Stephanie's Trial (10 page)

The geishas
were pulling the single sheet that covered the mattress out and
wrapping it over Kanjii's back, encasing them both in the white
cotton. Under the sheet Stephanie saw a series of wide satin
ribbons laid out one against the other, all the way down the bed.
Kanjii suddenly thrust his cock forward, up into Stephanie's cunt.
Stephanie shuddered with delight. Whereas the dildo had been thin
and cold, Kanjii's cock by contrast was thick and hot. It did not
fill her. But the nerves the dildo had awakened seemed to be
ultra-active and sung their pleasure at this new invasion.

The geishas
were picking up one ribbon at a time, wrapping them around Kanjii's
back, first over Stephanie's shoulders, then down his spine, one
after another until even his buttocks were encased. They tied them
tightly, forcing Kanjii's body against Stephanie's. Once their
torsos were bound they turned their attention to their limbs.
Closing both Stephanie's and Kanjii's legs, they bound ribbons
around them until they too were completely enclosed and held
tightly together. As their arms were bound to their sides by the
ribbon around their backs, in minutes they were totally enveloped
in white satin ribbon. Only their heads were free. That did not
last long. Kanjii's mouth moved over Stephanie's, his tongue
immediately penetrating her lips, as she felt ribbon being wound
around her head, not as tightly as the bindings on their bodies but
tightly enough to hold them together. Now darkness descended and
she could only feel.

Kanjii did not
move. His cock and his tongue were deep inside her but he did not
move. He could not move. Neither of them could. All Stephanie could
do was feel. She could feel her nipples, hard as rock, pressed flat
into Kanjii's muscular chest. She could feel the whole length of
her body, the body that had been washed and oiled and pampered by
the geishas and now felt so sensitive it was almost as if it had
never felt anything before. She could feel, most of all, her cunt,
clinging tightly to the hard bone of Kanjii's cock, her juices
running down him, her clitoris bound against him, the very mouth of
her womb seeming to kiss the tip of his glans.

Stephanie was
more aware of her own body than she had ever been. She could hear
her pulse drumming in her ear. She could feel her heart beating.
The aroma that she had inhaled still lingered in her mind,
enhancing every feeling.

Still Kanjii
did not move. She wondered if he could. They were bound so tightly
together he probably couldn't. But he didn't try. His cock was
throbbing, though, and it seemed to be getting hotter and hotter,
like a red-hot poker inside her.

Things began
to change. She felt herself losing sensation, her body going numb.
But the more she lost from her outer limbs the more she gained in
her sex. She didn't think she had ever felt a cock so clearly. She
seemed to be able to feel every detail of it, the ridge of the
glans, the long swollen tube of the urethra on the underside. It
was as though her cunt had become articulate, as though it was a
hand clutching and holding and sensing every inch of his cock.

She sucked on
his tongue. She sucked hard and felt his cock's reaction, twitching
inside her. The pulse of his body seemed to increase. She could
feel his excitement building. Of course he was feeling exactly what
she was feeling; he would be able to feel her cunt just as
graphically, and her tits, and the long contours of her thighs.

Kanjii's cock
swelled inside her, filling her more, throbbing harder. She knew he
was going to come. And what was more astonishing was that she knew
she was going to come with him. She knew she would feel his spunk
better than she'd ever felt spunk before. She gloried in her good
fortune, in all the wonderful sexual feelings the geishas had given
her. And now this...

Kanjii's cock
swelled again. So sensitive was her cunt now that Stephanie could
feel his spunk rising from his balls. He had not moved. He didn't
need to.

His cock began
to spasm, bucking against the confines of its delicious wet prison.
He moaned, the sound echoing in her open mouth, and his cock jerked
wildly inside her, spitting spunk, hot white gobs of spunk, right
out into the depths of her cunt. She had never felt anything like
it. She could feel every jet, she felt it hitting her womb, the
very top of her cunt. She could feel every bit, each separate,
distinct, each cranking up the engine of her own orgasm, already
primed and ready, until the biggest eruption of all, the final
spasm, splashed spunk deepest of all and sent Stephanie crashing
down into an orgasm like nothing she had had before. Her body
fought to express its pleasure in movement but the ribbon held her
tight. Her nerves reacted against the constriction seemingly by
doubling their feeling, action and counteraction becoming the
same.

Inside her,
almost at once, she felt the spunk trickling down the already
soaking wet walls of her cunt, down over Kanjii's balls. Another
orgasm, not as intense but just as pleasurable, rocked her into
complete submission.

He handed her
the small cup of sake served at body temperature. She drank the
sticky, strong liquid gratefully. She needed it, needed it
badly.

'I've never
experienced anything like that,' she said honestly.

'The geishas
adapted well, I think. They are not used to dealing with
women.'

They were back
in the main living room. It was dark now and the panoramic windows
provided an amazing vista of London's lights from the Telecom Tower
to the hotels of Park Lane. The sake was served in a special china
bottle. The cups were tiny and Stephanie had downed hers in one
gulp. Kanjii refilled the cup.

'What you have
experienced is only the beginning. There are many rituals. The art
is in the ritual and in knowing which ritual is best for which
person. That is what a geisha is trained for. And I know too, I
think.'

'Know
what?'

He sipped his
sake before continuing. 'I know what would be the ritual you would
most enjoy.'

'Well I
certainly enjoyed the... what did you call it?'

'First the
five-pointed star. Then the single flower.'

'Actually I
don't think "enjoy" was the right word.'

'But for you I
think the Seven Samurai...'

Stephanie felt
a little thrill of excitement. 'What does that involve?'

'I cannot tell
you. It is for a man of course. It would have to be adapted to a
woman. But that would be no problem. I would show you but you will
be returning to Italy...'

'No, not for a
few days.' Stephanie was intrigued again, which she was clearly
meant to be.

'Tomorrow I
have to go to Paris. But the following evening... Thursday?'

'Thursday is
fine.'

Stephanie felt
a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. It was a delicious
feeling. Her whole body was still recovering from the sensations it
had experienced. The geishas had slowly and gently unwrapped the
ribbons that had bound their bodies so tightly together. They had
taken Stephanie back into the bathhouse, where they had helped her
shower and left her alone to put on her clothes, which were brought
to her neatly folded. The eldest had then escorted her through the
Japanese garden and back into the living room where Kanjii was
waiting in slacks and a clean white shirt.

'I expected
the geishas to wear a more traditional costume,' Stephanie
said.

'In Japan they
do, of course. But here it seems right to adapt a little. For
myself too I find it more... sexy.' For the first time since she
had met him, Kanjii's face was grinning broadly.

'And did you
find me sexy?'

'You, my dear
lady, were perfection. For a Western woman.'

'Of course.'
Stephanie was not at all offended by the reservation. 'After what
I've been through I can hardly imagine anything more...'

'Interesting?'
he suggested.

'Fulfilling,'
she said.

He insisted on
showing her down to her car. The chauffeur was asleep at the wheel,
a newspaper covering his face. He started awake and ran round to
open the passenger door.

'Till Thursday
then,' Kanjii said, kissing her hand lightly and then bowing.

'Eight-thirty?' Stephanie asked.

'Fine,' he
said.

'I can't
wait.'

She got into
the big back seat of the Cadillac and realised it was perfectly
true. She couldn't wait.

Having more or
less completed her trawl of the Bond Street and South Molton Street
shops on Tuesday, Stephanie decided that on Wednesday she would
investigate Knightsbridge and Sloane Street. She got the Cadillac
to drop her off at Harrods where she browsed happily for an hour
before walking down to Harvey Nichols, telling the chauffeur to
wait at Montepeliano where she intended to have a light lunch.

As she walked
through Knightsbridge, looking in shop windows but not bothering to
go into any of the shops, she had a strange, unaccountable feeling:
that she was being followed. Standing in one of the shop doorways
she pretended to be looking at the clothes but glanced instead
behind her. There was no one who looked remotely interested in her.
A burly ginger-haired man in a suede blouson walked past her and up
the street without giving her a glance and a small sprightly woman
in her sixties, carrying a miniature poodle, did the same. No one
dived into a shop to hide, or turned and walked in the opposite
direction. No one appeared in the least interested in her. She
looked both ways. The ginger-haired man had disappeared.

It was a bout
of paranoia, Stephanie decided, though what had caused it she
couldn't imagine. She walked on, glancing back over her shoulder
from time to time but never once caught anyone who could properly
arouse her suspicions.

In Sloane
Street she wandered into one or two shops and tried on various
items: skirts, blouses, a suit. But whether it was because she
could find nothing to her taste, or just not being in the mood for
shopping, she bought nothing. She felt an odd sense of foreboding
and whatever she did she couldn't shake it off. The entirely
irrational prospect of being followed had raised a spectre in her
mind that she had never been able completely to lay to rest. After
all she had been drugged and kidnapped from the castle only months
ago, held in a cellar, naked and cold, for days. Though she had
managed to free herself and get her revenge on the perpetrator, the
experience, not surprisingly, had left its mental scars on her. If
it hadn't been for her own guile she could have been there still.
The thought chilled her, and for a second she stood in front of a
row of clothes and shivered.

'Are you all
right, madam?' A rather matronly assistant asked, seeing the colour
drain from Stephanie's face.

'I'm fine,'
she replied. 'Thanks.'

She walked
past the concerned woman, out of the shop and strode purposefully
towards Montepeliano. What she needed was a drink and something to
eat, then she would feel better.

And she did.
Seated in the bustling Italian restaurant with a stiff vodka
martini in front of her and her chauffeur seated outside in the
car, she felt her confidence return. She damned Gianni, her
kidnapper, and was able to smile to herself at the thought of what
she had done to him by way of revenge.

She ate some
grilled prawns and a green salad and drank most of the bottle of
vintage Barolo, which didn't go with the fish at all but which she
ordered because she wanted something warm and full-bodied.

It was the
cold in the cellars in which she had been trapped that had left the
deepest mark on her psyche and whenever she recalled the experience
it took her some time to make herself feel warm again. A large
double espresso helped too.

Feeling
better, she got the Cadillac to take her to the top end of the
Fulham Road where she had read of a clothes shop she particularly
wanted to see. The chauffeur indicated where he would wait for her
and she ventured into the highly decorated shop, its exterior
hand-painted in a marble effect of black and green. The interior
continued the same colour scheme, the centre of the shop very dark
but the clothes arrayed on rails that were bathed in pools of light
from overhead spots.

The clothes
were certainly unusual but so outrageously expensive that, even on
Devlin's budget, Stephanie blanched. It was not only the money. The
styles were so outré it was difficult to imagine a single occasion
she could wear them on. They were definitely not clothes that would
turn Devlin, or any of Devlin's guests, on.

Disappointed,
she wandered out and was thinking about going home when she noticed
a small shop window opposite and a few doors down from the
pretentiously marbled emporium. The absolutely plain but
beautifully cut black dress in the window was in such contrast to
the over-elaboration of the clothes she had just seen that
Stephanie liked it immediately.

The
old-fashioned bell above the door tinkled as Stephanie entered the
shop. It was small with only two rows of clothes, one on each side
of a narrow space. There was a small counter at the back and a
curtain behind which was what Stephanie took to be the changing
room. As she browsed through the first rail of clothes a woman
appeared from behind the counter.

'Can I help
you?' she said, smiling and coming round into the centre of the
shop. She was an extraordinarily striking woman. Her hair was long
and very blonde, her strong face beautifully balanced by high
cheekbones and a long but slender nose. Her eyes, edged with
eye-liner and shadow, the lashes thick with black mascara, were
very large and very blue. Her mouth was big too, her fleshy lips in
a shade of lipstick that could accurately be called jungle red. It
matched the nail varnish painted on her long, manicured
fingernails.