Stephanie's Pleasure

by Susanna Hughes

  The Baron smiled.

  'What deal?' Devlin asked.

  Devlin had joined in all the conversation over dinner but Stephanie decided that she did not want him to share in this exchange.

  'Be quiet, Devlin,' she snapped.

  Devlin looked embarrassed - an embarrassment Stephanie knew he would find exciting - but kept quiet.

  'Ah yes, our deal.' The Baron looked into Stephanie's dark brown eyes, suddenly remembering how she had looked three days before, running with sweat, her arms tied and spread above her head, as the Inquisitor had taken her from behind. Even then, even after what she had been through, somehow she had remained defiant; used and abused, but ultimately in control. She was an extraordinary woman, extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily astute. He wondered if she might even pass the test...

  'Well?' Stephanie prompted, mistaking his silence for reticence.

  'You want to know about me?' he asked.

  'I want to know what gives you satisfaction, yes. You've seen how I take my pleasure.'

  'A wonderful experience.'

  'And one I hope you'll enjoy again. Now I need to know about you.'

  'Need?'

  'Yes, need.' Stephanie's tone was insistent.

  'I have very special requirements.'

  'Go on.'

  'As you know, I like to watch.'

  Stephanie sipped the golden coloured Eiswein and looked at the Baron intently, sitting back in her chair, her breasts pushing against the neckline of the cat suit. She ran the fingertips of one hand over her collarbone and down into the material, lifting it slightly away from her body. She played her fingers up and down the soft flesh at the top of the dark tunnel of her cleavage.

  'Go on,' she said, seeing the Baron's eyes on her fingers, almost hypnotised by their movement. 'I have a very vivid imagination.'

  'You certainly have.'

  'I suppose it is all part of my search.'

  'Search?'

  'I devised the pavilions, everything in them, everything in the Schloss.' His English accent was almost perfect but he pronounced the word 'Schloss' with full German emphasis. 'But it was not enough. I needed more. So I devised more, the ultimate pleasure.'

  'Is there such a thing?'

  She looked over at Devlin who sat with his fingers locked in front of him on the table, his eyes cast down at them.

  'I think so,' the Baron continued. 'After many attempts I think I have devised the ultimate experience. Unfortunately...' his voice trailed off.

  'Unfortunately?'

  'It is too much. I have never found a woman capable of taking it, of withstanding it. Many have tried and failed. It is simply too much.'

  'Too much?'

  'Too much pleasure, too much to take. They begged me to stop or simply passed out.'

  'Like I did.'

  'No, that was entirely different. You passed out in the heat. You are not used to the corsets. To pass out from sheer pleasure is another matter.'

  'Really?' Stephanie's imagination was already running riot. The Baron was a master of sexual fantasy, like a landscape gardener in the fertile pastures of the mind. He built on the slopes and inclines that were already there, decorating them, adding to and improving on nature, turning well-trodden byways into lush, verdant paths, transforming oft repeated dreams into vivid, elaborate realities. 'And what would happen if they did not?'

  'My dear, that is what I dream about. If I could watch a woman taking the ultimate pleasure, then I know I would at last be able to take my pleasure too.'

  'Fascinating. I think I understand. It's like an electric charge; you need a very high voltage.'

  'Precisely. And so far...'

  'The lights have only burnt dimly?'

  Stephanie had the key to the enigma. The Baron was an enabler, a man who had become so trapped in watching others take their pleasure, in creating scenes and settings for other's fantasies, he had, somewhere along the line, forgotten how to take his own. He had devised a method unique to him, a way he had convinced himself that would bring him enough excitement to let him share the pleasure too. Either consciously or unconsciously, he had made it too difficult. Perhaps he was afraid to do more than watch, afraid to let himself go, unconsciously creating a hurdle that he could not overcome. Or perhaps it really was impossible.

  'The ultimate pleasure,' Stephanie said. 'I wonder what that might be.'

  Devlin had remained silent during this whole conversation. But he was watching Stephanie and could see the look in her eyes.

  'No,' he said quietly but firmly.

  'No what?' Stephanie asked.

  'It may be dangerous.'

  'It's not dangerous, is it, Baron?'

  'My dear, I was not suggesting you try it.'

  'But of course I want to try it.'

  'No,' Devlin repeated.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Devlin,' Stephanie said. 'It's not dangerous. No one's ever been hurt, have they Baron?'

  'I didn't intend that you—'

  'You're right. I passed out the other night because of the heat and that damn corset. I couldn't breathe. It's not like that, is it?'

  'No. But—'

  'I'm fascinated.'

  'I forbid it,' Devlin said.

  'Devlin,' Stephanie snapped, getting to her feet. 'How dare you talk to me like that? Get on your knees, Devlin, now.'

  Devlin looked up into her eyes. They were cold and unyielding, staring down at him with contempt. He was trapped, trapped between his desire not to see Stephanie put herself in a situation she would regret and his need to be her absolute and devoted slave. In their relationship, since the day she had agreed to become the mistress of the castle and of him, he had never hesitated longer. He looked at the Baron and then at Stephanie again. Her dark brown eyes were flaring in defiance, her magnificent body seeming to shimmer in gold lamé, so tight it could almost have been painted on.

  The slave in him won. Devlin had abrogated his authority. He slid to his knees.

  'I can see I'm going to have to give you a lesson in obedience. Get your clothes off, all of them, then get back on your knees. Quickly.' Her voice was like a whiplash. 'Baron,' she said in an entirely different tone, 'let's go through to the fire.'

  The Baron stood up, and Stephanie took his arm as Devlin hurriedly pulled off his clothes. His situation, his obedience, the look of contempt in her eyes and the tone of her voice had made his cock rise, and it was poking through the boxer shorts he wore as he stripped off his trousers.

  The fire had been tended by the servants and burnt fiercely in the huge grate.

  'I would like a glass of champagne now,' Stephanie said, 'to toast our experiment.'

  'But don't you think Devlin—'

  'Devlin? As you can see, Baron, Devlin's opinion does not count.'

  'I did not mention my pleasure room with the intention that you should try it.'

  'So you said.'

  The Baron poured two glasses of champagne from the bottle of Krug still resting in the silver cooler and handed Stephanie a crystal flute.

  'To the ultimate pleasure,' she said, clinking her glass against his.

  'You are a remarkable young lady.'

  'I hope so. I hope you think so after the test.'

  'I will whatever happens.'

  'You will,' she said firmly. The champagne was over-chilled, having been in the cooler for too long, but it was exactly what Stephanie needed to calm the rush of excitement she felt. It was not all to do with the thought of what the Baron had in store for her in his 'pleasure room'. It was to do with Devlin too. Their relationship was a two-way street. She had discovered his proclivity, she had formed and defined it and brought him to life sexually, but at the same time, in performing for him, she was also performing for herself. Being his mistress, the ruler of his will, was more than just a role to play: it thrilled her as fundamentally as it thrilled him to be her slave. She had seen his defiance, and the fact that his obedience to her had overcome it had her body singi
ng with sexual energy. It was the perfect demonstration of her power.

  'I would like you to make some arrangements for me, Baron,' Stephanie said, smiling to herself. She knew exactly what she wanted to do now. Devlin's behaviour, after all, could not go unpunished.

  They stood in the gantry above the false ceiling to watch.

  Devlin was in chains, thick, heavy chains attached to metal cuffs around his ankles and wrists. The ankle cuffs were joined by a single foot-length link, as were those at his wrists. Both were connected by a chain running between the two down the front of his body. There was a thick metal collar around his neck from which another chain ran down into the link between his wrists. More painfully, cuffs at his elbows were held together behind his back, stretching the wrist link across his lower chest and making it impossible for him to move his arms. The chain that hung down his front rubbed against his erection.

  'Forward,' the woman ordered, pushing Devlin in the back and almost making him fall. He could only take diminutive steps.

  They were in the Roman pavilion, the large room with the rostrum at one end, where six or seven women in short white togas all sat or lay around on cushions or Roman-style couches. At first they paid little attention to the arrival of their new slave.

  'Forward,' the woman ordered again, not satisfied with Devlin's progress. The woman was the most extraordinary-looking creature. At least six feet tall, she towered above Devlin. Her naked body was black, a deep ebony, and rippled with well-defined muscles as though she regularly trained with weights. Her arms and legs were particularly developed, with muscles in bunches suggesting she was capable of considerable strength. But most extraordinary of all was her complete lack of hair. Her head was shaven and polished with oil; her belly was equally bare; the lips of her labia clearly visible. She had a long neck, its tendons stretched taut, and she held her head high. Her chest was powerful too, but her breasts were small with tiny dark nipples.

  Devlin shuffled up on to the rostrum but caught his foot on the step and fell forward.

  'Fool,' the woman chided, raising her hand and slapping her palm down on his rump with a smack that reverberated round the room. With one hand she picked him up bodily by the link of the cuffs at his waist, pulled him onto the rostrum and dropped him back onto the floor. 'Stay there,' she ordered in a deep rich voice as dark as her complexion. She bent over and rolled him onto his back, putting added pressure on his elbows and making him wince.

  Casually, lowering herself on her big muscular haunches, she squatted over his face, her weight balanced on her feet.

  'Lick me,' she said, 'and make it good.'

  Devlin's cock throbbed. He wriggled his mouth into position and reached up to her nether lips. He had to raise his head, which made his unsupported neck ache, and his arms were going numb with their constriction, but he licked enthusiastically. He forced his tongue up between the smooth and large hairless labia until he could feel her liquid centre. Her sex, unlike the rest of her body, was a pale shade of pink.

  'Very good, boy,' she said, dropping forward on to her knees, unable to balance any more on the soles of her feet. Devlin had to arch his head up even higher. His tongue found her hard clit.

  'Yes, there, do it there,' she urged.

  He tongued the little lozenge from side to side, the way Stephanie had taught him, and felt the big black woman respond, her body trembling.

  One of the other girls, a blonde who had been sitting brushing her short wavy hair, decided that Devlin was a more interesting prospect. She walked up on to the rostrum and came to stand beside him, pushing the chain that joined his wrists to his ankles out of the way of his cock with the side of her foot.

  'Big, isn't he?' she said.

  She stood astride his body. The black woman looked up at her. 'He's not to come. He's on punishment.'

  'Don't worry; I'll just tease him a little.'

  The blonde knelt with her knees either side of Devlin's hips. She held his cock in her right hand and eased her sex back on to it experimentally. She was not at all wet. Her pubic hair was thick and wiry and Devlin winced as she forced his glans into the mouth of her dry vagina. She bounced herself up and down, each time forcing the glans deeper, but producing no lubrication.

  Another of the women - again a blonde, but this time with long hair - decided she wanted to join in too. She stood by the black woman, reached down and took both of her dark nipples in her fingers, pinching them and pulling them up.

  'Does that feel good?' she asked.

  'You know it does.'

  'Is he giving you a good time?'

  'He's well trained. Got his tongue right on the spot, haven't you, slave?'

  'Yes, mistress,' Devlin said, though the words were lost in the woman's sex.

  'Don't stop,' she complained immediately, slapping his hip hard.

  Suddenly Devlin felt the first blonde's sex pulse and a stream of juices flow down to envelop his cock. This time as she bounced down his cock slid deep inside her. Involuntarily he moaned against the sex pressed into his mouth.

  'Is he all the way in?' the black woman asked.

  'He is now.'

  'Jesus, he's big. Look at that - it's still sticking out.'

  'He's big all right,' the blonde said, wriggling her body on Devlin's cock and feeling herself respond.

  The long-haired blonde got to her knees. She replaced her fingers on one of the black woman's nipples with her lips, and sucked the whole breast into her mouth, as the other blonde slipped her hand under her toga to feel for her sex.

  Three women. And now four. A voluptuous brunette stepped up to the rostrum. She pushed the sides of the toga off her shoulders, untied the belt at her waist and allowed it to fall to the floor. Bending over the two blondes she performed the same service for them, undoing the belts and pulling the togas over their heads.

  The brunette had a full, fleshy figure, her breasts large and pendulous. Her hips were equally curvaceous, and her belly was a mat of carefully trimmed black pubic hair. She knelt beside Devlin's chained body and ran her hand down over the thighs of the blonde squatting on his cock. Her fingers roamed over her labia and on to his shaft, while her other hand worked down from behind to cup his balls. She squeezed them hard and Devlin's body went rigid.

  'Can't you get him all in?' the brunette asked.

  'I've tried,' the blonde replied. As if to demonstrate she forced herself down on Devlin's cock, but there was no room to take any more.

  'Finger me,' the brunette said, having spotted the size of Devlin's fingers. She moved so he could get his hand between her legs. There was very little room for manoeuvre, chained as he was, but he managed to ease his hand up between her kneeling thighs and find the mouth of her sex.

  'Yes,' she said.

  Pushing against his chains, he wriggled his finger inside her.

  'Oh, that's good,' she said. She relinquished her hold on his balls and concentrated instead on the blonde's clitoris. Devlin's cock had stretched her labia back and her clitoris was visible, pink and tender.

  The black woman's juices were running into Devlin's mouth now and he could feel her body contracting. She was using her hand on the long-haired blonde, her finger frigging the clitoris so hard that the woman was moaning continuously. The woman leant forward to kiss her, still moaning as the black woman's mouth enveloped her, the noise muffled by the tongue that pushed between her lips.

  Devlin's hand ached as he tried to push his finger to and fro in the willing sex of the brunette. He had managed to drag his hand out from his body a little but it was painful; his wrists were jammed against the metal cuffs, his elbows too. His neck muscles supporting his head stung with pain, and his tongue, stretched out to its limits to meet the black woman's demands, was in agony. His cock, by contrast, was bathed in the spring of the blonde's hot, squelching sex as it contracted around him rhythmically.

  Seeing what the brunette had achieved with Devlin's finger on one side, the long-haired blonde decided she wan
ted the same. As the black woman continued to manipulate her clitoris, she manoeuvred herself over Devlin's hand. She didn't have to tell him what she wanted him to do. With an almost superhuman effort he pushed a finger into the mouth of her sex, fighting the cuffs again. He could get it no deeper, but it was enough.

  Four women. The women were all wet, their bodies all throbbing at the same remorseless tempo, linked as they were by the same man. Their bodies bounced up and down on him, on his cock, on his tongue, on his fingers, bouncing harder and faster as the urgency of their need increased, fuelled by each other's desires. Devlin's body transmitted their feelings like radio waves from one to the other and back again and somehow multiplied them along the way.

  It was not possible for them all to come together, four women as one, but they almost did. The black woman, who had started first after all, came first. Devlin felt the tunnel of her sex contract as he pushed up into it with his tongue, leaving her clitoris temporarily; and a flood of sweet hot juices ran down his chin. The black woman simultaneously locked her fingers hard into the labia of the blonde kneeling in front of her, pushing her clitoris back against the thickness of Devlin's banana-sized digit. Her fingers were perfect conductors, sending waves of orgasm from her body up into the blonde's, making her come too: a long loud moan, an almost animal noise escaped her lips.

  It can have been no more than seconds before the other two women succumbed. They came together, exactly together, as the short-haired blonde, seeing the black woman convulse in front of her eyes, gave in to the feelings Devlin's cock had built up inside her, letting the dam burst and her emotions flow. The brunette felt it, felt her clitoris quivering and instantly came too, the feeling of Devlin's finger playing inside her like nothing she'd ever felt before. The sensation in one was immediately felt in the other, tossed back and forth, increasing, enhancing the delicious eruption that Devlin's size had provoked.

  One by one they extracted themselves, leaving a trail of wetness on Devlin's body where they had been. His hands, thighs and face were wet, his pubic hair plastered to his body.

  'Up,' the black woman said, her body glistening with a thin layer of sweat. 'You came, didn't you?'