Stephanie's Revenge (8 page)

She walked
back to the black leather bag. She could see Gianni's eyes watching
her every movement. He had not resumed his attempts to get free, or
his cursing. Her plan had worked: Phase Two completed. Gianni was
hers now, and she knew exactly what she was going to do with him.
Phase Three.

This time,
Stephanie extracted from the bag a large masonry nail, to which was
attached a metal ring. She walked back to the chair, feeling
Gianni's eyes following her, watching her tight round buttocks rise
and fall as she walked, the shiny black material clinging to every
curve, even the deep cleft of her arse.

She placed the
nail in the middle of the wall, where the mirror had been, and
hammered it home with the heavy hammer. Plaster and paint flew
everywhere as the nail burrowed into the wall. After six or seven
strokes, she paused for a breather; it was hard work. Another six
strokes, another storm of dust, another pause. Then she tested the
nail by pulling on the metal ring. It still felt a little shaky, so
she hammered again. Plaster fell from the delicate cornice above,
disturbed by the vibration. A rather dreadful abstract oil painting
crashed down from the adjoining wall, hit a sculpture mounted on a
pedestal and sent that flying too. It crashed to the floor and
shattered into hundreds of pieces. Fortunately, the sculpture was
not an antique like those that decorated the vestibule.

At last, the
hammering stopped. The nail and its metal ring were completely
secure. Stephanie dusted herself off and tested the strength of the
ring. The nail had cracked the outer skin of plaster on the wall
from floor to ceiling, but was now embedded in the brickwork
beneath.

Stephanie went
back to the champagne. Her glass was full of bits of plaster, so
she swilled it out with fresh champagne and poured this over the
cow skin sofa. Then she refilled her glass and sat down Gianni to
drink.

'Salute,' she
said.

Gianni mumbled
something in Italian under his breath.

'Well, back to
work,' she said, putting the glass back on the table. She took a
short length of chain and two strong padlocks from the leather bag.
She expected resistance from Gianni, but got none. He hardly moved
as she locked the chain, with one of the padlocks, to the
handcuffs.

'Up,' she
ordered, pulling on the chain. With difficulty Gianni got to his
feet. She pulled the chain again and he shuffled forward, able to
take only tiny steps.

It was then
that Gianni saw his chance. As he passed the end of the sofa where
the black bag lay open, he pulled back on the chain so viciously
that it swept Stephanie off balance and on to the floor. He
immediately dived into the bag, rifling through it; reasoning, no
doubt, that the keys to the cuffs were inside. He found nothing. He
rifled again.

Stephanie got
to her feet, dusted herself off again, removing the plaster dust
that now covered every surface of the room, and watched as Gianni
realised he was not going to find his means of escape.

'I didn't
bring any keys,' she said.

'You bitch,'
he hissed, the anger flaring in his eyes again.

'Get over to
the wall, Gianni.'

He stood
motionless. She had expected resistance. She had planned for
it.

'You choose,
Gianni. Either you go and stand over by the wall like a good boy
or...' She came up behind him in a flash of movement, and grabbed a
handful of his hair. 'Or I'll cut off all your hair. All of it. Oh,
I wouldn't be able to make a very good job of it. You'll struggle a
lot, I expect. But I'll get most of it. That'll be your punishment.
It's your choice.'

She let go of
his hair and sat on the sofa. She had calculated that a threat to
his vanity would have the maximum effect.

'Well? I
haven't got all night.'

He shuffled
over to the wall and stood under the metal ring.

'Hands above
your head,' she ordered.

Again he
obeyed. In minutes, the padlock was secured to the ring, his hands
chained above his head.

'You not touch
my hair?'

'No, Gianni.
I've nearly finished.'

From the black
bag she produced a short riding crop. It was the whip he had used
on her, tipped not with a short loop of leather, but a thin knotted
tassel.

'Recognise
this?'

Gianni didn't
move.

'Do you?' she
said.

'Si.'

'Good. You
used it on me four times. Now it is my turn.'

For the first
time she felt a buzz of sexual excitement - she knew it was the
thrill she got from power. She had noticed Gianni's penis as she'd
produced the whip, pushing out from between his shirt tails.

She pulled his
expensive shirt open.

'I still have
the marks. Here,' she tapped his chest with the whip, 'and here,'
she tapped the top of his thighs.

Without
pausing, she sliced the whip across his chest. He moaned. A bright
red welt appeared immediately. She aimed low, and hit him twice
across his thigh, just under his cock. His cock was fully erect.
She could see a tear of moisture at its tip.

She would have
liked to deliver the fourth stroke in the same place he had hit
her, down between his thighs, but she had to make do with another
cut across the top. He moaned again. Three red welts crisscrossed
the white flesh. Stephanie threw the whip aside.

'Please...' he
moaned.

'Please,
what?' she asked.

'Oh, come on,
you know...'

'Know
what?'

'This is all a
turn on, right? You do this to get me hard, no? Come on. Please. Do
it to me. Look at my cock. You can't leave me like this. Fuck me.
Suck me. Do it to me.'

Stephanie took
the final item from the bag. A red ribbon. She dropped to her knees
in front of Gianni and tied a big bow around his cock. The bow made
his erection harder, the veins in his cock straining and taut from
all the extra blood.

'Oh yes,' he
said. 'That's so good.'

'Is it?'

'You're so
sexy, Stephanie.'

'And I'm so
wet for you. So hot. You should feel how hot I am.'

'Yes...'

'Unfortunately, I haven't got time. I've got to be going. Perhaps
another time. Please give my regards to your wife. You've got an
hour to think up an explanation.'

Gianni looked
puzzled as she stepped away.

'Come on...'
His puzzlement turned to anger again. She really was going to leave
him. Him. 'You can't leave me like this.'

She patted him
on the cheek. 'Do you really think you're irresistible, Gianni?
Sorry to disappoint you. I'm sure your wife will be only too happy
to service your needs.'

'No. Get me
down.'

He started
cursing her in Italian again, pulling at the chains. The metal ring
held firm.

Stephanie
opened the double doors and then turned to survey the scene of
chaos she had created. The room looked like a bomb had hit it.
Everything was covered in a thin layer of plaster dust, the wall to
which Gianni was chained was cracked badly and, best of all, Gianni
stood helpless, four red welts across his body, a red ribbon tied
around his cock. She could see the look of absolute hatred that
burned in his eyes. There was no escape for him, no way he would be
able to explain this away to his wife.

'Bye,' she
said, closing the door after her.

He alternated
between threats and pleas. The noise followed her out into the
vestibule, where she picked up her fur from the floor. It had lain
there untouched. Outside the front door, she signalled across the
road to her driver, and the Rolls pulled into the drive, its big
tyres crunching on the gravel. The driver got out hastily, opened
the rear passenger door for her, and then, as she settled into the
luxurious interior, cuddling the fur around her, he gunned the
engine, turning the big car out of the drive and back towards the
hotel.

Stephanie
could not stop smiling. She looked back at the house and realised
she had left the front door open. Not that it mattered. The next
person through the front door would be Signora Gianni. Her revenge
was complete.

Or so she
thought.

It was not
until she was sitting comfortably cocooned in the leather seat of
the Rolls that Stephanie realised quite how turned on she was. Her
whole body seemed to be alive; her mind full of images of Gianni -
chained, erect, helpless, the red welts from the whip burnt across
his soft flesh. It was an excitement generated by power, she knew,
by being in control. It was the same feeling that had thrilled her
so much at the castle. Her plan had worked perfectly. Apart from
one token show of resistance, which she had dealt with as planned,
Gianni had been trapped. She had prevailed. She was the ring master
in control of the circus.

Her hand,
unconsciously at first, had moved into her lap. As she replayed the
images, she caressed her labia softly through the clinging slippery
material of the cat-suit.

It was only
when she saw the driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror, watching
her, that she became conscious of what she was doing. She realised
too, that she had been making little whimpering noises, as her
fingers worked on her sex. She didn't stop. Under her fingers she
could feel her labia were swollen and hot, her clitoris hard and
throbbing. The cat-suit was wet between her legs.

The glass
partition in the Silver Wraith, between passenger and driver, was
half raised already. Stephanie pressed the small black button to
wind it up the rest of the way. It slid closed with a satisfying
clunk.

Her other hand
had not stopped working between her legs. Her need was urgent now.
There was no way she could get at herself without taking the
cat-suit off completely. With her free hand, she clawed at her
breasts, finding her nipples and pinching them hard. She moaned.
The sound of her own voice surprised her. It sounded deep, so
excited, so like the many times she had moaned with exquisite
pleasure at the hands of a woman or a man or both.

She shucked
herself out of the fur and put it on the seat beside her. Then she
pulled the long zip of the cat-suit that ran from her neck to the
small of her back. For a second, she hesitated. She could see the
driver's eyes beneath the peak of his cap. They stared intensely in
the rear-view mirror. The back of the car was dark, but passing
street lights illuminated the back seat like a spotlight switched
on and off in rapid succession.

She decided
she didn't care. Her need was too urgent. If they hadn't been
winding their way through suburban streets, she might well have got
the driver to stop and fuck her. She pulled the cat-suit off her
shoulders, levered her backside up off the seat by arching her
back, and pulled it down to her knees. Quickly, she unzipped the
boots, and pulled them and the cat-suit off her legs. She was
naked. The clinging material would have shown the line of even the
smallest G-string, so she had worn no underwear.

Her nakedness
doubled her excitement. She writhed around on the leather seat
enjoying the freedom. With enormous relief, her hand found her
uncovered labia. She put one foot up on the seat beside her and let
her fingers delve into her cunt. She moaned again as she pushed
them home, deep into the silky black cavern of her cunt. It was
soaking wet, running with her juices.

Her other hand
kneaded her breast almost viciously, wanting to milk it of
sensation. She could see the driver's eyes. They were stationary at
a traffic light, and the light from a street lamp spilled into the
back of the car. She knew he could see her fingers pushing
rhythmically between her thick labia, in the middle of her black
public hair spread out over her belly like a rug. She wanted him to
see. She arched herself off the seat, pointing her cunt at his eyes
in the mirror.

The traffic
lights changed. She felt the car move forward, then slow and stop.
The driver had parked in a side street, directly under a street
lamp. He turned the car engine off but did not look round. Looking
round was not allowed, he knew. He had to make do with the
mirror.

People were
walking on the pavements, voices calling to each other, talking in
rapid Italian. The driver adjusted the rear-view mirror, angling it
down. A man and a woman peered in through the blackened windows,
trying to see who was inside. They could see nothing but their own
reflection, and moved on.

Stephanie was
beyond the point of no return. Her body ached for its release,
every nerve taut and ready. She stopped using her fingers in
imitation of a cock, and moved them up to hold the flesh of her
labia open, stretched open so that her clitoris, the little pink
bud of her clitoris, was completely exposed. Then, taking her hand
from her breast, she snaked it down until the tip of one finger
rested on the centre of her passions. For a moment she teased
herself, making no movement. Then she tapped the clitoris with her
fingertip, tapped it softly, then harder, then harder still.

She felt
herself coming, each blow of the finger producing a shockwave in
her body, each shockwave joining with the one before, taking her
higher, her whole body raked by sensation. As her orgasm broke, as
the taut elastic of her nerves snapped, making her cry out loud
with its intensity, her mind was full of images, feeding her
orgasm. She saw the driver's eyes silently watching her in the
mirror, she saw Gianni's cock weeping its tear of fluid, but most
of all, she saw herself, tall and straight, clad in the clinging
cat-suit, standing whip in hand next to the helpless Gianni. She
saw her revenge. It was that image, she knew, that brought her off
again, a final shockwave pulsing through her already tingling
nerves, a final moan of pleasure wrested from her lips.