Stephanie's Revenge (18 page)

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.

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.

This wasn't a
girl. It was a woman. A gorgeous, mature, sexy woman. He pushed his
hands down between her legs and she cooperated by opening them
more. He felt her heat. He parted her pubic hair and, ignoring her
clitoris, found the opening to her cunt. He pushed his finger
inside and felt it engulfed in wetness. She wanted it. His uncle
had been right. Wanted it and wanted him.

He felt his
heart pounding with excitement. He didn't quite know what to do
next. There were so many possibilities. She felt so wet and hot and
sticky. She felt like all the descriptions in all the books he had
read. He pushed his finger higher, feeling it parting the fleshy
walls of her cunt. Oh my god, what a feeling...