector knew me like nobody else, even you. I had other men falling in love with me, or what they believe was love. But he did nothing to them. But with the ones he killed, I guess he believed that I was falling in love with them. He was so wrong... except for you."

My face must have showed my amazement at that last statement.

"Yes, idiot! I did care a lot for the others. They were nice, gentle and loving. But I never loved any of them until I met you. It wasn't like my love for Hector. It could never be and he should have known that. But it was there with you. I cherished our moments together almost as much as my intimate moments with Hector. I'm sorry to say, but you are the only one that should have died."

There really was nothing else to say. 

"I realize that it came all wrong. I didn't mean that I wanted you dead. I meant that you were the only lover of mine that Hector had a reason to be jealous of. You are the only lover I fell in love with."

She had tears all over her face. She didn't say another word, turned around, and left the office. When the door closed on her, my own tears started to flow. Why did she come back?

I loved that woman, but I didn't believe that she could fall in love with me, the killer of her beloved husband. Even if she could get over that fact, we could never have a normal relationship. I knew that once sexually active again, there was nothing that could stop her from sleeping around. I wouldn't be an accepting cuckold. If I had even a small claim on her, I would certainly go for any intruders and simply beat the crap out of them.

No, we are better apart even if I know that she would always be the love of my life.



The Black Widow Case



We spend the next few seconds to open the flaps on our coffees and take a first sip. Finally, O'Hara spoke.

"Smith, what were you doing poking around at Nelson's funeral?"

"Who?" I asked summoning as much surprise as I could.

"Thomas Nelson"

"Ah! The dead guy yesterday! I wasn't working on that. I was following somebody that went there. You know me. I don't do anymore the dangerous stuff that you guys do. I do cheating husbands, background checks, and other small stuff."

"Who were you following?" asked O'Hara.

Think fast! Think fast!

"Bill Braden" I answered.

"Who's Bill Braden?"

"He works for Delorey's Solution, the PR firm. This is totally off the record. If this gets out, I might just be sued for millions. I want to be clear on that. They think he might be selling inside information to a competitor. He went to the funeral yesterday and I followed him there. Are you investigating him too? Is he linked to Nelson's death?"

There's one thing detectives are good at and it's asking questions. However, there's one thing they are bad at, and it's answering questions. As soon as I started to ask questions, they only wanted to get rid of me.

"It's none of your business, Smith!" O'Toole said sternly. 

"Oh, come on guys! Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Is that anything to do with Braden? Is he involved?"

Ten seconds later I was out of the car with not a single thanks for the coffees. That's gratitude for you!

 To be continued