Stephanie's Trial Page 2

  And just as she thought it was subsiding she felt James's body tense, his muscles lock, arching his body like a bow to get his cock even deeper into her as his spunk suddenly spat uncontrollably from his spasming shaft. The feeling of his spunk filling her renewed her orgasm, made it peak again, threw her nerves into yet another rigor of pleasure.

  Eventually, after what seemed like forever, her body released its grip on her mind, sensation gave way to thought, and she opened her eyes. James's cock had softened and was squeezed out of her cunt. Its departure produced a shudder in her, an aftershock, an echo of the shattering orgasm she had just experienced. It was extraordinary, she thought as James rolled off her, how her sexuality had grown and developed. Before she had started to plumb the depths of her sexual psyche, not having the slightest idea of how fathomable it would be, before she had strangely, unaccountably decided she must take a journey through the highways and byways of her own sexuality, a personal odyssey, she had had virtually nothing to do with sex. She had experienced it, but it had not moved her or bothered her or even interested her for much of the time.

  All that had changed, changed suddenly and dramatically through two men. Martin, whom she had wanted more than any man in her life up to that point, had shown her that sex was more than a physical act and introduced her for the first time to an undergrowth of sex, to fantasy and the pleasures of the imagination. With Martin she had experienced pleasure she had never even dreamt of. Like the lightning that brought Frankenstein's monster to life, Martin's mind as well as his body had shocked Stephanie into sexual awareness. But if it had been Martin who'd opened the door for her, it was Devlin who had given her the means and the opportunity to explore the corridors and passages that lay beyond, the passages that led to where she was today.

  Devlin had brought her to the castle and the cellars. Devlin had allowed her into his life and, in the end, wanted her to control it. Though he had built the castle, though he had constructed the cellars and staffed them with slaves from his vast empire, it had been Stephanie, Stephanie's imagination, that had for the first time given Devlin the sexual pleasure he craved. Stephanie was mistress of the castle now and Devlin, for all his wealth and power, was her hopeless, fawning slave.

  What Stephanie had discovered for herself, on her sexual odyssey, was that she seemed to have an infinite capacity for sex, for excitement, for fantasy, for extending the boundaries of her own - and other people's - sexual awareness. She had, it appeared, an instinct, a sixth sense when it came to other people's sexuality; an ability to read their deepest sexual desires and, with the facilities of the castle, fulfil them. But at the same time, at precisely the same time she had also discovered that her own sexual feelings could be roused to fever pitch by impulses she had no idea she possessed, by the impulse to dominate, to have power, to command obedience and punish defiance.

  In the last six months Stephanie's life had been transformed. Here at the castle she lived in complete luxury, her life spent in catering for Devlin's needs and the needs of the guests who were flown to the castle, customers and business associates like the Baron, their access to the castle an inducement to continue a productive relationship with Devlin's companies. But best of all, better than all the luxury and wealth and the incredible beauty of the lake and the island, was that in satisfying Devlin and others like the Baron, she was above all satisfying herself. The orgasm she had experienced tonight, so sharp, intense and long, was all part of that, all part of knowing and controlling, of being at the centre. Knowing the Baron was watching had brought her off but it was the idea that she had constructed and orchestrated the spectacle that was really at the root of her sexual enjoyment.

  The thought of the Baron reminded her that the plan for the evening was not yet complete. 'Is Molly ready?' she asked James.

  'Yes mistress, she's waiting outside in the corridor.'

  'Well, you'd better get her to come in.'

  'Do you want me to stay, mistress?'

  'No James, just tell Molly to come in and then go back to the cellars.' James was still lying on the bed. 'Now,' Stephanie prompted with a snap in her voice.

  James immediately scuttled to the door. Stephanie smiled to herself. She had thought of presenting the Baron with a threesome, having Molly lick at James's balls while he was fucking his mistress, but she thought the Baron would appreciate more intimacy. He had seen orgies of sex over the weekend. Now she wanted him to watch her. That was the point. She wanted him to be excited by her body, her reaction, her sex. And that, in turn of course, would excite her.

  A small, petite blonde, her hair cut in a short bob, her eyes a radiant blue, came through the bedroom door. Though not tall she was perfectly proportioned except for her big, full breasts that threatened to burst the confines of the white lacy underwired bra she wore. Her legs were sheathed in very white holdup stockings, their welts, fashioned in thick bands of white lace, reaching so far up her thigh they almost touched the crotch of her panties. These were white and cut very high on the hip, so high in fact that the strip of material between her legs was not wide enough to cover all the flesh between her legs and managed only to conceal the central slit of her labia. Thin, wispy pubic hair was exposed at each side.

  'Well, Molly,' Stephanie said. 'You know what you are going to do, don't you?'

  'Yes, mistress,' Molly replied.

  'Do it then.'

  At once Molly knelt by the foot of the bed, the metal tag bearing her name bouncing on top of her deep cleavage.

  Stephanie liked Molly. Molly had a fleshy, soft mouth and a long, probing tongue. She had used Molly before. A thrill of pleasure made Stephanie shudder unexpectedly. She scrambled down the bed and hooked her black-stockinged legs over Molly's shoulders and around her back, the heels of the black shoes digging cruelly into her back. Molly's mouth was inches from Stephanie's wet labia.

  'Lick it, Molly... Lick the spunk out of me.' The words thrilled Stephanie because she knew the Baron could hear them. She dug her heels into Molly's back to urge her forward.

  As she felt the singular pleasure of a woman's mouth lapping at the entrance of her cunt, her tongue delving inside to scoop out the white gobs of spunk that had already run down the slippery passage, she looked straight into the mirror. Can you see me, Baron? Can you see my pleasure? It was a pleasure she'd never dreamt she would enjoy. That was something else she had discovered about herself. It had never occurred to her that she would come to enjoy the pleasures of a woman, of sex with a woman, as much as the pleasures of sex with a man. But she did. As if to prove it again she felt her body shiver and her cunt contract. The giant flywheel was starting to turn again and it would not be long before the Baron saw her come again, this time on the ministrations of a woman. Would he come again too?

  The speedboat was tied to the wooden jetty at the bottom of the stone steps that led from the front of the castle. The lush growth of climbing plants that overhung the steps were no longer flowering but still scented the area with a fragrant perfume. Though it was autumn the morning sun, hanging low over the calm waters of Lake Trasimeno, where the castle sat on an island, still warmed the air, although a heavy dew on the foliage was much slower to evaporate than in the heat of summer when Stephanie had first set foot on the island. The varnished wood and polished brass of the boat gleamed as it rocked gently in the very slight swell, the boatman standing ready as the servants, in smart white linen jackets, loaded the Baron's cases aboard.

  Stephanie led the way down the steps, worn by four centuries of use, the Baron immediately behind her. She wore a functional black Lycra swimsuit covered by a chiffon wrap, intending to swim once she had seen the Baron off.

  'Well, I hope you had a pleasant trip,' she said as they arrived at the boat. 'The plane is waiting.'

  'Yes, I heard it come in.'

  'And I'm sorry you missed Devlin.'

  'I hope very much that you will come and visit my schloss in Bavaria. I would like to see you there. Both of you, of course.
' He looked at her with those steady, unwavering eyes and Stephanie felt a little shiver of pleasure. Was he imagining what she had looked like last night?

  'That would be delightful.'

  'I too have some...' He hesitated trying to think of the right word, '...surprises.'

  'Really?'

  'Oh yes. I think you would be most interested.'

  He took her hand and stooped as he brought it to his lips.

  'May I say something to you, my dear?'

  'Of course.'

  'I would like to tell you that you are a most beautiful woman. Most beautiful. And with exceptional...' He sought for the right word again, '...talents.'

  'Why thank you.' She looked up into his eyes and felt a surge of excitement. 'You should know,' she added.

  'Oh yes, and I am most grateful for what you allowed me to see.'

  'For myself, Baron, I was sorry that was all you wanted to do.'

  The Baron smiled, an indulgent smile, like an adult smiling at a child.

  'I'm an old man, my dear, set in my ways. Perhaps if you come to the schloss...' The words hung in the air, his eyes looking out over the water. 'If Devlin wouldn't mind.'

  'I don't belong to Devlin,' Stephanie said sharply, wondering whether to add that it was Devlin who belonged to her.

  'In that case...'

  The Baron kissed her hand again and looked deeply and steadily into her eyes. Again Stephanie experienced a frisson of excitement. The Baron had a presence about him, an aura of power and masculinity that Stephanie found wholly attractive.

  Bowing slightly as he relinquished her hand, the Baron climbed into the boat and the white linen-jacketed servants helped the boatman cast off the forward and aft lines. Immediately the boat drifted clear of the big rubber tyres that hung down from the side of the jetty and the boatman throttled the inboard engine up to a gentle hum and steered the boat out into the lake. Then he pulled the twin chrome throttle levers back, the note of the engine changed to a roar that echoed against the walls of the castle, and the boat surged across the water.

  The Baron sat on the bench seat in the transom. He looked at Stephanie one final time, his eyes roaming her body, the swell of her breasts under the clinging black Lycra, the flatness at the junction of her thighs, her long slim legs and pinched ankles, remembering what it had looked like last night, open, exposed and in the throes of passion. He did not smile. As the boat turned he did not look back either.

  A long foaming white wake stretched across the calm water in a huge sweeping curve until the boat was no more than a dot on the horizon and the water nearest the jetty had resumed its more usual motion, only the slightest hint of a wave disturbing its sun-kissed surface.

  Stephanie stripped off the chiffon wrap, handed it to the servant who had brought her a towel, and dived into the shimmering water. The temperature was cold but she didn't mind that. After a few minutes of vigorous swimming she would soon warm up. She struck out towards the centre of the lake, swimming a hard, regular front crawl, feeling the muscle power in her arms and legs that frequent exercise built up. She felt also the impact of the Baron's look as he had watched her from the boat. Would he do more than look next time? There was one thing that was certain: Stephanie definitely hoped he would.

  After an hour in the lake Stephanie pulled herself up on to the jetty again and took the towel from the servant who had waited patiently for her. She rubbed her hair dry, then headed up the steps to the castle where a small shower room had been built off the vast entrance hall with its sweeping marble staircase. Pulling the tight swimsuit down she stood under the jets of the powerful shower, letting the hot water cascade off her body. Quickly she washed her long black hair then stepped from the shower stall. She glimpsed her naked body in the full-length mirror that lined the shower room door. It always surprised her. Apart from the fact it was marginally slimmer, the muscles in her legs and arms more defined, her waist that little bit more cinched, her breasts slightly higher on her chest, it was the same body that had stared back at her for all those years, innocent of the things it indulged in so regularly now. Stephanie was surprised it had not changed more, it did not look different, looked as different as it felt, because it felt and behaved and was different.

  Taking the clean white towelling robe with which the shower room was always supplied and wrapping her wet hair in a small white towel turban-fashion, Stephanie walked through to the terrace outside the dining room. Though the sun was only just high enough to clear the rich foliage that surrounded the terracotta-paved terrace, it was warm enough to dry her hair and Stephanie pulled the towel off and sat at one of the white wrought-iron tables. She ordered a pot of coffee and the English newspapers that had been flown in yesterday.

  The white linen-jacketed servant (the slaves were never used for domestic duties at the castle other than labouring in the orchards and extensive gardens) was soon back with a tray of white china and a silver coffee-pot. The papers were tucked under his arm. He also carried a cordless telephone.

  'Signor Devlin, signorina,' he said, handing her the phone.

  Stephanie pulled the aerial of the phone out of its socket as the waiter scurried away. 'Devlin...'

  'Darling.' Devlin's voice sounded as though he were speaking from the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

  'I can hardly hear you.'

  'The lines are all terrible.'

  'So how's Moscow?'

  'Cold. But business is booming. I'll be back on schedule. I just called to see how you got on with the Baron.' Every other word disappeared into the ether. It took Stephanie a moment to gather what he was saying.

  'I can hardly hear you, Devlin.'

  'I can hear you perfectly.'

  'The Baron was fine. He's an interesting man...'

  'I thought you'd think so.'

  'He's invited us to his schloss.'

  'Oh... would... an experience. Did... entertain him?'

  'Oh yes. I think he was suitably impressed. I gave him my personal attention.'

  'Good... back... week. See you... and... tell me... about it.'

  'Devlin, I thought I'd go to London for a few days to do some shopping. There's no one expected here, is there?'

  'No... good... Have a... time. Call Venetia.'

  'Did you think I wouldn't?'

  'No...'

  'Devlin.' Stephanie snapped his name out this time.

  'Yes...'

  'Yes what?'

  'Yes, mistress.' Even over the crackling line she could hear his voice change tone just as hers had done.

  'Can you hear me?'

  'Yes... tress.'

  'When I get you back here, Devlin, do you know what I'm going to do with you?' She wanted to give him something to think about, something to lie in bed at night and remember. 'I'm going to have you strapped down to my bed, Devlin, strapped down so tight you can't move a muscle, not an inch. Are you listening?'

  'Yes... mistress.'

  'Then I'm going to make you watch.'

  'Watch mistress...'

  'Watch. Watch me as I take off all my clothes. A tight, clinging silk dress. My strapless bra. My little black panties, the tiny ones that barely cover my sex. You know the ones I mean, don't you?'

  'Yes, mistress.'

  'I'll pull them down over my thighs, very slowly.' Stephanie's hand slipped inside the white towelling robe, she pinched her nipple then dropped her hand into her lap. 'But I'll leave my stockings on, and my suspender belt. And my high heels. I'm going to put one foot up on the bed and smooth the wrinkles out of the nylon. You know how I like my stockings to be tight against my legs, don't you?'

  'Yes.'

  'One leg then the other, so you'll see my pussy, won't you? If I allow you to look, that is.'

  'Please let me...'

  'Then I'm going to kneel on the bed over your cock.'

  'Yes...' Devlin's voice was reedy and strained. She knew he would be wanking himself by now.

  'But as much as you want to, I'm not going t
o let you fuck me. I'm going to make you watch me wank, I'll make you watch me bring myself off and you won't be able to do anything about it. You won't be able to get your cock into me because you'll be so helpless, tied up and helpless. And I'll come. I'll come on my own hand and my cunt will be all soaking wet...' It occurred to Stephanie that in Moscow the telephone exchange had old-fashioned operators and open lines. That was why the line crackled so much. They were all listening, all the foreign operators with smatterings of English. 'I'm going to turn round, then, with my bum towards your face, inch my way up your body...' Stephanie's hand slipped between her legs and up into her cunt. It was already wet, '...until I'm sitting on your face. Then you can lick me out, can't you?'

  'Yes mistress...' Devlin groaned.

  'And if you don't please me I'll have to have you whipped. Won't I?'

  'Oh mistress...'

  'Whip you until you beg me to stop.'

  'Please, please...' Devlin's voice was only a whisper.

  'Are you wanking now?'

  'Yes, mistress. I can't help it...'

  'Then come. I give you permission. Come for me, Devlin. I order you to.' Stephanie penetrated herself deeper, two fingers inside now and the thumb of her hand grinding against her clitoris. Suddenly she heard a loud groan, like a cry of pain. 'Have you come?'

  'Yes, mistress.'

  Stephanie smiled to herself. Even two thousand miles away Devlin was her slave, putty in her hands.

  'Remember, Devlin. I always keep my promises. As soon as you get back here that's what I'm going to do.'

  'Yes please, I can hardly wait.'

  'Call me in London.'

  'I will.'

  Stephanie put the phone down and withdrew her hand from her sex with only the slightest hesitation. She was still smiling broadly. She would enjoy acting out that little scenario when Devlin came back next week just as much as Devlin would enjoy thinking about it over his next few days in Moscow. With Devlin's international commitments taking him all over the world Stephanie had got used to turning him on over the telephone. She knew him so well now, all his fantasies, all his proclivities, his whole sexuality, that it was not difficult to fuel his sexual fires until they burned out of control. Not that it didn't fuel hers as well. What she had conjured up on the phone excited her as much as it did him. The pleasure she would get from turning fantasy into reality would be as great for her as it would be for him.