Discipline of the Private House (5 page)

Olena was as pleased with her bottom as she was with her breasts. It, too, seemed to have become rounder and fuller in recent months, while her waist and legs had remained slim. It had occurred to Olena that she had a secret: everyone thought that her body was as shapeless as the heavy robes she wore, but in fact she had a figure that was both trimmer and fuller than those of the lingerie and swimwear models she had glimpsed in pictures.

Suddenly she realised that she had been admiring her own body for at least ten minutes. Her behaviour was becoming worse and worse. It was so difficult, in the crowded city, to keep to the rules of the community. She was so glad that Barat was with her.

What would Barat say if he found her naked, looking at her own bottom in a mirror? The thought of being discovered by Barat didn't seem to dismay her as much as she had expected it to. In fact, it made her feel warmer, and shivery, in that forbidden place between her legs. Barat would see every part of her body. He would admire her breasts. Perhaps he would decide that such wickedness deserved to be punished. Many of the children in the community had been spanked by their parents, with the elders' permission, when they had been naughty. Would Barat insist on spanking her - on her naked bottom?

Olena shuddered. She realised that her daydreaming had taken her into depths of sinful carnality. She moved her hand, the fingers of which had been sliding down the inward curve of her stomach as if possessed of a will of their own.

She threw the mirror on to the chair. Thank goodness Barat was with her. He would prevent her from going astray.

Two

The meeting was interminable. Jem, at the head of the table, had gazed over the heads of her councillors, through the mullioned windows and out into the wild parkland where the dismal day had darkened gradually into dusk and then night. Silently, servants had lit lamps.

And still they talked. Every item on the agenda was discussed and dissected, and each debate led into a maze of corollaries and codicils, until no one could remember what the original item had been. They make it seem such hard work, Jem thought. She was able to follow the ebb and flow of the conversation with barely half her mind and when, as frequently happened, one or other of the disputants appealed to her for guidance, she was able to dispense advice that seemed temporarily to quell the strife. But she found the whole thing very dull.

I'm not bored just with this, Jem thought as the discussion moved on to the topic of the arrangements for a meeting of the full High Council of the Private House; I'm bored with myself. In fact, that's probably the root of the whole problem. I need to change myself somehow. The Private House doesn't need me any more, except as a figurehead.

Julia had insisted that at a meeting such as this Jem should be seen in her official costume: the ornate version of the black uniform worn by Julia and her corps of guards. Jem had therefore insisted on dressing otherwise, and had arrayed herself in a confection of white lace and pink ribbons: pink high-heeled pumps, white lace stockings, a pink suspender belt, a very short skirt of flouncy white tulle, and pink ribbons binding her torso and breasts in the eastern bondage style. And, because she was the Supreme Mistress, her managers had expertly concealed their initial surprise. Each one, on entering the council chamber, had complimented her on the prettiness of her outfit.

But not one of them put a hand up my skirt, or offered to bed me or to spank me, Jem thought. I suppose it's my own fault. I know they're whispering that I'm moody. I prefer to call it capricious. And it's just how I am. Or how I wish I could be, again.

They need shaking up.

Jem pushed her chair back and lifted her feet on to the council table. The councillors glanced at her. She moved her feet apart, slowly. They all glanced at her again; looked away; looked back. She brought her right hand to her face and placed two fingers into her mouth. She licked her fingers. Although she was sitting in shadow, they could all see what she was doing.

She withdrew her fingers from her mouth and trailed them down her body, lingering for a moment to toy with her nipples before letting her hand drop into her lap. She cupped the bulge of her sex. The managers were pretending not to notice her movements, but she knew they were watching her, and that knowledge was making her wet.

With her left hand she gestured to one of the servants. He was a tall man, no longer young but slender and, Jem knew, possessed of an impressive manhood. He approached her chair and leaned towards her.

'Yes, Mistress?' he whispered.

'I want to play with your cock, Philip,' Jem said, in a less quiet voice.

Philip straightened, moved closer to Jem, and unbuttoned the flap at the front of his breeches. Jem took his member in her hand and felt it begin to harden and swell. She caught the odour of male sex emanating from his genitals, and slipped one of her fingers into the moist opening of her own sex. This, she thought, was the way to cope with long meetings.

'Carry on,' she said to the room at large. She shrugged, and enjoyed the tightening of the ribbons around her breasts. 'This is the Private House, after all. And I am your Mistress.'

Itomi had been born and brought up in a city in the Orient, but she still found Western cities exciting. She knew that, with her long straight hair, almond eyes and girlish body, she looked exotic to these people. Since she had undergone training, first at the hands of an employer and then, much more thoroughly, within the Private House, at the Chateau, she also knew she was desirable.

She knew now how to dress to emphasise her desirability. She wore a long black coat and high boots partly to keep out the cold. When she opened the coat, however, her outdoor garments contrasted with the minimal clothing underneath: a white cut-off singlet that left bare her midriff and the lower curves of her high, round breasts, and a white skirt so short that whenever she moved she displayed her skimpy white knickers.

As Itomi strode along the crowded streets, trying to keep up with Stefan, she pulled open her coat from time to time in order to shock the passers-by.

It was dusk and the street lamps were alight, creating pools of orange illumination within which Itomi and Stefan could perform for the passing crowds.

They kissed, because public displays of affection seemed to offend some of the bustling throng and also because they enjoyed kissing each other. They had made love together several times since they had met at the Chateau, but liaisons of any permanence were frowned upon, and were punishable, by the Chatelaine. Now that they had been thrown together on this trip to the foreign city, they had spent the entire night on the ferry and most of the following day in bed together.

'How is your poor little cunt?' Stefan asked loudly, in the hope of alarming'someone nearby, as he and Itomi danced under another lamp. He pulled her to him, drew apart her coat, and thrust his thigh between her legs.

Itomi rode his thigh, rubbing the taut gusset of her knickers against the heavy cloth of his trousers. 'My cunt is hungry,' she said. 'She needs to be filled up.' Stefan's gloved hands were under her singlet, clutching at her breasts and catching on her nipples which felt as hard as pebbles. Already she wanted him again; she wanted him to hold her down and do all the things to her that he had done last time, only more and harder.

'That's very naughty,' Stefan said, and kissed her eagerly. 'You'll have to be punished again. How is your poor little bottom?'

'Still quite sore, thank you,' Itomi said. 'But I hope you intend to make sure it stays that way.'

During the recent months of her tutelage Itomi had discovered many routes to pleasure, but her chief delight was still to receive corporal punishment on her bottom. The merest touch on her buttocks was enough to awaken her clitoris. A prolonged whipping, when administered with care and skill, would not only make her so wet that the juice would drip freely from her sex-lips but would, if the final strokes were delivered hard to the lower inner curves of her buttocks, bring her to orgasm.

Punishment was an essential element of the regime at the Chateau, but chastising Itomi's bottom, no matter how severely, had no disciplinary effect on the girl. When the Chatelaine had realised this she had devised different, more inventive punishments for Itomi; the thought of the things that had been done to her brought a blush of shame to Itomi's cheeks. Itomi was one of the few trainees for whom a whipping was a reward for good behaviour.

Stefan was not yet as skilful as the Chatelaine's servants with the strap, the cane and his hands, but what he lacked in finesse he made up for in enthusiasm. Itomi found that she felt melancholy and listless unless her bottom was stinging from a recent smacking; it seemed that on this expedition with Stefan there was little likelihood of melancholia.

Stefan pulled her coat together. 'Turn round,' he said. 'Lift up the coat and let me see.'

Itomi turned away from him, buttoning her coat. Hand over hand she tugged the coat-tails upwards - slowly, so as to tease Stefan. She made sure she pulled up her skirt with the coat, so that when the material was bunched in the small of her back he was able to see every part of her oval buttocks, with the white thong of her knickers threaded between them. The cold air thrilled the sensitised nerve endings.

Ts my bottom still bright red?' she asked, looking over her shoulder.

'Pink,' Stefan said. He slapped a hand on her right buttock and squeezed hard.

Itomi gasped as she felt a thrill of pleasure: hummingbird's wings at the entrance of her sex. Tt's cold,' she said.

'Some of the stripes are still visible,' Stefan said, 'even in this light. Still, perhaps it's time to warm your little bottom again. Do you think so, Itomi, my dear?'

'Oh, yes,' Itomi murmured.

'But perhaps we'd better get a second opinion.' Stefan moved quickly; he grasped her wrists and held them, below the bunched coat and skirt, behind her back. Then he span her round to face him. Her bottom, pink and striped and naked but for the string between her buttocks, was exposed to anyone who might walk past.

Itomi could hear footsteps approaching. She buried her face in Stefan's jacket.

'Excuse me,' Stefan said, exaggerating his foreign accent. 'Could I ask your opinion, please?'

The footsteps stopped.

'My girlfriend says it's time to whip her bottom again. What do you think?'

There was no reply. Itomi wriggled her hips and pushed out her rear.

'Come, you can feel her if you like. She says she's cold and wants to be warmed up. Would you smack her? Would you like to try a smack? She won't mind.'

But the footsteps had started again, and receded quickly. Stefan held Itomi as she was and stroked her buttocks. From time to time he gave one or other of them a hefty slap. Itomi was getting very excited. She heard several more people pass them, but from the sound of the footsteps they gave the couple a wide berth.

'She likes to be smacked,' Stefan called out. 'Look, her knickers are getting damp - just here, where they cover her cunt.'

Stefan's fingers were between her thighs, stretching and pushing at the strip of white cotton. Itomi felt the cotton band slide between her parted labia, and her knees buckled as a particularly strong wave of pleasure flooded her.

'That's enough,' Stefan announced, and released her. He was becoming practised at bringing her to the brink and leaving her there. She wanted more pleasure now, immediately, but she knew that he was right to allow the tension in her to subside. He would wind it up again, perhaps several times, before allowing her the release she craved. Like Itomi, he had learned many lessons in the Chateau.

'We must at least try to find our quarry,' he told her. He picked up his pack of equipment and slung it across his shoulders. 'We'll go back to the cab, I'll use my belt on your bottom, and then we'll continue to the street where we know they have an apartment.'

Barat would arrive at any moment, Olena was sure, but she couldn't bring herself to cover the pretty things he had bought for her.

She had been only too pleased that he had volunteered to make the purchases himself: being measured by the severe-looking sales assistant had been so embarrassing that Olena had thought she would expire with blushing. Olena still shuddered at the recollection of the look of disdain on the woman's face as Olena had reluctantly shuffled off her robe to reveal the coarse undergarments beneath.

However, Olena thought she had detected surprise and perhaps even admiration in the woman's eyes when she had, after calling out to Barat one final time to ensure that it was permissible, unbuttoned and removed her bodice.

Olena had heard the woman's indrawn breath as she had had to stretch to make the tape measure reach round Olena's chest. Olena had found herself thinking triumphantly to herself: Yes, I was right - I'm as shapely as the best of the girls in the advertisements.

The sales assistant had held Olena's breasts firmly, one in each hand, and squeezed them with her fingers. This was, she had told Olena, an important part of the measuring exercise.

'You won't find this size in all the ranges of lingerie,' the assistant had said, writing down Olena's bust measurement. She hadn't been able to keep her eyes off Olena's body. 'And you're still so young. And so slender round the waist,' she had added wistfully.

Barat's eyes had widened, too, when Olena had shown him the paper on which her measurements were written. But he had said nothing, except to ask casually whether Olena wanted to start with skirts and blouses or with underwear.