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.
Chapter
Three
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cloud of yesterday had been replaced by a clear sky and the sun had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
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.
Chapter
Three
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
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