Discipline of the Private House (3 page)

Jem removed her hand at length from the wetness of her sex, and leaned forwards to push her fingers into Julia's mouth. 'See how wet you've made me,' she murmured. 'Open your legs wider, my darling, and push your bottom out more.'

Julia, sucking on her Mistress's fingers, obeyed. Ingrid gazed longingly at Julia's taut, red-striped buttocks, the mass of black curls between her thighs dripping with moisture, and the deep cavern of the cleft of her arse. 'I expect you'd like me to finger your anus,' Jem said, and barely waited for Julia's grunt of assent before dropping the crop and delving with her slim fingers into the dark crevice. Ingrid could see Jem's fingers circling, prising and pushing. Julia gave a delighted groan and suckled the fingers of Jem's other hand. Jem rested her cheek against Julia's bottom, watched her fingers working at Julia's anus, and then closed her eyes contentedly.

The two women had obviously made love in this way many times before. Ingrid felt she would burst with impatience. When would the Mistress remember
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T don't know why you bother to bring me new slaves,' Jem said dreamily. T could easily spend every night with you.' She removed her fingers from Julia's cleft and instead pressed her face between Julia's buttocks.

Julia pulled her face away from Jem's left hand. 'That's almost unbearably pleasant,' she said. 'But you know,' she added sadly, 'that one of us, at least, has to attend to our duties. I have to work every day. Your withdrawal from affairs makes it harder for me to keep control out there. You can't expect me to keep you amused all night, too.'

Jem, her lipstick spread around her pretty mouth, had pulled away from Julia's anus. 'Still the same old refrain,' she said. 'Jules, you know I don't want to hear this. Lift yourself up on to your elbows and unbutton your tunic. I'm going to hurt your nipples.'

Julia gave a snort of rueful laughter and obeyed. Ingrid saw her body flinch as the fingers of Jem's left hand held and pinched her left nipple. Jem picked up the crop and delivered ten quick, hard lashes. Five vivid stripes appeared on each of Julia's reddened buttocks. Julia cried out and tossed her mane of black hair.

'And how many is that?' Jem asked, turning suddenly to Ingrid.

Ingrid swallowed. She had been counting, but now that she had to volunteer the total as the number of strokes her breasts would receive, the figure seemed insupportably large. 'Sixty-seven, Mistress,' she whispered.

'How very precise,' Jem said, and released her grip on Julia's nipple. Julia gasped and lowered her body back on to the seat of the chair.

A little while later Ingrid, her hands still bound behind her back and still kneeling with her knees wide apart, had counted up to thirty-three: thirty-three times the crop had stroked her breasts. Julia was sitting behind her; through a mist of swarming sensations Ingrid was sure that at least one of Julia's fingers had some time ago penetrated into her arsehole, and from time to time Julia touched her elsewhere, with a caress close to her clitoris or a pinch of one of her distended labia. It was as if Julia knew that any more frequent contact would cause Ingrid to climax.

Ingrid's breasts were hot and tingling and felt as though they had expanded to twice their normal size. Jem, who had stepped back to admire the handiwork she had already wrought on Ingrid's breasts, leaned forwards and swung the riding-crop upwards so that the leather flap at its end slapped against the underside of Ingrid's right breast. Ingrid gasped as she felt the sting, and almost came as the trembling of her breast echoed the vibration that travelled along her body and into her loins. Her clitoris pulsed. This was even better than having her bottom spanked by Anton.

Thirty-four, Mistress,' Ingrid said.

Jem laughed happily. 'She certainly does seem to be enjoying this,' she said. 'Jules, how many fingers have you got up her arse?'

Ingrid felt a circular movement in her anus, and blushed.

'Just the one, so far, Jem,' Julia said.

'Time to double up, then, I reckon,' Jem said. 'I guess there's no shortage of lubrication?'

Ingrid closed her eyes and felt her face flushing more hotly as Julia's fingers, with a slithering sound, explored her open vagina. She felt Jem's cool hand cupping and stroking the hot mass of her left breast; she felt Julia's fingers between her buttocks and the addition of cooling moisture there. There followed a pressure against her opening, a spasm of discomfort, the moment of yielding, and then the solid, stretching knowledge that two of Julia's digits were now embedded inside her.

'I find that having something up my bottom always makes my breasts feel more sensitive,' Jem said conversationally. Then she brought the crop swiftly sideways against Ingrid's right breast, catching the nipple. 'Do you agree, little one?'

It was no longer pain or pleasure; it was a jolt of pure sensation, sparking from Ingrid's nipple to her anus, and only then melting into a glow of hurting warmth in her breast and simmering heat in her sex.

'Ah. Oh, yes, Mistress,' Ingrid breathed. 'Thirty-five.'

Jem laughed again. 'How very cute,' she said, stroking Ingrid's burning face. 'Why, my breasts are beginning to feel jealous of yours. When this is finished, little one, I'll show you how to give me pleasure with my nipple clamps. I hope you're feeling cruel.'

Ten strokes, five to each breast, followed hard and fast before the Mistress paused again and allowed Ingrid to recover her composure.

'She almost came,' Julia murmured. T hardly touched her. Shall I let her come while you're whipping her?'

'Not yet, Jules. Maybe right at the end. We mustn't be too kind to newcomers. They have to learn the value of restraint. She wouldn't be permitted to come if she were being trained at the Chateau, for instance.'

'The Chatelaine runs an exemplary establishment,' Julia said drily. 'But it's not a regime that suits everyone. Still,' she added pensively, moving her two rigid fingers back and forth, 'perhaps this one would benefit from the experience.'

Jem leaned forwards and took Ingrid's right breast between her two hands. She squeezed the heated flesh, moulding it into a smooth bulb. 'At the Chateau,' she said to Ingrid, 'they would bind your breasts, after a certain amount of punishment, to keep them swollen and firm, like this. And then the Chatelaine would probably insist on the use of a cane, or a strap; not a toy like this ceremonial riding-crop. Would you learn to enjoy such severe pleasures, little one?'

Ingrid had no idea. The sensation of the Mistress's cool hands squeezing her punished breast while Julia's fingers moved gently inside her had brought her to the brink of orgasm. 'I don't know, Mistress,' she gasped. And then, perhaps because she had been thinking about how she would use the nipple clamps to pinch the crinkly skin of Jem's areolae, she blurted out, 'Would you? Oh, I'm sorry,

Mistress. But I thought, well, you obviously enjoy, you know, this sort of thing. But do you enjoy being on the receiving end? Maybe you'd like that as well. Or even more.'

There was a silence. Ingrid looked up, and was surprised to see Jem in a reverie, with a faraway look clouding her violet eyes and a curious smile on her lips.

'Maybe,' Jem said softly. 'Maybe that's -'

Julia interrupted. 'Maybe it's not a good idea to dredge up old memories,' she said firmly. 'The Private House needs you to be in control, Jem. And as for this little minx: I think she needs the gag again.'

'No, it's all right, Jules, honey. I'm not going soft on you. And you mustn't gag my little one: I have plans for that wide, luscious mouth of hers. She's mine for tonight, anyway,' the Mistress said. 'And I don't intend to let her forget who's in charge. Kneel up. Curve your back inwards. That's right.' Jem also knelt and prepared to resume the punishment of Ingrid's breasts.

'And that means I might get some sleep tonight,' Julia said, and placed a kiss on the small of Ingrid's back.

The far-reaching establishment called the Chateau, which was itself a part of the organisation known as the Private House, had at its centre a moated, conical-towered Renaissance palace. This luxuriously converted fortress was in a country separated by sea and many miles of land from the rambling mansion within which Jem was entertaining herself with Ingrid. But national boundaries and geographical distance were irrelevant to the Private House.

The Chatelaine was working late. Nicole was sitting at the end of the long leather-topped desk, outside the pool of light cast by the lamp. Only her hand, holding a pen, and the squared paper on which she was writing notes were illuminated. The Chatelaine was in the penumbra of the lamplight. Nicole could discern her slim, upright form, the sheen of her tightly fitting gown, and the precise movements of her hands as she picked through the papers arranged in neat piles on the desk.

'The report on the slave Gregor is incomplete,' the Chatelaine said. 'I'm sure he was due to be fitted with a larger anal plug today.' She sounded amused. 'Perhaps Trudi forgot about it. I've noticed that she's taken quite a liking to Gregor: once she's brought on his arousal she can't wait to sit astride his face and torment that large member of his while he pleasures her with his tongue.'

Nicole giggled. 'The poor fellow is almost continuously erect, madame,' she said. 'Trudi has only to walk close to him and he becomes hard. Even when he's wearing a control belt. It must be unbearably uncomfortable.'

'As it should be,' the Chatelaine stated. 'Make a note, Nicole, to have the report checked. If Trudi has allowed her own enjoyment of a slave to make her forgetful, then she will wear the plug tomorrow. That should act as a reminder.'

Nicole wrote, and shifted her naked buttocks: it was not many days since she had suffered a similar indignity.

'That's everything for this evening, Nicole, except for the matter of our two strays. Would you ring for Robert?'

Nicole stood. Her eyes were accustomed to the gloom, and she made her way easily across the wide chamber to the row of brass buttons next to the gaping stone fireplace. The orange embers were still radiating heat, but very little light.

As she threaded her way back between the black shapes of chaises longues, settees and armchairs, Nicole noticed that the Chatelaine was no longer seated at the desk. She looked around; a muted gleam caught her eye. The Chatelaine had moved to the leather-upholstered recliner; she was almost lying in it, rather than sitting, and her silvery gown had parted to reveal her long, slender, silk-clad legs. Nicole felt a thrill of anticipation.

'Bring two pairs of cuffs from the desk,' the Chatelaine said, without looking up. 'And take your clothes off.'

As usual when on duty in the Chatelaine's chamber, Nicole was wearing very little. As she removed her lace bra she felt her nipples harden. It nearly always fell to Nicole or to one of the other staff to amuse and arouse the

Chatelaine at least once a day, if none of the slaves or visitors had been selected for the purpose. But it had been some time since Nicole had been chained. And tonight, Nicole knew, Robert was on his way. By the time he was summoned into the room, Nicole would be naked and on her knees in front of the reclining chair - with her face pressed against the Chatelaine's sex.

Nicole removed her shoes and stockings. As she leaned forwards she felt the insides of her thighs squeeze her labia. She was already excited.

'Come along, Nicole. Let me look at you.' The Chatelaine's eyes gleamed in the darkness. She could have formed only a general impression of Nicole, her form outlined by the distant half-light from the lamp and the fading fire: a slim, pale body; short dark hair; white teeth in a broad slash of a mouth; pert breasts.

'Kneel,' the Chatelaine said. 'Give me the cuffs. Place your wrists here, on the arms of the chair.' The cuffs clicked. Nicole was secured. 'Move your legs wider apart, Nicole. Start just above my knees. Kisses only, at first. I'll tell you when you may begin licking.'

Nicole lowered her head between the Chatelaine's parted thighs. She didn't need to be reminded to curve her back downwards and to push up her bottom; such displays had become part of her nature. She breathed in the Chatelaine's clean smell, with the merest hint of subtle perfume. She brushed her lips against the silk of a stocking-top, and kissed the cool, flawless skin above it.

There was a loud knock at the door. Nicole knew better than to allow herself to be distracted. She continued to press her lips against the insides of the Chatelaine's thighs.

'Enter,' the Chatelaine said. The door opened and then closed again. Nicole heard footsteps, loud on the flagstones, muffled on the Persian rugs.

'Robert, I need to talk to you about the couple who have gone missing. I know it's late, but I'd like to formulate a plan as soon as possible.'

'Of course, madame,' said the Chatelaine's deputy.

'I don't believe Nicole has been punished today,' the

Chatelaine went on. 'She's been perfectly well behaved, of course, but I believe she relishes a touch of the whip while she's servicing me. Or perhaps you'd like to penetrate her in some way?'

Nicole pressed her mouth against the hood of the Chatelaine's clitoris and lifted her bottom higher. She didn't like Robert, but she was in the mood for having her bottom smacked, and she was feeling so aroused that she would enjoy being fucked or sodomised by a man - even by the Chatelaine's hateful deputy.

'As you wish, madame,' Robert said. Nicole could hear the gloating in his voice. 'Perhaps I could suggest that I should apply my belt in the first instance, while we talk. Then, with the help of a dildo, I could penetrate Nicole twice, simultaneously, while she attends to your pleasure.'