Discipline of the Private House (34 page)

The Chatelaine, to Nicole's relief, smiled. She took a sip from her glass of the local
cabernet franc
and, Nicole thought, was about to reply when Robert's voice once again rang out across the table.

'That's not the point,' he said, with an exasperation that Nicole and Isabelle noted with another exchanged glance. 'The whore-slave was free. She released her own chains. This she has been expressly forbidden to do. She is in breach of the terms of her wager. She is yours, madame. The Private House is yours.'

The Chatelaine sighed. She carefully placed her knife and fork on the side of her plate, rested her elbows on the table, and put her fingers to her chin as she stared, deep in thought, at her deputy.

'No, Robert,' she said. 'It is not enough. You must understand that we need verifiable evidence. To be absolutely sure of keeping my new slave I must be able to demonstrate, to a gathering of the High Council if necessary, that she is consistently incapable of submitting to discipline. We have to find the point at which she rebels against our regime of punishments, and then exploit it over and over again until her wilfulness is clear to everyone, including the slave herself. Is that understood?'

'Yes, madame,' Robert said.

'It seems to me,' the Chatelaine went on, 'that after a day and a half in the Chateau the whore-slave is finding few difficulties in submitting to the programme we devised for her. Her behaviour with Olena, only a few moments after both of them had been severely chastised, suggests that her spirited personality is undimmed. Hers is hardly the behaviour of a slave in dread of the next torment and in fear of remaining a slave for ever. After today we have three more days in which to secure her. This particular slave is resourceful; remember, I know her well. I did not expect this wager to be easy to win. We have to acknowledge the possibility that the slave will subject herself entirely to our discipline, and that she will therefore win her freedom.'

There was another silence. Nicole, who had met the new slave when she had been the Supreme Mistress and had been charmed by her vivacity and beauty, found herself hoping that the slave could endure her ordeals. She wondered whether such thoughts were disloyal to the Chatelaine.

The Chatelaine had brought to the table, and had left lying incongruously ^mong the silver cutlery on the white damask tablecloth, a short whip of plaited leather. Nicole suspected that the Chatelaine intended to take a siesta after lunch, and that Nicole, or Isabelle, or perhaps one of the slaves who were serving the meal, would be taken to the Chatelaine's bedchamber to keep her amused. Nicole hoped she would be chosen; training Olena was fascinating and enjoyable, but it seemed to Nicole a long time since her own bottom had felt the lash, and she began to think about the pleasure of demonstrating her devotion to her mistress by submitting to a thorough whipping.

She looked at the Chatelaine until she caught her eye, and then allowed her gaze to slide to the coiled whip. She let the Chatelaine see that she was squirming on her chair; she rested a hand on her left breast; she looked again into the Chatelaine's face, and was rewarded with a smile. Nicole felt momentarily dizzy with desire. She was trembling inside, and her sex was getting wet. She would offer her bottom to the Chatelaine; she would beg to be flogged until the Chatelaine was too tired to continue; she would bury her face in the Chatelaine's vulva and drink its elixir; and then they would sleep together, with Nicole's face still nestling between her mistress's thighs.

Nicole's reverie was interrupted by an explosion of anger from Robert.

'I will not countenance defeat,' he stormed. 'Madame, we have an opportunity to ensure that you achieve your rightful place. We must not even think of wasting it. Only the whore-slave stands in our way. We must break her. We will break her. There must be a way.'

The Chatelaine waved a hand to summon the slaves to clear the
entrees.
'What do you propose?' she asked.

'We have been too lenient, madame,' Robert replied. 'We should not have permitted her to share a cell with anyone.' He paused, as if suddenly remembering that it had been the Chatelaine's idea to imprison the slave with Olena. When the Chatelaine remained calm, he continued. 'Tomorrow, I will arrange for the slave to be subjected to a session of intensive obedience training. As you know, madame, Max and Ilsa can be extremely strict. I will ensure they devise a programme that is so degrading that even the most submissive would baulk at it. I guarantee that the whore-slave will not be able to submit willingly.

And I suggest that we summon the High Council here to witness the slave's downfall and to appoint a new Supreme Mistress. Madame, your destiny awaits. Tomorrow, you will win.'

The Chatelaine sat in thought. A frown furrowed her high forehead. At length she looked up. 'Very well,' she said. 'Robert, I will entrust to you the arrangements for the obedience training. Nicole, after lunch we must immediately dispatch the invitations to the councillors.' She smiled at Nicole. 'And after our work is done, we'll retire to my room.' Her fingertips touched the handle of the whip.

Nicole was elated. She blushed, as she thought the others might be able to see her trembling. 'Yes, madame,' she said.

Six

For the first time in months, Nicole had that morning ventured outside the walls of the Chateau. She had risen early, before dawn, and, wearing a fur coat and a pair of long boots, she had crossed the rear courtyard and found her way through the stables and outbuildings to the east postern gate. With her breath pluming white, by the growing light of the sky she had discerned the path across the walled kitchen garden. Once through a tiny gate in the wall, she had been outside.

Here the park was less carefully tended than it was at the front of the Chateau. The grass had stood in dew-jewelled clumps; the trunk of a chestnut had lain where it had fallen in a storm the previous autumn, its labyrinthine roots reaching skywards. Nicole had been able to make out the edges of clouds racing across the sky, which had been lightening perceptibly - from opaque black, to foggy grey, to a pink-tinged, watery blue. A blazing sliver of orange fire had crept into view above the tree-lined horizon; impulsively Nicole had unbuttoned her coat and spread wide her arms, welcoming the rising sun with her naked body.

She had remained still. A herd of small deer had trotted from between the trees and begun unconcernedly to browse the sparkling grass. There had as yet been no bright green leaves sprouting on the branches; the air had been cold, and the tracks that led away from the Chateau into the park had been no more than churned mud. But the sunlight had been warm on Nicole's skin, and the blind, featureless shoots of spring plants had been visible, thrusting through the sodden grass and from the neglected borders and planters.

Now, as one of the Chatelaine's most trusted retainers, Nicole was standing in her maidservant uniform, ready to serve, at her post on the right-hand side of the ornate fireplace in the grand salon. As she listened to the councillors wrangling and did her best to keep her face expressionless, she was glad she had gone outside to watch the sun rise. Here the shutters and curtains were still closed across the tall windows; lamps provided pools of illumination, and a log fire heated the dusty air.

The one to watch, Nicole had decided, was the chief of the guards. Her name was Julia, and every movement of her slim, black-clad body spoke of controlled passion. Even the Chatelaine addressed her with a respect that she extended only grudgingly to the other councillors.

The guards will adjudicate,' Julia stated, 'under my supervision. I really can't see why this should present a problem.'

The Chatelaine, along with most of the other councillors, nodded. But Nicole saw that Robert was incensed.

'The problem, Chief Julia,' he almost shouted, 'is that we all know whose side you're on. Perhaps you'd like to remind us how many times you shared the whore-slave's bed when she was Supreme Mistress?'

Julia thrust the tip of her riding-crop into Robert's face. 'I make no secret of my personal preference, Master Robert. But in this matter I am required by my office and my duties to remain strictly neutral. I do hope you're not impugning my integrity.'

Robert, quivering with rage, was about to launch into a reply when the Chatelaine's voice rang out.

'Robert! Stop squabbling. Once again, your enthusiasm has overwhelmed bo$h your manners and your sense. I will speak with you. Wait by the fireplace. Julia,' she said in emollient tones, 'I apologise for my hot-headed deputy. I'm sure I speak for the whole council in assuring you that

I have no doubts whatsoever about your professionalism. It is entirely appropriate that you and your guards should act as the council's eyes and ears in a matter of such importance. As soon as the meeting is concluded I shall have someone take you directly to the room in which the slave is to be tested. We shall remain here and await your report.'

Thank you, Chatelaine,' Julia said. She smiled politely, but Nicole saw that as she turned to speak with her guards she cast a vitriolic glance towards Robert.

All the councillors look worried, Nicole thought, but Julia is as tense as a wound spring. She can't keep still. Nicole understood Julia's predicament, and had to blink back tears of sympathy. It was, as Robert had pointed out, well known that Julia and the former Supreme Mistress were devoted lovers. Now Julia was going to have to watch as her dearest friend underwent a test of submissiveness that Robert had pledged she could only fail. Nicole knew Robert to be entirely ruthless; it seemed certain that Julia would have to report to the High Council of the Private House that the former Supreme Mistress had been reduced to slavery in perpetuity, and would henceforth be at the Chatelaine's disposal.

Several of the councillors, as aware of Julia's cruel plight as Nicole, had come up to her and tried to offer words of comfort. Julia had shrugged them off, casually or with a snarl. She seemed to be able to relax a little, only in the company of the half-dozen guards she had brought with her. In their carapaces of gleaming -black leather they formed a sinister group in the corner of the salon.

The Chatelaine, having chatted to several other councillors, made her way to join Robert who was waiting impatiently by the fireplace. They spoke urgently in low voices; Nicole was the only servant within earshot and they contrived to appear to all other onlookers as though they were conversing normally.

'Robert, you're a fool,' the Chatelaine said. 'Julia is the one witness whom the entire council will believe. The fact that she is known to be close to Jem - to the slave - will simply add credence to her report.'

'Yes, madame, but

'Furthermore,' the Chatelaine went on, 'if I am to be effective as the new Supreme Mistress I will need to be able to rely on Julia and her guards. You must think politically, Robert.'

'Yes, madame,' he replied. 'Of course. I understand that Julia will be necessary. At least for a while. Until, perhaps, you see fit to appoint a new chief of guards.'

Nicole saw that Robert failed to notice the puzzled frown that appeared briefly on the Chatelaine's flawless face.

'And it occurs to me, madame,' he pressed on, 'that it can only serve our purposes if Julia is present during the whore-slave's ordeal. They are lovers; it will be impossible for the slave to submit willingly to the degradation she is about to face, knowing that her friend is watching every cruel humiliation.'

He smiled contentedly. Nicole turned away and shuddered.

Jem had been confined alone, in a small dungeon cell, since she had been separated from Olena the previous day. She had been provided with several excellent meals, and had eaten well. She had lain on the bed for much of the time, lazily daydreaming in the gaps between deep sleep. Her chains and cuffs had been removed, and she was naked but for the collar. With her hands free she had been able to bathe in comfort, to pamper herself with the oils, perfumes and cosmetics with which the cell was plentifully supplied, and to relive - with her fingers exploring the damp folds between her legs - the pleasures and pains she had experienced in the Chateau.

Now she felt refreshed, and almost keen to discover what new trials and tribulations the Chateau had in store for her. She felt more confident than she had since entering the Chatelaine's domain that she could meet whatever challenges she had to face. She had submitted for two days, and considered that she had enjoyed almost everything. She had to submit for only another three days. It would be a pleasure, she thought.

She estimated that it was now late in the morning. She was becoming bored. She wondered why she had not already been summoned to some dim chamber in the bowels of the Chateau, there to suffer indignities and punishments. The stripes on her buttocks and breasts had faded almost completely, and she was looking forward to the bitter thrill of feeling the lash on her body again. It would be more interesting than sitting on a bed in a cell and staring at a wall.

At last she heard footsteps beyond the door. A key was turned; bolts were pulled back; and the door opened.

A man and a woman walked into the cell, filling it with their combined presence. Jem cast a quick glance at them as she scrambled off the bed to adopt a kneeling position in the confined space between the bed and the wall.

Both were tall and imposing, and dressed in buckskin, with short whips hanging at their waists. Jem did not recognise them, nor could she tell from their costume what function they performed in the Chateau. They were clearly not slaves; she guessed, from their whips and stern demeanour, that they were trainers of some sort.