Stephanie's Domain

by Susanna Hughes

  'Please.'

  'You're going to wank and like it. After what I found at the house I might never allow you to fuck me again. You must like wanking so much. Going to all that trouble. Getting your wanking pit all fitted out. How many times a week was it? Once a day?'

  Devlin knelt on the bed, his hand pounding at his erection. 'I don't know,' he lied.

  Stephanie slashed the whip across his arse again. 'Keep going, I want to see spunk.'

  She knelt on the bed in front of him, her arse facing his cock. Over her shoulder she said, 'Spunk, Devlin, all over my arse.'

  But once again what she said bore no resemblance to what she meant. Planting herself on all fours she moved backwards until the cheeks of her arse grazed his cock. She wriggled it from side to side. He would be able to see the lips of her cunt, wet still from her orgasm. He would be able to feel its heat too.

  She looked down between her legs, her thick pubic hair framing his cock behind her.

  'Spunk, Devlin. You're useless.'

  He could take it no longer, not half a second longer, as she knew he couldn't. In one fluid movement he grabbed Stephanie by the hips and literally pulled her back on to his cock. There was no resistance from the wet channel of her cunt. He was completely out of control. He didn't care what she did to him. He had to have her, had to fuck her. He plunged as deep as he could go feeling her cunt tight around his cock.

  It would not last long. The images she had created, the game, the performance, the ache, the urge, the need she had stimulated, as only she had ever done, were the images and urges of his deepest sexual needs. She had tapped his psyche, drawn out the essence of his sexuality, laid him bare. He felt his spunk rising as he stroked in and out of her. He felt his cock start to spasm. He jammed himself into her one final time and then stopped moving. He waited, waited for the images... his laying on the floor of the Cadillac licking her feet - and the feelings - the welts across his arse hot and stinging - to drive the spunk deep into her pliant cunt. He had found his place.

  His eyes lighted on the photographs strewn over the bed.

  There she was, bent over, facing the oil painting that had so long dominated his sex life, the crimson vulva at its centre still appearing to be alive, even in the tiny photograph. He could see it throbbing as it always had. How many times had he come looking at that picture, staring into the depths of that unique vision? As he did now, his orgasm raking through every nerve, flooding spunk out into the place he had found, the hot wet cunt contracting around him.

  Devlin lay on the bed for a long time with Stephanie's head cradled on his shoulder. He did not close his eyes. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever met, of that he was quite sure.

  Chapter Nine

  The Cadillac headed down the Avenue of the Americas to Wall Street. As it ground to a halt in the endless traffic Stephanie watched the amazing diversity of the city buildings, as the huge modern skyscrapers gave way to the nineteenth-century brownstones and the small family-owned shops of Greenwich Village. As the car turned on to Broadway, the only road to run from one end of the island of Manhattan to the other, the scenery changed again, and they were suddenly in a charnel house of animal carcasses as articulated lorries unloaded beef and veal and lamb into the cavernous halls of the meat markets two blocks from Wall Street.

  Devlin was preoccupied, pouring through the papers in his briefcase, his mood changed entirely from this morning. The millionaire businessman had replaced the grovelling slave.

  'So what's the problem?' Stephanie asked.

  Devlin set the papers aside. 'I wish I knew. Everything was going fine. Then he just started backtracking. As far as I'm concerned the deal was done.'

  'What is it all about?'

  'He owns a block of shares in a company I need. He's agreed to sell and accept options on the rest of the stock he owns over various time periods, until I finally take control. Now he's causing difficulties. He just keeps finding reasons not to sign on the dotted line.'

  'Perhaps he's had a better offer.'

  'I doubt it. The company is a perfect fit for my business. On its own it wouldn't be worth half the money.'

  'Isn't there another company it would fit just as well?'

  'Could be, I suppose.'

  The Cadillac pulled up outside a sixty-storey office building in Pearl Street. Devlin kissed Stephanie on the cheek.

  'See you back at the hotel. Have a good time this afternoon. And keep George with you. This is a rough city for someone who attracts as much attention as you do.'

  'I'll be careful. See you later.'

  They drove back into midtown. Stephanie had been to New York once before on an advertising conference but the trip had been rushed and she had seen little of the sights. Now she intended to put that right and asked George, the black bull-necked chauffeur, to take her to the Museum of Modern Art. There she spent two hours wondering through the masterpieces of twentieth-century art.

  Strangely it was not one of the European artists that she found herself most drawn to, but an American, Andrew Wyeth, whose work fascinated her. The colour of the wheat fields, and the drama of the crippled Christina, somehow stranded in the middle of the open fields, gave the pictures a poignancy and energy Stephanie found difficult to tear herself away from.

  With her mind full of colour and form and shape, she got back into the Cadillac. The speed of Concorde was doing strange things to her body clock. Though it was the middle of the afternoon her stomach told her, with loud rumbles of complaint, that it was well passed the time it should have been fed. There was no way she was going to be able to manage to wait for dinner.

  She wound the electric divider down. 'I need a snack, George,' she said.

  'Yes miss. What you want? Pastrami on rye. Tuna fish sandwich?'

  'Something like that.'

  'Three blocks from here. Wolffe's deli. Best place in town and no hassles.'

  'Take me there.'

  He was right. The pastrami sandwich was filled with two inches of delicious spiced meat and the coffee that came with it was hot and strong. Though Stephanie was modestly dressed in a black suit Devlin was right; she attracted a lot of attention from members of both sexes. Envious glances from the women, various degrees of looks - leering, smiling admiration, ogling stares - from the men. But there were several other single women sitting in the deli and Stephanie could see George, leaning against the car, watching her every second through the windows.

  After her stomach had been calmed by the sandwich she had George take her to Bergdorf Goodman's. She browsed in the very English interior of the store and bought one or two items of lingerie. Across the road she went into Tiffany's and browsed there too, though she had no desire to buy any of the elaborate concoctions of silver, diamonds and gold that were displayed in the heavy glass cases that lined the aisles of the store's main hall.

  She had George take her to Macy's - because she had loved the Ginger Rogers' film which featured the store - and was disappointed to find it had been modernised so totally as to be unrecognisable. She wandered through Bloomingdales, too, but bought little.

  Back in the Cadillac she instructed George to go to the hotel. She wasn't in the mood for more shopping or sightseeing. She wanted to have plenty of time to get dressed up for tonight's dinner.

  In the suite she unpacked some of the purchases she had made, then stood at the windows for a long time as the dusk turned to darkness and the first lights came on in the skyscrapers all around. Soon the city was transformed, a mystical transformation, from the grimy harsh reality of daylight to the almost magical light show of night, as gigantic towers lit up and long strings of street lamps snaked across the island, in dramatic contrast to the almost total darkness of Central Park like some vast black and bottomless lake.

  Snapping herself out of the hypnotic state the city seemed to have imposed on her, Stephanie turned her attention to her outfit for dinner.

  She wanted to wear something special. The dress she had i
n mind was special. Full length with full sleeves and a neckline up to her throat, the dress covered most of her body with the exception of her thigh on the left side as here the dress was split almost to the hip. The material of the dress clung to her body, following the line of her bust, the slimness of her waist and the flatness of her navel. At the back it moulded itself to her spine, before following the rise of her buttocks. But it was not only the cut of the material that was sensational but the material itself, a shiny black with thousands upon thousands of tiny glass beads, that caught the light and made the whole dress shimmer as its owner moved.

  After showering she chose a pair of sheer black tights - the slit in the dress was too high for stockings - and rolled them over her long legs before wriggling into the dress. There was no need for a bra, the dress supported her perfectly. Pulling on a pair of black suede high heels with a little motif in the same glass beads sown on the toe, she stood to admire herself in the mirror, legs apart, arms akimbo.

  She held her hair up on her head deciding whether to wear it up or down. Deciding to wear it up, she pinned it to her head revealing her long neck before it disappeared into the high neckline.

  'My God you look wonderful,' Devlin said, letting himself into the bedroom from the corridor door just as she finished her hair. He was looking at the way the dress shaped itself to her arse. It made it look ripe, pert and inviting.

  'How did it go?'

  'Everything's agreed.' His tone was depressed.

  'But?'

  'What's that American word? Gridlock. It's gridlocked. He won't sign. I think I have to admit defeat. There's nothing I can do. You win some you lose some. Would you like a drink?'

  'Well it is cocktail time. Since we're in New York I'll have a Manhattan.'

  Devlin ordered the drinks from room service. 'I'm very glad you came over.'

  'So am I.'

  Devlin put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her face in the mirror. He looked deep into her brown eyes. They sparkled with intelligence and energy and pleasure. 'You are a most beautiful woman, Stephanie.'

  'And you are an incredibly ugly man, Devlin.'

  They both laughed. It was an old joke between them. Beauty and the beast.

  Before either of them could say anything else the drinks arrived with the room service waiter.

  They clinked their glasses and toasted New York.

  George ran round to open the rear door of the Cadillac and eyed Stephanie's long leg as the skirt of the dress split open as she climbed out of the car and wrapped her fur around her against the cold of the New York night. The Cadillac was parked outside the glass doors of the Four Seasons restaurant on the corner of East 52nd Street.

  Devlin led her through the doors, and a blast of warmth soon dispelled the chill as they walked up the wide modern staircase to the first floor restaurant where they were greeted by the maitre d' and shown to a corner table in the long banquette that ran the whole length and breadth of the room.

  As Stephanie's fur was removed and she walked across the restaurant a bevy of male eyes followed every detail of the rise and fall of her buttocks so perfectly outlined in the tight material.

  It was not like any restaurant Stephanie had ever been in before. The main room was actually a gallery, a big rectangular floor area, but a gallery nevertheless, reached by the wide staircase they had just climbed, in a forty-foot tall room formed on two sides by enormous sheets of plate glass. A ten-foot glass sculpture made from moulded glass tubes was virtually the only ornament: the beauty and drama of the room needed no further decoration.

  The food was delicious too. Devlin warned her that it was a restaurant renown for its desserts so Stephanie ate comparatively lightly, choosing the little neck clams and the broiled monkfish. When the sweet trolley arrived she, thus, had room for a good portion of Chocolate Velvet which Devlin assured her was the restaurant's specialty.

  It was only after the sweet trolley had been wheeled away that Stephanie noticed the young man waving to attract her attention on the other side of the room. It was Oscar. He was sitting with another, much older man. How long he had been there she didn't know but with a single crooked finger she beckoned him over.

  'It's the boy I met on the plane,' she explained to Devlin as Oscar approached, his long legs affecting a loping gait.

  'Hi!' he said with delight in his eyes.

  'Oscar this is Devlin,' Stephanie said, repeating the introduction in the reverse order.

  'Very pleased to meet you, sir,' Oscar said, taking Devlin's proffered hand. Devlin's hand engulfed his, like an adult's hand with that of a tiny child. 'Are you enjoying the food? I'm out with my pa. He always likes to come here. Ma's on the West Coast so we're eating out.' As he spoke he hopped, uneasily, from one foot to another.

  'Well it's nice to see you again,' Stephanie said, 'Oscar's at Oxford.'

  'Rhodes scholar?' Devlin asked.

  'Yes sir. Reading English. I better get back.' He wanted to remind Stephanie that he really wanted to see her again but daren't in front of the intimidating Devlin. He hoped the pleading look in his eyes was easily translated.

  'My God,' Devlin said as he watched the boy join his father again.

  'What?'

  'That's him.'

  'Who?'

  'The boy's father. It's Henry Caplin.'

  'Who's Henry Caplin?'

  Oscar was pointing Stephanie out to his father. He too had recognised Devlin. They exchanged polite nods of the head.

  'The man I've been trying to do this bloody deal with.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well invite them over for coffee. Perhaps I can get Oscar to work on his father for you.'

  As Stephanie swooned over the delights of Chocolate Velvet the waiters added more chairs to the table and Oscar and his father walked over to join them. Oscar introduced his father to Stephanie. Henry Caplin was a tall man and looked strongly built. His immaculately groomed hair was totally white which made him look older than he actually was. His eyes were sharp and very blue and his complexion clear, though there was a dark shadow around his jaw where he shaved what was clearly a heavy beard. He was an extremely attractive man.

  Coffee was ordered and a bottle of Chateau Y Quierm to go with a silver-tiered dish of petit fours.

  'Oscar told me all about you,' Henry Caplin said.

  'Not all I hope. We have to have some secrets, don't we, Oscar?'

  Oscar blushed immediately. Stephanie was sure he had not told his father everything.

  'I don't suppose you've had any further thoughts, Henry?' Devlin asked.

  'Let's not get into that tonight.'

  'It makes such good sense,' Devlin persisted.

  'Come on,' Stephanie said, 'let's forget about all that.' Caplin, she had realised, was not going to respond to the direct approach.

  The wine arrived and Stephanie sipped the golden nectar from her glass. It smelt and tasted of the essence of the sweetest grape, a reminder of the richness of autumn.

  'Wonderful,' she announced, eating a white chocolate truffle from the dish of petit fours. 'So shall we all go on somewhere? This is New York after all. Nightlife capital of the world. I'm certainly not in the mood for bed.' Mischievously she looked directly at Oscar as she said, 'Not yet anyway.'

  Oscar blushed again.

  'How hot do you like your nightlife?' Caplin asked.

  The question was deliberately provocative. Stephanie had no intention of backing away. 'Very,' she said looking at him directly with fierce uncontradictable eyes.

  'I was going to take my son to the Shades of Hades.'

  'Sounds interesting,' Stephanie said.

  'There won't be any women there. It's mostly for men.'

  'I like things that are mostly for men.' Stephanie consciously licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  'You've no objection, Devlin?' Caplin asked.

  'No. I don't think there's anything in Hades that would shock Stephanie.'
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  'You never know,' Caplin said.

  'I do actually,' Devlin replied flatly.

  'Have you ever been there, Devlin?' Stephanie asked.

  'Once or twice.' He put his hand on Stephanie's knee exposed by the long split in her skirt. 'You'll enjoy it,' he whispered.

  They finished the wine and drank coffee. Every time Stephanie looked at Henry Caplin, his eyes were on her. She could see them roaming over her body, staring at her bosom as if trying to imagine what lay under the glitter of the dress, not that his son was any less thorough in his attentions. Father and son appeared to be totally captivated by her.

  Devlin paid the bill. Stephanie's fur was brought up from the cloakroom. The three men watched her, her perfect figure outlined by the clinging material of the dress, as she was helped into the coat by a waiter, each, no doubt, wishing they could palm their hand down over the curves of her apple-shaped arse.

  They decided to all go in the Cadillac. Caplin's stretched Mercedes limousine was dismissed. Stephanie sat in the back seat between Devlin and Caplin with Oscar on the jump seat facing them, his view of Stephanie's legs, more or less completely exposed by the dress, unimpeded.

  Caplin gave George the address and the big car swung away from the curb.

  It wasn't more than ten blocks down towards the East River. Smoothly the Cadillac rolled up outside an elderly row of buildings, their ground floors serving as shops, a K-Mart, a Laundromat and a dry cleaners. There was also a very large and very busy hamburger joint and bar. The windows of the bar, garishly illuminated by Budweiser-neon advertising, were steamed up from the heat inside.

  Caplin led the way. At first Stephanie thought they were going into the bar until she saw there was another door immediately adjacent to the bar entrance. Caplin punched a series of numbers into the computer pad that operated the lock and the battered blue door sprung open. They crowded into a small vestibule, hardly big enough to contain the four of them. The vestibule was badly lit and carpeted in a rich dark blue carpet. The walls, ceilings and doors were all also covered in the carpet. Nowhere was there any sign indicating the name of the club.