Stephanie's Pleasure

by Susanna Hughes

  Woman after woman replaced them, squatting over his face or astride his hips. His cock was soon sore, his tongue aching, but any flagging was punished by a rain of slaps. He knew coming would be no escape either. They would suck him back to erection and use him again. That was what he was here for. To be used.

  His first orgasm came just as the long-haired blonde was climbing on to his cock. Unable to control himself long enough to allow penetration, his rod jerked and shot spunk over the thick thatch of her pubic hair.

  'Seen enough?' the Baron asked.

  Stephanie looked around to see Devlin still staring at the spectacle. The blonde was licking the man's spunk from his cock. When she had finished she slipped the shrinking member into her mouth, just as another woman shuddered to a climax on the man's face. A massive erection tented Devlin's trousers.

  'Devlin finds this much more interesting, I see,' Stephanie said.

  'Yes, yes.' Devlin tore his eyes away.

  Stephanie knew what he was thinking, of course. He was imagining himself as that man, surrounded by eager, hungry women, overpowered and helpless, his body beaten and singing with delicious pain; his cock bound and sore, his mouth tasting their juices. This was definitely more to Devlin's liking.

  'Do you want to stay?' the Baron asked.

  'No, no, let's move on,' Devlin said, rearranging his erection by putting his hands in his pockets.

  'I think you'll find the last pavilion just as interesting as a matter of fact.'

  The Baron led the way to the next door, punched in the computer code and watched as the door opened automatically. On the other side the Perspex tubing extended no more than a few feet to the next building, still at ground level. The entrance door was already ajar.

  'How is the man selected?' Devlin asked, his mind still obviously on the previous spectacle.

  'With difficulty,' the Baron replied. 'Obviously there can only be one man at a time, and many of the male guests want to participate. We put them on a waiting list then draw a name at random. No one is allowed a second visit. At least, not so far...'

  'And Brunehilda? You said she is not a guest?'

  'No. I felt it needed someone with particular qualities and expertise. All the other women are guests though. It is very popular among the women.'

  'Yes, I imagine it is,' Devlin said quietly.

  Chapter Seven

  The Baron ushered them through the last door. Again, rather than offer a view from overhead, the room allowed them to watch through a false wall on the side, for very much the same reason as in the prison. Here, too, the pavilion was divided into individual rooms in this case, four of them - rather than being one large space.

  They were now looking into a perfect reproduction of a fin-de-siècle Parisian brothel. The first room was a reception area, where clients chose their partners from among the women lounging on a circular love-seat or red chaises longues. From there, the women would be taken to one of three bedrooms, each differently equipped, but all dominated by a large double bed with an elaborate brass bedstead. Red seemed to be the predominant colour throughout all the rooms: heavy red drapes, walls lined in red silk, a deep rich red carpet. The period detail was so complete that the rooms were even lit with hissing gas lamps in brass and translucent white glass.

  In the first room there were eight girls and six men. Clients of the brothel were of both sexes and would choose who they wished to be entertained by. The men were stripped to the waist and wore identical black velvet breeches. At the front of these was a flap of material, buttoned on either side of their hips, which could be removed easily in order that a female client might examine the man more closely before making a choice.

  The women were more colourfully dressed. Most wore red or white corsets laced at the back and tightly boned, over which their breasts spilled unadorned. Some wore only the corsets and the 'drawers' of the period, two white lacy legs joined at the waist but with no crotch. Others were dressed in long frilly skirts and petticoats. All without exception wore white silk stockings held by garters just above the knee, and buckled red shoes.

  The door of the brothel - an art nouveau creation of stained glass - opened, and a stout, bald man entered.

  'Good evening, Monsieur André.'

  The woman who spoke was older than the girls and wore a tight-fitting black satin dress under which was obviously an even tighter corset. The corset pushed her big bust into a spectacular cleavage under the V-neck of the dress, pinched her waist into hourglass proportions, and emphasised the flare and curvaceousness of her big hips. She wore little fingerless black lace mittens.

  'Good evening, Madam Lilly.'

  The man kissed her on both cheeks and immediately began to inspect the girls. His eyes ran critically over each one, Lilly following at his side.

  'If I may suggest, Monsieur. A new addition. Claudine.' The Madam crooked her finger at one of the girls.

  A slender auburn-haired girl got up from the love-seat and stepped forward. Her red corset was set off by a white skirt supported by rows of frilly petticoats.

  'Monsieur,' she said crisply, curtsying.

  'Oh, very nice,' he commented.

  'Claudine, please,' the Madam said with a trace of annoyance in her voice. It embarrassed her that the girl had to be told what to do.

  Claudine spread her legs apart, bent right over and grasped her ankles in her hands. The nearest girl to her stood up and flipped the skirt and petticoats up over her hips so they hung down over her head. Now her buttocks and the deep chasm that ran between them were perfectly exposed.

  'Yes, very nice,' the man said, his eyes roving the furry labia being presented to him.

  'Mmm...' Claudine said, wiggling her bum from side to side.

  'She is a virgin?'

  'Monsieur André, have I ever let you down? Straight from the Auvergne. A very strict father. She has run away from home.'

  Claudine stood up, the skirt falling back over her legs. She stroked the bald man's face and ran her hand down the frilly shirt under his frock coat.

  'You would have to be gentle with me, Monsieur. I know nothing of the ways of men.'

  'Of course, my child,' he said, letting himself be led away to one of the bedrooms. At that moment, another man entered through the stained-glass door.

  'Good evening, Monsieur,' the Madam said politely. 'And what can we do for you?'

  The man said nothing. He was dressed in tight-fitting red velvet trousers, a patterned silk waistcoat, a frilled red silk shirt and a black frock coat. He walked up to the love-seat and circled it, looking at each girl in turn.

  'These are not to my taste,' he said, having surveyed the girls on the chaises longues too.

  'What is your taste, Monsieur?'

  'Something more... esoteric.'

  'I see. Then perhaps you'd care to follow me.'

  As the Madam led the man through the pavilion, the Baron and his guests followed, unseen. They passed the bedroom where Claudine had undressed Monsieur André and was now letting him take her clothes off, and another where two corseted women were engaged with two fit-looking naked men on the same bed, and finally arrived at the last bedroom. Like the other two this room was decorated with deep red drapes and carpet and had the same gas lights and brass bedstead. Unlike them, however, one whole wall was adorned with sexual implements of every kind. Some hung from brass hooks, others lay on shelves. There were whips, ferules, paddles and tawses. There were dildos and leather harnesses, cuffs, straps, hoods, masks, and a wig block with wigs of hair in three or four colours.

  Two women sat on the chaise longue beside the bed. Stephanie recognised them immediately: it was Hanna and the redhead who had brought them lunch. Both were still dressed as they had been earlier: Hanna in the tight leather corset and gloves, and the redhead in the long thin straps that ran the length of her body. But now, though their necks were stretched in the high collars, the pieces of their costumes that had held their jaws and mouths had been removed. Like all th
e other women in this pavilion, both now wore white stockings gartered above the knee and buckled red shoes.

  'Hanna and Mischa,' the Madam announced to her client as both women stood up. 'Is this more to your taste?'

  'Very much to my taste,' the man responded.

  'Good. Then I will leave you to it.'

  'I would like you to stay,' the man said.

  'No, Monsieur, I'm afraid I have other duties.'

  'Another time?'

  'If you wish, I could make some arrangement for another time.'

  The Madam smiled and closed the bedroom door after her.

  'So what is it to be, Monsieur?' Hanna asked, unbuttoning the man's frock coat. 'The Chair, the Prayer Stool or the Spindle?'

  'The Spindle,' the man replied at once. He knew precisely what he wanted.

  'The Spindle it is,' Mischa said. She was standing in front of the man rolling the gold rings in her nipples between her fingers. Then she pulled the leather straps that were threaded through them outwards, drawing her nipples with them and elongating her big breasts. 'You like this?' she asked.

  'Very unusual,' the man said.

  'Very sexy,' Mischa added.

  The man stood passively while the two girls stripped off his clothes. His body, though not fat, was soft and very pale. His hair was the darkest of blacks and his chest was matted with it, as were his arms and legs. The area around his cock was so thick with black curls it was impossible to see the flesh underneath. His uncircumcised penis hung down flaccid, the tube of his foreskin completely covering his glans despite the two beautiful, lewdly dressed women peeling away his clothes.

  As soon as he was naked Hanna went to a long narrow cupboard door set flush with the wall. She opened it and folded the door right back against the wall, then pulled a metal frame down from inside the cupboard where it had been stacked vertically. The frame extended across the deep red carpet. It was like the axle of a coach, a long thick metal pole with both ends attached to the hubs of wheels. But the wheels did not touch the floor. The pole was mounted on two triangular structures near each end which allowed the wheels to turn and the long pole to rotate freely. One end of the pole disappeared back beyond the wheel into the cupboard and through a circular hole in the wall. Welded across the pole were three short metal rods, one near each wheel and one in the middle. Hanging down from these crosspieces were leather straps, smaller ones on the outermost crosspieces and a single wide strap from the one in the middle.

  Almost as soon as the Spindle had appeared the hairy man got an erection. He had been on it before.

  Mischa took him by the hand and led him over to the frame, the leather straps running down her body flexing, pulling on the nipple rings as she moved.

  The man knew what to do. He lay down on the thick red carpet, his spine parallel with the long metal pole. Mischa immediately took one hand and Hanna the other, and they pulled his arms up, buckling them by the wrist into the leather straps on the first crosspiece. Satisfied they were secure, the girls pulled him up onto his knees so they could get the thick wide strap from the middle bar around his waist. Tugging it tighter and tighter, they drew him up until his back was hard against the Spindle, and secured him there. Then his ankles were drawn into the remaining straps on the third crosspiece. He was trussed to the metal pole like a chicken on a spit, his cock pointing down almost vertically.

  The two girls went over to the shelving where the equipment was stored. Each brought back three wide leather belts. Hanna strapped hers around the Spindle and the man's upper arms, shoulders and lower chest, while Mischa tied her three around his calves, thighs and navel. They buckled them all tight, so tight his flesh bulged on either side of the unyielding leather.

  The man's cock was throbbing now. His foreskin only half covered his glans - and his hairy balls had risen slightly.

  Hanna had taken a gag from a hook on the wall, a big ball of rubber secured by a leather strap. Without ceremony she stuffed it into the man's mouth, making his cheeks bulge, and strapped it around the back of the pole so it held his head firm too.

  Above the point at which the Spindle disappeared into the wall, through a metal-lined hole, there was a small wheel, its circumference no greater than that of a cup. Mischa went to the wheel and turned it. There was a hum of an electric motor, and the Spindle began to rotate, turning the man exactly as if he were on the spit of a barbecue. She allowed the device to make two and a half rotations and then stopped it with the man on top, his penis sticking up like the lever on some strange machine.

  'Well,' Hanna said, standing by the man's face. 'You're in quite a state, aren't you?'

  The man looked up into her eyes. Hanna's hand grabbed his cock and squeezed it hard. She took his foreskin and pulled it back to reveal the pinkness underneath. He moaned. Bending over, she sank her mouth down over it and pushed its length as far down as it would go, until the hard sword of flesh was almost in her throat. She felt it pulse and withdrew immediately.

  Mischa turned the wheel again, causing the Spindle to revolve at a very slow pace. She then slid down onto the carpet, positioning her mouth under the man's erection. As soon as the cock reached her she clamped her lips over it, sucked it hard, then clung to it, limpet-like. The movement of the slowly turning Spindle pushed her head down then pulled it up, up until the cock was forced from her mouth as it rotated out to the side and away from her. That was where Hanna began. As soon as the erection was within range she plunged her own mouth over it, licking and sucking it for all she was worth until it was pulled over and away from her by the rotation. Over and away and down to Mischa.

  It was a fantastic sensation. Two hungry mouths sucking at his cock, the feeling of helplessness, not being able to prevent himself from falling out of their hot sucking mouths. And then there was the effect of gravity, forcing his body against his bonds, then against the Spindle. His balls, like his body, pulled one way then the other. It was too much. He knew he wasn't far from coming. As he rotated he saw their bodies, their breasts, Mischa's nipple rings, Hanna's tight leather corset. Once again, her mouth closed over his cock, sucked it until it was yanked out with a wet snapping sound. Mischa angled her head up, captured the wayward member, clung to it as it pushed her down then pulled her up, until it was finally dragged away.

  He was coming. The mouths were making him come. He had to time his spunking but he didn't think he could. He was out of control. His cock ached, throbbed, pulsed, spunk pumping from his heavy balls. There was an interval of no more than seconds, but which seemed like hours, between contact with one mouth and the other. If he spunked then, if the last touch of the sucking clinging mouth brought him off, he would spend in mid-air, a terrible, painful waste.

  Mischa's mouth was the hardest to resist because as he rotated, as she clamped her lips over his cock, her weight pulled on it, making it feel harder, making it throb, and the movement made his balls slap against her face. One more, one more turn and he would surely come.

  Hanna's mouth sucked him in deep. He felt his cock torn away, descending. Now, he told himself, he had to come now. He opened his eyes, wanting to see more. He felt his arm brush Hanna's leather glove. He watched as Mischa's body came into view, her nipple rings rubbing against the straps, the crotchpiece of leather held so tightly between her legs. She raised her head to meet him. Now, he screamed at himself, come now! As the wetness of her mouth engulfed him he tried his hardest to spunk. He felt his cock slipping deeper as he rotated downward, right back into her throat, her tongue pressed against his throbbing shaft. But he did not come. Inexorably, his cock began its upward journey. Her mouth clung to it but it slipped away slowly, dragged away until his cock was at her lips and out... And at that moment, as his cock plopped free, he came, strings of hot white spunk spraying from his body, before Hanna could close her mouth over his spasming glans.

  'So,' the Baron said. 'Now you have seen it all.'

  Stephanie looked at Devlin. He was watching intently as Mischa got to her
feet. Spunk had lashed down on to her body and she was wiping it away with her finger, then licking the finger clean. They left the Spindle rotating, the man's cock, deflated, flapping from side to side; they knew his movement would soon produce another erection.

  If Devlin had imagined himself as the helpless victim in a prison of sex-starved women, Stephanie knew he empathised even more with the man on the Spindle. She could see his massive erection forming a bulge in the front of his trousers. It was, after all, just the sort of thing he loved.

  Very gently Stephanie ran her hand down the front of his trousers, found the tip of his cock, and squeezed it.

  He looked at her and smiled mischievously.

  'Very imaginative,' she said.

  'Very,' he agreed.

  'I think we'd better get the design, don't you?'

  'Definitely.'

  'I'd be delighted,' the Baron said. 'We have one or two other items, too.'

  'The Chair, and the...' Devlin tried to remember.

  'The Prayer Stool. Yes. Equally... affecting, I think you'd find. And now, if you'd like to follow me, I suggest we try an excellent Napoleon brandy I've had decanted for the occasion.'

  'A brandy would be a great idea,' Stephanie said. She really needed a drink. Devlin had not been the only person affected by the spectacle they had just seen. Stephanie had felt her own body respond too. As had been the case that afternoon, her nipples had puckered the moment she had seen Mischa's pierced flesh. She began to wonder what it would feel like to have cold loops of metal permanently embedded in such tender flesh. At first the idea had shocked her but now, as with so many things in her life, the initial shock had changed into curiosity, and curiosity into the first stirrings of desire.

  She shuddered involuntarily. The Baron was watching her. He had watched her closely in all the pavilions, seen her responses, read her body language. He had hardly taken his eyes off her: but then, she was an exceptionally beautiful woman.