Stephanie's Trial

by Susanna Hughes

  Stephanie had dozed off to sleep when the cell door was thrown open. It was Venetia, the last person Stephanie had expected to see. She was wearing a white leotard and a small white pleated skirt like a tennis skirt. Her eyes looked straight at Stephanie, her expression terse and controlled. Stephanie immediately saw why. Andrew followed her into the cell.

  Stephanie's heart pounded, her mind in turmoil. Had something gone wrong?

  'I thought I'd come down and inspect the accommodation. Any complaints?' he said, pacing the cell. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, his feet clad in open-toed sandals.

  'I haven't got a mattress, master,' Stephanie said, trying to work out what was going on. Why wasn't Venetia collecting Amanda in the boat?

  'That must be very uncomfortable,' he said.

  'She doesn't deserve a mattress,' Venetia said, pulling Stephanie to her feet by gripping the tops of her arms. She took a pair of handcuffs, twisted Stephanie's hands behind her back and callously slipped the cold metal loops over Stephanie's wrists, making her wince.

  'Careful,' Andrew said. 'I don't want damaged goods.'

  'You promised you'd let me have her.'

  'I promised I'd let you have her when I'm finished. But I'm not finished by a long way. You'll just have to be patient. Like I was patient with you.'

  'I was worth it, wasn't I?' Venetia said, clutching at Andrew's crotch through the jeans and giving his cock a pinch.

  'Oh yes. And she will be too.'

  'You wait till I get my hands on you, you bitch. He's too soft on you. You won't be so lucky with me.' Venetia spat the words out right into Stephanie's face, her eyes full of hatred.

  'Hadn't you better go and collect Amanda?' Andrew said, looking at his watch.

  Venetia had stopped to unlock the metal cuff at Stephanie's ankle. She got to her feet again and went over to Andrew. 'Save some for me,' she said, kissing his cheek and squeezing one cheek of his buttocks in her hand.

  'Don't worry.'

  Venetia strode out of the room without looking at Stephanie again. It was such a good performance that Stephanie couldn't help wondering for a moment if last night had just been a particularly graphic dream.

  'So you want a mattress, do you?'

  'Yes master, please.'

  'Anything else?'

  'No master.' Stephanie tried to look contrite and obedient.

  'We'll have to see what we can do, then.'

  Andrew took her arm and led her out into the corridor. One of the other cell doors was open and inside Stephanie glimpsed one of the garden overseers. He was lying with his hand bound to the metal ring set in the floor, the ring that usually held the ankle chain, his arms over his head. One of the former female slaves was crouching over his head. She was fully dressed, one of Stephanie's flowery summer dresses with a very full and long skirt which fitted her perfectly. The skirt had been arranged around his head so it was not visible at all, though it was perfectly obvious from the expression on the girl's face what service he was performing under the folds of colourful cotton. A whip lay on the stone beside her, in case he should flag in his efforts.

  Andrew pushed Stephanie through the small door to the back stairs and she mounted the stone steps. Andrew followed her, watching her tight round arse and her long slim thighs as she walked. He could see the thick bush of pubic hair between her legs. Despite Venetia's recent conversion, and Venetia was an extremely beautiful woman, for Andrew there was no one in the castle to compare with Stephanie, her raven-black hair draped over her back, her tight cinched waist, the generous flare of her hips, her shapely calves and pinched ankles, her firm breasts and iron-flat navel, let alone the glories of her tight, controlled cunt. He knew every inch of her body like a map, memorised from the agonising times he had massaged it. Now it all belonged to him. He had seen it perform for him: he had made it do everything he could imagine and it still fascinated him. He had had sex with Amanda and a couple of the slaves, and in the last three days with Venetia, who had told him he was the only man she had ever had willingly, but even this thrill did not compare with the feelings he got with Stephanie.

  Tonight he wanted to be alone with her, to indulge himself with her. His cock began to stiffen at the idea. He had been stupid, he told himself. He'd spent too much time with the others, too much energy in orgies of multiple sex. He was like a starving man faced with a buffet of food. He'd dived in and eaten everything where he should have selected the things he liked most. Well, now he would be more restrained. Now he would eat and savour his favourite food. There was no hurry after all. The castle had a safe stuffed with money. They could stay here as long as they liked, for at least a year, maybe two. They could certainly spend next summer basking in the sun. Meanwhile Devlin's business empire would come crashing down without him at the helm, and that would be yet another slice of his revenge.

  Stephanie stepped into the lushly carpeted bedroom through the concealed door. The windows out onto the terrace were open and a pleasant breeze drifted in from the lake. It was warmer than it had been for days. The sun had almost set, the first time Stephanie had seen it since the trials, and she thought she could see a great white wake stretching out across the water in a long arc, the wake of the speedboat. Her heart missed a beat. It carried all her hopes.

  Andrew closed the terrace windows, pulled his white T-shirt over his head and unzipped his jeans. The days of indulgence had done nothing for his already unmuscled body and Stephanie thought she saw definite signs that he had put on weight. His cock poked through the fly of a pair of white boxer shorts.

  'Get on your knees,' he said. He'd said it to her before. The words thrilled him; they represented power, power over the woman of his dreams, the woman still in his dreams.

  Stephanie sank to the floor a little unsteadily, with her arms cuffed behind her. She had her plan, knew what she was going to say and do. He held her head in both his hands and directed his cock, still flaccid, into her mouth. She gobbled it up easily, taking the whole length between her lips and his balls until it grew too big and his balls escaped one by one.

  'Lovely cock,' she mumbled with it still in her mouth.

  'What did you say?'

  She pulled her mouth away. 'Lovely cock, master.'

  'You're lucky then, aren't you?'

  'Yes master, very.'

  She was about to press her mouth back onto his now fully erect phallus but he prevented her with his hands.

  'Do you know what I'm going to do with you tonight?'

  'No master.'

  'I'm going to fuck you. Long and hard.'

  'I'd like that, master,' she said, trying to make her eyes show excitement. 'I liked it before when you were my slave.' That was the bait. She held her breath, hoping he would take it.

  'You never allowed me to fuck you then.' He pulled her face up to look into her eyes.

  'Didn't I?' she said coquettishly.

  'When?' he snapped.

  'Don't you remember? I thought you'd always remember that? Or didn't you think it was me?'

  'When?' he asked insistently, confused now.

  'On your first day. You must remember. When the Clarkes were here. After Jacqui had beaten you and teased you. I came to your cell after they'd gone. Surely you remember...'

  'You - that was you? I thought it was that bloody prickteaser.'

  'It was me, Andrew. I felt sorry for you. No, that's not true. I wanted you. You felt how I came, I just melted over you. That's why I couldn't risk letting you fuck me again. I thought I'd lose control.'

  Andrew sat on the edge of the bed. He remembered every detail of that night. But he had no idea it had been Stephanie that had had him hooded and released from the pouch, no idea it was her sex that had impaled itself on his rock-hard erection, no idea it was her who had ridden him to the crescendo of pleasure he would never forget. His cock throbbed at the thought.

  'You do remember then,' Stephanie said, seeing the movement of his cock.

  'That was you?'


  'Yes.'

  'My God...'

  'Let me do it again,' Stephanie said quietly and a little breathlessly. 'God, I'd love to do that again. Take you like that. I'm getting hot just thinking about it.' There was an agonising pause. Stephanie felt she'd overplayed her hand and Andrew was not going to be drawn. In fact he was rapt in thought.

  'I even remember what you were wearing,' he said finally, almost to himself.

  'Do you?' she said eagerly. 'Tell me.'

  'A black lacy bra, strapless, very low cut, tiny little panties, and black stockings, hold-ups with wide lacy tops... you had your hair up...'

  'Let me find them, let me put them on again...'

  'You had me wear a hood, a leather hood, very tight. I couldn't see you...' His voice was hoarse with passion.

  'That's right.'

  Andrew's cock was twitching so much and looked so hard, Stephanie thought for a moment he might come spontaneously.

  'Get up,' he said in a harder tone of voice. Stephanie struggled to her feet again, frightened that the mood had been broken. Andrew got up too and took the keys to the handcuffs from his jeans pocket. He came round behind her and unlocked the metal hoops, letting them fall to the floor.

  'Do it... find what you were wearing. Put your hair up...' he ordered.

  Stephanie rubbed her sore wrists and went over to the lingerie drawers. Everything had been put back in a different order and it took some time to find what she was looking for. But she found it. She used the big bedroom mirror to gather her hair up and pin it to her head. Her little white porcelain jar of hairpins was untouched on the dressing-table. Without permission she quickly lined her eyes with make-up, smeared her lashes with mascara and traced a dark red lipstick over her fleshy mouth.

  Andrew sat on the edge of the bed again. Stephanie pulled the strapless bra up over her breasts and reached behind her to fasten the clip between her shoulder-blades. She drew the silky lace panties, more than two triangles of lace front and back joined by a black satin cord at each side, up over her thighs until they nestled over her sex and halfway over her bottom. Then she sat on the dressing-table stool, unwrapped the black hold-ups from their cellophane packet and rolled one up into a pouch around the toe. She extended her left leg, pointing her foot, and inserted it into the stocking. She rolled the nylon over her leg, playing it out slowly, suddenly remembering how she had done this for the Baron what seemed, now, to be a lifetime ago. As she leant forward the bra touched her raised thigh. Her hands spun the nylon out, encasing her creamy flesh until it was high on her thigh and the band of elastic under the black lace welt held it securely in place. She repeated the process with the other stocking, not looking at Andrew but aware of his eyes following her every movement.

  'Shoes too,' Andrew said, '...black high heels.'

  Stephanie found what he wanted and squeezed her feet into them. The lingerie, soft and silky against her skin, made her feel better and stronger. It was practically the first time her breasts and sex had been covered since the start of the rebellion. It made her feel confident. The plan was going to work. Without asking permission again she took out a riding crop, carefully selecting one from the long drawer where the whips were kept. She swished it experimentally through the air. She felt a sense of elation, it was all flooding back to her, the old Stephanie, dressed to kill, proud and haughty on her spiky heels, dominant again.

  She said nothing but slapped the whip against the palm of her other hand. Andrew looked sheepish. She knew. She knew what he wanted, what she had made him want. He wanted it as badly as he had wanted it that night when she had sneaked into his cell.

  He lay on the bed and turned over onto his stomach. There was a silent complicity between them. Master was allowing himself to be the slave.

  Stephanie strode over to the bed, the tops of her stockings rasping against each other.

  'Bruno had beaten you, hadn't he?' she said, wanting him to remember that night, to keep it uppermost in his mind.

  'Yes,' he breathed excitedly.

  The crop lashed down on his buttocks. He moaned, his hard cock trapped between his navel and the sheets. Stephanie raised the whip higher, brought it down harder, a red welt appearing immediately.

  'How many times? How many strokes did he give you?'

  'Six.'

  'Six...'

  The whip fell again. Each stroke enflamed a new strip of flesh, created a new red welt. Andrew thought for a moment he was going to come over the sheet. The pain from the whip burned into his nerves, and turned to instant intoxicating pleasure, a pleasure so sharp and intense it was, in turn, almost like pain.

  At the sixth stroke Stephanie threw the whip down. She went over to the chest of drawers and pulled out the leather hood. She had found it when she was looking for the lingerie. She had found the leather strap she needed too.

  Andrew turned around, his arse on fire just as it had been that night, just as it had been time and time again at the castle, the fire filling his body with sensations he had never had before but had wanted, had craved for, ever since. It made his cock burn, it made his blood race, and it would, he knew, make his spunk jet from his body in a climax of exquisite pleasure. He had been whipped twice since he'd been master of the castle and each time he experienced the incredible feeling again. But that was nothing like this. This was Stephanie. This was his mistress. This was his wet dream of pleasure. He wriggled his arse against the sheet, delighting in the mélange of pain and pleasure this created.

  He watched as Stephanie walked back towards the bed, her body divided into areas of creamy bare flesh and silky black lace. She held the leather hood in one hand, its laces dangling down. The leather strap was hidden behind her back.

  'Yes,' he said enthusiastically. That was what he wanted now. To be laced tightly into the hood, enveloped in darkness, gagged and blinded, able only to feel, only to moan, only to be nothing but a throbbing, spunking cock. He was throwing caution to the wind, he knew, but what did it matter? There was nowhere for Stephanie to escape to, nowhere to go. They would soon capture her if she tried it and she knew better than anyone the price she would have to pay for the attempt.

  'Take your last look...' she said, standing over him. And he did, drinking in the deep cleavage hugged by the bra, the curve of her pubic bone in the black lace, the long, contoured thighs banded by the lacy stocking tops, the calves shaped by the high heels.

  Stephanie pulled the hood over his head and darkness descended, accompanied by the strong aroma of leather. Expertly Stephanie stuffed the large rubber ball attached to the inside of the leather into Andrew's mouth, then pulled the hood down to his neck, then laced it on tightly, pulling the soft leather into the features of his face, holding the ball-gag firmly in his mouth, cutting out all light.

  Satisfied he was unable to see, she dropped the leather strap on the bed by his ankles. She hooked her hand around his cock and he moaned, though the sound was no more than a muffled murmur. His cock was so hot it felt like it was on fire. She wanked it slowly.

  'Do you remember how I got astride you that night?'

  He nodded vigorously. In his entire life he didn't think he had ever been so turned on as he was now. But he had once. That night when Jacqui Clarke had strung him up and teased him, teased him until he was on the brink of coming, then pulled away. She did it over and over again. He begged her, pleaded with her, but to no avail. His cock was so swollen he thought it would burst. Just as it felt now.

  'Fuck me,' he tried to say but the words could not get past the gag.

  Without losing contact with his cock, Stephanie reached out with her foot and caught the handcuffs that lay on the carpet where Andrew had discarded them. She reeled them in until she could pick them up with her other hand, all without breaking the rhythm she had started on his throbbing phallus.

  'Don't you want me to rub your arse with my nice cool hands?'

  He replied by rolling back onto his stomach. He wanted that very much. She had do
ne that too on that incredible first night at the castle. He could remember exactly how her cool hands had felt after she'd freed him from the metal pouch, soothing the welts that were burning across his arse.

  Stephanie laid her hands on his buttocks, crisscrossed with red welts. They were radiating heat. She smoothed her palm over them and heard another muffled moan of pleasure and pain. She pulled his left hand up into the small of his back. He did not resist. This was it. This was the moment. She reached for his right hand. Again he did not resist as she pulled it backwards until both hands were behind him. He did nothing but wallow in the sensations prickling from his tortured buttocks.

  This was it. Stephanie readied herself, her whole body tense. In one smooth movement she dropped the open loops of the handcuffs onto his wrists and clicked them shut. Instantly, before he realised what had happened, she picked up the thick leather strap on the bed by his feet and sat astride his legs with her full weight, winding the leather around both ankles tightly and buckling it, just as he began to realise what was happening and tried to buck her off.

  It was useless. He was hers. Helpless, captive. She ran over to the chest of drawers that contained the bondage equipment and pulled out a tangle of leather straps. In minutes she had wound them around his body, round his knees and elbows and around his chest. He was hers. Bound, gagged and blindfolded. A neat package.

  Stephanie's heart was beating ten to the dozen. She tried to calm herself down. She had done it. She had done it. Now it was up to Venetia.

  For the moment Andrew had stopped struggling. He lay quiet, trying to hear what she was doing. But the leather hood made it difficult to hear anything above the throbbing of his own pulse.

  Stephanie went to the bedroom fridge and looked inside, needing a drink to stop her heart beating with such ferocity. There was no champagne left but there was a bottle of brandy on the tray with the glasses. She poured herself a stiff tot and drank it down in one.