Stephanie's Domain

by Susanna Hughes

  Taking a card from his wallet Caplin passed it through a card reader on the side of the inner door jamb. Once again, after a moment, the inner door sprung open. Caplin led the way down a corridor, in the same dark blue carpeting on all surfaces including the several doors on each side of the passage, and into a quite large and very normal looking bar. Though the bar was relatively busy there was plenty of room among the dark blue leather armchairs and semi-circular banquettes that ran along one wall.

  The four stood surveying the scene. As far as she could see Stephanie was the only woman.

  'May I take your coat?' The man who had appeared behind her was tall and very blond. Like all the club employees he was dressed in tight leather trousers and a vest, like a running vest, but made in red leather. It displayed his bulging biceps and pectorals.

  Stephanie slipped the coat from her shoulders and he took it away. She felt every pair of eyes in the room on her.

  'When does the show start?' Caplin asked the man behind the bar.

  'Fifteen minutes, Mr Caplin,' the barman replied.

  'Just in time for a drink then.'

  'It's all been arranged, sir,' the barman said. 'That table over there,' he continued, pointing to a semi-circular banquette in the middle of the wall.

  'Champagne, I think. Dom Perignon.'

  Stephanie saw Caplin pass a hundred-dollar bill over the counter which the barman palmed with alacrity.

  'Thank you, sir,' the barman said. 'The drinks'll be right over.'

  The numerous pairs of eyes watched Stephanie's progress across the room, following the swing of her hips and the tantalising way her nylon-clad leg was revealed by the dress as her left leg moved forward, only to be covered again, as the right was extended.

  At the banquette Stephanie slid in first. Oscar and his father sat on her left and Devlin on her right. The barman brought over the champagne in a silver wine cooler full of ice and opened the bottle. He poured an inch into the glass he had placed in front of Caplin, who tasted it and nodded his approval.

  Stephanie studied the rest of the large room. In fact there were two other women in the bar. She had not noticed them when she'd first come in but they sat with three men in an arrangement of leather armchairs in the centre of the bar. Curiously none of the five appeared to be drinking; there were no glasses on the coffee table in front of them. One of the women was a flaming redhead, the other, as far as Stephanie could see, a brunette. As they sat with their back to her it was difficult to see any details of their appearance.

  'What do you think?' Devlin asked Stephanie in a whisper.

  'I don't know. What sort of place is this?'

  'Very private. Very pricey. You have to be very wealthy to be a member. Discretion guaranteed.'

  'Are you a member?'

  'No. I've only been here as a guest. It isn't really for me.'

  'Aren't we going to miss the show?' Stephanie asked Caplin. It had been about fifteen minutes since the barman had brought the champagne.

  'No, don't worry. We won't miss a thing,' Caplin assured her.

  She looked at Oscar. He appeared nervous and uncomfortable, as though he would rather not have been there at all. His father, on the other hand, was expectant, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, his whole manner suggesting his excitement.

  'You bitch!'

  Everyone in the room looked round to see who had shouted so loudly. The man at the table with the two women had leapt to his feet and was standing in front of the redhead.

  'You bitch!' he screamed again. 'You can't treat me like that.'

  'Fuck off!' the redhead replied, not even looking at him. The man was big and muscular. He stooped and pulled the woman to her feet in front of him.

  'Don't tell me what to do in front of my friends.'

  He slapped her across the face with the back of his hand.

  Immediately she slapped him back, first with the back of her hand and then with the palm, a double blow.

  The other two men at the table both sprung to their feet. 'I told you to fuck off,' she said. 'And take your moronic friends with you.'

  The redhead wore a full-length black velvet dress covering every inch of her body with the exception of one shoulder and one arm where it was cut away toga-fashion. Stephanie could just see the heels of her very high-heeled shoes.

  'No one hits me, bitch,' the man shouted.

  The leather-clad barman had come over.

  'Cool it, gents. Just cool it,' he said.

  'Tell him to fuck off then,' the redhead said.

  'I think you should leave, lady,' the barman replied.

  'No, she's going to stay,' the man who she had slapped said firmly. At that moment the two other men grabbed the redhead by the arms. She struggled furiously and managed to land a kick on the barman's shin. He howled with pain.

  But she had not escaped the clutches of the men who held her so tightly.

  'Let's see what you've got, you little prickteaser,' the slapped man said. He grabbed the neck of the black velvet dress and pulled. The whole front of the dress came away in the man's hand. Underneath the woman was wearing a black lacy bra, a thin black suspender belt holding up black stockings and a pair of matching lace panties. With his next swipe the man tore the bra away. The woman's tits were not big, but she had large erect nipples.

  'Let's see the rest of her.' The man ripped the rest of the dress away. He hooked his hand into the waist of the panties and tried to rip them away too. But the material was too strong. Instead he tried to pull them down her legs but she was struggling and kicking her legs and he could make little progress. He reached into his pocket and took out the handle of a flick knife. In a second a wicked looking blade sprung into view, glistening in the light.

  The redhead stopped struggling at once. 'No,' she breathed.

  He pointed the knife at her belly.

  For a second Stephanie felt her whole body tense, she was about to leap from her seat. Devlin held her back.

  The man threaded the knife under the side of the panties and cut through the material. He repeated the process at the other side. The woman remained stock still staring at the blade of the knife. The man pulled the remnants of the panties out from between her legs, then folded the blade away and put the knife back into his pocket. The woman's pubic hair was thick and as red as the hair on her head.

  'You're not man enough,' the redhead sneered. The man stripped off the jacket of his suit. He pulled off his shoes and unbuttoned his trousers pulling them off. He was not wearing socks or underpants. His cock was already erect. It shone under the lights as though it had been oiled. His muscular body was hairless and looked as though it had been oiled too. He had the physique of a body builder.

  'You can't do that in here,' the barman said ineffectively.

  'Fuck off, faggot,' the man said.

  The redhead must have felt the tension in the arms of her captives lessen. Suddenly she wrested herself free. Naked, apart from the stockings and suspender belt she ran across the room. She ran straight to Caplin's table.

  'Help me,' she said.

  But the two men had run after her. As she got to the table they caught her by the arms again, but this time they pulled her forward, over the top of the table, sliding into the banquette next to Caplin on one side and Devlin on the other, each man holding her wrist in both hands, stretching her arm out across the table, her head a few inches from the silver wine cooler.

  'Help me, please,' she pleaded, looking straight into Caplin's eyes.

  'Devlin...' Stephanie said wanting to do something. It was only when she saw the faintest of smiles on Devlin's face that she realised what was going on. The velvet dress that ripped away so easily, the oiled body of the man, the compliance of everyone else in the room: this was the show.

  'They're not going to help you, bitch,' the naked man said. 'They want to watch you taking it.'

  He came up to the table. With the open palm of his hand he slapped her fleshy arse. The room echoed wit
h the thwack of flesh on flesh.

  'No!' the woman cried trying to struggle. Held as she was it was almost impossible for her to move.

  'Yes,' the man said smacking her again.

  Stephanie could see his erection bobbing in front of him. All his pubic hair had been shaved off. Even his balls were hairless. He advanced until his cock was poised at the lips of her cunt.

  'Take it bitch.'

  He rammed his cock into her. She screamed and fought the hands that held her.

  'You bastard, you bastard!'

  Stephanie could see everything so clearly, her tits squeezed flat by the table, the man's oiled cock pumping into her. That was why the barman had told Caplin it had all been arranged. That was why the woman had run to this table.

  The man was fucking her hard. After no more than twelve or thirteen strokes he pulled out of her, took his cock in his hand, and wanked it twice. Then he held it tight and Stephanie saw spunk explode from its tip, out all over the woman's buttocks and back, even over the thin black lace of the suspender belt.

  The two men released the woman's wrists and she slipped slowly off the table and down on to the floor.

  'No one does that to my sister.' The voice rang out across the room. Stephanie had forgotten about the other woman, the brunette, who had been sitting at the table. Now she stood in the middle of the room. From somewhere a long bull-whip had appeared in her hand. She cracked it and the whip whistled through the air. With her other hand she pulled at the front of her crimson red dress. With the rent of parting Velcro the whole of the front of the dress came away in her hand, just as her 'sister's' black velvet dress had. Underneath the woman wore a costume of studded black leather. Fitted to her body like a glove, the garment was shaped like a leotard, cut high on the hip, its plunging neckline embossed with steel studs. Her thigh length boots left only a thin band of flesh visible between the top of the boot and the bottom of the leather costume, and were also black leather, their spiked high heels adding inches to the woman's already considerable height. But it was her body itself that was her most remarkable feature. Her arms and thighs were thick with muscle, deep, cultured muscle. Stephanie could see rippling muscle around her shoulders and pectorals too. This woman was a body builder of substantial strength.

  If Stephanie had been fooled into thinking that the incident with the redhead was genuine - which she had - the management now dropped the attempt at pretence. A spotlight was snapped on to illuminate the Amazonian woman in her bizarre outfit and as she cracked the whip again music began to play, throbbing, sensual electronic chords.

  The two men who had held the redhead over their table now also plucked away their suits, with the ease of Velcro fastening, and stood naked, their well-defined muscles oiled and smooth, their loins clad in leather G-strings. In a second they had caught the wrists of their erstwhile companion, just as before they'd held the wrists of his victim. They started to drag him over to the Amazon.

  'What are you doing?' he shouted struggling.

  The whip cracked again.

  'You're not using that thing on me. You hired me to fuck that girl. That was the end of the story lady. I did what you wanted. Now give me my money and let me go.'

  'No one does that to my sister.'

  'You hired me to do that,' he shouted. 'For Christ's sake I only did what you told me to do.'

  Stephanie had not noticed the redhead disappear. She must have slipped away to change because now she appeared dressed, if dressed is the right word, in a series of black leather straps, cinched around her body, over her breasts and down between her legs. Coming up behind the captive she began to pull a leather hood over his head. As soon as he realised what was going on he shook his head violently to push the hood away but inexorably the redhead pulled it down until it covered his eyes and mouth and chin. She strapped it in place. There were no holes in the hood apart from a small opening for his nostrils.

  The two men dragged him over to the table where the whole scene had started. The Amazon had pulled a bar stool into the pool of light that now illuminated the area. The men pulled their captive off the stool, his face down; with practised ease the Amazon took four thick straps, binding his wrists to the front legs of the stool and his ankles to the back. Her hand stroked the long curve of his buttocks, bent over the stool.

  'Your privilege, I think,' she said to the redhead.

  'Yes.' The redhead took the whip. Stephanie could hear the man protesting but the words were muffled by the leather hood. The redhead raised the whip and slashed it across the white cheeks of his arse six times.

  At each stroke of the whip the whole room whooped like a point had been scored at some sporting event. Everyone leant forward to watch.

  Despite the room's air-conditioning, sweat was beaded on the redhead's brow, her body glistening with effort.

  'And now...' the Amazon announced. There was no need to be more specific about what the 'and now' meant. While attention had been centred on the whip, the massive brunette had strapped on a huge black dildo. It protruded from her loins like a bizarre totem, the rim of its artificial glans like some sleek aerodynamic fairing.

  'Take the hood off.'

  The redhead unstrapped the hood and pulled it off. The Amazon came round to face the man, the phallus in front of his face.

  'Lick it,' she ordered.

  'You're not using that thing on me.' His voice sounded hoarse. 'I only did what you told me,' he pleaded.

  'Lick it,' she repeated.

  He obeyed taking the dildo into his mouth.

  Satisfied she pulled away and came round until she was behind him.

  'No, no, no!' he screamed.

  She parted the cheeks of his arse. Apart from the throbbing music there was complete silence in the room. The Amazon looked around the eager faces straining to see more.

  'Yes?' she asked like the gladiator in the coliseum.

  'Yes,' came a chorus of men's voices.

  She reached forward and took the man's hips in her hands, her muscles bulging. She bucked her hips forward. At that second the lights went out, as a blood-curdling scream, an almost animal noise, echoed through the room.

  It was no more than ten seconds before the lights came back on and the tableau in the centre of the room had disappeared, performers, armchairs, everything, presumably dropped into some stage trap in the floor.

  'Well?' Caplin asked looking straight at Stephanie.

  'It was all a performance?' Though she was quite sure the first part of the show had been a set up, she wasn't at all sure whether the man had been raped or not.

  'Of course,' Caplin said. 'Every night there's something different but it's all a show.'

  'I'm not so sure,' Stephanie said.

  'It is,' Caplin assured her.

  'I think he's right,' Devlin said.

  Stephanie took a large swig of her champagne not at all sure that she had found what she'd seen exciting. Oscar certainly hadn't. He looked as white as a sheet and she could see his hand was trembling. His father on the other hand was clearly very excited by the whole thing.

  'It's so clever, don't you think?' he said to Stephanie.

  'It's original,' she said.

  A moment later the trap in the floor, obviously operated by some sort of hydraulics, reappeared and on it the five performers. There was a smattering of applause. Two leather-clad waiters toured the tables collecting slips of paper passed to them by the members.

  The waiter arrived at their table.

  'Will you be bidding tonight, Mr Caplin?' he asked.

  'I was going to bid for the first victim. Present for my son,' he said, 'but we have guests.'

  'Please,' Devlin said, 'don't let us spoil your plans.'

  'Well, Oscar?'

  'Can we just get out of here, dad?'

  'It appears we're not interested.'

  The waiters gave the slips of paper to the barman who sorted through them while the five performers waited. Then he handed them each one slip of p
aper and they quickly went over to whichever member had bid the most for their services. The Amazon strode over to her bidder, the whip still in her hand, her strong muscled body glistening in the light. Stephanie could see Caplin's eyes following her as she led the man out.

  'Can we go, dad?'

  'If that's what you want,' Caplin said, making the universal sign for the bill to the barman.

  'Do you come here often?' she asked. Being American he would not understand the currency of the phrase; this was a long way from the Saturday night pally.

  'Just to unwind. The Amazon has a very vivid imagination. You never quite know what she's going to do next.'

  'I bet,' Stephanie said thinking that her imagination had been known to be vivid too.

  Retrieving her fur from the cloakroom they passed down the long blue corridor and out through the two entrance doors to the street. It was cold. A police siren wailed in the background while the subway trains rumbled underfoot.

  George waited, scurrying out of the Cadillac to open the rear door. The four climbed inside. He had been running the motor with the heater on so the car would be warm. Stephanie indicated for Oscar to sit on the rear seat next to her this time. Caplin sat beside her on the other side with Devlin in the jump seat.

  'Back to our suite for a nightcap?' he suggested.

  'Why not? The night is young,' Caplin agreed. Stephanie put her hand on Oscar's thigh as a gesture of comfort, but the boy still looked pale and unhappy. On the other side of her, his father was in the opposite mood. Stephanie could feel his excitement radiating from his body as it pressed into her side. It was almost as though his body was vibrating.

  'Did you have a good time, my dear?' he asked. She got the impression he was eager to feed off her reaction, that he would have been glad if she had been shocked.

  'It was okay,' she said non-committally, not wanting to give him any vampirish delight.

  Chapter Ten

  In their suite at the Pierre hotel, Devlin poured brandy from a very special bottle of 1949 Armagnac he had found in a little shop on West 57th Street. They all swilled the liquid up the sides of the huge balloon glasses, its viscosity making it cling to the walls of the glass, before sipping it appreciatively. All that is, with the exception of Oscar, who gulped it down like a man who had been in a desert. At least it brought a little colour back into his cheeks.