Stephanie's Pleasure Page 5

Taking his wrist in her hand, she pulled his finger out of her sex. It made a distinct plop. Without a word she unclipped the silver hemispheres from her breasts, adjusted the tiny little wheels at the back of each to increase their tension, then positioned them over Devlin's nipples.

  'You're useless,' she lied as the clips bit, one after the other, into the puckered flesh almost hidden in his mat of white and wiry hair.

  'Yes mistress,' he said, his body shuddering with a surge of pain from the clips that immediately cranked up every sexual nerve.

  'I should have you whipped.'

  'Yes, mistress.' He would love to be whipped. His cock bucked, enlarging more if that were possible.

  Taking the sides of the leather panties in her hands she scissored her legs together and skimmed the garment down over her thighs. She sat up and held them under Devlin's nose, making sure he could smell the odour from her sex where the leather was soaked with her juices. He did not need to be told to inhale the wonderful aroma. His body was so tense, so taut with anticipation, that it seemed to be trembling. This was everything he'd ever wanted; every sexual emotion he'd ever experienced, all wrapped up into this one beautiful, cruel woman, with her tone of utter contempt. Her voluptuous naked body was laid out before him, but forbidden to him until she allowed. She could toy with him, tease him, taunt him; his feelings were unimportant. Only what she wanted mattered.

  Stephanie hooked the leather panties around Devlin's erection. She lay back on the bed, her body just as excited as she could see Devlin's was. Their need was mutual, and complimentary. They needed each other. Slowly, she opened her long slender legs.

  'Watch me,' she commanded unnecessarily as she smoothed her hands down over her creamy thighs, stroking the silky flesh, teasing herself by nudging her sex with the top of her hand. But she was too wound up to take much teasing. The sight of Devlin's cock and the sensation of Devlin's massive finger buried in her body had fuelled her need, and the fire was consuming her.

  With one hand she took hold of her breast, pinching the nipple already sensitised by the bite of the metal clip. Feeling a wonderful rush of pleasure, she plunged her other hand down onto her sex and pushed her finger into her labia to find her clitoris. Wildly, with no delicacy, she strummed at her clit, as though it were the string on a musical instrument, her body convulsing with the effects. She moved her fingers from one nipple to the other, provoking more sensation, the pain left by the clips mixing deliciously with the heat of her pleasure.

  Her body arched off the bed. She was wild, but not out of control. This was not a performance any more, no act for Devlin's benefit; it had gone way past that. But that didn't mean she had no goal. She was angling her sex up off the bed, pointing it at him, making sure he could see her finger working on the pink bud that was the source of her feelings, while her other fingers slid into the mouth of her sex, making sure he could see it all, crimson and scarlet with passion.

  'No,' he moaned, trying to hold himself back. His cock jerked involuntarily, sticky fluid dripping from his urethra. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sight of temptation.

  'Watch me,' Stephanie snapped at once.

  'Please...' he begged, staring down at her beautiful body writhing on the bed in front of him, her thigh pushed against his knees. 'Please...'

  The invisible strings that held Devlin back broke, as Stephanie knew they would. He physically hurled himself onto her, knocking her arched body back onto the sheet. And at last, at long last, his monstrous cock slid into her sex in one continuous, seamless movement.

  Stephanie had been on the brink of her second orgasm, her own efforts combining with the expression of total desire in Devlin's eyes to almost finish her off. She'd managed to hold back until Devlin lost control, to save herself for penetration by that massive instrument; the instrument she had felt so many times before but which she knew she would never tire of, nor find the equal of with anyone else. His cock invaded her, overwhelmed her, filling her mind as much as it filled every corner, every nook, every cranny of her sex. Now, as it rocketed into her, as it took her over, she felt her body quivering, her eyes rolling back, her nipples, crushed against his chest, stinging madly. She could do nothing but feel the waves of orgasm rocking through her body, one after another, until they coalesced; until there was one continuous wave picking her up like a rag doll then throwing her down again in a heap, used, exhausted, replete.

  Devlin began pumping in and out, so fast, so hard that he was completely out of control, his mind taken over by his body, ignoring the consequences of his disobedience - or rather, if the truth were known, relishing them. His hand groped for Stephanie's breast, wanting to touch her soft pliant flesh. As he felt Stephanie's wet, creamy sex clinging to his cock, as he felt his spunk rising, his eyes closed and his mind filled with images, like scenes from a film projected in the dark: images of Stephanie, whipping him, abusing him, binding him, her magnificent body encased in satin and lace, leather and Lycra, her sex always throbbing, alive, demanding. The feelings she had given him, no other woman had ever come near to arousing. Instinctively she had reached into his sexual psyche and found the key to his absolute pleasure.

  His cock began to pulse, the juices of her sex bathing it in a flood of sticky lubrication. He felt his nipples aching: the clips, trapped between their bodies, bit deeper, transmitting sharp pulses of pain that seemed to reinforce his pleasure. He was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

  Stephanie, her climax passed, reached over to the side of the bed. The riding crop was hidden under the pillow. Before Devlin had fully registered what she was doing she had slid it out, raised it over his back and slashed it down along the length of his buttock with all the force she could muster. Devlin's body jerked forward, ramming his cock even deeper into her body. His monstrous sword of flesh was so hot it felt like it would burn her.

  'Get off me!' she screamed, bringing the whip down again, and writhing against him as though trying to get free.

  His cock stabbed into her again, the two cuts from the crop like tongues of raw heat licking at his naked, unprotected arse. The searing sensation they caused raced straight to his cock. He gasped, unable to withdraw his pole again, rooted firm in the secret cavern of her sex... then spunked, great gobs of white hot spunk lashing against the wet silky impossibly soft walls that clung to him so tenaciously.

  'God...' he moaned. It went on forever.

  Eventually he rolled off her body, his cock only slightly deflated.

  Stephanie got up off the bed, the whip still in her hand. She stood over him and slapped the whip into the palm of her hand, making Devlin flinch.

  'How dare you spunk in me!' she said. 'How dare you fuck me without permission! What do you expect me to do now?'

  'Punish me, mistress.'

  'Exactly. Turn over and get that arse in the air.' Her voice was as cold as ice, in complete contrast to her body which was boiling, little bubbles of excitement still rising to the surface. Despite what she had in mind for tonight in the cellars, she had not finished with Devlin yet. She knew his capacity for sex as well as she knew her own. Both, in these circumstances, were extensive.

  And even if they were not, she couldn't let him get away with what he had just done.

  'Say please.'

  'Please, mistress,' he said pathetically, his cock already thickening again at the thought of what was to come.

  The chaos and damage Andrew and Amanda and the rest of the slaves had caused in the living quarters of the castle had quickly been restored. Furniture and rugs had been replaced or repaired. The huge glass dining table that had been shattered into a thousand pieces had been provided with a new glass top, the silk-lined walls re-covered where they had been splashed and the carpets cleaned or renewed.

  Stephanie stood by the large Gothic fireplace where a log fire burned merrily. She wore a simple, short, strapless black dress. Her hair was pinned to her head to reveal her long sculptured neck and her legs were clad
in sheer black tights - the skirt of the dress was too short for stockings. She had scented her body with a perfume by Jean Patou and stood with a crystal champagne flute in her hand, filled with her favourite champagne: Louis Roederer Cristal.

  The glass dining table was set for two, with a huge display of flowers, dominated by white Arum lilies and orchids. Stephanie had ordered the food: delicate little clams from Sicily cooked in tomato with pasta, a rack of lamb in rosemary, a soufflé of pistachio nuts, and petits fours with almonds, all served with wine.

  'Darling, you look beautiful,' Devlin said, coming over to her, and kissed her cheek; the game of mistress and slave had been temporarily suspended by mutual agreement. He had been working in the office at the back of the castle, catching up on the news from the rest of his empire while he'd been away in London.

  'Any problems?' There was genuine affection in Stephanie's question.

  'No, nothing. What about you?'

  She poured him a glass of champagne, handed it to him and touched the lip of her glass against his. 'No. Andrew is suitably chastened. He had a session with Mrs Branchman...'

  'Oh, I can imagine!'

  'He begged me not to take him in to her again.'

  'I bet he did. And Amanda?' Devlin had a soft spot for Amanda, Stephanie knew. At the mock trial that had been staged during the rebellion in this very room, Stephanie had been 'sentenced' to serve Andrew while Devlin had been consigned to Amanda's none too tender mercies. Naturally with his sexual proclivities, the more extreme the punishments she had devised for him - and she had a vivid imagination - the better he had liked it.

  'Oh, she appears to be completely...' she searched for the right word, '...docile. In fact, I thought you might like a little demonstration after dinner.'

  'A demonstration?' Stephanie could see the interest spark in Devlin's eyes: confirmation, if she needed any, that this afternoon's activities had not depleted his interest.

  'You know how awkward she always was when she was in the cellars.'

  'Oh yes.'

  'Always arguing, never obeying orders...'

  'The worst.'

  'I think you'll find quite a difference since you last saw her.' While Devlin had been busy in the office, Stephanie had occupied herself in the cellars, completing the arrangements for tonight. Amanda was ready.

  'Sounds intriguing.'

  'I thought it was time for something new. You know I always like to surprise you.'

  'Talking of surprises...'

  'What?'

  'Let's eat, I'll tell you over dinner.'

  They finished the champagne and sat at the glass table. A linen-jacketed waiter with gold-braided epaulettes on his shoulders appeared to pour mineral water and a delicate Frascati into crystal glasses. Another arrived with bread baked in the castle's kitchens and a third with steaming bowls of vongole.

  They ate eagerly.

  'So what is the surprise?' Stephanie asked, after a few mouthfuls.

  'The Baron called me.'

  'Did he? And what did he have to say?'

  'He sang your praises, of course. He said he found you one of the most exciting women he'd ever encountered.'

  'Really?'

  'You obviously gave him a good time.'

  'Let's say I gave myself a good time and he watched.'

  'That's what he likes to do.'

  'Exactly.'

  The Baron, a German from Munich, was the last guest Stephanie had entertained at the castle before Andrew had freed all the slaves. Stephanie had found him attractive: a big powerful man with a disciplined bearing that betrayed his military background. Unfortunately, from her point of view, all he had wanted to do was to watch.

  'Well,' Devlin continued, 'he wants us both to go to his Schloss in Bavaria, for a holiday.'

  'He did mention it...'

  'Well, now he's invited us. After what's happened here it would be an ideal opportunity to unwind, wouldn't it? Rest and recuperation.'

  'Sounds good to me.'

  'Believe me, it's a fantastic place.'

  'You've been?'

  'Just overnight. Business, not pleasure. I didn't have time to enjoy the facilities.'

  'Facilities?'

  The Baron has a very vivid imagination.'

  'And you didn't...'

  'No, strictly business.'

  'I'm sure.'

  'No, I didn't indulge. That's why I'd be fascinated to go again.'

  'Strictly pleasure this time?'

  'Well, the Baron and I have one or two ventures we might want to put together. It certainly wouldn't hurt to accept his hospitality as well.'

  'So when do we go?'

  'The day after tomorrow.'

  'Oh dear...'

  'What?'

  'I've got nothing to wear.'

  They both laughed. Since taking over at the castle, Stephanie had shopped extensively. In her old life, a life that now seemed so remote and different it seemed as though it belonged to someone else, she had had no clothes - or underclothes - appropriate to the life she now led as mistress of the castle and of Devlin. Trips to the Via Condotti in Rome, Bond Street in London and the Boulevard Haussmann in Paris had soon put that right. The Baron had already seen what she looked like in expensive and revealing lingerie. Now he would have the chance to see her in some elegant outer clothes too.

  The lamb was carved in front of them by a white-coated waiter. It was pink inside and the sweet scent of rosemary filled the room. With the meat were served tiny roast potatoes in the shape of olives and zucchini fritti, each no bigger than a matchstick. A rich Barolo was poured into the biggest of the four crystal glasses set in front of each place. Green salad with a dressing of balsamic vinegar followed.

  'So what exactly happens at the Schloss?'

  'I told you I didn't go there for pleasure.'

  'But you know.'

  'Roughly.'

  'And?'

  'I think it should be a surprise.'

  'A pleasant surprise, I hope.'

  'Stephanie, knowing you as I am delighted to say I do, I think you'll find it a very pleasant surprise.'

  'OK. I like surprises.'

  They ate the soufflé and toyed with the petits fours, dipping the biscuits into the rich, syrupy Italian wine. The waiters brought tiny cups of espresso coffee.

  'So are you ready for my surprise?' Stephanie asked.

  'With Amanda?'

  'With Amanda,' Stephanie confirmed, finishing the coffee and getting to her feet. She came round behind Devlin and dug her fingers into his shoulder muscles, massaging them to ease away any tension. 'Unless you're too tired...?'

  'No, no,' he said quickly. If it was something Stephanie had planned he had no intention of missing it.

  'Come on then.'

  She took his hand and led him out into the vestibule behind the huge oak front door. A curved marble staircase dominated the area; to the side of it hung a large modern tapestry. Behind this, in one corner, was hidden a small wooden door. Stephanie held the tapestry to one side and unlocked the door before leading the way down the spiral stone steps into the cellars.

  At the bottom of the stairs the cellar was perfectly innocuous: supporting pillars of stone and structures stacked with vintage wine beside discarded furniture and other bric-a-brac. But at the far end, set in a much newer wall, was another thick wooden door. Stephanie knocked on it firmly. The noise of bolts being drawn back echoed off the stone walls. The door swung open and the large figure of Bruno - as ever dressed in a black tunic and breeches with a thick leather belt around his waist - stepped aside to let them enter. He bolted the door after them.

  A long wide corridor led down to a bare, open space. Here the slaves were chained for the guests to make their choice. Along the side of the corridor were the doors to the individual cells where the slaves slept if they were not required upstairs.

  There was one other door in the complex, at the far end. Here there was a suite of three rooms. Two of them were like the b
edrooms upstairs: windowless of course, but otherwise luxuriously appointed with beds, silk sheets, thick carpets and en suite bathrooms. The third room was what Stephanie called the Punishment Room, its stone walls and floor spartan like the rest of the cellars. Here the guests could indulge their more outré fantasies, let their imaginations run riot, with every conceivable piece of equipment to bind and fetter and punish.

  But it was in one of the bedrooms that Stephanie had arranged for Amanda to wait.

  Before dinner Stephanie had dressed her personally. With the help of one of the other slaves she had squeezed and cajoled Amanda's body into a specially designed catsuit. It was made from the thinnest and finest quality black rubber, rubber that fitted so tightly it was like a second skin. It had taken nearly half an hour to cram her body into the fastener-less garment, rolling it up from the feet, easing and pulling it over her legs and belly and breasts, using talcum powder to help, until Amanda was fully encased in it. Three holes had been made in the garment: two rather small openings on her chest, from which her breasts protruded awkwardly, as the holes were too small for their bulk; and a long oval slit that ran between her legs, exposing the whole furrow of her sex from the apex of her belly to the cleft of her arse.

  To complete her costume they had pulled a rubber hood, as tight as the catsuit itself, down over her head and neck. This too had three holes, for eyes and mouth this time.

  The rubber was so tight, so seamless, it changed her appearance entirely. Amanda had always given the appearance of being plump, not because she was fat, but because her muscles were strong and well developed. The black rubber pulled her body into a sleek and slender shape, emphasising the feminine curves of her rump and her waist. With the orifices of her mouth and sex exposed it also made her look obscenely sexy, like a modern artist's representation of some outlandish goddess of sex. This impression was heightened by the fact that Stephanie had had her labia shaved entirely of hair, so that the pink lips of her sex were naked and exposed. The smoothness of the rubber and everything it covered was in stark contrast to the wrinkled nether lips which pouted between her legs.