Stephanie's Trial (7 page)

Venetia
responded instantly. Her body began to heave, her breathing shallow
and erratic. Her big breasts were trembling so much she had to
steady them with her hands, pinching at her own nipples at the same
time. The sensations in her body began to coalesce.

Stephanie
sensed her mounting excitement, feeling the thrills of Venetia's
body as they coursed through her nerves. Her clitoris was alive,
dancing under Stephanie's tongue. Venetia was at the brink, her
muscles stretched and taut, her body arched off the bed. At that
moment Stephanie drove two fingers straight into the depths of
Venetia's cunt, up into the flood of juices that ran down the silky
walls. Venetia groaned with sheer unadulterated pleasure. Stephanie
added a third finger and pushed all three as deep as her knuckles
would allow. Her little finger found the opening of Venetia's anus
and slipped into it with ease: the juices from her cunt had
lubricated it copiously.

That was the
last straw for Venetia. Stephanie's hand, virtually her whole hand,
lunging into the two openings of her body, front and rear, took her
over the edge. Every nerve, every muscle, everything that was
capable of feeling sensation spasmed and locked. She arched off the
bed one last time and then collapsed, melted, fell backward into
pitch blackness and endless exploding pleasure, her mind completely
overloaded with feeling.

But her
collapse did not last long. On the back of her orgasm was born a
new desire. Stephanie was kneeling at her side, her buttocks raised
in the air. Venetia let go of her breasts and reached over to pull
at Stephanie's leg. Stephanie knew immediately what she wanted. And
Stephanie wanted it too. She swung her legs open, without moving
her mouth from Venetia's sex, and planted her thighs either side of
Venetia's head, her sex, its thick pubic hair plastered down with
its own wetness, inches from Venetia's mouth.

Stephanie's
tongue redoubled its efforts. Having felt Venetia's orgasm she
worked it harder, not making circles now but long sweeps up and
down the whole plane of her sex from clitoris to anus, like a child
licking an ice-cream, lapping up all the juices that ran from her
body. Then she went back to her clitoris again, tonguing it
delicately while her fingers reinserted themselves in cunt and anus
and drove home with no gentleness.

Venetia tried
to concentrate, fighting the feelings that threatened to overwhelm
her again. She looped her arms around Stephanie's thighs and
levered her head off the bed. Her tongue found Stephanie's clit,
her fingers on her labia. Stephanie could not suppress a moan -
though it was gagged on Venetia's sex - as she felt Venetia's hot
mouth hard up against her already sensitised clitoris.

Venetia
sucked, sucked the lozenge of flesh, sucked it up into her mouth
like a limpet clinging to a rock. Stephanie moaned again, feeling
herself tempted again, feeling that first telltale tingle that told
her she would not be satisfied until yet another orgasm was wrung
from her senses.

Everything was
so exciting; every touch, every taste, everything she saw. What
Venetia did to her was perfectly matched to what she did to
Venetia. It was a harmony like music and both women knew it would
end only one way. They felt each other's excitement, felt the waves
of pleasure pounding through their bodies, the peaks getting higher
and the troughs deeper until there was nothing but feeling, their
clitorises and cunts raw with so much sensation, begging to be
released from the tension that filled them.

There was so
little time between Venetia's orgasm and Stephanie's that it was
like one massive coming. So close were they, so perfectly tuned to
each other's body, so able to feel exactly what the other one felt,
each nuance of feeling, each wave of sensation, that it was as if
their orgasm was doubled, echoing from one body to another like
sound in a canyon, bouncing back and forth.

They clung to
each other as though they were drowning, their bodies sinking
together into the sea of absolute pleasure.

Stephanie was
the first to move. She got to her feet and picked up the black
leather harness from the floor. The dildo was still wet and
glistened.

She strapped
the leather around her waist and stooped to pull the harness
between her legs.

'Buckle it for
me, Venetia,' she said, a tone of hardness creeping into her voice
again.

The black
stretched Cadillac limousine was not the ideal car to drive into
the centre of London but its chauffeur was used to manoeuvring its
length through the sometimes narrow streets, and for Stephanie the
cavernous and luxurious interior was something she particularly
enjoyed. She had not been in it since it had taken her to the
airfield for her first flight to Lake Trasimeno and the island
castle. That seemed a long time ago now, though it was in fact no
more than a few months.

Stephanie had
breakfasted lightly and alone. Venetia had gone to the office early
to deal with queries from Devlin in Moscow that had come in
overnight. As Stephanie intended to spend the whole morning
shopping she wore a cream wool dress that buttoned down the front:
it would be easy to get into and out of while she was trying on
clothes. Her fur coat was beside her on the black leather bench
seat of the Cadillac against the possibility of an autumn
chill.

She was
tempted by the champagne that rested in a silver wine-cooler in a
custom-made bar built from walnut, with receptacles for glasses as
well as the wine. But she decided she would wait until later; she
would probably be glad of a glass around mid-morning.

The Cadillac
glided to a halt outside Yves Saint Laurent in Bond Street, the
chauffeur quickly getting out and running round to open the rear
passenger door for Stephanie. She didn't need the coat. The heavy
cloud of yesterday had been replaced by a clear sky and the sun had
already taken the morning chill from the air. The chauffeur also
opened the plate-glass door to the shop.

Inside,
Stephanie browsed happily with an assistant in attendance,
obviously impressed by the waiting limousine. For the next three
hours Stephanie was in and out of the changing rooms of most of the
couture houses in Bond Street: Versace, Ferre, Gucci, Valentino and
Lagerfeld. She chose shoes from Rossetti and le Perla underwear
from Courtney, the Cadillac following her, her purchases loaded
into its vast boot.

By
twelve-thirty she was tired and hungry, and decided to forego the
champagne in the car for a glass of champagne over lunch. As it was
so near she got the Cadillac to take her to the Ritz where she was
ushered through the revolving doors in Arlington Street by a
uniformed commissionaire and escorted to a table in the bar by a
morning-suited under-manager. Almost immediately a smart white
linen-jacketed waiter - not so different from the uniform of the
castle servants - appeared to take her order.

'Good morning
madam, what may I get you?'

'A glass of
champagne. And would you ask the restaurant for a table for lunch?
Just for one.'

'Certainly,
madam.'

The waiter
disappeared. It was only a minute before he set a glass of
champagne down on the table in front of her. She sipped it
gratefully.

'The table's
booked, madam,' he said.

'Thank you,'
Stephanie nodded, the champagne instantly restoring her energy
level. She looked around her as the waiter walked away again. Most
of the tables were occupied by businessmen, all wearing suits and
talking earnestly. There were two floridly dressed women in one
corner, both looking as though they had come up from the country
for the day. But apart from them and one woman, a young blonde,
sitting at a table with four men, there were no other women to be
seen.

'Did you want
to see a menu, madam?' A waiter was standing in front of her,
holding out a large restaurant menu bound in leather.

'No. I know
what I want. Do you have any oysters?'

'Yes,
madam.'

'I'll have a
dozen please. And then a roast partridge.'

'With a
selection of vegetables?'

'Yes. And a
good claret. A half-bottle.'

The waiter
looked quizzical. 'The good clarets only come in bottles,
madam.'

'I suppose
you're right. Then bring me a bottle of Haut Brion. A good year.
And what I don't drink you can have.'

The remark did
not bring a smile to his face. 'Certainly madam.' He bowed slightly
and went away.

The one thing
the kitchens at the castle could not cater for was English game and
the idea of having a partridge had taken Stephanie's fancy. She
found herself salivating at the prospect. It was hardly a light
lunch but she would compensate by having little to eat tonight.

'Excuse...'
The voice came from her left. She turned to identify its owner. A
middle-aged Japanese man sat at the table next to hers. He was
immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, a white shirt and a navy
silk tie. His black hair was thick and wavy, beginning to grey over
his ears. His face was rugged and strong, his chin square and his
hooded epicanthic eyes a very dark brown. 'Excuse...' he repeated,
his voice a velvet thickness with only a hint of a Japanese accent,
'I heard you order partridge. What is, please?'

'Ah... it's a
bird, game bird.'

'Bird, like
chicken?'

'Yes. Well no,
not really, it's wild. Quite a gamey taste.'

'I try, I
think. I have been in England six months but I never heard of
this.'

'Oh, the
season's only just started. You can only get them in the
autumn.'

'I see. I see.
Thank you. Please excuse the interruption.'

Apart from his
eyes, there was very little Japanese about the man. The way he sat,
relaxed and at ease, suggested a strong physical presence. He
looked fit. He was, Stephanie thought, a very attractive man.

'Why don't you
join me?' she said.

'No. I
interrupt. Please forgive this.'

'Not at all.
I'd like it, please. Would you like a glass of champagne?'

'In Japan, for
a woman to offer man champagne, would be considered... odd.'

'We're not in
Japan.'

He smiled
broadly at that, showing his very white and regular teeth. 'Then I
accept.'

The man got
up. He was taller than most Japanese men and broad in the chest.
His suit fitted perfectly. Stephanie glimpsed a gold Rolex on his
wrist and gold cufflinks. He stood in front of her.

'Kakuta
Kanjii,' he said, bowing, then extended his hand.

'Stephanie
Curtis.' She shook his hand.

He sat in the
chair opposite her, his eyes glancing over her body, pausing to
enjoy the view of her crossed legs the knee-length of the skirt of
the dress provided. Stephanie caught the waiter's eye and ordered
another glass of champagne with sign language.

'I do not
usually drink at lunchtime,' Kanjii said.

'So what are
you doing in London?'

'I come to
sell my equipment. I have company that makes machines. Robots. For
factories. I work in London six months and in Tokyo six
months.'

'Your English
is very good.'

'I try. I
think it will be better. You have ever been to Japan?'

'No.'

'It is very
crowded. But also beautiful. Mount Fuji, and at the sea.'

'I'd love to
go there.'

Kanjii talked
easily, his body relaxed, occasionally, using his hands for
emphasis. He had long fingers with his nails professionally
manicured; the backs of his fingers and hands were lightly covered
with long black hairs. He was more than passingly attractive,
Stephanie decided. It was something in those dark eyes, the way
they looked at her, his eyelids giving the impression of intensity.
Even after the excesses of last night Stephanie felt her body
stirring, imagining those hands on her body, and those eyes.

They talked
constantly and had lunch together, Kanjii ordering the same meal as
Stephanie and enthusing over the roast partridge and the 1971 Haut
Brion the wine waiter had selected. He seemed fascinated with every
word she said, looking steadily at her across the lunch table in
the restaurant overlooking Green Park, the leaves on the trees
browned and yellowed by the season, though still mostly clinging
precariously to the branches.

'So you live
in Italy now?' he asked.

'Yes. In a
castle on an island in Lake Trasimeno.'

'It is
beautiful, yes?'

'Very.'

'And may I
please be personal?'

'You may.'

'You do not
wear a wedding band. You are not married?'

'No.'

'But you are
with a man nevertheless?'

'Yes...' She
saw his face fall slightly as she said it, '...and no.'

'No?' He
brightened at this.

'The castle
belongs to a man, yes, but I am a free agent. I do what I please.
We have an arrangement.'

'It is what
you called civilised?'

'Yes, I
suppose so.'

'And he allows
you to do whatever...'

'It is not a
question of him allowing anything,' she said quickly. It came out
more sternly than she intended. Of course she could hardly tell
Kanjii the truth; that it was not a question of what Devlin allowed
her but what she allowed him.

'He must be
a... an unusual man I think.'

'Yes, that
would be a fair description,' she smiled. They both ordered
espresso coffee. It came in tiny white cups. Kanjii talked about
Japan and his business and how he tried to adapt himself to
European ways. It was, he told her, very confusing especially when
it came to women.

'In Japan the
women, they now become more liberated, like the West. But still
there are old traditions.'