Stephanie's Trial

by

Stephanie's
Trial first published in 1994 by Nexus. Published as an eBook in
2012 by Chimera eBooks.

ePub ISBN
9781780802237

mobi ISBN
9781780808826

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Chimera (
ki-mir'a,
ki-
) a creation of the imagination, a wild
fantasy.

New authors
are always welcome,
or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the
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.

This novel is fiction - in real life
practice safe sex.

This work is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold,
hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior
written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published, and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all
characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of
age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely
imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual
happening.

Copyright Susanna Hughes. The right of
Susanna Hughes to be identified as author of this book has been
asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights
Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The Baron
liked to watch. He was a big man, very tall and with an aura of
physical power that belied his sixty years of age. He looked
precisely what he was, a Prussian military man, his back as
straight as a ramrod, his almost totally bald head held high and
proud. But despite the infinite combinations available on the
sexual menu at the castle, all the Baron had wanted to do was
watch.

Stephanie had
kept him well supplied with spectacle. The castle was designed to
cater for every conceivable sexual taste and the Baron's voyeurism
was no exception. There was a room specially constructed for the
purpose. It was small, just big enough to contain a double bed and
bedside tables. There was no other furniture. The bed was covered
with silk sheets and piled with cushions and pillows. The walls on
either side of the bed were made entirely of two-way mirrors from
floor to ceiling. Each could be curtained off at the touch of a
button on the bedside table. The view on one side was of a
stone-walled dungeon, its brick vaulted ceiling hung with chains
and pulleys, its walls thick with iron rings, bolts and chains and
all manner of devices to fetter and restrain. On the other side the
glass revealed a normal luxuriously appointed bedroom, dominated by
a large double bed. The occupants of either room could only see a
wall of mirror from their side. On the dungeon side there were even
fixing points in the mirror itself and Stephanie once had ordered
one of the female slaves spread-eagled against the glass, her
breasts and belly pressed against its surface, writhing against it
as she was punished for misbehaviour, the sweat from her body
smeared on the mirror.

But tonight
was the Baron's last night at the castle and Stephanie wanted to
give him a special performance, something he'd remember. Though
this was his first visit to the castle he was an old friend of
Devlin's and an immensely wealthy man whom Devlin had done business
with for many years. It was important that he enjoyed himself,
especially as Devlin had been called away on business. But if she
was truthful with herself it was not only a question of looking
after an honoured guest; she found herself strangely attracted to
this big man. It was something in his eyes, a stillness there, a
deliberateness, a suggestion of power, that made her feel the first
pangs of sexual excitement whenever she saw him.

Stephanie sat
naked on the bed, the black lingerie beside her. She was facing the
mirror, looking straight into it. She knew, of course, the Baron
was on the other side of the glass. She knew he would be watching
her, had already watched her strip out of her yellow sun-dress,
white bra and tiny white panties, revealing what she hoped he had
wanted to see all weekend.

She picked up
a black nylon stocking and rolled it into a pouch around the toe.
She raised her leg and pointed her foot, fitting the nylon over her
toes, slowly rolling it up over her ankle and calf, the translucent
material engulfing her creamy flesh until its black welt bisected
her slim, contoured thighs. She used the palms of both hands to
smooth and stretch the nylon flat against her leg. The Baron would
be able to see the slit of her sex covered with her curly black
pubic hair. He might even be able to see her labia and a slick of
wetness there because, she knew, her juices were already oozing
from her body.

Picking up the
second stocking, Stephanie repeated the process. The nylon rolled
out from her fingers, encasing her leg in a shiny, slippery,
seamless smoothness like newly applied gloss paint. Again she leant
forward to iron out any wrinkles with the palms of her hands, her
firm breast touching the top of her thigh as she did so.

She lowered
her leg to the floor when she was satisfied the stocking was
completely smooth, and picked up the garment she had laid out next
to the stockings. The black lace cami-suspender was as sheer as the
stockings, a deep bra with its bottom edge scalloped at the front
and side into angular crescents of material at the apex of which
was the long finger of a suspender. Stephanie slipped the silky
nylon over her head and down over her breasts, pulling its cups
into place so they fitted snugly. She clipped the black suspenders
into the tops of the stockings and fastened them securely. The
black nylon welts formed thick chevrons on her thighs. The material
of the cami-suspender made an arch over her navel, her belly-button
exposed, the triangle of her pubic hair framed by the suspenders on
each side. The lacy cups of the bra did not hide her breasts but
only shaded them; her nipples and the darkness of her areola were
still clearly visible.

Stephanie
stood up. The tight suspenders pulled at the black lace covering
her breasts and in turn on the straps of the bra on her shoulders.
She enjoyed the feeling of tightness it gave her, like subtle
bondage.

Looking
directly into the mirror she slipped her feet into a pair of
high-heel shoes. They were shiny black leather, the heels so high
the top of her foot was arched out. Apart from the long black
fingers of the four suspenders from the waist to the welts of the
stockings she was naked, the creamy flesh in between somehow made
to look softer, more alluring by contrast with the sheer black
nylon that surrounded it. The high heels shaped the muscles of her
calves and tilted her firm apple-shaped arse into a distinct pout.
She turned her back on the mirror and examined herself over her
shoulder - just as the Baron was examining her, no doubt. The two
creases of her flesh where thigh met buttock were bisected by the
deep cleft of her arse; it was dark in there, a darkness full of
promise. Between her legs, even with them firmly closed, there was
a space between her thighs, a diamond-shaped hollow immediately
under the plane of her labia.

Stephanie took
a hairbrush from the bedside table and walked up to within a foot
of the huge mirror. She had pinned her rich black hair up to the
back of her head. Now she let it fall free, brushing it out, long
full strokes of her arm from the crown of her head out to the very
tip of her hair, brushing out to the side, holding the hair out
almost horizontally. The movement of her arm made her breasts
tremble under the transparent lace, the hard buttons of her nipples
pressed into the complex web of material that imprisoned them.

She thought of
the Baron, a few feet away. What was he doing? The red drapes would
be closed on the other wall, the dungeon side. The lights in the
room would be dimmed. Was he lying naked on the bed, his big body
stretched out, his cock throbbing and erect as he watched her
perform? Or was he still dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed,
those hypnotic eyes staring at her quietly in the way they had of
seeing and seeing through her at the same time? What was his cock
like? Was it as big and powerful as he was?

Stephanie's
body shuddered involuntarily. She felt her sex pulse. She knew it
was wet. Reversing the hairbrush in her hand she ran the handle, a
slim black lacquered handle, down the front of her body, down
between her breasts, over the sheer black lace to the creaminess of
her navel, down until it nestled in her pubic hair. She parted her
legs slightly, then pushed the hairbrush down into the narrow gorge
of her sex, its polished and lacquered surface immediately making
contact with the hard knot of her clitoris. The contact made her
groan. She leant forward, bringing her other arm up to rest against
the mirror at head height, then resting her forehead on her lower
arm. She stared down at her body, seeing it and its reflection at
the same time. She moved the black handle in tiny circles and felt
her clitoris throb like a thing apart from her, like a little
animal come to life. Looking down she saw the way the long
suspenders were arched out from her body, holding the stockings
taut.

She could see
her feet in the high heels, covered by black nylon, her legs well
apart. The handle of the hairbrush would make her come, she knew,
if she continued what she was doing. Wanting to delay the
inevitable a little longer, she moved the handle lower, bending her
knees slightly to allow it to slip up between the lips of her cunt
and into her sex. There was no resistance. She was soaking wet.

She raised her
head and looked straight into the mirror as though trying to see
through it. In her mind's eye she saw the Baron standing on the
other side of the mirror, his erect penis pressed against the glass
exactly opposite her cunt, his hands groping at the image of her
body, caressing it, squeezing it as his cock, slimed with its own
secretions, left a wet sticky trail on the surface as it slid up
and down, wanting to come.

Stephanie
could wait no longer. She pulled the handle of the hairbrush from
her body. It glistened with the sap from her sex. She brought it up
to her mouth and licked it hungrily like a child licking an
ice-cream. It tasted good, she tasted good. She had come to love
the taste of her own body. She had tasted it many times now, on
men's mouths and cocks, on women's mouths and fingers, cocks and
mouths and fingers she'd sucked hungrily as she did now with the
smooth glossy finish of the hairbrush. Then she threw the brush
aside and turned her back on the mirror. Resting the full curves of
her arse against it, she bent over.

It was
exciting. She knew this would expose the whole of her sex to the
Baron's view, from the neat puckered crater of her anus to the
particularly fleshy slit of her outer labia, and inside, the
delicate inner oval like a vertical mouth, wet and pink and
crinkled like the pistil of some exotic carnivorous flower. Using
her hands to spread her buttocks, she pushed back until she could
feel the cold glass against her sex. Was the Baron on his knees in
front of the mirror now, looking right up her cunt, into the black
depths, examining every detail? She felt a strong pulse of pleasure
emanating from her clitoris. This was a performance the Baron
wouldn't forget.

Stephanie
straightened herself up and walked over to the bed. The mirror was
marked where her sex had been, almost like the marks lipstick makes
after a kiss.

Now the pulses
in her body were too strong to ignore. Now it was her turn, the
mistress of the castle had to have her pleasure. It was a pity that
the Baron, the big, powerful Baron only wanted to watch. Stephanie
would have loved to be crushed under that heavy body, loved him to
have stepped through the glass now and use his cock - the hard,
erect, throbbing cock she could see in her mind's eye - on her,
thrusting it up her and in her.

But at least
she had a substitute. She pressed a small button on the bedside
table to indicate she was ready, then lay back on the middle of the
bed, bending her legs at the knee and opening them wide, the heels
of her shoes digging into the pale peach-coloured sheets, rucking
them around their tips. She raised her head and looked down her
body, down the black lace and naked flesh underneath it. The
suspenders on top of her thighs were hanging loose, not stretched
by the position of her legs but the wide black welt of the stocking
still formed a perfect chevron on her thigh. She let the fingertips
of her right hand graze the black nylon of the welt, slipping to
and fro, feeling the contrast between the shiny material and the
soft warmth of her flesh. Then she let her hand drift down past her
navel to where her pubic hair waited impatiently for attention, the
animal impatiently waiting to be petted.