Stephanie's Castle (9 page)

Now, as she
stood in this room, the impact of reading that first book came
flooding back to her. The room contained everything she had read
about. There was every conceivable piece of sexual equipment,
handcuffs, leather straps, ball gags, chains hanging from the
ceiling and from the walls, punishment frames, a stock and a wooden
rack. There was every type of whip, crop and paddle, and every size
of dildo. A strong pulley, threaded with nylon rope attached to
padded cuffs, hung from the ceiling. Three large wardrobes stood
against the further wall. Stephanie opened each in turn to find
them full of leather and rubber clothing, high-heeled shoes and a
selection of wigs. There were drawers of bras, panties, suspender
belts, corsets and stockings, all neatly arranged by size.

It was all
here. Bondage, rubber, transvestite, sadomasochism. It was all here
in this room. Every fantasy could be catered for. In this room it
would be possible to bind a man or a woman, dressed in rubber,
leather, or whatever, in any position one cared to imagine. And do
to them whatever one cared to do. There would be no escape. The
illustrations in the books she had bought had always been line
drawings, not photographs; drawings of men and women tied in
extremis. Because they were drawings they had not appeared real; in
this room the bondage would be only too real. The thought sent a
chill through Stephanie. Then she thought of what Devlin had said
about the slaves. They were all thieves. And in this room they
would get their punishment. Of that she was certain. The frisson of
fear she had felt as she contemplated these devices turned to a
little knot of excitement. She would not like to be on the
receiving end of any of this equipment. Or would she?

In a sense
Martin had tortured her. Not physical pain, admittedly, but he had
put her into bondage. She walked over to the pulley tied off on a
cleat screwed into the stone wall. She unwound the white nylon rope
from the cleat and let it loose. Immediately from the centre of the
room the other end, attached to the leather cuffs, descended. She
went over to where they hung at head height and inspected them.
Fitting one on to her wrist she felt the thick padding inside the
leather, very much like the cuffs that had held her last night. She
tightened the strap on one wrist and stood with her hands high
above her head, as high as she could reach. She closed her eyes and
felt the strain in her shoulders. Could she imagine herself
standing there bound and naked, not able to bring her hands down to
relieve the pressure, waiting helplessly to be whipped or handled
or fucked in any way her tormentor wished?

She brought
her hands down and unbuckled the cuff. Her hands were trembling
slightly. The stretching had loosened the towelling belt and as she
pulled the belt free to retie it, the robe fell open and she
glimpsed her naked body. Both her nipples were puckered and rigid,
as hard as she had ever seen them.

The sun was
high in the sky and heat radiated in a shimmering haze from any
surface not protected by shade. Stephanie had changed into the
bikini that Devlin had provided, a costume definitely not capable
of withstanding exposure to water. Cut high on the hip, it showed
off Stephanie's long legs and tight curved bottom while the
spangled tiny bra did little to conceal her breasts. The wrap,
designed to be worn with it, was no more than a thin veil of
chiffon. Coming down to the main terrace Stephanie had ordered a
light lunch of lobster and salad and had decided against more
champagne. She sipped ice-cold mineral water instead and had been
tempted by the offer of ice cream after the salad. The melon ice
cream the waiter had brought was unbelievably delicious, but she
avoided the temptation to gorge herself on it. As she had thought
on the plane, the main problem this weekend was to know where to
draw the line. From where she sat the view over the lake was
breathtaking, framed by the cascading flowers, the sun reflected
off the almost still water. The heat of the sun made her body feel
calm and relaxed.

The secrets of
the castle were hers now. It was extraordinary that Devlin seemed
to trust her implicitly with all this. He had been true to his
word: There had been no locked doors, either physically or
metaphorically - she had been able to go and do whatever she had
wanted. Had Devlin not been so obviously distracted by his long
telephone call Stephanie would have thought him quite capable of
deliberately leaving her alone to see what her reaction would be,
to see what she would do or perhaps to draw her deeper into the
web.

The waiter
brought her a steaming cup of espresso coffee. She left it to cool
and walked over to the parapet of the terrace and looked down to
the lake below. She could not see the stone steps leading down to
the jetty as they were completely covered in the twining
bougainvillaea and jasmine, but she could see the jetty itself and
the water of the lake softly lapping at its wooden supports. She
could hear the noise of the water from here too. Whatever Devlin
imagined she would feel standing here on his terrace, the beauty of
the castle and the island all around her, her mind able to dip into
the memories of the morning in the cellars and the pleasures of
last night, Stephanie had to admit her reaction was rather curious:
she felt strangely at home.

After a second
cup of coffee she decided to go upstairs to her terrace and lie out
in the sun. Devlin would be back soon she thought, so this was her
chance for a little sunbathing. Back in the bedroom she noticed the
underwear she had discarded in the cell this morning had been
washed and neatly folded in a precise pile on one of the chest of
drawers.

Outside she
positioned one of the loungers to catch the full sun and lay,
feeling the heat boring down on her body. She closed her eyes.
Quite unexpectedly, in her mind's eye, she saw herself strapped
into the leather cuffs in the punishment room of the cellar suite,
hoisted by the pulley on to tiptoe naked and helpless. She opened
her eyes again to free herself of the image then, in a matter of
seconds, she was asleep. Dreams swarmed into her head, dreams that
were so realistic as to be more memories than dreams. She saw
Devlin kneeling between her legs, his huge cock erect, his banana
finger already inside her. And then her sleep deepened and there
were no dreams at all.

Only a few
minutes later she awoke, feeling unusually refreshed. But she was
hot, the delicate bikini streaked with her sweat. She walked into
the bedroom to find some suntan lotion as she could feel her skin
was already taking colour. In the bathroom cabinet, as she had come
to expect in the castle, there was an expensive oil which she
massaged into her face. Looking in the bathroom mirror she could
see that even after such a brief exposure her face and arms were
browning. She rubbed the thick white cream into her cheeks and
forehead, looking at herself intently as she did so. Her eyes
stared back at her, looking strangely knowing after the last
eighteen hours. Her brown eyes were bright, the whites very white.
Trying to be objective, she had to say she thought she looked very
good. Sex obviously suited her. At least this sort of sex.

She went back
into the bedroom and examined herself in the full-length bedroom
mirror. The cut of the expensive bikini, despite the sweat,
complemented her body perfectly. She had no idea what it cost but
it was certainly more than she'd paid for an entire outfit. She
felt good in it. She felt good in all the clothes that Devlin had
given her. She loved the feeling of these beautiful materials made
with the minutest attention to detail. All the clothes he had given
her in the suitcase felt as if they had been made for her. They
felt comfortable and elegant, and she knew they suited her. She
felt at home in them. She had to say she loved the life here at the
castle too. But then, who wouldn't? London, her job seemed to be in
another world. Effectively, of course, it was another world, and
one she had no desire to think about until it was absolutely
necessary. And that time was not now.

The scent of
bougainvillaea drifted in from the terrace on a light breeze. All
she had to think about now was Devlin. And herself. He would be
back soon so in the meantime she could enjoy the sun. Why she was
lying in a bikini on what must be the most private terrace in
Italy, she thought suddenly, she could not imagine. But if she was
going to lie naked then she would need her skin oiled against the
burning sun. She smiled to herself as she walked over to the phone
on the bedside table. She had to dial five, she remembered Devlin
telling her. Her smile broadened as she heard the phone ring twice
before it was answered.

'Bruno, bring
one of the men to my room right away.' She heard him hang up by way
of reply.

The pleasure
she took in issuing these orders was out of all proportion to the
orders themselves. It was the sensation of being in command, a
pleasure she had never experienced before, that she enjoyed. It was
a pleasure Devlin had given her, created for her. There was no
question in her mind that being able to command, in the way she had
this morning in Devlin's cellar, had affected her deeply. She could
hear her voice - that strange hard voice she had never heard
herself use before - and remember what she said, what commands she
issued. It was a part of the sexual experience, an integral part
she knew, that had done more than given her an endless stream of
orgasms. It had, in some way, defined her sexuality. Of course,
Devlin was responsible. She had allowed Devlin to use and abuse
her, she had enjoyed the game of 'rape'. But that was only the
other side of the coin, the flipside. In a strange way, tied and
held down on the bed last night, helpless as she was physically,
she had still been in control. She had given Devlin his pleasure.
The game he had begun she had hijacked. She had started wanting to
please Devlin, certainly, but something else had taken over: all
that eventually mattered was that she had pleased herself.
Ironically, she thought with delight, the more she pleased herself,
the more she seemed to gratify Devlin.

She wondered
if Devlin would get a report of her activities while he'd been
away. No doubt the servants had tracked her movements but she did
not know how he could get information from Bruno; he did not look
as though writing was one of his talents. Not that she wanted
secrecy. She wanted Devlin to know precisely what she had done. She
could always tell him herself.

The knock on
the door pulled her out of this reverie.

'Come in.' She
heard her hard cold voice again.

Bruno entered, followed by a man dressed in a one-piece nylon
work suit elasticated at cuff and waist and with a long zip running
from neck to crotch. Bruno immediately indicated, in effective sign
language, that the garment should be removed. Under it the man was
naked save for the hard black leather pouch chained tightly around
his genitals and, of course, the name disc on the chain around his
neck. The disc read:
Paul
.

'Out on the
terrace, please.' Stephanie made a mental note not to use the word
'please' again in these circumstances.

She stepped
out into the sun and the two men followed. She pulled the thin
shoulder straps of the bikini bra down over her breasts. She
watched Paul's eyes staring at her tits, the nipples already
hardening under his gaze.

'What's your
real name?'

'I'm not
allowed to say, madam.' His voice was reedy and uncertain.

'You're
allowed to tell me.'

Bruno shook
his head vigorously and put a finger to his lips, presumably to
indicate the need for silence. But Stephanie was not prepared to
obey Bruno, just as she had not listened to Susie on the plane.
Stripped to the waist, her firm tits hardly bouncing on her chest,
she walked over to him.

'I don't want
to have to tell Mr Devlin that you have not cooperated with me, do
I, Bruno? He wouldn't like that, would he? What would he do if he
didn't like it, Bruno? What would he do if I told him you had
refused me?'

For half a
second Bruno stared into Stephanie's eyes with a look bordering on
contempt. But the thought of Devlin's displeasure was too powerful
a totem to ignore, as it had been for Susie. Bruno dropped his eyes
to the floor and studied his feet.

'So your name
is...' Stephanie returned to the slave picking up the metal name
tag in her hand.

'Norman,
madam.'

'See,' she
said looking at Bruno. 'That's wasn't too difficult, was it,
Norman?'

'No,
madam.'

'I have much
more difficult things for you to do in a minute. How long have you
been here, Norman?'

Bruno's head
came up again as if to intervene but Stephanie was already looking
at him defiantly and he quickly thought better of it.

'Four weeks,
madam.'

'Oh, so you'll
be quite experienced then.'

'If you say
so, madam.'

'So polite. I
like that.'

Stephanie
pulled the bottom of the bikini down over her thighs and, bending
over, pulled it off her ankles. As she bent down, her arse nudged
against Norman's thigh. His eyes had followed every movement and as
she bent over he could see clearly the long slit of her sex, and
the lips of her cunt covered in curly black pubic hair.

The terrace
was equipped with a double-sized lounger, a lounger of the usual
design and length but of double width which could accommodate two
people lying side by side. 'There's suntan oil in the bathroom,
Norman,' said Stephanie, lying down. 'Bring it here. You're going
to rub it in for me.'

Norman
immediately disappeared inside. Stephanie stretched out, her legs
open, her arms above her head. Almost at once she could feel the
sun on her sex. It was a strange feeling. In England she had never
sunbathed in the nude. She looked over to Bruno who still studied
her feet, apparently showing no interest in her. He looked hot, his
black costume more suited to the cool of the cellar than the heat
of the sun.