But it was not only her body that buzzed with sexual tension; her mind raced too. As though in a film she saw herself on the galley. Her imagination ran riot. She could imagine herself naked, whip in hand, walking up and down the gangway, scourging the slaves to greater effort. Her body would provoke their erections, all eyes would be on her... The thought made her shiver with excitement.
And then there was the pavilion. What lay ahead of her tonight was the opposite side of the coin. Standing on the galley, in the prow, the absolute mistress of twelve naked men was a perfect example of what she found most exciting. But that was not to say the thought of what she would experience tonight didn't excite her too.
Perhaps, she thought, it was only possible to get such extreme pleasure from her mastery, because she knew exactly what it was like to be a slave. Over the last months she had experienced both. She had used and been used, subjected her slaves to her whims and been subjected, in turn, to the caprice of others. She knew what it was like to be in someone else's power, what it felt like to be controlled, to lose the ability to decide even the smallest things, and most of all to be dependent, totally dependent for satisfaction on the arbitrary desires of a master.
She rubbed herself dry with a towel, feeling again how the sensitised nerves in her breasts and labia reacted to her touch. She knew exactly what she needed now, and, like everything else in her life over the last months, her need was going to be easily satisfied. It was overindulgence of course, considering what had happened this morning and what was going to happen tonight, but frankly she didn't care.
Devlin was waiting for her in the same position she had left him, his forehead pressed into the thick carpet.
'Get your clothes off and hurry,' she said, framed by the bathroom door, her legs open, her arms akimbo, naked apart from high-heeled black slip-ons.
As Devlin pulled his shirt off anxiously, Stephanie lay on the bed next to her fur coat.
'Hang my coat up,' she ordered, picking up the telephone and dialling 9. 'Come in, please,' she said into the phone. Devlin hung the fur in the wardrobe then stripped off the rest of his clothes. His monstrous erection was at full stretch.
There was a knock on the bedroom door almost immediately.
'Come.'
Mischa entered the room. Her outfit was different today. Gone were the long leather straps passed through her nipple rings; her big breasts were unencumbered, as was the rest of her body apart from her legs. These were clad in what were, in effect, stockings, but made from black leather and not nylon. They stretched over her flesh right up to her crotch, where they were secured in place by a strap sewn into the top edge. The strap was buckled tightly and bit into the soft flesh, its upper edge almost brushing her labia on the inner thigh. A pair of ultra-high heels were Mischa's only other clothing.
'Come over here.' Stephanie indicated the bed. Mischa obeyed at once and tottered forward on the heels. The hair on her belly was as bright a red as that on her head, but it was sparse, and her labia were clearly visible.
Seeing the nipple rings again had given Stephanie an instant jolt of desire, her own nipples puckering in sympathy. She'd forgotten how fascinated she'd been by them yesterday.
'Devlin, bring me the riding crop.' Stephanie had brought the whip from the castle. It was her favourite; the right weight and the right pliancy. Devlin extracted it from the drawer where it had been left and brought it over to the bed. 'Give it to Mischa.'
Devlin obeyed. As usual, he had no idea what Stephanie had in mind. She was quite capable of making him watch as she used the girl, quite capable of denying him pleasure except the pleasure he took in his obedience.
But that was not what she had in mind. She wanted no preliminaries, no complications. She was still in the same mood as she had been that morning.
'Fuck me, Devlin,' she said simply, lying back and opening her legs. Her mind could never adequately prepare her for the physical impact his size made on her body.
Devlin wasted no time. He knelt between her legs and positioned himself, pushing forward until his cock was nudging her labia.
'Yes,' she said.
He drove his cock right up into her. It was not difficult. She was wet. His shaft stretched every membrane in her sex; his glans was hard against the mouth of her womb, but his balls were still in mid-air. No woman could take all of Devlin. He was just too big. Stephanie ran her hand down over his buttocks to grasp his balls. She heard him moan as her hand squeezed them tightly.
'Fuck me, Devlin.'
He bucked his hips. His cock slid back then up again, back and forth, filling her each time. There was no experience in the world like this. Because his cock was so big he could not grind against her clitoris, but there was no need. The breadth of him stretched her labia so far apart, so tight that the clitoris was pulled up against its own hood. The combination of the massive throbbing cock and the tiny butterfly movements against the little bud of nerves was perfect.
'Whip him,' Stephanie managed to say. She had what she wanted, Devlin's cock buried inside her, but she wanted more. She wanted his pleasure as well as her own.
Mischa did not hesitate. She raised her arm and brought the whip swinging down on Devlin's buttocks just as he was completing his outward stroke. The whip sent his cock surging back up again, a new welt of feeling burning into him. His manhood was throbbing now, the pain transformed to pleasure so quickly it was impossible to distinguish between the two.
'Again,' Stephanie gasped, sapped by Devlin's assault on her. Her body was heaving, her sex contracting around his great rod of flesh, but her eyes were riveted to the gold nipple rings on Mischa's breasts as they quivered with the effort of using the whip.
'My nipples,' she whispered into Devlin's ear. His hands groped between their bodies until his fingers found the corrugated buttons of flesh. 'Pinch them, pinch hard...'
She was coming and knew Devlin was coming too. She had to close her eyes. She wanted only to feel. She felt his cock, boiling hot, throbbing, pulsing. Spunk was seething up into it from his balls, still held firmly in her hand. It filled her completely. She thrust her body down, wanting the impossible, wanting to take more.
Thwack. She got her wish. The whip propelled Devlin's cock into her. Suddenly his body went rigid, his cock spasmed and he spunked, his balls jerking in her hand. The whole length of his shaft throbbed, as spunk jetted out, out against the silky wet walls of Stephanie's sex.
'God, God, God...' she screamed, her body taking over, as she convulsed around his cock, and she was reduced to nothing but delicious, unfathomable sensation. With one final effort she forced herself down on the huge rod of flesh, then exploded in ecstasy as she felt his spunk already running down the sides of his cock and out of her body.
'Oh, Devlin,' she said as the tension in her body seeped away and she could open her eyes again. She looked at Mischa, standing beside the bed, whip in hand. Her bizarre costume showed off her beautiful, sweating body, and her pierced nipples were as hard as stone. Stephanie felt another frisson of pleasure.
Chapter Nine
'This way.'
Stephanie had not seen the woman before. She had been led from the bedroom, down a long dark corridor and a flight of stone steps, and now her guide was holding open the door to a small, dimly lit room.
The woman was dressed from head to toe in black, an amorphous black dress which gave little idea of her shape, though she was probably slim. She wore a black scarf tied over her hair and her face was thin and sallow. She carried a black nylon holdall.
Stephanie walked through the door. The woman followed and closed it after them.
The room was bare and windowless. At its centre was a steel pillar running from floor to ceiling and bolted to both by a steel plate. A single weak bulb hanging down from the ceiling was the only source of light.
The woman dropped the holdall on the floor. 'Clothes off,' she said, the first words she had spoken. Her accent was strongly Germanic.
Stephanie was wearing only a w
hite towelling robe from the bathroom, its breast pocket emblazoned with the Baron's coat of arms. She shrugged it off her shoulders. As there was nowhere to hang it she let it fall to the floor.
'Grasp this tightly,' the woman ordered, indicating the pillar.
Stephanie obeyed. The woman was treating her like a slave, like someone whose opinions, likes and dislikes were irrelevant. The thought made Stephanie's body tingle: it was, after all, what she expected.
Behind her back the woman unzipped the holdall. Stephanie could have turned to see, but did not. A slave would not have moved, and she wanted to be the perfect slave. She had cast herself in this role and was determined to play the part. No one knew better how a slave should perform.
The woman came up behind her and threaded a coarse thick garment around her waist and under her breasts. It was a corset, heavily boned to fit tightly around the waist. Its bottom edge sat uncomfortably on the top of the hips, while its upper nestled under the breasts.
The woman was threading laces through the eyelets in the back. Satisfied they were in place she began to pull the laces together, yanking Stephanie back away from the pillar until she was hanging on to it for fear of being pulled over. The corset bit into her, tighter and tighter, making her fight for breath, the bones down its length like hard fingers trapping her ribs.
Eventually, after endless tightening and minor adjustments, the woman established that the laces would go no tighter and tied them off.
'These on now,' she ordered, holding up a dirty white cotton blouse and a rough, very full skirt which was equally grubby. With difficulty - any movement made the corset bite deeper into her body - Stephanie obeyed. Bending over was the worst, she discovered, as she stepped into the skirt; the corset dug sharply into her navel and made her gasp.
As soon as the cotton blouse was tucked into the skirt, covering Stephanie's breasts, the woman in black picked up the holdall, stuffed the white towelling robe into it and walked out of the room. She slammed the door shut and Stephanie heard a key grinding in the lock.
Stephanie looked down at herself in the rough peasant clothes. The blouse had no fastenings of any sort, split at the front right down to the waist, and held in place by the skirt. Her breasts, sitting awkwardly on top of the corset, were clearly visible on either side of the neckline. The material of the blouse and skirt felt coarse against her skin, so used to the finest silks and satin and lace. The corset would have felt coarse too, no doubt, but it held her so tightly that the area it encased was numb. She had thought the corset she had worn in the bordello was tight, but it was nothing compared to the iron grip of this model.
There was nowhere to sit down except on the bare wooden floor, and the room was not heated. Since she was expecting to be collected again at any moment, and she could imagine the pain the corset would inflict on her if she did try to sit on the bare boards, Stephanie waited on her feet. She had been told to leave everything in the bedroom, so her Patek Phillipe was there and she had no idea of the time.
After a while she leant against the wall. A little later she eased herself to the floor, but the corset dug into her so much she had to lie flat to escape its worst effects.
Time passed. Despite the shallow breathing the corset necessitated Stephanie felt drowsy. She closed her eyes. She might have dozed off. She certainly did not hear the key turning in the lock.
'Well, you're a lovely one.'
She opened her eyes to see a big burly man standing over her. He was dressed exactly like a medieval peasant, baggy shapeless breeches and a tunic over a formless, collarless shirt, his feet in primitive leather sandals. He was dirty and smelt foul.
'What do you want?' This was not what she'd expected.
The man dropped to his knees. His hands, ingrained with dirt, started pawing her breasts, as she struggled with the corset to sit up. She tried to slap his hands away but this only provoked them into attacking her legs, scrabbling up under her skirt.
'A beauty,' he said again, undeterred by her protests as she tried to stop his hands reaching her thighs. 'We'll have some fun...'
'No, get off me.'
'We'll have some fun.' His fingers poked at her belly, trying to get down between her legs where her thighs were tightly clamped together.
'No!'
'Come on.'
'Get off me!'
His fingers had pried between her legs; she could feel them up against her labia. Whatever was going to happen to her, she didn't want this man doing any of it, let alone touching her sex.
He leant forward to kiss her using one arm to pin her back onto the floor. He was strong. She tried to wriggle away but he held her firm. As his mouth approached she could see his rotten teeth and smell his sickly odour. She shook her head from side to side but he blocked this with one hand then slid his mouth over her cheek onto her lips. Having found his lip, Stephanie grabbed it with her teeth and bit hard.
'Ah!' he screamed, jumping to his feet immediately. 'I knew it. You're a bloody witch. A witch.' He shouted it at the top of his voice. 'The bitch is a witch!'
Before Stephanie knew what was happening the room was full of people, all shouting, all scrambling to get their hands on her. She was pulled to her feet. 'The bitch is a witch,' they all screamed, men and women, all clad in medieval peasant clothing. 'The bitch is a witch.'
The man she had bitten led the procession. Out of the little room, down a long dim vaulted corridor made from old stone and lit only by flaming flambeaux every ten or so yards. In the corridor they hauled her off her feet and she was carried horizontally at shoulder height, her arms and legs held firm in endless pairs of hands.
She saw the vaulted corridor give way to a much larger space. They were in the medieval dungeon now. She felt her heart skip a beat.
'Witch, witch, witch...' the crowd chanted as they manhandled Stephanie to her knees on the floor in front of the Inquisitor. 'Witch, witch, witch.'
'Silence,' he ordered.
He was dressed as he had been before, black tights and codpiece and the wide leather straps that revealed his barrel chest and muscular arms.
'The woman must be allowed to speak,' he said solemnly. 'This is a very serious accusation.'
'Witch, she's a witch,' the man Stephanie had bitten shouted.
'Let her speak. Well my dear, such a pretty thing, you stand accused of hideous offences. What have you to say for yourself?'
'He was going to rape me,' Stephanie blurted out before she'd really thought about what to say. But it was true.
'That's a very serious charge, too,' the Inquisitor said.
'She put a spell on me. She enticed me. She's a witch.'
'Are you a witch?' The Inquisitor took Stephanie's chain in his thumb and forefinger and used it to raise her head to look right into his eyes. Stephanie shuddered. His eyes were so dark it was impossible to tell which colour they were.
'He tried to put his hand—'
'Are you a witch?' he repeated emphatically.
'No. He tried—'
'Be quiet. You are not a witch, you say. Did you not entice this man with your spells?'
'No, he tried to put his hand—'
'Silence.' The word rang out across the dungeon. As well as the crowd gathered round her, the slaves chained to the walls, in various stages of undress, were watching intently too. 'You will have to be put to the test. It is known a witch can feel no pain. You will be tortured. If you feel no pain you will never confess and we will know you are a witch.'
'But what if I do?'
The Inquisitor smiled broadly, glad she had asked the question.
'Then you will confess, to stop the torture.'
'Confess to what?'
'Confess to being a witch. Which would mean you were a witch, since no one would confess to such a terrible thing unless it was true.'
'The bitch is a witch,' the crowd bayed again.
'First the rack. Put her on the rack.'
Hands dragged Stephanie to her feet. Whereas
before the hands had concentrated on carrying her, now they fondled and nipped at her body, pinching her breasts and thighs and prodding up between her legs.
As they approached the rectangular rack, Stephanie glimpsed the roaring forge at the far end of the room. Then she was plucked off her feet and hoisted up on to the wooden frame. In seconds she felt her ankles and wrists being strapped to the top and bottom of the frame and heard the ratchet of the drum that tightened the mechanism being turned to take up the slack.
The crowd gathered round to peer down at her, all talking at once, still prodding and touching her body.
'Silence,' the Inquisitor demanded as he took up position at the spoked wheel that turned the drum. The chattering stopped immediately and the hands disappeared from Stephanie's body. 'You are to be put to the test.'
He turned the spokes of the wheel by one notch on the ratchet. Stephanie felt her arms and legs being stretched.
'Confess,' he said, lowering his face until it was inches from hers.
'No,' she said defiantly, staring back into his black eyes.
'Very well.'
She felt his big hand descending to the waistband of the skirt, ripping it away and pulling the material out from under her legs. The crowd roared approval as her naked belly came into view, and applauded again when he tore away her blouse. The Inquisitor's hand rested on her belly.
'One last chance,' he whispered menacingly.
Stephanie said nothing.
She saw his hands going to the spokes and heard the ratchet turn. She braced herself for the worst, but though her body was stretched out slightly, that was not the main effect of turning the wheel several notches at a time. Instead, Stephanie felt a smooth metal object pushing between her legs. It grew until it was poking out from her pubis. The Inquisitor stopped turning the wheel.
Stephanie lifted her head to look down at it. The object was shaped like a dildo, curved up over her belly, and made of some shiny bright metal. It looked as though Stephanie had sprouted a cock. It was not uncomfortable.
The Inquisitor did not put the question again. As the crowd watched intently - most of them, Stephanie noticed, stripping off their clothes to reveal breasts and cocks and labia - the Inquisitor's hand altered a small mechanism in the gearing of the wheel, then began to turn the spokes again.
Stephanie's Pleasure Page 16
