Stephanie lay on her stomach on the sun lounger. She was naked. The Italian sun was hot on her back, shining down from a cloudless blue sky on to the terrace of the castle bedroom. Below, and surrounding the island castle, Lake Trasimeno reflected its light. There wasn't a hint of a breeze, the waters of the lake as flat and untroubled as the surface of a mirror, and the canopy of vegetation, dripping from the walls of the castle, was still too, though the heady perfume of jasmine and bougainvillea filled the air. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the pillars of the jetty below and at the front of the castle, and the soft squelch of flesh on flesh as the man's strong hands massaged the thick sunscreen into her back.
He knelt at her side, naked too but for the hard leather-covered metal pouch that was chained tightly over his genitals.
He worked conscientiously, smoothing the glutinous white cream into her shoulder blades, down over her slim hour-glass waist and rich fuller hips. From the small of her back her tight neat buttocks rose precipitously. His hands followed the tantalising curves, feeling her plump flesh rippling as he spread the cream out with his fingers. As he worked down from the round summit to the lower slopes, where the buttocks joined her long shapely thighs, he could see the deep channel between her legs, fringed by stray pubic hairs as dark and black as the long hair she had pinned up off her shoulders. He massaged the cream into her thighs.
He tried not to look, he tried not to think, he tried not to feel. There was no room for an erection in the metal pouch.
She opened her legs. Now he could see it all, the whole slit of her sex from the puckered corona of her arse to the long thick labia folded over her cunt like the petals of some exotic flower protecting the stamen. The matted abundance of her pubic hair was plastered down with sweat and did not hide the details of her sex. He tried to concentrate on his task. He squirted more cream from the spout of the bottle on to her thigh. Using both hands he massaged it into the perfectly smooth, already tanned flesh. He worked conscientiously, spreading the white cream evenly across her thighs and down between her legs. He worked it right up until he could feel pubic hair brushing the sides of his fingers. She had complained before when he hadn't dared go that high. Then, with relief, he moved his hands away, down to her slim calves and pinched ankles.
His relief would be short-lived, he knew. As soon as he'd finished her legs she would turn over. Then it would be useless to try and prevent himself getting an erection as she made him massage her breasts, her belly, and the top of her thighs. The hard metal pouch was unyielding. There was no room for expansion. It would be agony. It had been last time.
Stephanie turned on to her back and sat up to reach for her Cartier sunglasses. Her firm breasts trembled, the nipples flattened into the flesh by the pressure of her weight. Through the sunglasses she looked at the slave. He was hot, his face red, sweat beading on his forehead from his exertions.
'Hot work Paul,' she said. It was not a question. A round metal disc hung on a light chain around his neck. It was inscribed with his Christian name.
'Yes, madam.'
Stephanie lay back on the lounger, immediately feeling the heat of the sun warming her body. She stretched, her arms above her head, her back arched off the padded mattress.
Paul knew better than to start before she had ordered it. He tried not to look at her. If only she hadn't been such a beautiful woman...
'Get on with it then,' Stephanie ordered.
He squirted the cream from the little nozzle of the bottle on to her upper arm. He did her arms first, right down to her fingers. For her right arm he had to lean over her body. No matter how he tried to avoid it, her breasts grazed his stomach and his side. The nipples, given their freedom, had erected. He could feel them. He wished he couldn't.
Stephanie knew what he was going through, knew his cock would be pushing against the unforgiving metal chained around it so tightly. It was, after all, part of the punishment. Paul had been at the castle for two months. He had been caught embezzling from one of Devlin's companies. It was a simple choice, like all the other slaves at the castle: the police and, inevitably, prison - or the castle. Paul had chosen the castle. At this minute it was a decision he was probably regretting.
He massaged her shoulders. Her shoulders were wide, finely-boned, the hollows of her collar-bone in contrast to the fleshy richness of her breasts.
'More oil,' she said.
He squirted the cream in great gobs on to her chest between the firm mounds of her tits, then worked it into the flesh, feeling the corrugated nipples under his palms, feeling the rubbery, spongy mass respond as he kneaded it. He tried to forget the other times in his life he'd kneaded breasts like this. Other times he'd worked his hands from breasts to navel, as he did now, until the tips of his fingers touched the perfect triangle of pubic hair. He tried to think of anything, cars, cold water, computer programs, anything but what he was doing. It was impossible.
He was on to the top of her thighs now. She parted her legs slightly. He could see the folds of her labia again. He really wished he could take his eyes away but he couldn't. Her labia seemed to be smiling at him. A cruel, knowing smile.
The worst was when she had the slaves wank her. Every morning a different slave - men and women - brought her breakfast on a strict rota. Sometimes she wanted nothing more. They set the tray down and fled gratefully. Sometimes, like now, they were made to oil her in the sun (the male slaves prayed for an early winter). Sometimes she lay naked on her bed and had them lick every inch of her body, then use their mouths and fingers to wank her. That was the worst for the men.
Sometimes, rarely, she had them fuck her. She would free them from the pouch. That was the best and better not thought of.
'That's enough,' Stephanie said as Paul reached her ankles. Paul stopped instantly and with relief. Not that stopping relieved the pressure of his cock as it pushed hopelessly against the hard metal shell. Not that, despite himself, he could stop looking at the beautiful naked body, oiled and shiny, that was stretched out before him, so close he could feel its heat.
What he wouldn't have given to be able to free his cock from its constriction, strip off the pouch, plunge into the depths of her sex, which was so close at hand. He knew how it would feel, wet and tight and hot.
'You may go,' she said breaking into his painful reverie.
'Oh thank you, madam.' He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could.
'Does it hurt, Paul?'
'Yes, madam.'
'Perhaps you made the wrong choice.'
'No, madam,' he said firmly. Whatever the discomfort the alternative would have been worse.
Stephanie watched him hobble away. She closed her eyes and relaxed, the hot sun creating a feeling of wellbeing that perfectly matched her mood. The last weeks had been among the most contented in her life. Now that she had been able to enjoy the pleasures of her new life at the castle, now her revenge on Gianni was complete - made more complete every day by the accounts of his divorce in the courts, his failed attempt to get his hands on even the smallest asset, and his wife's recent instigation of a case against him for criminal fraud in the running of their company - Stephanie had been able to concentrate on what to do with the responsibilities and power she had been vested over the castle.
It seemed like years ago - though in fact it was only months - since Devlin had first brought her to the island castle in the middle of Lake Trasimeno in Italy, since he'd first shown her the cellars and the slaves, since she had, literally, enslaved him as well, and he'd asked her to stay and run the castle for him. She had never thought of herself as having any particular sexual bent. In fact, she rarely used to think of sex. It was something she did because it was expected of her; she enjoyed it, she got pleasure from it, but like breathing it was not something she had paid much attention to.
But that had changed. Something had made her change - suddenly. She had no idea what. She had developed an urge to find out, to explore the undiscovered country. She had bought books and read them avidly. And when she had studied the theory she progressed to the practise. She found a man - or did he find her - to take her to new territory. And then there was no turning back. She had crossed an invisible line, a Chinese wall. There was so much to learn. So much to discover about herself, about her sexuality: she had discovered pleasures, and feelings, and sensations unlike anything she had even dreamt of, so different from the sex she had experienced previously. But more than the discovery of her own pleasures, she had found she had a talent, an ability to read the sexuality of others, to reach into their sexual psyche and extract its deepest secrets, secrets that were perhaps even unknown to them.
That is what had happened with Devlin. His sexuality had always been complex, his excitement and arousal dependent on factors he had only half understood. Stephanie had changed that. She had discovered the key to Devlin's libido. The master of the castle, the master of a multi-million-pound business empire, the master of all he surveyed had actually wanted to be a slave - her slave.
But Devlin's enslavement had been intricately bound to her own sexual development. At the castle Stephanie had found that power - the power to dominate, to control, to command - was in itself an aphrodisiac. Slowly at first, she had come to realise that the sustained and heightened pleasures she was so readily experiencing came from her position of power.
Like now. She was sexually excited, as she lay in the sun her body glistening with sun oil, because she had played the role with Paul, had teased him, played with him, made him her slave. She knew it had made her wet. She didn't need to dip her fingers between her nether lips to know what she would find there. An oozing wetness. It was the power. Power over her slave. Power to tell him to go away or stay. Power to have him do whatever she wanted him to do - to her, for her. Lick her, suck her, fuck her. Anything, and everything. There were no taboos, no inhibitions. It excited her. The thought and the reality thrilled her.
She squirmed slightly, thigh against thigh, exerting a faint pressure on her clitoris. She took one of her tits in her hand and squeezed it. A pang of pleasure shot through her.
There she stopped herself abruptly, stayed her hand from roaming down to her clitoris. She looked at her watch. The Phillipe Patek that Devlin had given her, its case as thin as an after dinner mint, lay on the little white cast-iron table by the lounger. It was ten o'clock. At eleven Devlin would be coming up to say goodbye. She should save herself for him.
At quarter to eleven Stephanie hauled herself to her feet and went inside. In the Carrera marble bathroom she showered the oil off her body and dried herself briskly. The sexual tension in her body had not abated: her self-control had made it more piquant. She was very much in the mood for Devlin.
Devlin was off to New York on business for at least five days. It was a big deal, something he'd been working on for months, he'd told her. But Stephanie had decided his schedule would have to be delayed: her priorities came first. The plane would have to wait for him. Wasn't that one of the advantages of having a private jet?
Stephanie felt wickedly capricious. She walked, still naked, to the wardrobes that lined one of the walls of her palatial bedroom. What should she tease him with today? Something smooth and silky, feminine and soft; or something hard and cruel, in tight black leather?
She searched the drawers built into the wardrobes, looking for something to take her fancy. Something did. She pulled out a garment she had brought in Rome at the very special lingerie shop she had discovered in the back streets. Made of a sheer black material woven with Lycra, it fitted her body tightly. The full bra moulded itself to her breasts, the material stretching down over her waist to end, at the front and side, in four spikes of suspender. At the front it barely covered her navel, at the back it finished abruptly in the hollow of her spine leaving her arse exposed.
Stephanie pulled the elasticated material down over her body. As soon as the material was stretched it became almost entirely transparent. Though her breasts were completely covered they were, at the same time, visible; every curve and detail, including the nipples and the circles of her areolas, were apparent under the shiny veil of tight black nylon and Lycra.
Sitting on the bed Stephanie opened a packet of the sheerest black stockings. Like the tight girdle - corset, basque, she didn't know how to describe the garment - the stockings were woven with Lycra too giving them a wet slippery look. She rolled them up over her legs until the black welt at the top of each bisected her thigh. She clipped them into the suspenders, the tautness of the elastication pulling them tight.
She slipped into a pair of black high heels and admired the effect. The heels shaped her calves, pinched her ankles more, tipped her arse into the air so it seemed to be pouting. She stood in front of one of the many full-length mirrors. The areas of her body that were exposed looked, by contrast to the flesh covered by the tight nylon, somehow more naked, creamy, soft. Her arse, the tops of her thighs above the stocking, her shoulders, so available, so rich.
She took a pair of black lace panties from a drawer full of panties of every type and colour, stepped into them and pulled them up over her hips and on to the wide curve of her pubic bone and the long slit of her sex. She ironed them into place with her hand, making them comfortable, fitting them between her legs, smoothing them over the mounds of her buttocks.
Devlin knocked twice, tentatively. Right on time. Eleven o'clock precisely.
'Come...' Stephanie said, letting the tone of her voice reflect her mood, and smiling at herself in the mirror. She looked like she felt, excited and hot. She wiped the smile away and replaced it with a scowl as she turned to watch Devlin shuffle in.
Devlin was an incredibly ugly man. His body was short and misshapen, his trunk too long for his height, and his face scarred with pockmarks. It was dominated by a huge bulbous nose, which was veined and hairy. Thick, wiry white hair grew in profusion from every inch of his body, from his nostrils, from his ears, even from his back.
'Stephanie - my God you look wonderful,' he said as his eyes devoured every detail.
It wasn't what she wanted to hear.
'Did I tell you to look at me?' she said sternly.
'No.'
'No what?' Her pretended anger thrilled her. The game had begun. Devlin's head went down, his eyes staring at the carpet.
'No, mistress.'
'That's better. Get your clothes off, and quickly, Devlin,' she snapped.
'Yes, mistress.'
He hadn't expected this. He felt his erection growing, his excitement instantaneous. Not for one second did he think of not complying. She was in control. When she was in this mood, there was no telling what she would do. His heart was beating faster at the thought. Quickly he stripped off his shirt and tie. By the time he unzipped the fly of his trousers his penis was eager to be free, as hard as a rod of steel.
He pulled his boxer shorts off and shifted from foot to foot to pull off his socks while his penis bobbled about in front of him. Stephanie had seen it many times but could never quite get used to its monstrous proportions. Nor its ugliness. It was gnarled and twisted and veined, like a rotten tree trunk curled with ivy.
She would never forget the first time he had thrust it inside her. Never.
He stood naked, uneasy, not sure what to expect, his penis standing out from his matted wiry pubic hair, a tear of Cowper's fluid already formed at its tip. All thoughts of the world outside, his business, his schedule, his trip to New York, had disappeared. His world had shrunk, encompassed now entirely by the extent of Stephanie's commands.
'Well, Devlin, what am I going to do with you? You come in here as though you've forgotten everything I've taught you. What am I going to do with you, Devlin?'
'I don't know.' His voice was breathless with excitement.
'I'll have to think of something, won't I?'
'Yes, mistress.'
She took his cock in her hand, circling it with her fist. With the tip of her other hand's forefinger she massaged the tear of fluid that had formed into the dappled smoothness at the end of his circumcised cock. He could not help but moan. It felt so sensitive.
With most men a hand wrapped around their cock would cover more than half of it: with Devlin at least two thirds remained visible. Stephanie felt a frisson of excitement sing through her body as she felt its heat and hardness.
Power was an aphrodisiac. So many possibilities, so many things she could do, so many things she could ask for and get by right.
She let go of his cock and bent to adjust her stocking on her left leg. She unhooked both suspenders and pulled the stocking up tighter before reattaching it. She saw Devlin's eyes following every movement while he tried to pretend he was staring at the floor.
'You didn't answer my question,' she said.
'I didn't think...' he stammered.
'You didn't think what? I don't ask questions for fun, do I?'
'No, mistress.'
'So what am I going to do with you?'
'I don't know, mistress,' he replied quickly.
'Well I'll tell you then. You're going to give me some pleasure. That's what I'm going to do with you. I'm in the mood to take some pleasure. You're going to please me. You're going to keep the plane waiting until you've given me some pleasure. Is that understood, Devlin?'
'Yes, mistress.'
'Good.' She circled him, her stockings rasping against each other as she moved. Coming around behind him she pressed herself into his back, letting him feel the slippery silky material between their flesh, rubbing her body very slightly up and down against his. She reached round to his cock and took it in both her hands, wanking it not at all gently. He gasped with pleasure.
She released his cock and stood back, legs apart, arms akimbo. 'Take my knickers off,' she ordered.
He turned to reach for the elastic.
'Not like that,' she said slapping his nearest hand hard. 'How then, mistress?'
'With your teeth,' she smiled having only just thought of the idea. What a good idea, she thought. 'Come on, I haven't got all day and neither have you.'
She could seeing him trying to work out what to do. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Slowly he moved his head towards the triangle of material at the junction of her thighs, puffed up by the thick pubic hair it contained.
'Come on, Devlin.' She could tell he was trying to work out what to do.
He leaned forward against her navel and grasped the top of her panties in his teeth. He tried to pull them down. They were very reluctant to leave her waist. He pulled again, sawing his head from side to side. Slowly the panties began to slide down over her iron-flat belly but snagged when they reached her pubic hair. Devlin moved his head to the elastic at the sides and used his teeth to pull them down. By alternating his head from one side of the panties to the other, pulling first one side down an inch and then the other, he gradually worked the black lace over her hips and down her thighs. One side caught on a suspender. He managed to unhook it with his tongue, knowing better than to try and use his hands.
The crotch of the panties still clung to her sex, the triangular shape of the panties now inverted. He moved his head so he could gather the material in his teeth. He could smell the delicious aroma of her perfume combined with the musky scent of raw sex. As his teeth pulled the lace away he felt his desire surge as the pouting lips of her body were unveiled. The panties fell to the floor.
'Since you're so good with your mouth...' Stephanie stepped out of the twin circles of lace around her feet. Still wearing the black high heels she lay back on the bed. She opened her legs and bent her knees, the heels of the shoes digging into the counterpane. She arched her back off the bed; angling her cunt to point at Devlin. 'Come on, Devlin, you know what to do.'
Her cunt seemed to be alive, like an animal, like a cat. It purred and throbbed like a domestic cat, it hunted hungrily like a lion, and devoured like a tiger. It was independent of her, a wild creature needing to be fed.
Devlin was about to stand up. 'On your knees,' Stephanie snapped. Obediently he crawled forward until he reached the edge of the bed. Stephanie slid forward, wrapped her thighs over his shoulders, her heels digging into his back, and levered her cunt on to his face.
He ignored the pain in his back as the sharp metal heels gouged into it like spurs, to gain purchase. Eagerly he lapped at her sex, teasing out her clitoris from the forest of pubic hair, tasting her salty wetness as he dipped down to push between her swollen labia, poking his tongue as deep as it would go into the black wet depths of her cunt.
Almost from the first moment that his hot mouth had clamped itself to her, Stephanie felt a sequence begin, the first stirrings, as her body changed gear, began to prepare itself for what would be, now, inevitable. She looked down at herself, Devlin's wiry grey hair framed between her open legs, her thighs bisected by the black welts of the stockings, the suspenders loose at the front of her thigh as her legs were bent but tight and stretched at the side.
What she said next would thrill her more, and continue the sequence, the words themselves as exciting as their consequence.
'Use your fingers.'
Devlin's other physical attribute, besides the size of his cock, was the size of his fingers. His fingers were huge, fat, thick and long, his hand like a hand of bananas. She had noticed it the first time they had met, when he'd taken her hand. Compared with his, her hand looked like that of a tiny child. She would never forget the first time he had thrust a finger inside her either. It opened her, filled her, swamped her. It was an experience she wanted again and again. She wanted it now.
She felt his hand move up to her thigh. She felt her body tense, the sequence accelerating rapidly, slipping out of her control. His mouth went back to her clitoris as he nosed the tip of his finger between her labia. She was in no mood for gentleness though.
'Do it, Devlin,' she moaned.
Immediately she felt him push forward, her cunt filled as comprehensively as if he was using his cock. But his finger didn't feel like a cock. It felt more like a dildo except it was warm and alive. She could not help but squeal with pleasure.
She spurred her heels into his back again, as if riding a horse, urging him on, levering herself down on to his mouth as his tongue lapped at her hardened clitoris and his massive finger reamed back and forth along the wet channel of her cunt. She had wanted to wait, to delay, to tease herself, hold her orgasm at bay, but her body wouldn't let her. The sensations were overwhelming, his finger and tongue in combination, wringing feelings out of her, feelings she could not ignore, feelings that started the last sequence, making her squirm and moan and cry out as she felt her orgasm peak, crunching her nerves, and she let herself fall into a black abyss.
It was a long time before she recovered, before she relaxed completely, before her body decided there were no more delicious sensations to extract from the embers of her climax.
Devlin had not moved, his mouth still at her sex, his finger still inside her.
'Now it's your turn, isn't it?' Stephanie said in a tone of authority. She sat up and pulled his head back, kissing him hard on the mouth, licking at his lips and tasting her own juices. His finger slid from her cunt. He was going to New York. She wanted to give him something to remember her by. She knew what thrilled Devlin, she knew the source of the secret rivers of passion that ran through this strange ugly man. He would do whatever she commanded him to do and his submission would be excitement enough. But there was more. The rivers ran deep.
Stephanie swung her leg over his head and got off the bed. Her mood had not changed. She felt energised and alive. She felt wonderfully open and wanton; prepared to do anything. It was Devlin's lucky day.
'Stay where you are,' she ordered, crossing the bedroom to a large chest of drawers. The top drawer held what she was looking for.
'I have decided, Devlin,' she said returning to the bed and dropping the items from the drawer on to the now heavily rucked counterpane, 'to punish you.'
'No,' he said. But his voice betrayed him. It was breathless with excitement as he looked at what lay on the bed.
She picked up the silk blindfold and slipped it over his eyes. She saw his cock pulse as she smoothed it into place.
'Hands behind your back, Devlin. I shouldn't have to tell you, should I?'
He obeyed instantly.
She strapped a leather cuff tightly around each of his wrists. The cuffs were joined by a strong metal ring. She took a plain leather strap, wide and black, and used it to cinch his arms together just above the elbow. He winced. The black leather cut into his soft white flesh. Another tear of fluid wept from his cock. His body betrayed his excitement again.
'Stand up,' she ordered. With difficulty he struggled to his feet not having his arms available for balance.
She stood behind him, pressing herself into his imprisoned arms, letting him feel her tits under the tight Lycra.
Two more plain leather straps. She knelt and bound his ankles together with one strap and his knees, just above the knee joint, with the other. She pulled both straps tight, as tight as they would go. She had made a neat little package.
She stood up. There was no hurry. She went to the fridge, which was set into the silk panelling of the bedroom walls and took out a bottle of champagne and a chilled crystal flute. Expertly, she eased the cork out of the bottle; she had drunk more champagne in her months at the castle than in the whole of the rest of her life, and poured the bubbling wine into the glass. Sitting on the oatmeal sofa opposite the bed, she crossed her stockinged legs and sipped at the chilled champagne.
'Turn around,' she ordered wanting to see Devlin's cock. With diminutive steps he managed to shuffle around. His erection was massive and wet from his own fluid. She had never seen it bigger, more engorged, and veined and ugly. A frisson of excitement leapt from her body, reminding her of the orgasm she had just enjoyed.
Putting the glass down she unclipped the suspenders on one of her black stockings. When it was free she rolled it off her leg. She could see Devlin listening to the sounds, wondering what she was doing. She got up. She trailed the stocking over Devlin's chest. It was still warm. She let the nylon brush against his cock. It soaked up the wetness, absorbing a tear of moisture and forming a dark patch on the sheer black. Dropping to her knees in front of him Stephanie pulled the stocking under his balls and around the stem of his cock before knotting it into a neat bow. She pulled the bow tight. Devlin's cock pulsed.
Devlin's body was trembling with excitement. He made little involuntary noises that sounded a little like the word 'please' repeated over and over again.
'I think we'll use the clips today. To please me.'
'No,' he said in a tone that meant exactly the opposite.
The clips lay ready on the bed. Two bright chrome clips, like little bulldog clips but with edges serrated with tiny metal teeth. She picked them up. Opening the jaws, she positioned the tiny teeth over her own veiled nipple. Slowly she allowed the spring of the clip to close. She felt the metal biting into her soft puckered flesh. She felt pain but pleasure too, sharp hard pleasure. Another wave of feeling came as she pulled the clip away.
Devlin's nipples were as hard as her own. She positioned the clip over each nipple and watched as the tiny teeth sunk deep into the tender flesh. Devlin moaned, a sound of pure passion. She flicked the clips with the tip of her finger. He moaned again, the same sound, the same feeling.
Stephanie's body had started to churn again, change gear again, moving from objective to subjective. She could still feel the little metal teeth biting into her nipple. She could feel her heart beating faster.
'I'm going to whip you now,' she said. The words echoed in her mind, feeding her passion. This was no longer a performance. Her body was alive with pangs of arousal, the first harbinger of its needs.
The riding crop lay on the bed too. She picked it up and in almost the same movement slashed it across Devlin's buttocks. He gasped. His cock pulsed.
'More?' she said not caring what he said.
'Yes.' He couldn't lie this time and say no. His whole body ached for more.
She slashed the whip down on his buttocks again, feeling her own passion, her pulse racing.
Three more cuts. She had never seen Devlin's cock harder, bigger, its monstrous grid of veins engorged and angry, swollen by the nylon stocking tied at its base. A network of red marks crisscrossed his buttocks.
Despite her feelings Stephanie was in more control this time. There was no hurry she told herself dropping the whip and picking up the champagne flute. This time she could tease herself, pretend she wasn't going to use that massive cock. She sipped the wine then pressed the cold glass against the tip of Devlin's cock. A little of the moisture there attached itself to the side of the glass. She licked it off. Slowly she put the glass down.
'Well, Devlin. You are in a state, aren't you?' With the flat of her hand she pushed him hard in the chest. Unable to use his hands or feet to balance he fell back on to the bed, like a roll of carpet, bouncing slightly on the springs of the mattress.
If she had cared to think about it Stephanie probably came before she threw herself on to Devlin's prostrate body and impaled herself on his cock. As it penetrated into the silky wetness of her cunt her orgasm was already quivering through the nerves of her body. But the arrival of his cock, its size, filling her, choking her, engulfing her, drove her body further, higher - made her come again. Or perhaps not. She couldn't tell and didn't care. Perhaps it was the same orgasm elongated, expanded, intensified. There was no need to analyse. All that mattered was the feeling.
As the mists of her passion cleared she opened her eyes. Devlin lay beneath her open thighs, bound and blindfolded the nipple clips like little jewels decorating his chest. She eased herself off his cock. It stood straight up at right angles to his body. As he felt the wetness slide away he moaned what sounded like 'no'.
Kneeling at his side, she picked up the whip again from where she had dropped it on the bed.
'Count,' she said. She aimed the little leather loop fixed to the end of the crop at the base of his cock where her black nylon stocking bound it tightly. It was a delicate flick, no more, but she knew that was enough.
'One,' said Devlin, his voice hoarse with pleasure.
She aimed again, this time higher up the huge stem.
'Two,' he intoned obediently. His cock was taut, stretched to the absolute limit, like every nerve in his body, straining for release. In the blackness behind the blindfold his fantasy had become reality. It was what Stephanie did for him. No other woman had ever understood. The blackness was full of images, her body, the tight black girdle, her labia; the feel of her panties in his teeth...
'Three...' He couldn't complete the word. His spunk jetted into the air like a firework, splashing down on to his hairy body in great white gobs. His cock spasmed uncontrollably, spitting out its load. Then, as the tension lessened, the spunk oozed out, white pearls slipping over the wet glans.
When there was no more, when Devlin's body went limp, Stephanie pulled the bow she had made with her stocking and released his cock from its constriction. Using her hand she squeezed the cock to milk the last drops of spunk out of it, as Devlin lay, wallowing in the final tremors of his volcanic eruption, rocking himself slightly from side to side, the only movement his bondage would allow.
Stephanie smiled to herself. This was definitely not an experience Devlin would forget.