Stephanie's Revenge (6 page)

She worked it
with the tip of her finger, lightly at first and then firmly,
moving the engorged flesh from side to side. Jasmina moaned, a moan
muffled by Stephanie's mouth. She felt her whole body relax, its
tension gone, suddenly giving in to the pleasure, melting over
Stephanie, her hands wrapping round Stephanie's back and clinging
to her.

Jasmina broke
the kiss. Instead, she began to move her lips against Stephanie's
neck in little sucking wet kisses. But it was hard to concentrate.
Her whole body was reverberating to the tiny movement of the tip of
Stephanie's finger, circling and nudging, stroking and tapping at
the tiny pebble of her clitoris.

'Je t'adore...
My little button is so hard. So hard,' Jasmina whispered in
Stephanie's ear.

'You want me
to stop?' Stephanie said teasingly.

'Non, je t'en
prie... Please don't leave it.'

Stephanie
plunged her fingers deep into Jasmina's cunt, deep between the wet
flesh, and heard her moan. She heard her moan and gasp. Her cunt
was hot, burning hot and very tight.

'Is that what
you wanted?'

'Oui,
oui...'

Then Jasmina
could not form words. Her body was trembling and her sex
contracting around Stephanie's fingers, and she knew she was
coming. Stephanie could feel it too, feel it in her cunt and all
over her body. She reamed her fingers deeper, wanting to make her
come. With her other hand, she found one of the thick, erect
nipples and pinched it viciously, digging her nails into the
puckered flesh. In this position, thighs resting on thighs, bodies
pressed together, Jasmina's head on her shoulder, she could feel
every reaction, all the trembling and breathless excitement of the
woman's body. She heard her mewl like an animal, little meaningless
noises, and then felt her orgasm spreading through her body, up and
out from her cunt, spreading to all the nerves in her body, giving
them the signal to explode with sensation, locking out everything
but total passion. She clung to Stephanie desperately, like a
drowning man clinging to a piece of flotsam, her whole body rocking
with her pleasure.

In the midst
of all this, a movement caught Stephanie's eye. The large windows
of the modelling room had no curtains and, because of the
narrowness of the Roman street outside, the window was no more than
a few feet away from the first floor windows of the building
opposite. The movement that had attracted Stephanie's attention was
a blind, on the window opposite, being raised. Standing in the
window, Stephanie could see a man. He was beckoning for another man
to join him, beckoning urgently as if delay were a matter of life
and death. This was a show he would not want to miss. The other man
arrived, and they both stood staring intently at the tableau across
the street - the naked black woman sitting on the knees of the
fully-clothed white woman.

Stephanie
stroked Jasmina's short curly hair and felt her body relaxing as
the waves of passion gently subsided. She looked across at the two
men. Jasmina had not seen them. They stood completely still, hoping
they would not be noticed, hoping the show was not over. The slow
movement of Stephanie's hand on Jasmina's hair was, for several
minutes, the only activity.

Then Jasmina
moved, raising her head from Stephanie's shoulder, looking into her
eyes.

'You knew,'
she said, very softly.

'Knew
what?'

'That I would
like this. Sapphisme.'

'Do you?'

By way of
reply, Jasmina began unbuttoning the front of Stephanie's dress.
She pushed her hand under the cotton and cupped it over the white
silk that held Stephanie's breast, pressing her hand hard into the
soft flesh. It was a world of new sensation. She had never touched
a woman before. She felt Stephanie's erect nipple against the palm
of her hand.

'Très dur.
Very hard. Moi aussi. Like mine.'

'Yes... But
you don't have to...'

Jasmina
stopped her by pressing her finger against Stephanie's lips.

'I want very
much I want...'

She slipped
off Stephanie's thighs and knelt in front of her on the floor, the
discarded grey slip falling to her ankles as she did so. There were
still two buttons on the dress to be undone. Unfastening these, she
spread the dress apart, exposing Stephanie's white bra and
panties.

'Jamais déjà.
Never before...' Jasmina whispered, almost to herself, as she used
her hands to part Stephanie's legs, rather like drawing aside a
curtain, pushing them wide apart so she could sink her head down
between Stephanie's thighs. She kissed both in turn from the knee
up to the very top. She felt Stephanie's pubic hair on her cheek
where wisps escaped from her panties.

Stephanie
eased forward on the seat of the chair, anxious to feel the
negress's lips between her legs. She looked down at the head
between her thighs, the hair so rough it almost scratched her skin.
But then her eyes were drawn to the two men who watched from the
window opposite. Both were in short-sleeved shirts and ties. Both
stood stock-still.

Jasmina's
mouth settled on the junction of her thighs, probing it gently with
her tongue. Then she opened her mouth and sucked on the whole of
Stephanie's sex, sucked in silk and cunt lips and clitoris, sucked
in hard. It was a wonderful sensation. But Jasmina wanted more; she
wanted to feel the lips without the veil of silk. Quickly, she
snaked her hands up to the sides of Stephanie's hips and pulled the
panties down. Stephanie cooperated, raising her bum off the seat,
watching Jasmina's long, red-painted fingers draw the white silk
off her thighs.

With no
hesitation, Jasmina plunged her mouth on to Stephanie's now naked
cunt. Stephanie gasped as she felt her hot tongue teasing out her
clitoris from the thick pubic hair, then sucking it eagerly into
her mouth. It was not going to take much to make her come. The
situation was too exciting. Jasmina's black skin, in such sharp
contrast to her own white flesh, was a provocation in itself. But
there was so much more. So much provocation. So much stimulation.
There was the fact that she knew Jasmina had never done this
before, never had a woman, never climaxed on a woman's fingers as
she had done with Stephanie, never pressed her mouth to a woman's
cunt or played with a woman's clitoris with her tongue as she was
doing now. And there were the men's eyes, riveted to her, watching
every move, every undulation of her body as it responded to
Jasmina's mouth.

Stephanie came
suddenly, her orgasm sharp and powerful like a crack of thunder. It
came not in waves, slowly getting more intense, but as an electric
shock, a jolt of pleasure so great she could not suppress what
sounded like a sob of delight.

But Jasmina
did not stop. Her hand reached up blindly, searching for
Stephanie's breast. When it found the silk covered mound, it closed
on the nipple, pinching it just as Stephanie had done to her.

Stephanie
moaned. Jasmina moved her hand to the other nipple and pinched this
too. At the same time, she sucked Stephanie's nether lips into her
mouth, and worked her clitoris with the tip of her tongue. The
pleasure from both her nipples flooded to meet this new pleasure
from her cunt, and Stephanie felt herself coming again. This orgasm
was in waves, big tidal waves rising and falling in her body, each
rise higher and harder. As the last waves engulfed her, as
Jasmina's tongue relentlessly licked her clit, she fought to keep
her eyes open, to look across at the two men watching her, watching
her come in the mouth of a woman. The look in their faces,
astonishment and lust, took her higher, as she knew it would. Then
she could control herself no more, her eyes closed and she
abandoned herself to sensation, pure, unadulterated sensation.

Jasmina sat on
the chair beside her. She slipped her arm around her and rested her
head against Stephanie's shoulder. Another tableau for the two men
across the street. A worthy subject for a painter in oils.

It was
minutes, perhaps longer, before either woman wanted to move.

'Did I do
right?' Jasmina asked finally.

'Wonderful,'
Stephanie said, and meant it.

'But I want
more. I want to learn. Will you teach me? Please, I want to learn
everything.'

'If that's
what you want—'

'Of course! It
is so good. Ammm...' Jasmina was laughing, her body still full of
unaccustomed sensation. 'You have... I don't know in English...
Godemiché?'

'What?'

'Godemiché.'
She drew the shape of a phallus in the air with her fingers. 'Like
this.'

'A dildo?'
Stephanie laughed. 'Is that what you want? You're not exactly shy,
are you?'

'I want to
try. Everything.' Jasmina smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure. 'You will teach me?'

'Yes, if
that's what you want. You can come and spend the weekend with
me—'

'Can't I come
tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow?'

'I can take my
holiday.'

Stephanie
thought for a moment. She could think of no good reason to say no.
'All right, why not?'

'Good. Then we
can fuck, yes?'

Stephanie
laughed again. Jasmina's enthusiasm was infectious. 'Yes.'

'Very
good.'

She did not
seem interested in the details, in whether Stephanie was married,
or whether she liked men as well as women, in where and how she
lived. All that she was prepared to take on trust. She appeared
only to want to repeat the experience as soon as possible, whatever
that involved.

Stephanie
stood up and went over to the window. Standing looking straight
across at the two men, she slowly buttoned up her dress. She wanted
them to know she had seen them. They immediately turned away,
pretending to be doing something else, shuffling rapidly away from
the window.

An hour later,
having made the arrangements with Jasmina, Stephanie was back in
her hotel room. She quickly stripped off her clothes, took a hot
shower in the huge, rather antique bathroom of the suite, put the
'Do Not Disturb' notice on the handle of the door, and lay naked in
the fresh linen sheets to sleep for an hour.

As soon as she
closed her eyes, images of Jasmina, of the strange modelling room,
of the other girls parading in the tight leather costumes, of
knickers, and basques, and taut stockings, swam into her mind. She
felt Jasmina's mouth pressed into her sex.

In no more
than a minute she was asleep, a deep and dreamless sleep.

The Rolls
Royce Silver Wraith glided almost silently to a halt. On
Stephanie's instructions, the driver had picked the perfect spot.
The shadow from the street lights was deep. Yet, from the back of
the car, there was a perfect view of the circular gravel driveway
in front of Gianni's Palladian-designed mansion, the ornate bronze
fountain, in the middle of the drive, and the large panelled front
door, painted red and lit by a brass lantern hanging under the
columned portico.

Stephanie sat
back in the leather seat and waited, the blacked-out windows of the
car affording her perfect anonymity. She had woken after an hour's
siesta, feeling relaxed and rested. Her experience with Jasmina had
not diverted her from the main reason for her trip to Rome. Her
plans were laid. Now all she had to do was wait.

After
half-an-hour the front door of the house opened and a woman
appeared in the bright aura of light. Stephanie could see her quite
clearly. Though she was probably not more than forty-five, her hair
was completely white. She was short and podgy. Her knee length
skirt revealed thick calves and plump ankles; the short mink jacket
she wore did nothing to hide a well-rounded waist and bust. She
wore glasses, elaborately decorated black-framed glasses, sparkling
with diamante. Even from this distance, Stephanie could see
jewellery sparkling too, a large diamond ring on each finger, a
double string of pearls around her rather flabby neck. She matched
the description Devlin had provided. There was no doubt this woman
was Signora Gianni.

Taking keys
from a small black clutch-bag, the woman strode to a red Ferrari
Testarossa that was parked in the driveway, and climbed into the
driving seat. Seconds later the engine roared into life. Pumping
the accelerator, like a Grand Prix driver on the starting grid,
Signora Gianni let in the clutch and, in a squeal of tyres and
spray of gravel, swung the car through the squared columns of the
entrance and off down the street. In the four seconds it took to
reach the T-junction at the end of the road, the car must have
touched eighty miles an hour. With a squeal of brakes it halted
before turning left and disappearing from view. The noise of its
engine passing through the gears lingered, however, shattering the
peace of the neighbourhood.

Calmly,
Stephanie adjusted her hair in the mirror set in the rear quarter
of the Rolls, picked up the heavy leather bag she was carrying - a
bag that resembled the type used by doctors - and got out of the
car. Purposefully, she walked through the Palladian columns at the
entrance to the drive and up to the front door, her boots crunching
on the gravel. There was a small illuminated bell to the side of
the door, which she pressed.

After a
moment, the door opened. A woman dressed entirely in black stood in
the doorway. She was in her early fifties, her dark hair scraped
into a bun, her face wearing a scowl. She was a big woman - her
arms looked strong, her body hard with years of physical work, her
legs meaty and trunk-like.

The woman
asked a question in Italian.

Whatever it
meant, Stephanie ignored her. She walked past her into the house,
as though she owned it. Slipping out of the full length wolf-skin
fur she was wearing against the chill of the Roman night, she
simply let it fall on to the black and white tiled floor of the
huge vestibule. She looked around her. A wide, sweeping staircase
led up to the first floor. An elaborate chandelier hung in a domed
ceiling. There were artefacts everywhere; ancient busts and
sculptures stood in every corner.