Stephanie's Castle (10 page)

Norman
returned with the oil.

'You can start
on my back,' Stephanie told him, rolling on to her stomach. Norman
knelt by the side of the lounger, squeezing the thick cream on to
her shoulder blades and then starting to massage it all over her
back with both hands. He had strong hands and a firm touch and
Stephanie closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of the cold cream
being worked into her already warm skin. Once he had finished her
back he squirted more cream on the top of her thighs and started to
work on the back of her legs. Stephanie opened her legs again as he
massaged her buttocks, knowing he was seeing every detail of her
labia and puckered arse.

'Right down
there, Norman.' This would be torment for him, she knew. His
fingers spread over her arse and then down till she could feel them
edging against her cunt. He started to move his hands away, down
her thighs and calves.

'No, back
where you were,' she teased. His penis must be straining hopelessly
against the pouch now, unable to come to full erection, or find any
release. His fingers kneaded the oil into the bottom of her arse
again; they could not help brushing the lips of her cunt.

'All right,
that's enough.'

With relief
she could almost feel, his hands moved back down her legs to her
knees and calves. She had considered getting him to massage her
cunt properly but decided she wanted to relax: she was not going to
go short of sex in the next few hours, that was certain.

She turned on
to her back and looked straight at Norman. Her breasts were
quivering slightly from the movement and she could see his eyes
looking at them hungrily.

'Do you think
I have a good body, Norman?'

'Yes,
madam.'

'I let one of
the slaves fuck me this morning, Norman.'

'Did you,
madam?'

She could hear
the edge of excitement creeping into his voice, reflecting a slim
hope that she might just be planning the same fate for him.

'Get on with
it then. Do my front.'

He squirted
cream on to her navel and worked it all round her chest without
actually touching her breasts. His hands creamed down to the
triangle of pubic hair without touching that either. Then he worked
on the front of her thighs and down to her calves and feet.
Stephanie closed her eyes again, letting herself go to the
delicious feeling the massage and the warmth of the sun were
producing.

Since her
remark about fucking the slave, Norman's touch on her flesh had
changed. It was softer, more sensitive. He was no longer trying to
keep himself detached, to view her as an inanimate object in order
to keep his desire in check. Now it felt like foreplay.

'Take his
pouch off, Bruno,' she ordered, opening her eyes to watch Norman's
reaction. The slim hope was growing bigger, she knew. But Bruno was
shaking his head vigorously. His eyes said this was the last straw
and definitely not allowed. In the cellars he had not hesitated to
remove Adam's pouch, so clearly there was some problem about doing
it above ground. If it was a house rule it was an extremely silly
one, Stephanie thought.

'I'm only
going to ask you to do it once more, Bruno.'

He shook his
head again.

'How do you
think Mr Devlin is going to feel when he knows that his favoured
guest, whom he has brought all the way from London, has been
assaulted by one of his servants?'

Bruno shook
his head from side to side in extreme agitation.

'Yes, Bruno.
I've heard that even men who've had their cocks cut off get randy.
But trying to assault me! Trying to get your hands up me! Not very
nice, is it? I can't imagine what Mr Devlin will say. Let's put it
this way, I don't think you're going to be working at the castle
much longer, do you?'

The defiance
in Bruno's eyes changed to fear. He came over to where Norman was
still kneeling and taking a small key from the many on his
key-ring, he unlocked the padlock that held the pouch in place and
pulled it away. Norman's penis, creased and reddened by the
constriction, immediately sprung to full erection.

'You've
forgotten to do my breasts, Norman. You don't want my breasts to
get sunburned, do you?' As she said it she saw his erection swell
again. She could see what he was thinking. Why else would she have
had his pouch removed? She could feel his excitement as he squeezed
the cream on to the palm of his hand and applied it to her breasts.
He wasn't sure yet, though. He daren't allow massage to become
caress as he felt the supple firm flesh and the tight rigid nipples
under his hands. He could not prevent his erection nudging into her
side as he stretched across her body to reach the furthest
side.

Stephanie
moved on to her side and looked down at his penis. It was already
weeping a tear of fluid and had left a little wet trail where it
had rubbed along her side. She smiled to herself. If she were to
take him in her hand now it would only be a matter of seconds
before he came. She put her hand down under his cock and found his
balls. She weighed them in her hand as if trying to estimate how
much they held. She squeezed them not at all gently and Norman
moaned. Then she let them go and laughed.

'Bring me some
mineral water, Norman.'

Norman got up
immediately and went into the bedroom hoping, no doubt, this was
just a temporary delay. Stephanie watched his erection bobbing
along in front of him as he walked. Bruno did not move. He stood as
usual his arms crossed over his chest, his forehead wreathed in
sweat, a look bordering on hatred smouldering in his eyes.

The water was
ice cold and Stephanie sipped it before putting the glass, already
wet with condensation, against Norman's penis.

'It must be
very hot, Norman.'

'Yes,
madam.'

'Do I make you
hot, Norman?'

'Yes,
madam.'

'Why is that,
Norman?'

'You are very
attractive, madam.'

'Would you
like to fuck me, Norman?'

He hesitated,
perhaps fearing that if he said yes it would provoke
punishment.

'I asked you a
question, Norman.'

'Yes, madam, I
would.'

'A little more
oil between my shoulder blades,' she ordered, turning on her
stomach and putting the water down on the terracotta tiles. He
knelt again and resumed the massage.

'That's
enough,' she said. He stopped.

Stephanie lay
still. Norman waited, his erection throbbing inches from her oiled
flesh and the object that would give him release. He did not move.
She knew that the temptation to throw himself on her, to bury his
cock deep into that hairy open cunt was almost unbearable.

Laying on her
stomach, her face turned away from the slave, Stephanie could not
help but smile. Her body felt pampered, smothered in the rich oil
and basking in the sun. She could feel Norman's tension and was
enjoying it immensely. Occasionally over the next half an hour she
moved around on the lounger and watched his greedy eyes search out
every detail of her cunt and thighs and breasts. Not for a moment
did his erection flag. If she cared to look she could see the
engorged veins. He was uncircumcised and his foreskin still covered
most of his glans. How he would love to reach down and pull the
foreskin back, or better still, have her do it. Well, that was
never going to happen and his disappointment was going to be
complete.

The game was
over. Her mood changed. She wanted some time alone before Devlin
came back.

'Take him
back, Bruno,' she said.

Norman said
nothing but his eyes pleaded with her. He would get no relief in
the cellars. This woman, with the hard cold voice, was not going to
give him any comfort. He got to his feet. Bruno handed him the work
suit which he clambered into while Bruno picked up the leather
pouch. They left. Stephanie noticed they used the little door that
the men had used last night. It must be some sort of passage
directly to the cellars.

Stephanie
relaxed. Experimentally she ran a finger between the lips of her
cunt. She was not surprised to find a wetness there. The knot of
her clitoris felt hard too. But, without too much difficulty, she
restrained herself from harder contact. Masturbation on this island
would be like drinking water while sitting in a vat of wine. And in
any event she thought she could hear the faintest hum of engines on
the lake in the far distance. Devlin was on his way back.

She walked
over to the parapet. Sure enough, in the distance, a dark speck was
heading for the island. It did not take long before the speck
became the definite shape of a boat cutting across the placid water
leaving a white trail behind it. She watched, fascinated, as the
boat got closer. She watched the wake of the boat, churned up by
the propellers, gradually die away until the calm water
re-established itself as though never disturbed. It was like
watching the condensation trails of jets high in the sky as they
gradually faded away.

She pulled on
the diaphanous wrap. Though it was obviously intended to be worn
with the bikini underneath, Stephanie had no intention of putting
the costume on again. She slipped into a pair of high-heeled
sandals and walked down through the castle to the jetty to await
the boat's arrival. As the boat got closer she could see Devlin was
sitting aft with another man. They were talking intently. She had
expected Devlin to be alone. She pulled the transparent wrap around
herself more tightly and thought of running upstairs to change, but
then dismissed the idea as pointless and even faintly ridiculous.
After what she had experienced already on the island modesty seemed
distinctly out of place. It was a decision she would regret.

The speedboat
glided gently into the jetty, the boatman expertly using the
throttles to bring it smoothly alongside the rubber tyres hanging
down into the water from the mooring. He cut the engines and jumped
ashore to moor the boat forward and aft by brightly polished chrome
cleats set in the varnished wood. Devlin stood up. He was smiling
broadly, obviously delighted that Stephanie had come to greet him,
his air of anxiety dissipated, she felt, but by no means vanished.
As the boatman helped him ashore he turned to introduce the other
man in the boat who had not taken his eyes off Stephanie, as far as
she could tell, from the moment she had come into view.

'My dear, I'd
like you to meet my associate Giancarlo Gianni.'

Gianni stepped
from the boat on to the jetty. Stephanie offered her hand which he
took in both of his and raised to his lips. As he pressed it to his
mouth, she felt his fingers stroking her palm, almost as if trying
to find a clitoris there. At the same time she felt his wet tongue
dart out from between his lips to touch her hand too. She shook her
hand free and did nothing to disguise her distaste. She would have
rather been kissed by a three-toed sloth.

'Devlin has
told me so much about you,' Gianni said, apparently oblivious to
her displeasure.

'Has he?' She
gave Devlin a sideways glance.

'But you are
more than he has said.' Gianni was a stereotype Italian: olive
skin, dark brown eyes, thick black hair, not tall but slim. He was
probably the same age as Devlin but looked younger. He was
impeccably dressed from his Gucci loafers to his Rolex watch and
silk Valentino tie. His voice was low and his fractured English
heavy with his Italian accent. 'More lovelier.'

'Lovely,'
Devlin corrected. 'Shall we go in?'

'My apologies,
lady. I have not to practise my English lately.'

'Don't
apologise,' Stephanie replied with little sincerity. The two men
waited for her to go up the narrow stone steps first. Walking ahead
of them in the thin wrap she might as well have been nude. She
could feel their eyes feasting on her long legs, her round firm
arse and the long slit between her legs. It was not a feeling she
disliked. She heard Gianni say something to Devlin in Italian. From
the tone of his voice she was sure the remark concerned her
body.

On the main
terrace the sun was not so fiercely hot. One side of the terrace
was completely shaded by a giant hibiscus and the shade was welcome
after the heat. Devlin ordered tea from one of the seemingly
never-ending array of white-linen-coated servants and they sat at a
table in the shade. Gianni sat opposite Stephanie. His eyes had not
left her for a moment, dancing over her body, never quite sure
where to rest or which part of her was most exciting. He looked,
she thought, like a schoolboy in a sweet-shop, not sure of which of
the goodies he should ogle over next. If she had to guess she would
have said his gaze most often rested on the dark triangle of her
pubis, thinly veiled by the wrap. His eyes were there now, staring
intently as if trying to develop x-ray vision and see her naked
cunt. He made no attempt to hide what he was doing, to look
surreptitiously. Had he not been an obviously wealthy and
sophisticated man she could well imagine him drooling from the
corner of his mouth as he continued to stare.

As Stephanie
might have expected, the tea arrived in a silver service, with
delicate German china cups and saucers. Devlin dismissed the
servant and poured the tea himself. Only Stephanie took milk. Both
men used lemon. Despite his huge hands Devlin seemed capable of
remarkable dexterity, passing the small cups to his guests with no
spillage, cups that in his hands looked like the tiniest doll's
house crockery.

Gianni watched
as Stephanie sipped her tea. 'The English way?' he asked.

'Sorry?' She
had no idea what he was talking about.

'With the
milk. That is the English way?'

'Yes. But we
have lemon too.'

'Gianni is an
Anglophile...'

'Obviously.'

'I have an
English car, Aston Martin. An English tailor, Huntsman. English
sunglasses, Dunhill. English shoes, Lockes. And I have many, many
English women.' He laughed, dropping his gaze from her face to her
breasts, wanting her to know that was where he was looking, wanting
to get a reaction. He was disappointed.