Discipline of the Private House (17 page)

The Chatelaine laughed, and turned to see that Jem, left kneeling in the centre of the courtyard, was covertly scanning the four stone walls and watching the comings and goings of the few staff and slaves who were beginning their morning chores. The nipples on her proud breasts were stiff with the cold; her titian hair was swept by the wind; the stripes on her slim, pale buttocks were more pronounced than when Robert had created them. She looked more desirable than ever.

'Perhaps it's just a whim, Robert,' she admitted. 'I like the conceit of having my two most interesting slaves locked up together. And, as we need to keep a close watch on both of them, putting them both in the observation cell in the dungeon seems sensible. And isn't Olena ready for the dungeon? I would have thought that by now Barat and Nicole between them must have convinced her that Hades itself would be too virtuous a place for one as wicked as her.'

'You are right, madame. As always. Olena will find the dungeon a fearsome place, and will realise that being imprisoned there is yet another manifestation of her inner wickedness. And she is so innocent that she cannot possibly be of any help to the Mis-, I mean, to the filthy whore-slave.'

The bristles of the brush caressed the hard, vertical underside of Barat's penis. Isabelle's fingers cupped his left testicle, squeezed it gently, and then squeezed again more firmly as she used the tip of the brush to flick his frenum, the tautly stretched membrane that connected the helmet of his member to the skin of his shaft.

Barat took a deep breath. He felt perspiration break out again on his face and chest. By now, he thought, my dark skin must be glistening in the lamplight. There was hardly a breath of air circulating in the heavily curtained room. He could smell the sweat of his excitement, mingling with Isabelle's womanly scents.

He had been kept aroused for what seemed like an hour, although he knew it must be less than half that, and he could only just prevent himself from coming; it was almost impossible to keep still and silent. He tried to concentrate on maintaining his position and on staring straight ahead with no expression on his face.

His wrists had been crossed behind his back; each was cuffed, and each cuff was individually tethered to the harness that he was becoming used to wearing on his balls and cock. If he were to move his hands he would not fail to feel the movement, and Isabelle could not fail to see it.

'Did you say something, Barat?' Isabelle said. 'When I did this?'

She squeezed his bound scrotum again, and then deliberately pinched the skin of the stretched, bulbous sac.

Barat gasped. His right hand moved instinctively to try to protect his manhood, and before he could control the impulse he felt a thfill of pain as his erection was tugged sideways.

Isabelle tutted.

'Well,' she said, 'that was better than last time. You've earned only ten strokes.'

Ten strokes. That meant he had lasted for twenty minutes without reacting in any way. His target today was half an hour; whenever he failed to achieve his target he received one stroke for each minute of failure. The previous session had ended with fifteen strokes. He was improving, and he felt ridiculously proud.

'I'll punish you now,' Isabelle said. 'Then I'll remove the harness and allow you a short break. Then we'll start again: arousal, insertion of the anal plug and fitting the harness. You're getting very good at managing to keep quiet and still through all that. All you have to do is to continue to be stoical while I torment you. Next time I'll use my mouth: my lips, my tongue, and my sharp little teeth. Your poor penis! Will you be able to keep still, do you think?' She pressed her palm against the hard, hot, imprisoned length of his erection.

'I might be able to,' Barat said thoughtfully, 'if I were given an incentive.'

Isabelle laughed. 'Is the prospect of helping to educate Olena not enough for you?' she said. 'You have to learn how to show no emotion, no matter how great the stimulus. You know what Robert has planned next for Olena. I would have thought you would be looking forward to it.'

Thinking of Olena was not helping Barat's erection to subside. Nor was the insistent pressure of Isabelle's hand. His hard flesh was still sorely stiff within its leather bondage. 'That's all very well,' he said, 'but you know I won't be allowed to have Olena until Robert is satisfied with her progress. It could be weeks. I need some encouragement now.'

'Oh, I'll let you lick me,' Isabelle said carelessly. 'If you pass today's test - thirty minutes without moving or making a noise - I'll sit on your face and, if you lick me properly, I'll play with your penis. We can come together.'

Barat, surprised by Isabelle's untypical generosity and suddenly overwhelmed by the flood of images it conjured in his mind, had to clench all his muscles in order to prevent himself coming there and then. 'I look forward to it,' he said through gritted teeth.

'Ah yes,' Isabelle said, 'and so do I. You will lick all over my bottom, and inside my anus. Then I will sit down hard, and make you lick me for a long time while I ride on your face. But first you must succeed in remaining motionless for thirty minutes. And before that you have to be punished for failing just now.'

Ten strokes. Barat had become almost contemptuous of such minor chastisements. However, it was difficult to bend forwards - his erection, tethered upright against his stomach, prevented him leaning very far - and as he moved his legs apart, as he had learned to, he became more aware of the discomfort caused by the ivory phallus in his anus.

Isabelle, flexing the cane, came to stand behind him. 'Are you ready?' she said. He felt her finger press against the strap that ran between his buttocks. She toyed with the base of the phallus where it protruded through the strap. 'Do you find this more comfortable today? It helps to keep you hard, I think.'

Barat decided that the question was rhetorical, and merely grunted. It was true that he found the phallus less uncomfortable than he had on the previous day, and he had to admit that the constant sense of fullness in his fundament seemed to act almost physically to keep his penis pushed forwards and his testicles tingling.

The door opened and someone stepped into the room, creating a draught of cool air. The light from the corridor seemed unnaturally bright for a moment, and then the door was closed again.

Barat knew better than to look up but he recognised the polished black boots: Master Robert had come to assess his progress. Barat cursed under his breath; he had been beginning to enjoy being trained by Isabelle, but he didn't want Robert to observe his torments and punishments, and he particularly didfi't want Robert to see that he was starting to enjoy them.

'Well?' Robert said impatiently.

'We've just finished the second session, Master Robert,' Isabelle said. 'Barat is improving. He received fifteen strokes after the first session; he's about to receive another ten.'

'Very good,' Robert said, although he sounded far from satisfied.

Robert's boots disappeared from Barat's view. The Master had gone to stand beside Isabelle. Suddenly Barat felt Robert's gloved hands mauling his buttocks.

'Has he taken to the plug?' Robert said, pulling on the base of the phallus.

'Yes, Master Robert,' Isabelle replied. 'I think so. Although, of course, he hasn't yet worn it for an extended period.'

'He's got a pretty arse on him,' Robert commented. 'A bit plump for some tastes, but very smooth and round. I must remember to give him a good buggering before he leaves the Chateau.'

Barat was about to turn and protest loudly, but instead was almost thrown off balance when a hefty swipe of Robert's hand landed on his left buttock.

'But look here, girl,' Robert said. 'There's hardly a mark on him. I thought you said he's had fifteen?'

'Yes, Master Robert.' Isabelle sounded worried and very anxious to please. 'With the cane. With this cane.'

There was a pause. Barat assumed that Robert was inspecting the cane. He could imagine Robert's dismissive expression. There was a shuffling of feet; a whistle in the air; the smack of wood against flesh; and a sharp cry from Isabelle.

'That's how to use a cane,' Robert said. 'But in any case a cane isn't appropriate for this type of training. Fetch a strap: not too broad, medium weight, and with two or three lighter tails at the end. You'll find one just like that in the equipment drawer of the desk.'

Barat heard Isabelle's footsteps recede and return.

'That's the correct implement,' Robert said. 'Now: stand well back from the target, use an upswing, and try to make sure that, as the strap lands on his arse, those tails catch him between his legs - that harness lifts his balls out of the way, so to catch them you need the upward motion and the extra length provided by the tails. Well, get on with it. Or I'll demonstrate on your pretty little backside.'

Isabelle hurried to reply. 'Yes, Master Robert.'

Barat closed his eyes and waited. He would endure the punishment. He just hoped that Robert would then leave, so that Isabelle and he could resume the intimate training and then enjoy the rewards of his success.

It was all relatively familiar and surprisingly enjoyable. Jem had to admit that even being addressed as 'slut' and 'slave' gave her a frisson of pleasure.

It seemed that on this first day of Jem's trial the Chatelaine had determined that her new slave was to be paraded in front of as many of the inmates of the Chateau as possible. Therefore Jem had found herself ordered to be the model or victim in a series of the day-to-day lessons and demonstrations that constituted a large part of the activities of the Chateau.

From the courtyard where she had been publicly whipped, Jem had been led, still on hands and knees, to the Chatelaine's bedchamber.

In the doorway, the Chatelaine took the leash from Robert's hand. 'You can leave us alone now, Robert,' she said. Til ring for you when I've finished with her, and you can take her to her first lesson.'

The Chatelaine pulled on the leash and Jem crawled forwards into the curtained darkness of the room as the door closed behind her. The room smelled of the Chatelaine's perfume. Jem glanced up at the four-poster bed, and remembered vividly the hot afternoon that she and the Chatelaine had spent on it, giggling like schoolgirls as they had taken turns to instigate games of mastery and submission.

The first kiss had been tentative; both women had been accustomed to being obeyed, and neither was eager to compromise her authority. But after a few minutes of kissing, which became ever more intense, there had been no mistaking the mutual desire that had shone in both pairs of eyes. As they undressed each other, each recognised the other's beauty: the Chatelaine tall, slender and elegant, Jem shorter and, as the Chatelaine put it, as pretty as a doll.

They had not bothered to have brought to the room any of the equipment and costumes with which the Chateau was so well supplied. They had used their lips, tongues and fingers to tease and torment each other, and when punishments were called for they had used their hands or the belt that Jem had been wearing.

Jem recalled that she had returned again and again to the Chatelaine's proud breasts, using her fingers or the belt to draw cries of protest that Jem had captured in her own mouth with rapacious kisses. She had made the Chatelaine beg Jem to torture her nipples, and had made her come over and over again as Jem sat astride her, meting out cruel pinches with one hand while reaching behind to dabble in their mingled juices with the other.

And, Jem remembered, her own most intense orgasms had come while she had been draped face down across a heap of pillows in the centre of the bed, writhing languidly as the Chatelaine, whispering endearments, had whipped her bottom, and caressed her and opened her, and penetrated her vagina and anus with various numbers of fingers.

Now, as she waited patiently on all fours in the Chatelaine's bedroom, Jem realised that she was becoming very aroused. Her bottom was warm from the courtyard whipping; her breasts felt heavy; and she knew she was getting wet again.

The Chatelaine released the leash from Jem's collar. 'Well, slave,' she said, T'm going to enjoy you before I turn you over to my staff for the start of your ordeal. Crawl towards me - on your elbows and knees, as I want to see your pretty bottom on display.'

Jem crawled in the direction from which the Chatelaine's voice had come. She hollowed her back as much as she could: she always enjoyed showing off her bottom, and being under the Chatelaine's instruction was doing nothing to decrease her excitement.

Turn around,' the Chatelaine said. 'Let me see the stripes. Ah, yes. Very good. I need hardly tell you that during your stay here your buttocks will at all times carry the marks of discipline.'

Jem was aware of the Chatelaine at her side, and stopped moving. The Chatelaine stroked her hair, her neck and then her buttocks.

'You stupid little bitch,' the Chatelaine said, very softly. 'Do you really believe that you have any hope of passing the test you have set yourself? I have certain tortures and indignities planned for you that it will be impossible for a woman of your spirit willingly to endure. And at the first sign of protest, you will become mine for ever. Don't expect any mercy; don't expect a reprieve. I'm sure you remember what it feels like when you submit to me. I remember, too. The most acute pleasure; the most treasured memories. I will do anything to keep you; therefore I will torment you until you rebel, and I will adhere rigidly to the rules that you have set for yourself. I'm sure you expect nothing less.'