Stephanie's Castle

by Susanna Hughes

  Stephanie was standing in her high heels, suspender belt and stockings and bra, her legs apart. Devlin feasted his eyes on her. He watched as Stephanie took Dolly's head in her hands to control her rhythm as she plunged down on Devlin's cock. He looked her straight in the eyes, their faces only inches apart, and saw a determination there, a determination to make him come. He felt his balls tense. He felt the silky wet mouth sucking on his cock and Stephanie's eyes boring into him, commanding him, and then he came, shooting spunk into Dolly's mouth and watching as a smile of satisfaction and triumph spread over Stephanie's face. She saw what he had done, what she had made him do.

  Stephanie had the impulse to lean forward and kiss Devlin on the mouth but she resisted it.

  She realised that Bruno was still standing by the cell door, impassively watching all that had happened. With a gesture from Devlin he unlocked Dolly's ankle chain and led her away, no doubt to be showered. Devlin sat on the wooden bed.

  'Only you could have done that to me,' he said quietly.

  'I know,' she replied with absolute confidence.

  Chapter Five

  Upstairs it felt hot. Devlin had gone off to take a telephone call somewhere in the depths of the castle, leaving Stephanie on the terrace where they had breakfasted. She sat on one of the loungers sipping what had become the accustomed champagne, and debated whether to go and change into her bikini to take advantage of the sun. The Italian sun had almost reached its zenith but a cooling breeze from the lake made the temperature tolerable. For the time being Stephanie was content to relax, enjoy the magnificent panorama laid out in front of her and wait for Devlin to return.

  The Devlin who finally came back on to the terrace was a very different man from the one who, happy, buoyant and relaxed, had left Stephanie some half an hour before. This Devlin suddenly looked old and tired, the worries of the world settled on to his shoulders. He tramped across the terrace, his whole demeanour suggesting his anxiety.

  'What on earth's the matter?' Stephanie asked, genuinely concerned.

  'I'm afraid something has come up. Business. I've got to go to the mainland right away. I'm sorry...'

  'Anything I can do?'

  'No, no...' Though his eyes were looking at her she could see his mind was somewhere else entirely. 'When will you be back?'

  'Probably after lunch. I'm sorry. It's unavoidable.'

  'Don't worry about me. I'll sunbathe. It's so hot.'

  'If you want lunch, they'll bring you anything you want.'

  'Thank you.'

  'And make yourself at home. There are no locked doors for you.' He looked reluctant to leave her.

  'Devlin, go. I'll be fine. There are no more secrets, are there?'

  'No. You've seen it all.' Devlin smiled weakly but the worried frown soon returned. 'If you want Bruno, dial 5 on the phone.'

  'And I don't expect him to say hello, right?'

  This time he did not manage a smile. She saw one of the servants waiting with a large briefcase as Devlin shuffled off, clearly totally absorbed in whatever problem had suddenly cast a shadow across his world. Surely, Stephanie thought, with such obvious wealth, it could be nothing too disastrous.

  She watched from the terrace as Devlin climbed aboard the motorboat and turned round to see if she was still on the terrace. He waved distractedly when he saw her and she waved back as the boat pulled away from the jetty, then sped over the almost still waters of the lake, leaving a foaming white wake.

  One of the servants poured her a glass of champagne. She had never drunk so much champagne in her life and it felt good. It was, she decided, her favourite drink. The maximum of intoxication with the minimum of alcohol, though she would have been intoxicated enough without any. The secrets of the castle were revealed. Most of the questions answered. She remembered that she had not asked Devlin about Venetia and made a mental note to do so when he returned.

  Taking her champagne she sat on one of the loungers in the full sun, feeling the sun on her face. In the distance she could still hear the faint roar of the motorboat's engines carrying Devlin to the mainland. What the problem was she could not imagine but, to be honest with herself, she was glad of the chance to be on her own and let her mind digest what was happening to her. She thought of going up to her room and lying in the sun on her terrace, as she wasn't yet ready for lunch, but for the moment she had no inclination to move.

  As she lay with her eyes closed against the sunlight she let her mind wander back to the cellar and its occupants. Remembering the feelings she had felt as she lay on her back drowning in Dolly's flesh, she could not help an involuntary shiver of pleasure. She got up and walked into the house, telling the servants she'd have lunch in an hour. But as she walked to the staircase and mounted the first few steps she stopped, reversed her direction and headed instead for the small wooden door hidden behind the tapestry drape. The cellar was pulling her back. She had felt the same with the masked man on the plane, a force like a magnet, invisible, but impossible to resist. She wanted more, though more of what specifically she had no idea. More of something.

  The cellar door had been left unlocked. Was that Devlin anticipating her needs? She grasped the rope at the side of the stone steps and walked down into the dimly lit cellars. She wondered, as she rapped twice on the door to the cells, whether Bruno would let her in on her own, but when the door swung open he seemed almost to be expecting her and stood aside immediately to let her in.

  She said nothing to him and walked up and down the corridor looking into the cells more carefully this time. One of the women, a tall blonde beauty with long hair and long slender legs, particularly caught her eye. Stephanie noticed thin red marks on the top of her thighs and imagined she had been whipped. Of all the slaves this woman looked the most discontented. But Stephanie did not feel in the mood for a challenge or another lesbian experience. As she contemplated the tall blonde she realised that what she actually wanted was cock. She wanted to be fucked. That was what she had missed this morning. She wanted a hot live cock deep inside her cunt. As she thought about it the need grew and became urgent.

  There was no way to compare the cocks of the male slaves, as they all wore the hard leather pouches. She would have to go on general appearance and hope for the best. She could, of course, have Bruno strip the pouches off but that would have taken too long and she was in a hurry. In the second cell was a stocky, hairless and reasonably attractive man in his late thirties. He had a good firm body and short dark hair with an alert and open face.

  'Number two,' she ordered. Bruno opened the cell without question.

  The man assumed the position she had seen Dolly adopt with Devlin, kneeling with his head down. Stephanie went over to him and stroked his hair gently, very much as Devlin had with Dolly. He did not look up, and she took his chin in her hand and forced his head up so he had to look into her eyes. His name-tag read: Adam. She could not tell what was in his mind, whether it was fear or anticipation or disinterest. Whatever it was she suddenly laughed out loud. She continued to laugh as she took her dress off for the second time this morning.

  Bruno still stood in the doorway of the cell. Stephanie considered sending him away but decided against it. There was no point. In fact, the short riding crop tucked into the belt of his tunic had given her an idea, an idea that excited her more than she would have imagined possible after this morning's activities. She removed her bra and saw that her nipples were already hard. It was as though she had saved them earlier, not wanting Dolly to finger them, so that they would be fresh and alive now. She stripped off the stockings wanting to be completely naked this time, and then stood in front of the kneeling man.

  'Pull my knickers down,' she ordered.

  He reached up and found the waistband, pulling the french knickers down to her ankles and she stepped out of them. He bowed his head again as though he were not allowed to look at her naked body.

  'Put your head up again, Adam,' Stephanie said, allowing annoyance to enter her voice
. He obeyed at once. She stepped forward slightly and pushed her pubis into his forehead, feeling its hard bone against her fleshy mound. His mouth, in this position, was between her thighs and she could feel his hot breath on her cunt. She pressed her pubis into him rhythmically, as though she were fucking his forehead.

  'You're very lucky, Adam. You're going to fuck me. A straightforward fuck,' she lied.

  She got on to the bed, which was identical to the one she had lain on in the other cell. For the second time that morning she lay on her back, bent her knees and opened her legs. For the second time her cunt felt incredibly hot and wet. She knew that a lot of her excitement was in this power that Devlin had given her, this ability to command whatever she desired. She had always been turned on by words, had always wanted her lovers to talk to her and her to them, always loved being told that she was going to be fucked or sucked or buggered and now she realised that her voice - hard and strange - issuing unequivocal orders was turning her on as much as anything else.

  She noticed Bruno's eyes had not left her for a moment. 'Fuck me then,' she said impatiently.

  Adam stood up, looking pathetically down at the hard leather pouch chained over his genitals. Stephanie had forgotten about that.

  'Get it off him, Bruno. Quickly.'

  Taking a key Bruno roughly spun the man round and removed the little padlock from the thin chains that held the pouch in place. Suddenly freed from the constriction that had lasted for god knows how long, Adam's cock sprang into a rigid erection.

  'Come on,' Stephanie said, wanting no further delays, the level of her arousal increasing every moment.

  The man did not need further bidding. There was to be no foreplay. He fell on Stephanie and in one movement his cock was buried inside her. It was not the size of Devlin's of course, but it was good to feel the base of a cock grinding up against her clitoris again, a feeling no woman would ever achieve with Devlin. He was thrusting madly, violently as though he hadn't had sex for weeks. Stephanie took his hair in both her hands and held it tight. She moved her mouth to his ear and whispered in the most menacing tone she could muster: 'Stop now.'

  He obeyed immediately, though she could feel his penis pulsing involuntarily inside her.

  'Bruno, use your whip.' This was her idea. Bruno took the whip from his belt and in one fluid, practised motion, striped it across the man's buttocks. His penis bucked into Stephanie. Calling for the whip, hearing herself saying those words, had brought her to the edge of orgasm.

  'Again,' she ordered, holding herself back, wanting to stay on the edge and in control and not be plunged into the abyss of a climax. Again the whip came down and Adam's penis drove into her propelled forward like a pile-driver. She ordered the whip again. His penis bucked.

  She clung to his hair and screamed with pleasure as Bruno's strokes fell on Adam's naked arse and she lost control, allowing herself her orgasm and feeling it course through her body unleashed at last. How many strokes landed before he came she did not know or care. But she knew she was ready for his spunk and felt it jet out into her seconds after the whip drove his cock into her again. She had never felt spunk so hot. It felt like liquid fire. She heard herself scream with pleasure as his spunk spurred her orgasm to a new intensity.

  It was minutes before she realised she was still grasping his hair. She let go and had to stop herself apologising as she could see it had brought tears to his eyes. How silly to think of saying sorry, she scolded herself. Why should she care? It was an attitude she intended to get used to.

  During the aftermath of her orgasm Bruno must have left the cell, as he now offered her a white towelling robe. She extracted herself from the man and put in on. With a movement of his hand Bruno indicated that she should follow him, which she did, not bothering to look back into the cell as she left.

  At the far end of the corridor, opposite the entrance, was another stout wooden door. This opened on to what looked like a conventional suite of rooms, decorated with the same lavish style as the rest of the castle, except, of course, for the absence of windows. Light was provided by a series of tastefully arranged spotlights, big lamps and by the lights illuminating every picture. The rooms had a strange feeling, a feeling of secrecy and decadence.

  Obviously anticipating Stephanie's needs, Bruno showed her to a large marbled bathroom. She showered and towelled herself dry on one of the large stock of fresh white bath towels neatly folded on the heated towel rails. As in her own room, the bathroom cabinet was stocked with expensive toiletries and Stephanie selected a moisturiser and anointed her body with it. The cool liquid felt good on her skin.

  Pulling on the towelling robe again, Stephanie walked back into the corridor of the suite. Bruno had gone. She wandered through the other rooms. There were two large bedrooms, each with king-sized beds, one with a mirror on the ceiling above the bed. Both rooms had televisions and video recorders but there were no tapes that she could see. Presumably this was where Devlin's 'friends' brought the slaves for various sexual athletics, perhaps preferring not to be seen with them above ground. Or perhaps their appetites could not wait to be satisfied quickly once they had seen the opportunities laid before them.

  The remaining room in the suite was less conventional. It had the same stone walls and floor as the cellar outside and the lights were harsher and brighter, though they could be dimmed. But it was what the room contained that fascinated Stephanie. Months before, before her affair with Martin, before sex meant anything more to her than simple fucking, she had come across the first of many books, a book on the more outré sexual dimensions. It had fascinated and enthralled her. She had bought other books and read them all with an equal relish. It was as though she had stumbled into a secret world, a world that existed behind closed doors, a world she had never suspected or dreamt of. But she had known that it was a world she would, sooner or later, want to explore. And that had led to her affair with Martin. Martin had shown her around that secret world. It had scared her, she had to admit it, but it had also thrilled her. It had given her sexual pleasure she would never have dreamt possible.

  Now, as she stood in this room, the impact of reading that first book came flooding back to her. The room contained everything she had read about. There was every conceivable piece of sexual equipment, handcuffs, leather straps, ball gags, chains hanging from the ceiling and from the walls, punishment frames, a stock and a wooden rack. There was every type of whip, crop and paddle, and every size of dildo. A strong pulley, threaded with nylon rope attached to padded cuffs, hung from the ceiling. Three large wardrobes stood against the further wall. Stephanie opened each in turn to find them full of leather and rubber clothing, high-heeled shoes and a selection of wigs. There were drawers of bras, panties, suspender belts, corsets and stockings, all neatly arranged by size.

  It was all here. Bondage, rubber, transvestite, sadomasochism. It was all here in this room. Every fantasy could be catered for. In this room it would be possible to bind a man or a woman, dressed in rubber, leather, or whatever, in any position one cared to imagine. And do to them whatever one cared to do. There would be no escape. The illustrations in the books she had bought had always been line drawings, not photographs; drawings of men and women tied in extremis. Because they were drawings they had not appeared real; in this room the bondage would be only too real. The thought sent a chill through Stephanie. Then she thought of what Devlin had said about the slaves. They were all thieves. And in this room they would get their punishment. Of that she was certain. The frisson of fear she had felt as she contemplated these devices turned to a little knot of excitement. She would not like to be on the receiving end of any of this equipment. Or would she?

  In a sense Martin had tortured her. Not physical pain, admittedly, but he had put her into bondage. She walked over to the pulley tied off on a cleat screwed into the stone wall. She unwound the white nylon rope from the cleat and let it loose. Immediately from the centre of the room the other end, attached to the leather cuffs, descended.
She went over to where they hung at head height and inspected them. Fitting one on to her wrist she felt the thick padding inside the leather, very much like the cuffs that had held her last night. She tightened the strap on one wrist and stood with her hands high above her head, as high as she could reach. She closed her eyes and felt the strain in her shoulders. Could she imagine herself standing there bound and naked, not able to bring her hands down to relieve the pressure, waiting helplessly to be whipped or handled or fucked in any way her tormentor wished?

  She brought her hands down and unbuckled the cuff. Her hands were trembling slightly. The stretching had loosened the towelling belt and as she pulled the belt free to retie it, the robe fell open and she glimpsed her naked body. Both her nipples were puckered and rigid, as hard as she had ever seen them.

  Chapter Six

  The sun was high in the sky and heat radiated in a shimmering haze from any surface not protected by shade. Stephanie had changed into the bikini that Devlin had provided, a costume definitely not capable of withstanding exposure to water. Cut high on the hip, it showed off Stephanie's long legs and tight curved bottom while the spangled tiny bra did little to conceal her breasts. The wrap, designed to be worn with it, was no more than a thin veil of chiffon. Coming down to the main terrace Stephanie had ordered a light lunch of lobster and salad and had decided against more champagne. She sipped ice-cold mineral water instead and had been tempted by the offer of ice cream after the salad. The melon ice cream the waiter had brought was unbelievably delicious, but she avoided the temptation to gorge herself on it. As she had thought on the plane, the main problem this weekend was to know where to draw the line. From where she sat the view over the lake was breathtaking, framed by the cascading flowers, the sun reflected off the almost still water. The heat of the sun made her body feel calm and relaxed.