Stephanie's Revenge (17 page)

She
experienced an immediate euphoria. The warmth crept into her bones.
She lay back, not having to curl up, being able to stretch out on
the bed. It was some minutes before she realised the euphoria was
not just caused by the heat. It was the same feeling she had had
before, lightheaded, turning the world to rights.

The key ground
in the lock and the door opened. A middle-aged man shuffled
uncertainly into the room. He was wearing a business suit. In his
fifties, he was flabby and unhealthy looking. He smoked an untipped
cigarette. He had scraped what was left of his hair over the top of
his bald pate, as though trying to disguise his hair loss.

Stephanie
tried to cover herself but found she could not move. Anyway, there
was no need, the euphoria she felt made it unnecessary. Let him
look. Let his little piggy eyes look at her if he wanted. She
didn't care.

The balding
man appeared reluctant, uncertain. The cell door had closed behind
him. Stephanie had the impression he wasn't at all sure what he
should do. He was looking at her body, looking at her legs and the
band of flesh above the black welts of the stockings, looking down
into her thick black pubic hair.

Stephanie felt
warm and relaxed. She liked the little man, the way he looked at
her, so desiring. She wanted to tell him he could have her, do what
he wanted to her, but the words would just not come out.

He was
nervous. Very nervous. He didn't trust Gianni at first. He was
convinced it was a set-up.

He checked the
walls of the cell, the ceiling; peered into the ventilator grill,
anywhere a camera lens could be hidden. There was nowhere. He was
reassured. If Gianni had told the truth about that, he had probably
told the truth about the girl. Or so he reasoned. He'd told him she
was not a whore, that she loved men, craved them, liked to be used,
liked to be handled.

And, after
all, she was smiling at him. A big smile. And she was relaxed, so
relaxed. Any doubts he might have had disappeared when he looked at
her. She was beautiful. Long dark hair, plump breasts with hard
nipples, her legs wrapped in sheer nylon, thin black suspenders
snaking down over her hips. She was beautiful. He believed Gianni.
He wanted to believe him so badly.

Still looking
around, he took off his clothes, folding them neatly on the chair.
He saw the woman's eyes following what he was doing. She was still
smiling. He extracted the leather belt from his trousers.
Tentatively, he stretched his hand out to stroke the curves of her
breast. He felt his penis harden immediately. She made no
objection. Taking her arm he pulled her over on to her side, then
stroked the subtle curve of her arse, feeling the black satin
suspender under his hand. His penis hardened more. He pulled her
over on to her stomach. Her perfect arse was framed like a picture
by the suspender belt at her waist, the suspenders at her sides,
and the black tops of the stockings underneath. A few stray hairs
from her forest of pubic hair escaped from the junction of her
thighs. The cleft of her arse was deep and full, her buttocks round
and firm. He used two hands now, circling her buttocks with them,
feeling their heat and their weight, their softness and, under
that, the strong muscle. His erection nudged against her hip.

He used his
hands to push her ankles apart, and knelt on the thin mattress
between them. He was not a strong man, not muscled or fit, but he
could feel his strength increasing with his lust as he looked down
at this near naked woman. He moved his knees forward, pushing her
legs further apart. He could see the bush of her pubic hair now,
spreading out from the long slit of her sex, like a plant that
needed to be trimmed back into its original shape.

He took the
belt and wound it around the knuckle of his right hand. The first
stroke was tentative, but there was a satisfying 'whack' as it
landed on her superb white flesh. He had never done this before
except in his dreams. In his dreams he had done it a thousand
times, a hundred thousand times. The second blow was firmer, the
third perfect. A perfect stroke, a perfect hit. The thin belt
landed in the middle of the woman's rump, cutting across both
cheeks. The woman moaned. It was a moan of pleasure. She wanted
more. Gianni had been right, he hadn't lied about her. The woman
wanted more. He would hear her asking him for more, like the woman
in his dreams, wanting, begging. Wasn't she?

His left hand
was clutching his penis, squeezing it in his fist. He had never
felt it so hard. It was made of steel. He pulled the belt back
again. He heard the 'whack' and saw the soft flesh tremble.

He couldn't
manage another stroke. His cock demanded all his attention. He let
the belt drop to the floor. With both his hands he pulled the
cheeks of the woman's arse apart. The little rosebud of her arse
winked at him, just as it always did in his dreams. He touched it
with the tip of his finger, gently, as though it were the most
delicate piece of porcelain. Then he pushed his finger inside. All
around he could feel the heat of her reddened flesh from where he
had used his belt. He knelt closer, bending his head so he could
watch his finger fucking her arse, in and out like a tiny cock. And
see how she loved it, how she moaned with pleasure, wriggled and
squirmed with pleasure, just like the women in his dreams always
had. Didn't she?

Suddenly the
arse lifted off the bed, no more than two or three inches, but
pointed up at him. He knew what it meant. He knew what she was
doing. She wanted him. He took his finger away and pushed his cock
forward between her thighs, up between her legs, feeling her wiry
hair on his steel-hard cock, then the heat, the incredible heat he
had created in her. She wanted it, Gianni hadn't lied. She wanted
it and he was going to give it to her, bugger her, bugger her like
he'd buggered so many women in his dreams.

As he grasped
his cock in his hand, guided it down to the tight corona of her
arse, he came. Spunk lashed out between his fingers. It was
propelled further than he could ever remember, right up over her
arse, splashing her back and the black satin strap of the suspender
belt, gobs of his white spunk.

He got up
quickly. Using a handkerchief from his jacket pocket he wiped his
hand clean and then dabbed ineffectively at the spunk on the
woman's back. When he touched her buttocks she moaned. He knew what
that meant. She'd come too. She'd had a good time and wanted more.
Well he'd give her more all right. He'd ask Gianni. Gianni wanted a
discount on his order, a big discount. The size of his order didn't
justify it, but he'd give him the discount. They'd been discussing
it before Gianni brought him here. Well, he'd give Gianni the
discount, he'd tell him right now. But there was a condition. He
had to have this woman again, this wonderful woman, this woman of
his dreams. Tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. He had to. She wanted
it. He wanted it. Tomorrow he'd really do it. He'd only come so
quickly today because he wasn't ready, wasn't expecting it.
Tomorrow he'd be ready. He'd give her what she wanted tomorrow.

He dressed
without looking at the woman. He left his spunk-stained
handkerchief on the bed and knocked on the cell door as he'd been
told to do. It was opened and locked again after he'd left.

Stephanie felt
it all at second hand, numbed by the euphoria. She felt everything
he'd done, but almost as if it were being done to someone else. She
felt the strokes of his belt; she felt the heat it created in her.
She wanted to respond. But her body was already so high, so
contented, so filled with sensation it was impossible, or so it
seemed, to do anything but lay and enjoy the feelings.

It was like
looking down the wrong end of a telescope. He looked and felt so
far away.

She felt him
push her legs apart. She wanted him. She wanted to tell him to give
it to her, to use her, to take her. She felt his fingers too,
prying fingers.

Why didn't he
do it to her? Couldn't he see she wanted it? She wanted to push her
arse up at him and, to her surprise, her muscles responded. But
only once. She tried to move again, undulate her hips, but nothing
happened. She sank back on to the bed.

The euphoria
was wearing off. Irritation took over. What was he doing there?
He'd made her all wet. And now when he touched her with his
handkerchief, right on the spot where he'd beaten her, she
winced.

She heard the
man go. As she came down from the high, she felt the pain in her
buttocks. She tried to move her hand and it responded. Gradually
her ability to move returned.

Slowly, very
slowly, she got up. Her arse was red and sore. She cursed Gianni
aloud, shouting more because she wanted to hear her voice than from
any hope that he would hear her.

'You bastard,
Gianni. Get me out of here.'

She paced the
room again, then stopped when she heard the key turning in the
lock. The door opened and a woman entered. Stephanie recognised her
at once. It was the woman who had answered the door to her,
Angelina. The scowl still set on her face, a look that suggested
she regarded Stephanie as little more than an annoyance; her black
dress and lisle stockings also remained unchanged.

She indicated
that Stephanie should follow her, turning back down the corridor
outside the cell door.

It did not
occur to Stephanie for a moment that she was being released. She
knew Gianni better than that. His vengeance wouldn't be satisfied
by keeping her just one night. Outside the cell door she stepped
into a short corridor, in the same new brick as the two outer walls
of the cell, at the end of which was another stout wooden door. To
the left the only other door was open.

The woman in
black grasped Stephanie by the wrist, dissatisfied at her slowness,
and pulled her through the open door. Inside was a bathtub and a
toilet. The bathtub was already full of water.

'Clean,' the
woman said. There was a small wooden stool in the corner of the
room. The woman rested her ample weight on it. 'Quickly, quickly,'
she said angrily.

Stephanie sat
on the loo...

Back in the
cell it was cold again. The heating from the overhead vent had been
turned off. The woman in black had taken Stephanie's stockings and
the suspender belt away; only the spunk-stained handkerchief
remained, and that was hardly going to keep her warm. Stephanie
curled herself into a ball on the bed to keep warm.

A meal arrived
through the door flap, soup and bread as before. She ate it all,
scraping the bowl with the bread to get every last drop, wiping the
plate clean.

She had no
idea how long after the meal it was when she felt the heat flooding
through the vent again. Just as before, this event was followed by
a glass of water being pushed through the flap in the door.
Stephanie had been thirsty the whole time she had been in the cell.
When she'd been taken to the bathroom she had been so desperate to
drink she'd used her hand to scoop up some of the bathwater before
she used the soap.

She had
thought at first it was due to the injection, a strange side
effect. But the combination of the turning on of heat and the
arrival of water was too much of a coincidence. Twice she'd been
given water and twice she'd felt a wonderful euphoria and
relaxation. Twice she'd been unable to move. The water she'd been
given with the meal had had no effect. But now the room was being
heated, just like this morning (if it was morning, she had no way
of knowing) when the bald man had come in. Heat for a visitor and a
drug to keep her quiet. It must be, she thought. The water was
drugged, with an after effect of making her thirsty. The more she
drank the more she would want to drink.

She picked up
the water and sniffed it. There was no odour. She held it up to the
light but could see no coloration. The trouble was her thirst.
Perhaps if she just took a sip. She sipped experimentally, but the
water tasted of nothing other than water and the sip did not quench
her thirst. She drank more and more. She wanted to stop herself but
she was just so thirsty. She drank three quarters of a glass. She
wanted to drink the rest desperately, but she had to test her
theory. If it was drugged and she drank less the effects would wear
off sooner. Well, that was the theory. She looked around the room
for somewhere to dump the remaining water. In one corner of the
cell the floor stones were badly joined and there was a gap of a
couple of inches between them. Carefully, she poured the water into
the crack. It disappeared immediately. She spilt a little but
mopped it up with the handkerchief. She put the empty glass
down.

Her suspicions
evaporated. She sat on the bed. What did it matter? She just felt
so good, so relaxed, so wonderfully unworried. She lay back on the
bed and looked up at the ceiling. It was like a wave at the beach
had knocked her off her feet, knocked her down into a world of
contentment. The heat from the overhead vent above the bed began to
warm her body, making her sense of well-being complete.

She heard the
key turn in the lock and managed to turn her head to watch the
woman come into the cell. She tried to smile at her. The woman did
not smile back.

Gina had known
Gianni a long time. They had done business together for a long
time. He had tried to seduce her many times. She was a very
attractive woman, a redhead, a flaming redhead, tall and strong. He
had tried so many times that, in the end, she had told him the
truth - that she was not interested in men, other than the fact
that she would have liked to be one. That had made him give up the
chase.

They continued
to do business, good business. A lot of business. Gianni had called
her this morning. He said he had something interesting for her,
something she would especially like, something classy and
English...