Stephanie's Pleasure
Page 19
'No, mistress,' he said, trying to indicate she should look at his cock.
'You came, you liar. Didn't he?' she asked the blonde.
'Oh yes,' she lied.
'See. How dare you lie to me!'
'I didn't, mistress.'
'Are you calling me a liar now?' the blonde said.
'No, mistress.'
'So you did come!' the black woman said conclusively. 'Do you think you could fool me? That's twice the punishment.' She bent over, grabbed him by the link between the wrist cuffs and pulled him to his feet. There was a wooden stool on the rostrum. The black woman dragged Devlin over to it. She sat down and pulled Devlin on to her lap, his cock pointing down vertically, trapped between her strong thighs. She squeezed it with her big muscles and Devlin moaned.
'Twice the punishment,' she said.
She raised her arm, her black hand out flat, its palm slightly lighter than the rest of her body, and brought it down on Devlin's buttocks. A resounding smack of flesh on flesh rang out across the big room. She felt his cock jerk between her thighs.
'This will teach you,' she said.
The hand landed again, on the other buttock this time, thundering down with such power it jarred the whole of Devlin's body.
He would never be able to hold out. His cock was full of spunk, desperate for relief after what he had just experienced. He had been used by four women, bound and helpless, and now this, spanked with his cock imprisoned between black Amazon thighs.
Smack. The noise of flesh slapped against flesh was quite different from the sound of a whip. It felt different, too, the pain more diffuse, covering a wider area, not as hot as the sting of a whip but more affecting, more personal, more sexual.
His cock pulsed again against the incredibly smooth ebony flesh between her thighs.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Three in quick succession, each with just as much power. He would never be able to hold out.
Smack. Smack. She was moving off his buttocks now, down on to the top of his thighs. First one side, then the other; she covered every inch, right down to his knees, reddening the pink flesh, making his body quiver.
He saw the blonde who had sat on his cock come over.
'Poor thing,' she said.
The black woman stopped. He felt a cool hand stroking the tortured flesh, the blonde's hand, he thought. It felt wonderful: so tender, so caring.
And then he was out of control. Whether deliberately or not, the black thighs seemed to be gripping him tighter. He felt his cock spasm as the cool hand delved down between his buttocks, soothing and provoking at the same time. He felt his spunk pumping, forcing its way past the hard muscles that held his cock and jetting out onto the floor below. He had spent in mid-air, wasted his seed - the worst punishment of all. Devlin moaned. It was what he hated most, being made to come like this; though perversely, of course, because he hated it so, because it represented the ultimate contempt for what he wanted and needed, it also made him feel profoundly excited.
The black woman's hand rubbed his rump now. Unlike the blonde's her hand was hot, heated by the spanking. She rubbed cruelly, reactivating the tortured nerves, making his cock throb again, though the last drop of spunk had been extracted from his balls.
'The day after tomorrow,' Stephanie said. 'We'll release him then.'
She watched as Devlin was pulled to his feet. The brunette was attaching a chain to the link that held his elbows behind his back. The chain hung down from a pulley on the ceiling. In minutes, Devlin was hanging from it, his body bent almost double...
'He will be able to take that long?' the Baron asked.
'Look,' Stephanie said, indicating that Devlin's cock was already starting to sprout again.
The Baron led the way out of the pavilion.
'And what about the rest of the evening?' Stephanie asked.
'It is better if you rest, I think. I will prepare the pleasure room for tomorrow evening.'
'Not tonight?'
'No. Rest until then. Relax. The more relaxed you are, the better it will be.'
For once Stephanie didn't argue. 'All right. You're the expert.'
'My dear, I very much doubt that in these matters I am any more expert than you.'
'That,' Stephanie said, 'remains to be seen.'
Chapter Eleven
Stephanie did exactly as she was told. She had gone to bed after leaving Devlin in the Roman pavilion and slept a long and apparently dreamless sleep. She had woken feeling rested and calm and had had a long relaxing bath.
Breakfast had arrived with Mischa - no doubt on the Baron's orders - wearing a modest black dress that covered everything from the knees up. Clearly the Baron did not want to put any temptation in Stephanie's way. In fact it was a good thing that Mischa was so modestly dressed, because Stephanie's mind had begun to roam and as she dried herself her body had leapt expectantly at every casual touch, thoughts of Devlin being used by the women and spanked by the hairless black Amazon stirring her feelings.
The fact that Mischa was properly dressed needn't have stopped her of course. There was nothing to say she couldn't throw her on the bed, or summon Hanna, or one of the male slaves for that matter. But it was better, she felt sure, that she save herself for whatever the Baron was going to do tonight. The prize for success was, after all, the Baron himself - a prize she valued highly.
That wasn't to say that it was easy. As she sat at the table in a white silk robe watching Mischa lay out the breakfast - coffee, blood orange juice, finely cut slices of melon - she felt her body surge in response to Mischa's proximity. She tried to see if the gold nipple rings were visible through the black cotton and wondered if Mischa was wearing lingerie. She pictured her in the thin leather straps and the full collar, her head held high, the nipple rings threaded through the thin straps like reins through a bridle, the thick crotchpiece biting into the soft yielding flesh of her thighs. She saw her in the tight leather stockings too, strapped on to her thighs, so high they brushed her labia and her wispy red pubic hair.
Her body started to churn.
'No,' she said to herself out loud.
'Madam?' Mischa said, looking puzzled.
'Not you.'
'Do you want anything else, madam?' Mischa asked, having emptied the breakfast tray.
'What I want and what I am going to allow myself to have are two different things,' Stephanie said, crossing her legs and hoping the strong black coffee would calm her.
'May I go, madam?'
'Your nipples, Mischa. Who pierced them?'
'The Baron, madam.'
'He wanted you pierced?'
'No, madam. I wanted it.'
'It was your choice?'
'Yes.'
'What does it feel like?'
'Like... like my nipples belong to someone else.' Stephanie felt her own nipples throb against the white silk and decided she had better not provoke herself any more.
'You may go.'
'Thank you, madam.'
She tried not to watch as the redhead tripped back across the large bedroom but, inevitably, her eyes feasted on the young body and she remembered how it had looked before, naked and exposed.
Sipping the strong German coffee, Stephanie tried to pull herself together. Surely it was possible for her to go twenty-four hours without sex, without her body behaving as though it had had no contact for months.
She ate the melon but still found it difficult to get the images of Mischa out of her mind. Whenever she saw her, clothed or naked, her nipples puckered instantly as though she were imagining what it would be like to be pierced with cold metal permanently. That, in turn, sent signals down to her sex, and in seconds her body was churning. She knew she was wet.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, she stood up and looked at herself in the big mirror on the wall. Her dark brown eyes, pools of viscous brandy liquor, stared back at her questioningly. She slipped her robe off her shoulders, wanting to see her nakedness. The marks from the ses
sion in the medieval prison had faded completely and her unbroken tan - topped up by a visit to the Schloss's solarium during the Baron's absence - made her look fit and healthy. Her round, proud breasts, fleshy and full but with no hint of pendulousness, pointed back at her, the nipples a dark crimson red, as hard as stone. Her narrow waist emphasised the strong flare of her hips and seemed to direct the eye towards the black triangle of pubic hair at the apex of her long, sculptured thighs. She snaked her hand over her iron-flat navel, as soft as silk, and let her fingers explore the deep forest of black curls until it chanced on her labia. Her clitoris was throbbing before she touched it.
'No!' she said, tearing her hand away as if it were about to touch a poisonous snake.
Quickly she went to the chest of drawers and pulled out a black one-piece swimsuit. She pulled it over her naked body, found the white towelling robe that hung on the bathroom door and headed for the pool. Hopefully a long swim would cool her ardour and take her mind off her body.
The rest of the day she spent in this mood, playing cat and mouse with her own emotions, trying to hide from the sexual currents that would leap from the shadows on the flimsiest of pretexts.
She lunched with the Baron in the dining room overlooking the lake, a light lunch of rocket, lollo rosso and frisée tossed with lobster, and one glass - she didn't want to loosen her resolve with alcohol - of a fruity Chablis. The Baron made no mention of the plans for the evening and neither did she, but as the waiter brought tiny white cups of espresso the host did suggest they visit the pavilion to see how Devlin was getting on. Though from her point of view this was absolutely the last thing she wanted to do, Stephanie did feel responsible and decided she ought to go.
In any case, it was not a casual suggestion, she realised. The Baron had planned carefully, and taking her to the pavilions at this point was all part of that plan. He was raising her sexual temperature in stages, preparing her a step at a time. He would have rehearsed the scene in the pavilions carefully, she felt sure.
As they stepped on to the overhead gantry they saw that most of the participants in the Roman villa were 'outside', in the area by the swimming pool. Many lay on the grass, the remnants of meals scattered about the place, earthenware flagons of wine very much in evidence. The postprandial exercise was mostly sexual, and Stephanie looked down on various rather lazy couplings involving three or four people linked in numerous ways: by cock, or mouth, or both.
She tried to ignore the rush of feeling this created in her overexcited body - particularly one dark curly-haired fit young man enthusiastically pumping his glistening cock into a long-legged blonde. She lay with her legs in the air in a V-shape, while another naked woman with brown hair held the man's balls in one hand and one of the blonde's breasts in the other. Stephanie tore her gaze away with difficulty and searched for Devlin. He was nowhere to be seen.
It was the Baron who found him. Further along the gantry he was looking down into the large hall, and beckoned to Stephanie. Devlin was being 'entertained' by three women, two of whom Stephanie recognised as the blondes who had used him the previous night. His body had been strapped into an arrangement of leather bands that looked like a parachute harness and he was suspended from the ceiling. His arms were tied behind his back with leather thongs at the wrist and elbow, and his ankles, similarly bound, had been pulled up behind him and tied to his wrists. His monstrous cock stuck out in front of him, the balls beneath it bound in leather also.
Immediately in front of him one of the blondes was bending over a heavy wooden table, her buttocks raised, her legs open. The other two women, one on either side of Devlin, pushed him forward like a swing in a park so that his cock plunged into the blonde's sex, then pulled him out again. How long this had been going on Stephanie did not know, but the blonde was moaning loudly at each penetration and her knuckles were white as she grasped the top of the table.
'Yes!' she screamed. This seemed to be some sort of signal as, instead of pulling Devlin back again, the two women held him impaled on her sex while the blonde wriggled against him, moaning and coming as her vagina contracted around his massive shaft.
'Let's go.' Stephanie definitely did not want to see any more. She knew how the woman must feel, what wonderful sensations she would get in this position, filled with Devlin's cock. 'He's all right.'
The women were changing positions. The other blonde, the short-haired one, bent over the table and flaunted her buttocks in the air.
The Baron was smiling, knowing what Stephanie was feeling.
'You sure you don't want to stay? Or even join in?'
'I'll save it,' she said, walking past him back down the gantry. She heard the woman below moan for the first time as Devlin was guided into her sex. She tried not to look down at the scene by the pool, but the curly-haired man caught her eye again. He was on his knees now, a woman on all fours in front of him, as he took her from behind. The blonde was at his side, her hand cupping his balls between his open legs. He chose this moment to withdraw his long wet cock from her body and spunked, white strings of semen shooting out over her back.
'Interesting,' the Baron said, following Stephanie's eye.
'I'm going to rest,' she said weakly.
'Fine. I'll send the girls for you at seven.'
In her room Stephanie showered and tried to ignore the feelings in her body. The temptation to touch herself - to lie on the bed with her legs open to play her fingers over her clit while she jammed a big hard vibrator into the empty cavity of her sex - was extreme, but she was determined not to give in to it. Tonight she wanted to make sure she succeeded where every other woman had failed, and instinctively she knew that to dissipate her sexual energy at this point was a mistake - though a little voice, an evil little voice, kept asking her why and telling her it didn't matter. She just knew it did.
She knew the Baron had deliberately fed her imagination with new images, knowing they would increase the tension in her body, perhaps unconsciously wanting to tempt her because he wanted her to fail. When Mischa had come in this morning so modestly dressed Stephanie had thought it consideration on the Baron's part, but perhaps he was being more subtle, realising that, for once, modesty would provoke more than the bizarrely obscene. And he was right. If Mischa had arrived in the leather straps, Stephanie would have dismissed her immediately; as it was, she had almost been tempted.
The Baron would like her to fail. It would mean he would not have to commit himself, to cross the line he had drawn for himself in the sands of his own subconscious, thus giving up the part of the cool, detached observer. He would be required to perform and Stephanie was determined that his performance was going to be with her.
The time passed slowly. Stephanie tried to read but found her mind wandering off into musings about what the pleasure room contained. She had thought her sexual rituals at the castle were imaginative, but they were not half as elaborate as the ones the Baron had created. What the ultimate pleasure involved she could not begin to guess.
She made herself up, did her nails, brushed her hair and perfumed her body with Joy 1000, then covered herself with the white towelling robe because the silks and satins of the negligees she had brought with her rubbed against her body too sensuously.
After what seemed like a lifetime there was a knock on the bedroom door. It was exactly seven o'clock by the Patek Phillipe which she had taken off and laid on the bedside table.
Hanna led Mischa into the room. They were dressed again as they had been on her arrival at the Schloss: Hanna in the incredibly tight leather corset that left her breasts and belly exposed, with the long leather gloves and high-heeled boots; and Mischa in the thin leather straps which ran through the nipple clips at the front and held the thick crotchpiece between her legs. Like the first time Stephanie had seen them they wore their full collars, the moulded leather covering their jaws and lips, trapping a gag in their mouths. Both walked with care in their precipitously high heels, and Mischa carried a black leather bag.
Stephanie was glad the girls were gagged, because a hundred questions formed in her mind. Had they done this before? When was the last time? What happened? All questions she did not want answered - not now at least.
In the darkness she heard the rustle of the leather bag again. She felt hands on her arm, holding it out in front of her. Then a long leather glove being pulled up its length, up until she could feel it under her armpit, tightly gripping her flesh. The girls smoothed it on, making sure it fitted perfectly, even adjusting the stalls on the fingers so it was completely unwrinkled. They repeated the same process with the other arm.
As soon as the second glove was in place Stephanie felt hands pulling her arms behind her back. Hanna produced the lacing. Each glove was beaded along in the inner surface with a row of metal reinforced eyelets. Hanna threaded the lace through the eyelets and began to draw the two gloves together.
At the wrists it was easy, but as the lacing was pulled tighter and worked higher, up over the elbows, it forced her upper arms together, throwing her shoulders back and forcing her chest out. Stephanie moaned. But she did not resist. Hanna tugged on the lacing over and over again until she was satisfied it would go no tighter, until Stephanie's arms appeared as one, encased in a single glove. Thin leather straps were passed around the top of each shoulder to stop the glove slipping down.
Stephanie felt hands on her breasts now, and the tingle of cold metal. Small circular nipple clips were centred on each nipple. Stephanie's body surged as the spring was released and the metal bit into her corrugated flesh. She had worn nipple clips before and loved the sensation they gave her. These clips, she could feel, were joined by a thin metal chain from one to the other which hung down in a loop from her breasts.