Stephanie's Domain

by Susanna Hughes

  Getting out of bed she first looked at the books. They were all classics. Emily Bronte, Charles Dickens, Zola, and Joseph Conrad, all bound in leather with titles picked out in gold leaf. She selected Therese Raquin and was about to take it back to bed when curiosity, her most enduring quality, got the better of her. Each drawer was opened by a small hinged brass ring, set flush into the solid yew. Stephanie pulled a drawer out by its ring. It was empty. She tried the one immediately underneath. That was empty too. And the next one.

  She was about to give up when she tried the fourth drawer. Here, neatly stacked, their size exactly matching the internal dimensions of the drawer, were dozens of white envelopes, heavy vellum envelopes, divided by file cards, each file card flagged alphabetically; this drawer contained a sequence from BA to CO.

  Stephanie picked out an envelope from a section marked BA-BE, propping the next envelope to it at an angle so she could fit it back into the right place. The envelope was typed with the letters BA in the top left-hand corner. She opened the flap of the envelope. Inside was a white card. The card was neatly typed with a number, 2351, and a name, Arabella Bannerman. Underneath the card was a colour photograph of a woman's face. Stephanie recognised the background of the photograph immediately. It was this bedroom. The picture looked as though it were taken from a full-length shot, enlarged to show just the face. It did not take much imagination to see that the woman's face was flushed with excitement. This was not a carefully posed portrait. Underneath this photograph the envelope contained a whole set of pictures. The next was the same shot enlarged, now showing just the left eye. The next was of the right eye. Stephanie laid them out on the top of the chest of drawers. Next came a nose but this was not taken from the first picture. It was a different angle altogether, not straight on but looking up so the nostrils were clearly visible. Next was a photograph of the mouth, then one of the left ear, then the right ear.

  The next in the pack was of her breasts. First a photograph of both breasts together - just the breasts, the shot cut off at the neck and diaphragm - then one of each breast individually. By this time Stephanie knew what to expect. The next picture was a shot of the labia. The next of the crinkled corona of the arse.

  There were twelve more shots in the envelope. There was a full-length picture of her completely nude standing by the bed with a champagne glass in her hand. Her other hand was squeezing one of her small, rather flat breasts as though trying to make it look bigger. There was a shot of her on her knees on the floor her mouth wrapped around a massive cock. Though the owner of the cock was not visible Stephanie had no trouble recognising the huge phallus as belonging to Devlin. The other ten shots were all of various sexual positions, each different, each with the male partner's face obscured.

  In the last one the woman was on her knees on the bed facing directly into the camera. Behind her Devlin's cock was buried as deep as it would go in her sex. The expression on her face, the look of total sexual abandonment, sent a sudden thrill through Stephanie's body. She knew exactly how the woman felt.

  Carefully Stephanie replaced the photographs in the envelope, and put the envelope back in its place in the drawer. She flicked through and chose another at random from a division marked CA-CO. The neatly typed card read, '1268, Rita Camrani and Nina Singh'. The pictures were the same, in exactly the same order - face, eyes, nose, mouth and sexual organs, all taken from larger photographs, all with this bedroom as their background, but in the corner of each of the prints were typed the letter 'R'. A second set of facial and sexual organs followed in the corner of which was typed the letter 'N'. Then followed twelve other photographs. The first six were of the two dark skinned and small Indian women in a variety of lesbian activities. One of the women, Rita, appeared to be quite slim and fit; the other, Nina, was grossly overweight with rolls of fat around her belly and on top of her hips. It was Nina who seemed to be dominating the lesbian encounter. The second six showed them with a man. His face was never in the shot but the huge phallus belonged to Devlin.

  The last shot in the pack had Nina lying on her back. Her head was lying between Rita's legs as Rita knelt facing the fat woman's feet. Nina's legs were raised and bent back over her body until her heels rested on Rita's shoulders.

  Rita held them there, her arms looped around Nina's calves. The rolls of fat on Nina's body strained to escape, but the slit of her sex, fringed by a garland of black pubic hair, was completely exposed. Stephanie could see Devlin's unmistakable finger pressed into Nina's vagina while immediately underneath it the tip of his cock had been inserted into the puckered ring of her anus.

  Replacing the photographs and the envelope, Stephanie opened another drawer, selected another envelope at random marked HA. The card inside read '1762, Philip Harrison and June Elliot'. The photographs were in the same order, the woman's features first, then the man's, typed with the letter J then P respectively, and followed by twelve shots of sexual activity. But this time the background was not this bedroom. Perhaps it was not even this house, though the modern furniture, made her think it probably was one of the guest rooms. Devlin was not involved in this tryst. The images were of the man and woman fucking in a series of conventional positions. There was no oral sex, at least, none in the photographs.

  It was quite obvious from all the photographs, from the sometimes awkward angles and the expression on the faces of the participants, that they had been taken unposed, and probably without the knowledge of the models.

  Presumably, Stephanie mused, someone had gone through a mass of photographs from each session and selected not only which ones to reproduce but given detailed instructions as to which should be used for enlargements of each feature. It must have been a time-consuming job.

  Stephanie opened the drawers until she found a file card marked BA-BO and flicked through until she came across an envelope marked BL. Inside was, as she'd expected, a card typed, '2131, Agnes Bloom'. She had not expected it to say, also, Douglas Bloom. Mrs Bloom's face stared back at her from the first photograph. She looked much younger than she had at the castle. Skipping through the pictures of her features, Stephanie reached the first photograph of her husband. Douglas Bloom looked as though he had once been a heavyweight boxer. His nose had been broken several times and he had scar tissue above his left eye. Surprisingly, considering Mrs Bloom's activities at the club, the shots of sex were all straight sex with Mrs Bloom being licked and fucked by her husband. All except the last in the set where Mr Bloom, his large bulky body thick with muscle, stood over his wife, who lay face down on the bed, with a thin leather strap in his hand. From the colour of his wife's backside he had been using the strap on it for some time.

  Once again in this sequence Devlin was not involved and once again the background was another room. This time Stephanie was sure it was not in this house.

  Stephanie replaced the photographs in the envelope and slipped them back into the file. She found a section marked CO-CU and flipped through the envelopes until she found the letters CU. Sure enough inside the envelope was her name, Stephanie Curtis, and a number, 2491. The first picture of her face contained a fragment of the red dress she had worn that night, the night she had come to the house alone. Fascinated she laid each picture out on the chest of drawers. Her eyes, her mouth, her nose, her hairy labia. And then the shots of Devlin fucking her from behind, his big hands holding her by the hips, or wanking her with his finger.

  She had a very clear memory of that night. She looked at the photographs carefully. When Devlin had used those huge fingers to bring her off they had been downstairs not in the bedroom. Quickly she opened more envelopes, flicking straight to the back and ignoring the sexual gymnastics, looking only at the backgrounds. Sure enough, though most were taken in the bedroom, there were some in the living room too and even one in the kitchen. Not only were the bedrooms wired for photography, the whole house was rigged with hidden cameras.

  Stephanie replaced all the photographs except those of herself. She closed the beauti
fully made drawers, then collected all the photographs she had arranged on the chest of drawers and took them over to the bed. She placed herself in the exact same position as the position she was in in the photograph, which was bent over the bed. She then looked round, estimating the angle where the camera would have to be placed. She saw it immediately. There on the opposite wall was an elaborate mirror. It was one of the few things in the house that was not modern. The camera must be hidden behind the mirror.

  Stephanie went over and levered the mirror away from the wall. Sure enough clamped to the back of the glass was a big sophisticated looking camera complete with zoom lens, and recessed into the wall. She could see what were obviously the control cables leading from the camera back into the wall.

  Still naked Stephanie climbed back into bed. She looked at the photographs again. The sensation of Devlin's monstrous cock sinking into her sex was something she would never forget; nor early on that night when he used his finger. The photographs brought it back vividly. She felt herself getting aroused, her sex beginning to churn.

  She picked up the photographs and was about to put them back into the vellum envelope when she noticed another set of letters and numbers printed on the white card. In the bottom right hand corner was typed CD167. What did that mean? Once again her curiosity overtook her faint desire to sleep. She went back to the chest of drawers and systematically opened every one. They were either empty or full of the alphabetically ordered envelopes. Taking out a couple of envelopes she confirmed that every card had a marking in the right hand corner all prefixed with the letters CD.

  But there was no clue as to what that meant.

  The furniture in the bedroom was minimal: the large bed, the chest of drawers, and the two bedside cabinets, together with a Le Corbusier chaise longue, and a discreet but large black television mounted on the wall; that was about it. All the clothes and accessories were kept in a dressing room next door.

  The only logical place Stephanie had to search was the bedside cabinets. On the left hand side the drawers contained a bottle of baby oil, some small leather straps, the sort used at the castle for strapping up a cock, and two vibrators, one larger than the other. There were some items of lingerie, a mauve suspender belt, a pair of grey stockings, crumpled and laddered, and two pairs of panties. One of the pairs was stained with the hard white dryness that spunk leaves. The lingerie smelt heavily of perfume.

  The right-hand cabinet was entirely different. When Stephanie drew out the top drawer, all the drawers opened. In fact the drawers formed a false front, presumably to match both sides. There was only one large, deep receptacle and it contained what looked like the controls of a hi-fi. Some of the controls, power, volume, balance, were clear. Others were unlabelled.

  The anodized steel lever marked 'Power' was obviously the first stage. Stephanie threw the switch.

  Several things happened at once. The lights in the room dimmed while the control panel blinked with colour lights, each indicating a different function. The television screen came to life too, though the screen was blank. Fascinated Stephanie stared at the controls. On one side was a keyboard, like the numbered pad of a calculator. Above it was an LED display. Stephanie punched in the number 2. Nothing happened other than a 2 appearing in the green LED display. She punched in 3. Again nothing happened other than a 3 appearing next to the 2 on the display. She added a 4. The 4 appeared in the display which then began flashing the word 'ENTER'. Stephanie found a rectangular button marked 'ENTER' and pushed it.

  A series of mechanised clicks began. It took ten seconds. The picture of the television screen flickered and Stephanie recognised the bedroom she was in. The camera was pointing at the large bed. In the middle of the picture was a woman, a huge fat woman, naked apart from a gold chain around her neck. She was about to get on to the bed. Her flesh wobbled as she moved.

  'Do you like this?' her voice said over the picture. She was cupping one of her mammoth tits in her hand and feeding it up to her mouth until she could suck on her own nipple. At the same time she opened her legs and moved her other hand down between the folds of her fat thighs until it could wank her clitoris. The fat folded back on itself. It was impossible, even with her legs spread wide, to see the slit of her sex or even the triangle of her pubic hair. All that could be seen was rolls of fat.

  Devlin walked into the shot. His face was turned away from the camera. His cock was flaccid...

  Stephanie punched three more numbers into the control panel. The picture on the screen went blank as she punched 'ENTER'. Ten seconds later the screen lightened. A man lay on his back in the middle of a bed, not this bed and not this room, playing with his erection. He was a young man, good-looking, well endowed, and fit.

  'I want to fuck you,' a female voice said.

  'Come here then,' the man said.

  A woman, small, short, dark, with a not stunning body,

  walked into the shot.

  'Devlin will hear. He's next door.'

  'You'll have to keep quiet then,' the man said.

  'I can't, you know...'

  But before she could finish the man had pulled her down on to the bed and smothered her words with a kiss. His cock was inside her body instantly. And instantly she started moaning, loud desperate moans.

  Stephanie picked up the card with her name typed on the top. She was feeling more aroused than ever, her cunt throbbing. This was Devlin's wanking pit. Go to the file, select a woman, or a couple, and then lie here and play it all back, no doubt wanking himself silly while the images flickered on the screen. The ultimate wanking pit. Well, Stephanie thought, what's sauce for the goose...

  She punched the numbers 167 into the control panel. The screen cleared. Then she saw herself standing in front of the oil painting. She opened her legs and dipped her fingers into her cunt, not at all surprised to find it wet, while she watched herself on the screen, taking Devlin's cock for the first time. She heard herself moan on the sound track. It was an extraordinary feeling, seeing what she had remembered so graphically, reliving the experience as though it were happening again. Almost without being conscious that she was doing it, as she watched the screen intently, her hand had found her clitoris and was wanking it aggressively while her other hand pressed into her cunt.

  She watched as Devlin pulled his cock from her cunt. She remembered how it felt. Exactly how it felt. She remembered what they'd done next. He'd taken her over to the bed. She watched as he lead her over to the bed, her hand in his looking so small against his massive fingers.

  'Will you come?' she heard herself saying, her voice deep and husky with sex.

  'Yes.'

  'In me?'

  'Will you let me do what I want?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  She remembered what he'd done. He'd knelt on the bed between her thighs and taken his monstrous prick in his own huge hand. She watched as her memory was confirmed. She watched him wank, as she'd watched then. She heard his little moans and gasps of pleasure as her hands worked between her legs. She wanted to come as he came, wanted to match her body to his, wanted to climax as she saw his spunk brimming out over his hand as she knew it would do any minute.

  It was going to be easy, so easy. She was so turned on, so hot. This was like being able to play back your wettest dream, see it all in detail. Her juices made her fingers slippery, sliding over the bud of her nerves so deliciously, driving her to orgasm.

  Devlin's hand wanked faster on the screen. She remembered he'd glanced at the painting just as his spunk flowed over his fist. And she came too, pushing her fingers, two, three, perhaps even four fingers, deep into the silky wet walls of her cunt, her finger pulling hard at her clitoris, jamming it against her pubic bone. She arched off the bed, her nerves locking every muscle of her body. She could almost feel, as she'd felt that night, the hot spunk from Devlin's cock, lashing down on to her body.

  The television screen went blank. Stephanie slowly, very slowly recovered her senses. She was almost surprised no
t to find her thighs and navel covered with spunk.

  She flicked the power switch off and closed the drawer. The lights came back on and the television switched itself off with a loud clunk.

  Stephanie packed the photographs back into the envelope and climbed between the sheets her body still prey to the little shocks and tremors of the aftermath of orgasm.

  She had discovered another of Devlin's secrets, the secrets of his complex sexuality. She had no idea how all the video linkage worked, but she could well imagine Devlin lying where she lay now, wanking slowly to whatever scene he had selected from the catalogue he had acquired over the years. She made a mental note to check whether he had the same set-up in his bedroom at the castle.

  Well she would certainly have something to upbraid him with in New York. She smiled to herself. Not that she really needed an excuse.

  Chapter Eight

  The fur was taken away by one of the steward's in the Concorde lounge. Despite the fact it was early in the morning Stephanie accepted the proffered champagne. Her coat, the steward assured her, would be put aboard the plane, and returned to her on arrival in New York.

  Stephanie sipped the champagne and glanced through the Vogue that she had picked up from a huge variety of reading material on offer at the reception desk. There was not much time to wait. They were boarded almost immediately, walking down the long tunnel at the gate and on to the sleek white airplane. As flying Concorde was such an existing experience Stephanie had dressed carefully, more as if she were going to a party than flying the Atlantic. She wore a simple red dress, a dark moody red, cut to fit every contour of her body, tight to the breasts, her slim waist, and especially over the pert curves of her buttocks. The skirt was just long enough for her to wear beige stockings, held up by the tiniest suspender belt she possessed. Her panties too had to be slender; she wore only the smallest of G-strings. Any other knickers would have shown under the smoothness of the dress. A diamond had been cut away just above the bosom of the dress and revealed the foothills of Stephanie's breasts, unrestrained by a bra. If anyone looked carefully enough and long enough they would see the thin line of the suspender belt, the little dimple of the suspender button at the top of her thigh. If anyone watched her sitting down or getting up they would catch a flash of her stocking tops, too, no doubt. She didn't mind. Let them stare.