The secrets of the castle were hers now. It was extraordinary that Devlin seemed to trust her implicitly with all this. He had been true to his word: There had been no locked doors, either physically or metaphorically - she had been able to go and do whatever she had wanted. Had Devlin not been so obviously distracted by his long telephone call Stephanie would have thought him quite capable of deliberately leaving her alone to see what her reaction would be, to see what she would do or perhaps to draw her deeper into the web.
The waiter brought her a steaming cup of espresso coffee. She left it to cool and walked over to the parapet of the terrace and looked down to the lake below. She could not see the stone steps leading down to the jetty as they were completely covered in the twining bougainvillaea and jasmine, but she could see the jetty itself and the water of the lake softly lapping at its wooden supports. She could hear the noise of the water from here too. Whatever Devlin imagined she would feel standing here on his terrace, the beauty of the castle and the island all around her, her mind able to dip into the memories of the morning in the cellars and the pleasures of last night, Stephanie had to admit her reaction was rather curious: she felt strangely at home.
After a second cup of coffee she decided to go upstairs to her terrace and lie out in the sun. Devlin would be back soon she thought, so this was her chance for a little sunbathing. Back in the bedroom she noticed the underwear she had discarded in the cell this morning had been washed and neatly folded in a precise pile on one of the chest of drawers.
Outside she positioned one of the loungers to catch the full sun and lay, feeling the heat boring down on her body. She closed her eyes. Quite unexpectedly, in her mind's eye, she saw herself strapped into the leather cuffs in the punishment room of the cellar suite, hoisted by the pulley on to tiptoe naked and helpless. She opened her eyes again to free herself of the image then, in a matter of seconds, she was asleep. Dreams swarmed into her head, dreams that were so realistic as to be more memories than dreams. She saw Devlin kneeling between her legs, his huge cock erect, his banana finger already inside her. And then her sleep deepened and there were no dreams at all.
Only a few minutes later she awoke, feeling unusually refreshed. But she was hot, the delicate bikini streaked with her sweat. She walked into the bedroom to find some suntan lotion as she could feel her skin was already taking colour. In the bathroom cabinet, as she had come to expect in the castle, there was an expensive oil which she massaged into her face. Looking in the bathroom mirror she could see that even after such a brief exposure her face and arms were browning. She rubbed the thick white cream into her cheeks and forehead, looking at herself intently as she did so. Her eyes stared back at her, looking strangely knowing after the last eighteen hours. Her brown eyes were bright, the whites very white. Trying to be objective, she had to say she thought she looked very good. Sex obviously suited her. At least this sort of sex.
She went back into the bedroom and examined herself in the full-length bedroom mirror. The cut of the expensive bikini, despite the sweat, complemented her body perfectly. She had no idea what it cost but it was certainly more than she'd paid for an entire outfit. She felt good in it. She felt good in all the clothes that Devlin had given her. She loved the feeling of these beautiful materials made with the minutest attention to detail. All the clothes he had given her in the suitcase felt as if they had been made for her. They felt comfortable and elegant, and she knew they suited her. She felt at home in them. She had to say she loved the life here at the castle too. But then, who wouldn't? London, her job seemed to be in another world. Effectively, of course, it was another world, and one she had no desire to think about until it was absolutely necessary. And that time was not now.
The scent of bougainvillaea drifted in from the terrace on a light breeze. All she had to think about now was Devlin. And herself. He would be back soon so in the meantime she could enjoy the sun. Why she was lying in a bikini on what must be the most private terrace in Italy, she thought suddenly, she could not imagine. But if she was going to lie naked then she would need her skin oiled against the burning sun. She smiled to herself as she walked over to the phone on the bedside table. She had to dial five, she remembered Devlin telling her. Her smile broadened as she heard the phone ring twice before it was answered.
'Bruno, bring one of the men to my room right away.' She heard him hang up by way of reply.
The pleasure she took in issuing these orders was out of all proportion to the orders themselves. It was the sensation of being in command, a pleasure she had never experienced before, that she enjoyed. It was a pleasure Devlin had given her, created for her. There was no question in her mind that being able to command, in the way she had this morning in Devlin's cellar, had affected her deeply. She could hear her voice - that strange hard voice she had never heard herself use before - and remember what she said, what commands she issued. It was a part of the sexual experience, an integral part she knew, that had done more than given her an endless stream of orgasms. It had, in some way, defined her sexuality. Of course, Devlin was responsible. She had allowed Devlin to use and abuse her, she had enjoyed the game of 'rape'. But that was only the other side of the coin, the flipside. In a strange way, tied and held down on the bed last night, helpless as she was physically, she had still been in control. She had given Devlin his pleasure. The game he had begun she had hijacked. She had started wanting to please Devlin, certainly, but something else had taken over: all that eventually mattered was that she had pleased herself. Ironically, she thought with delight, the more she pleased herself, the more she seemed to gratify Devlin.
She wondered if Devlin would get a report of her activities while he'd been away. No doubt the servants had tracked her movements but she did not know how he could get information from Bruno; he did not look as though writing was one of his talents. Not that she wanted secrecy. She wanted Devlin to know precisely what she had done. She could always tell him herself.
The knock on the door pulled her out of this reverie.
'Come in.' She heard her hard cold voice again.
Bruno entered, followed by a man dressed in a one-piece nylon work suit elasticated at cuff and waist and with a long zip running from neck to crotch. Bruno immediately indicated, in effective sign language, that the garment should be removed. Under it the man was naked save for the hard black leather pouch chained tightly around his genitals and, of course, the name disc on the chain around his neck. The disc read: Paul.
'Out on the terrace, please.' Stephanie made a mental note not to use the word 'please' again in these circumstances.
She stepped out into the sun and the two men followed. She pulled the thin shoulder straps of the bikini bra down over her breasts. She watched Paul's eyes staring at her tits, the nipples already hardening under his gaze.
'What's your real name?'
'I'm not allowed to say, madam.' His voice was reedy and uncertain.
'You're allowed to tell me.'
Bruno shook his head vigorously and put a finger to his lips, presumably to indicate the need for silence. But Stephanie was not prepared to obey Bruno, just as she had not listened to Susie on the plane. Stripped to the waist, her firm tits hardly bouncing on her chest, she walked over to him.
'I don't want to have to tell Mr Devlin that you have not cooperated with me, do I, Bruno? He wouldn't like that, would he? What would he do if he didn't like it, Bruno? What would he do if I told him you had refused me?'
For half a second Bruno stared into Stephanie's eyes with a look bordering on contempt. But the thought of Devlin's displeasure was too powerful a totem to ignore, as it had been for Susie. Bruno dropped his eyes to the floor and studied his feet.
'So your name is...' Stephanie returned to the slave picking up the metal name tag in her hand.
'Norman, madam.'
'See,' she said looking at Bruno. 'That's wasn't too difficult, was it, Norman?'
'No, madam.'
'I have much more difficul
t things for you to do in a minute. How long have you been here, Norman?'
Bruno's head came up again as if to intervene but Stephanie was already looking at him defiantly and he quickly thought better of it.
'Four weeks, madam.'
'Oh, so you'll be quite experienced then.'
'If you say so, madam.'
'So polite. I like that.'
Stephanie pulled the bottom of the bikini down over her thighs and, bending over, pulled it off her ankles. As she bent down, her arse nudged against Norman's thigh. His eyes had followed every movement and as she bent over he could see clearly the long slit of her sex, and the lips of her cunt covered in curly black pubic hair.
The terrace was equipped with a double-sized lounger, a lounger of the usual design and length but of double width which could accommodate two people lying side by side. 'There's suntan oil in the bathroom, Norman,' said Stephanie, lying down. 'Bring it here. You're going to rub it in for me.'
Norman immediately disappeared inside. Stephanie stretched out, her legs open, her arms above her head. Almost at once she could feel the sun on her sex. It was a strange feeling. In England she had never sunbathed in the nude. She looked over to Bruno who still studied her feet, apparently showing no interest in her. He looked hot, his black costume more suited to the cool of the cellar than the heat of the sun.
Norman returned with the oil.
'You can start on my back,' Stephanie told him, rolling on to her stomach. Norman knelt by the side of the lounger, squeezing the thick cream on to her shoulder blades and then starting to massage it all over her back with both hands. He had strong hands and a firm touch and Stephanie closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of the cold cream being worked into her already warm skin. Once he had finished her back he squirted more cream on the top of her thighs and started to work on the back of her legs. Stephanie opened her legs again as he massaged her buttocks, knowing he was seeing every detail of her labia and puckered arse.
'Right down there, Norman.' This would be torment for him, she knew. His fingers spread over her arse and then down till she could feel them edging against her cunt. He started to move his hands away, down her thighs and calves.
'No, back where you were,' she teased. His penis must be straining hopelessly against the pouch now, unable to come to full erection, or find any release. His fingers kneaded the oil into the bottom of her arse again; they could not help brushing the lips of her cunt.
'All right, that's enough.'
With relief she could almost feel, his hands moved back down her legs to her knees and calves. She had considered getting him to massage her cunt properly but decided she wanted to relax: she was not going to go short of sex in the next few hours, that was certain.
She turned on to her back and looked straight at Norman. Her breasts were quivering slightly from the movement and she could see his eyes looking at them hungrily.
'Do you think I have a good body, Norman?'
'Yes, madam.'
'I let one of the slaves fuck me this morning, Norman.'
'Did you, madam?'
She could hear the edge of excitement creeping into his voice, reflecting a slim hope that she might just be planning the same fate for him.
'Get on with it then. Do my front.'
He squirted cream on to her navel and worked it all round her chest without actually touching her breasts. His hands creamed down to the triangle of pubic hair without touching that either. Then he worked on the front of her thighs and down to her calves and feet. Stephanie closed her eyes again, letting herself go to the delicious feeling the massage and the warmth of the sun were producing.
Since her remark about fucking the slave, Norman's touch on her flesh had changed. It was softer, more sensitive. He was no longer trying to keep himself detached, to view her as an inanimate object in order to keep his desire in check. Now it felt like foreplay.
'Take his pouch off, Bruno,' she ordered, opening her eyes to watch Norman's reaction. The slim hope was growing bigger, she knew. But Bruno was shaking his head vigorously. His eyes said this was the last straw and definitely not allowed. In the cellars he had not hesitated to remove Adam's pouch, so clearly there was some problem about doing it above ground. If it was a house rule it was an extremely silly one, Stephanie thought.
'I'm only going to ask you to do it once more, Bruno.'
He shook his head again.
'How do you think Mr Devlin is going to feel when he knows that his favoured guest, whom he has brought all the way from London, has been assaulted by one of his servants?'
Bruno shook his head from side to side in extreme agitation.
'Yes, Bruno. I've heard that even men who've had their cocks cut off get randy. But trying to assault me! Trying to get your hands up me! Not very nice, is it? I can't imagine what Mr Devlin will say. Let's put it this way, I don't think you're going to be working at the castle much longer, do you?'
The defiance in Bruno's eyes changed to fear. He came over to where Norman was still kneeling and taking a small key from the many on his key-ring, he unlocked the padlock that held the pouch in place and pulled it away. Norman's penis, creased and reddened by the constriction, immediately sprung to full erection.
'You've forgotten to do my breasts, Norman. You don't want my breasts to get sunburned, do you?' As she said it she saw his erection swell again. She could see what he was thinking. Why else would she have had his pouch removed? She could feel his excitement as he squeezed the cream on to the palm of his hand and applied it to her breasts. He wasn't sure yet, though. He daren't allow massage to become caress as he felt the supple firm flesh and the tight rigid nipples under his hands. He could not prevent his erection nudging into her side as he stretched across her body to reach the furthest side.
Stephanie moved on to her side and looked down at his penis. It was already weeping a tear of fluid and had left a little wet trail where it had rubbed along her side. She smiled to herself. If she were to take him in her hand now it would only be a matter of seconds before he came. She put her hand down under his cock and found his balls. She weighed them in her hand as if trying to estimate how much they held. She squeezed them not at all gently and Norman moaned. Then she let them go and laughed.
'Bring me some mineral water, Norman.'
Norman got up immediately and went into the bedroom hoping, no doubt, this was just a temporary delay. Stephanie watched his erection bobbing along in front of him as he walked. Bruno did not move. He stood as usual his arms crossed over his chest, his forehead wreathed in sweat, a look bordering on hatred smouldering in his eyes.
The water was ice cold and Stephanie sipped it before putting the glass, already wet with condensation, against Norman's penis.
'It must be very hot, Norman.'
'Yes, madam.'
'Do I make you hot, Norman?'
'Yes, madam.'
'Why is that, Norman?'
'You are very attractive, madam.'
'Would you like to fuck me, Norman?'
He hesitated, perhaps fearing that if he said yes it would provoke punishment.
'I asked you a question, Norman.'
'Yes, madam, I would.'
'A little more oil between my shoulder blades,' she ordered, turning on her stomach and putting the water down on the terracotta tiles. He knelt again and resumed the massage.
'That's enough,' she said. He stopped.
Stephanie lay still. Norman waited, his erection throbbing inches from her oiled flesh and the object that would give him release. He did not move. She knew that the temptation to throw himself on her, to bury his cock deep into that hairy open cunt was almost unbearable.
Laying on her stomach, her face turned away from the slave, Stephanie could not help but smile. Her body felt pampered, smothered in the rich oil and basking in the sun. She could feel Norman's tension and was enjoying it immensely. Occasionally over the next half an hour she moved around on the lounger and watched his greedy eye
s search out every detail of her cunt and thighs and breasts. Not for a moment did his erection flag. If she cared to look she could see the engorged veins. He was uncircumcised and his foreskin still covered most of his glans. How he would love to reach down and pull the foreskin back, or better still, have her do it. Well, that was never going to happen and his disappointment was going to be complete.
The game was over. Her mood changed. She wanted some time alone before Devlin came back.
'Take him back, Bruno,' she said.
Norman said nothing but his eyes pleaded with her. He would get no relief in the cellars. This woman, with the hard cold voice, was not going to give him any comfort. He got to his feet. Bruno handed him the work suit which he clambered into while Bruno picked up the leather pouch. They left. Stephanie noticed they used the little door that the men had used last night. It must be some sort of passage directly to the cellars.
Stephanie relaxed. Experimentally she ran a finger between the lips of her cunt. She was not surprised to find a wetness there. The knot of her clitoris felt hard too. But, without too much difficulty, she restrained herself from harder contact. Masturbation on this island would be like drinking water while sitting in a vat of wine. And in any event she thought she could hear the faintest hum of engines on the lake in the far distance. Devlin was on his way back.
She walked over to the parapet. Sure enough, in the distance, a dark speck was heading for the island. It did not take long before the speck became the definite shape of a boat cutting across the placid water leaving a white trail behind it. She watched, fascinated, as the boat got closer. She watched the wake of the boat, churned up by the propellers, gradually die away until the calm water re-established itself as though never disturbed. It was like watching the condensation trails of jets high in the sky as they gradually faded away.
She pulled on the diaphanous wrap. Though it was obviously intended to be worn with the bikini underneath, Stephanie had no intention of putting the costume on again. She slipped into a pair of high-heeled sandals and walked down through the castle to the jetty to await the boat's arrival. As the boat got closer she could see Devlin was sitting aft with another man. They were talking intently. She had expected Devlin to be alone. She pulled the transparent wrap around herself more tightly and thought of running upstairs to change, but then dismissed the idea as pointless and even faintly ridiculous. After what she had experienced already on the island modesty seemed distinctly out of place. It was a decision she would regret.
Stephanie's Castle Page 7