Stephanie's Castle (16 page)

'That's
enough.' He stood up.

'Darling!'
Colette said with genuine surprise as her hand was torn away from
his cock.

'What do you
take me for?' Gianni strode over to the table where Stephanie and
Devlin sat with their coffee. 'Hah, Devlin, what you take me
for?'

'What's the
problem?' Devlin said, trying to sound unconcerned.

'This girl.
You think I'm stupid. You set me up with a whore. You think I need
to fuck a whore?'

'Gianni...'
Devlin was lost for words.

'Get her out
of here.' He looked back at Colette. Her skirt had ridden up on the
sofa and a wisp of pubic hair, as blonde as the hair on her head,
curled up from beneath the red hem of the dress. 'I don't go with
whores, Devlin. I told you this. What, you bring her up from your
cellars, eh? Your famous cellars. You think I don't know all about
you? You think I don't find out all about you? I don't need this. I
get my own women. I never take a whore.'

'She's my
friend,' Stephanie said.

'She is not.
Don't lie to me.' He spat the words out at her with real hate.

Devlin got to
his feet and took Gianni by the arm. Gianni shook his hand off but
followed him into the castle. At the terrace doors he turned and
shot a look back at the women. His eyes blazed with anger.

'What did you
say to him?' Stephanie asked, sitting down next to Colette on the
couch.

'I was just
trying to get him going. It was no good, though. He knew from the
beginning, right from the off. He just played along. He was never
interested in me. He wants you and that's it.'

'I know,'
Stephanie sighed.

'I did what I
could.'

'It's not your
fault.'

Through the
windows Stephanie could see Gianni pacing up and down the dining
room angrily gesticulating at Devlin. Devlin was clearly trying to
calm him down. Stephanie felt miserable. What was supposed to be a
romantic dinner had been turned into a shambles by this awful man,
the whole evening had been spent trying to placate him. She knew
nothing of Devlin's business but, considering his enormous wealth,
whatever Devlin wanted from him must be very important indeed. She
just wished it did not involve her.

Devlin opened
the door on to the terrace.

'Colette,' he
called, for all the world like a headmaster summoning an errant
pupil into his study.

Colette
glanced at Stephanie, shrugged her shoulders and walked into the
castle through the open terrace door. Devlin closed the door behind
her, pointedly not looking at Stephanie.

Perhaps she
should walk in and tell Gianni he could have her, fuck her, do
whatever he pleased with her. Would it be too much to ask? After
all that had happened at the castle it wouldn't take much effort on
her part, and it would undoubtedly help Devlin to get Gianni to
concentrate on the deal they were supposed to be doing. But she was
in no mood to make such a gesture. She was angry with Devlin. He
had invited her here. He had promised her a wonderful weekend and
she, for her part, had given as good as she got. But from the point
that Gianni stepped out of the boat - actually from the time Devlin
had taken his telephone call - it had been downhill all the way. If
she drew the line at sleeping with a man she despised, and his
performance at dinner had done nothing to change her mind about
him, she saw no reason to reproach herself with that. She should
not be apologising to Devlin for her actions; he should be
apologising to her. Devlin seemed to have forgotten everything in
his headlong desire to please Gianni at whatever cost.

Through the
long terrace window Stephanie watched Devlin talking to Colette,
who seemed to be shaking her head to refuse whatever he was
suggesting. Gianni, his face twisted with anger, took her by the
arm, wrenching her round to face him while he shouted something at
her. Stephanie could see Colette's skin go white where Gianni
gripped her arm. Her head started to nod in reluctant agreement,
and Gianni let her go and, with a parting gesture to Devlin which
Stephanie could not understand, stormed out of the room.

Devlin took
Colette's arm now, but more gently. He talked to her calmly and
then both of them moved out of sight.

It was some
minutes before the terrace door opened again and Colette stepped
out, carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy and three large brandy
glasses.

'Devlin
thought you'd need a drink.'

'Where is
he?'

'He's trying
to calm Gianni down. He'll be out in a minute.'

'What was all
that about?'

'Oh, just
having a go at me,' she lied, avoiding Stephanie's eyes. She poured
the brandy and handed Stephanie a glass. 'It's not my fault,
Stephanie.'

'I know. You
did your best.'

'I'm sorry,'
she said with genuine feeling.

Devlin was
right. Stephanie felt like a large drink and took a good belt of
the brandy. She did not notice that Colette made no attempt to
drink from her glass. She just wanted Devlin to come back so they
could salvage what was left of the evening. Maybe she could suggest
to him that they take Colette up to her room and find ways of
forgetting this awful man. She would love to have Colette and
Devlin together. His enormous fingers and cock, her long legs, soft
mouth and thick thatch of pubic hair. The combinations of delight
would be endless. She could tease out Colette's clitoris while
Devlin fucked her; she could suck it and lick it and lose herself
in it.

A funny thing
was happening to the moon. Instead of being round it was melting.
All its white centre was melting and pouring itself into the lake
like an old advertisement for milk chocolate. A glass and a half in
every bar pouring into the chocolate lake. She'd wished she'd eaten
the chocolate pudding. It was so delicious. Fresh chocolate from
the chocolate lake. But the moon was melting away and it was
getting darker and darker as it disappeared. Even the lights on the
terrace, round balls of light, were melting away, pouring down on
to the ceramic tiled paving. All that light melting away. It was so
dark...

She could
hardly see Colette now. She was standing right next to her she knew
but even in that beautiful red dress she couldn't see her. She'd
have liked to be able to see her so she could pull down the front
of the strapless dress, pull it down over her breasts leaving them
naked, and pull up the skirt over those clever tights that left
everything exposed and available. She'd like to have sunk her teeth
into those hard nipples, sunk her fingers into that soft hairy
cunt, buck her own pubic bone against Colette's as though fucking
her, pretending she had a cock. But she could hardly see her it was
so dark and what she could see was melting away too just like the
moon and the terrace lamps. The large red splotch of colour that
was all she could make out of Colette was melting away, pouring
into the terrace paving until it had completely disappeared and it
was dark. She was all on her own and it was completely dark, pitch
black all round her. Not that she was frightened. She felt warm and
relaxed and happy. She sang a little song to herself. She lay back
on the sofa and sang a little song all to herself.

When she
stopped singing she could hear voices but she did not understand
what they were saying.

'That was
quick.' It was Devlin's voice.

'She drank it
quickly. Why are you doing this?'

'Please
remember who you are, Colette,' he said sternly. 'Do you actually
think I want to do this?'

'Why don't you
just tell him to go to hell?'

'Because the
contract would go with him.'

'She promised
me...'

'Whatever she
promised you I'll deliver. Now go and get Bruno to carry her
downstairs.'

'Is he so
important?'

'Yes,' Devlin
said. 'And now he's got what he wants, hasn't he?'

Stephanie gave
up the effort to find meaning in these conversations and relaxed.
It didn't matter. She let her mind drift to delicious thoughts of
Venetia, and Colette, and Devlin. Somewhere in the back of her mind
she realised she hadn't mentioned Venetia to Devlin. She would.
She'd get round to it. Meantime she felt too good to worry about
anything. She thought she felt herself being lifted but as her
whole body felt as if it was completely weightless and floating it
was impossible to tell for sure. And anyway the temptation to close
her eyes - or were they already closed? It was so dark - and let
herself fall into the billowing clouds of sleep engulfing her was
too much to resist.

The dream was
not vivid, not like the sort of dream where everything is so vivid
it's difficult to believe it's not real. This dream had only
feelings and emotions and sensations. Stephanie could not tell
where she was. She knew she was naked but she could not see her
body. She felt naked. And she knew her body was being manipulated,
expertly handled and touched and explored. She felt herself being
caressed and kissed. She felt lips sucking at her nipples, she felt
fingers circling her clitoris, and then the soft wetness of a hot
tongue licking her clitoris before plunging deeper between her legs
and pushing into her cunt itself, deeper than she'd ever felt a
tongue before. Everything was perfect, every touch exactly what she
would have wanted, no need to ask for anything, no need to
interfere. Everything she'd dreamt she'd wanted from a lover, this
lover was doing in her dream.

After his
hands and tongue had probed and touched her weightless body - she
knew instinctively it was a 'he' - her legs were opened and she
arched her back to present herself to this phantom. Then she felt
cock, hard and hot, pressing into her, filling her, taking
advantage of the expert preparations. In her dream she knew it was
not Devlin's cock. This was a dream cock, the perfect cock, fitting
her cunt exactly as she'd dreamt a cock should do, nudging all the
right places, the whole cock inside her so she could feel her
clitoris grinding against the very base of it as it started an
insistent tempo. Out almost all the way, until she could feel the
heat of its tip between her swollen labia and then back in again,
buffeting the very top of her womb and the knot of her clitoris at
the same time. On and on and on. She felt no physical exertion. She
felt only the sensation of sex, her whole body reduced to the
feelings from her cunt.

She could feel
her orgasm. It was not sharp and quick but part of a dream, long
and slow and intense. It was like a dam about to burst. Every
stroke of his cock building the pressure of the water against the
dam, knowing the dam would burst, watching its structure crumble
away, knowing it was inevitable but somehow wanting to hold back
for as long as possible. At the same time she could feel his
pressure growing too, the dam inside his cock about to burst, the
pressure from his spunk building until it would be too great to
resist. His cock was swelling inside her, filling with spunk. She
could feel his spunk, feel it hot and white waiting for
release.

Her orgasm
broke the dam, surrounded and enclosed her. She could feel nothing
but the cock inside her and her body's reaction to it. In her dream
she could see the cock, see it pushing up between the folds of
flesh in her cunt, pushing for release. As she felt his cock jerk
and spasm inside her she could see the little oval slit in his
glans open and shoot spunk deep into her, pulse after pulse of
white spunk. And that completed her orgasm, burst through the last
stones of the dam, and she felt herself drowning in a sea of sexual
ecstasy, wet with spunk and cunt juice and emotion. It was the
perfect orgasm, in a perfect dream.

She wanted to
thank him now. But she couldn't find him. She was looking for him
knowing he was still there but she couldn't find him. Where had he
gone? She searched and then, somewhere in the distance she saw him.
Immediately she felt a rush of excitement. They could do it all
over again. Burst the dams again. Feel and touch and suck and fuck
again. That's what she wanted. Desperately wanted. This man had
given her so much pleasure.

She was
running towards him. She could see him clearly and in her mind she
knew she recognised him. She knew him. He was fully dressed but had
his back to her. She stood behind him and she heard herself telling
him that she had never had such beautiful sex, that he'd made her
feel wonderful, alive, open. But he still didn't turn round.

'Kiss me,' she
heard herself saying.

She took him
by the shoulder and he turned round. In the dream he turned in slow
motion. He turned and lifted her into his arms and kissed her full
on the mouth and she kissed him back hard with feeling. She didn't
care now that the man she was kissing was Giancarlo Gianni.

At first she
thought it was another dream. Like the first dream it was difficult
to establish where she was and she still had the sensation that she
was not awake, that she was still floating above it all and that
any moment she would sleep deeply and dreamlessly again. She caught
glimpses of faces she recognised, Devlin and Gianni and Bruno. Why
was Bruno in her dream? She didn't want to have dreams about Bruno.
And where was Colette? And why was she worrying about these things
if she was dreaming? It didn't matter if it was a dream.

She felt a hot
pulse of sensation from her clitoris, the sensation of someone
wanking her, rolling their finger over the rigid knot of flesh with
perfect rhythm, the perfect amount of pressure, the sort of wanking
that made her come quickly, easily. She could not see who was doing
this to her and didn't care. It was a dream, another erotic dream.
All she had to do was lie back and enjoy it, enjoy the feelings
that her subconscious was creating for her.