Stephanie's Revenge, page 13
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...
He was right. She sat on the thin mattress of the bed and looked down at the naked woman. She was beautiful, her long, black hair spread around her head like a garland, her firm breasts, narrow waist, the fullness of her hips and her long subtle legs. Gorgeous. Best of all, Gina thought, the triangle of her belly, the thick hair. Gina loved thick pubic hair. She brushed it with the palm of her hand and felt a jolt of excitement.
She stood up and stripped off her plain white dress, her cotton bra and panties. Her body was a great disappointment to her. Her breasts sagged, she had no waist and her hips were too fat. She should have been a man. On a man her figure would have been acceptable. Not that the woman on the bed seemed to mind. She smiled. Smiled her approval.
Bending over the bed, she ran her fingers along the woman's lips, then kissed them with her own while her hand squeezed at the firm mound of her breast.
'You English,' she said. 'Gianni tells me what you like. I give you.'
She picked up her bag and took out the double dildo. It looked like a misshapen boomerang. She heard the woman moan when she saw it. Gianni had been right. Using a jar of cream she oiled it, both ends, greasing it, then wiping the excess cream on the woman's breasts, making them greasy and slippery too.
Still standing, she bent her legs slightly and inserted one end of the double phallus into her own sex. She had done this a thousand times and it never ceased to thrill her - feeling it invade her and then, looking down, seeing herself transformed, a huge erection growing from between her legs, just like a man. Just like a man. Her other partners hardly ever let her use this toy: they said it was too big, that she was too brutal with it, that she got carried away. It may have been true. It was the nearest she ever got to fucking like a man, taking a woman like a man. With this buried inside her she would feel like a man too, every thrust producing a feeling in her to match what it was doing to the woman underneath her.
And this woman understood. Gianni had told her she would. She could see her smiling, wanting, eyeing the phallus.
She pulled her legs apart, Gina felt like a man, the erection sticking out as she lay on the woman.
'I fuck you,' she said, the words thrilling her.
The woman moaned, 'Yes.'
Gina worked the cock - it was a cock, her cock - between the lips of the woman's cunt. This was the moment she loved. She thrust her hips forward and felt the cock slide home with no resistance. At the same time it levered down in her own cunt. The woman under her moaned.
Gina reached between their bodies and found the woman's breasts. She squeezed them, kneaded them, caressed them as she bucked her hips in and out. She squeezed her cunt around the dildo, holding it firm as it pumped in and out of the woman. She pressed her mouth on to the woman's mouth and plunged her tongue inside her lips as far as it would go, wanting to fill her here too.
She felt herself coming. The dildo moved so beautifully inside her as she bucked her hips. The pressure of pushing into the other woman made her end lever into her cunt, finding new places, new deeps, new darknesses. It gave her feelings she could not control. The base of the dildo, where it bent outward, rubbed at her clitoris too, exactly at the right place. She had to break the kiss because she had to scream with pleasure. Her body quivered with excitement as her orgasm exploded. In her mind she spunked, spunked into the soft wet depths of the cunt underneath her. She felt like a man.
Finally she stopped bucking her hips, pushing one last time with all her might and then stopping, pressing up into the woman, feeling their two cunts joined together by a cock, a cock that was hers, that she controlled, that belonged to her.
The woman moaned again and used her hand to push at her shoulder. It was a gentle push. Gina eased the dildo out from between them and knelt on her haunches. The dildo was glistening wet, still erect, still sprouting from the red hair of her pubis. She looked down at the woman, who had crossed her arms over her breasts. She was trying to say something too, but Gina could not understand what it was. It sounded like 'bitch' but she didn't know what that meant in English.
Gina got up from the bed and reluctantly pulled the phallus from her body. She knew when it finally came out it would almost make her come again - it always did - so she pulled very, very slowly, teasing herself, enjoying the sight of the woman on the bed, well fucked, trying to imagine what it would be like to have really fucked her like a man, with a real cock. Her fingers worked at her clitoris as the other hand extracted the dildo. As she finally felt its tip break out of her labia she came again, as she hoped she would, pressing her finger on her clit and holding it down hard, until all the passion was squeezed out of her body.
'You like to be fucked, I think. Gianni says this.' Gina dressed. Her body was still tingling, her mind full of images that would be with her for a long time. She packed the dildo back into her bag. The jar of cream was empty and she dropped it on the bed. She knocked twice on the cell door.
'Bella,' she said as she left.
She'd been right. She could move. She'd been able to move. Not very much, but she'd moved, tried to push the woman off. She had felt more, too. In different circumstances she would have enjoyed the experience, but the woman had been unsubtle, carried away with her own feelings, strong and harsh. The feeling of euphoria had evaporated much more quickly, and she was left with her real feelings. So she had been right. The water was drugged.
If she could resist drinking the water she might be able to do something, to escape. Exactly how, she couldn't imagine, but at least she'd have the element of surprise, at least she'd have all her faculties. Perhaps Angelina would make a mistake.
The problem was resisting the water. Soon she would be thirsty again. Her eyes lighted on the empty cold-cream jar. She picked it up and immediately had an idea. The water they gave her with meals was not drugged. If she could save some of that and drink it instead of the drugged water...
She wiped the excess cream out of the jar with her fingers. She used it to soothe the soreness the dildo had created.
She would have to hide it somewhere. Under the bed? But that wasn't very hidden. She lifted the mattress. The wooden bed had a slated frame. If she could make a cradle with the handkerchief tied between two slats it would hold the jar and be very unlikely to be seen. She worked quickly, the handkerchief just big enough to form a hammock into which the jar would fit. All she had to do now was fill it with water.
It was a feeble plot, but her own. At least it gave her hope, though hope of what she was not entirely sure.
Chapter Ten
The light woke her. Or it might have been the cold. Or her thirst. As she had no way of telling the time she had no means of telling how long it had been before her raging thirst had returned. They had not given her a drink before the light had gone out, so now her thirst was savage.
'Breakfast' consisted of bread and water passed through the flap. She grabbed the beaker of water, and was about to down it all at once when she remembered the jar. She finished half the glass, but her thirst was hardly quenched. She took the jar from its hiding place and filled it with water. It took the whole half glass. She screwed the top back on and put it in the handkerchief cradle. Her thirst was still terrible.
If she took just another sip? She sat on the bed and tried to think of something else. She ate the bread and put her knees up to her chin to keep warm.
She heard the key turning in the lock and Angelina entered to take her for her bath. She managed to swig a few mouthfuls of the bathwater, but on the third mouthful Angelina saw what she was doing, slapped her hand down from her mouth and shouted, 'Basta!' For the rest of the time her eyes never left Stephanie's as she cleaned herself and used the toilet.
Back in the cell, Angelina threw a red basque on to the bed and a pair of grey stockings. Stephanie put them on immediately. It was the most she had been given to wear since her arrival in the cell. And she knew what it meant. She knew she was going to be getting another visitor.
As she sat trying to forget her thirst, the optimism her little plan had created began to seep away and be replaced by depression. The cold depressed her too, the thin basque and stockings providing little warmth. What good would it do her? Even if she got free of the drug she could never overpower Gianni or whoever it was. If she got out of the cell, the outer door was bound to be locked. She was trapped.
She thought of life at the castle, the brief weeks of absolute luxury she had passed there. It seemed so far away now. Well, she only had herself to blame; she had been hoisted by her own petard. She had played a dangerous game and lost, well and truly lost. If she hadn't reacted to what Gianni had done to her at the castle none of this would have happened. It wasn't as though she hadn't enjoyed it. She had. In the end she begged him to take her. Why hadn't she just left it at that? Why did she have to teach him a lesson?
The vent began to blow heat. On schedule, a few minutes later, the flap in the door opened and a glass of water appeared. The same pattern. Stephanie stared at the water as if it were a complicated puzzle she had to solve. Her thirst immediately raged, made worse by the water, her mouth salivating, her whole body begging her to drink. She reached out and took the glass in her hand. It was trembling, making little waves on the surface of the water. Why didn't she just drink it all, lay on the bed in a haze of euphoria, let them do what they wanted with her? Did it matter?
Quickly, before she lost her willpower, she poured the water into the crack in the floor. She flipped up the mattress, opened the jar, and downed all the water in it. She wanted to save some, but she couldn't. The water tasted of cold-cream. Screwing back the top, she replaced the jar in its cradle and lay flat out on the bed.
She waited, her thirst not slaked but bearable.
The key turned in the lock. Gianni strode in. With him was another man or, more accurately, a boy.
'Well, my dear,' he said, grinning. 'I hope you enjoy your stay with us. This is my nephew, Paulo. Tomorrow is his eighteenth birthday. His father has given him his own flat. So I think what I can give.' He started to laugh. 'I think I'll give him you.'
Since he had shuffled uneasily into the cell, the boy's eyes had not left Stephanie's body.
Stephanie did not move.
'Bene?' Gianni asked.
'Meraviglioso...' the boy replied, almost under his breath.
'Happy birthday!' Gianni said in English, slapping his shoulder and closing the cell door as he left.
The boy continued to stare at first, hardly registering that his uncle had left. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off. His chest was almost concave, the ribs showing on either side. He stepped out of his shoes and socks and pulled down his trousers and pants together. His penis was already sticking out from his adolescent body. It didn't match the rest of him at all: it was a man's penis, thick and mature.
Paulo bent over Stephanie as she lay playing doggo on the bed and, as though expecting to receive an electric shock, touched the top of her breast. When she did not react, he moved his hand down under the lace of the basque and on to her nipple. He used his other hand to do the same with the other breast, sitting down beside her on the mattress.
Stephanie saw his erection bobbing out from his lap. A tear of moisture indicated his excitement. Whatever he intended to do with her was not going to last long, she guessed. If this wasn't his first time, it was certainly the first time with a mature woman dressed like something out of one of the men's magazines he undoubtedly read and wanked over in secret. The expression on his face said it all: birthday and Christmas all wrapped into one.
He moved his hand down the satin of the basque until he reached her navel. She moaned. His hand dropped into her pubic hair. She moaned again, parting her legs slightly.
Experimentally, he pushed down between her legs with the tips of his fingers. Very softly, hardly moving her lips, she whispered, 'Do it to me.'
He'd only done this once before and that hadn't been very successful. It had been in his bedroom in his parents' house and he hadn't been at all sure what he was doing. Neither had the girl. They'd groped and fumbled at each other's clothing and he'd come. He hadn't even been sure he'd penetrated her and hadn't liked to ask. She had been as nervous and scared as him. Good Catholic girls in Italy are expected to stay virgins. Her father would have killed him if he'd known he'd deflowered his daughter: any father would.
