Discipline of the Private House (9 page)

The woman tugged gently at the sheet Olena was clutching. Olena thought of bolting through the open door but realised that she had no idea where she could run to. She loosened her grip on the sheet and the woman dropped it on to the bed.

Olena curled her arms around her bosom as the couple inspected her in silence. She couldn't meet their appraising gazes; she felt her face reddening. She wished the stone floor would open and let her drop out of sight; when the man whispered to the woman in the strange sibilant language she was sure he was passing comments about Olena's body.

She would not let them intimidate her. From somewhere within her she found the strength to lift her head and address her captors.

There was a man with me. In the city. I think he is here. His name is Barat. I must see him.'

The man looked at the woman. Olena's heart leapt. They seemed to have understood her.

'Nicole,' said the woman, pointing at herself. She indicated the man. 'Robert.'

'Master Robert,' the man growled.

'Do you understand this language?' Nicole asked. Her words were clear, but spoken with a curious accent.

'Yes, of course,' Olena said.

'Barat is here,' Nicole said. 'We will take you to him.'

Olena could almost have cried out with relief. Barat was her guardian; he would protect her.

'May I have my clothes?' Olena said. 'My dress, and my shoes, and my robe?'

'No,' Robert said. 'They are not necessary. Follow me.'

The Chatelaine stood still and silent, with her nose and forehead touching the fretworked pattern of the screen that separated her study from the inspection room. She found the position undignified, but consoled herself with the thought that she was alone in her study and no one could see her.

She, on the other hand, would be able to see anyone in the inspection room. Although small, the room was lined with gilt-framed mirrors that reflected the glow of the wall lamps and gave an illusion of space.

The door of the room was opened, and a young woman stepped nervously into the doorway. She glanced over her shoulder, as if seeking assurance that she was to enter this deserted, disorienting chamber of reflections. The Chatelaine saw Nicole waving her on, smiling.

The girl stepped over the threshold, the door closed behind her, and she was alone with her many reflections.

The Chatelaine felt her heart beating faster as she studied the form of the woman called Olena. Stefan and Itomi had brought to the Chateau an unexpected prize.

The young woman was perfect. The Chatelaine, accustomed to scrutinising each newcomer, whether guest, servant, or slave, had rarely seen such potential, even in those seconded from other Private House establishments or selected for recruitment by her undercover operatives. And this one had arrived by accident - by mistake.

She first studied Olena's body. It was a study in sensuality, blessed with generous curves. The Chatelaine went through her usual list, starting with the most basic features.

Olena was of medium height. Her skin was light brown, and apparently flawless. Her build was slim: her waist, neck, shoulders and arms were slender. However, the exuberant bounty of her feminine contours was so pronounced that it was impossible to consider her thin. The inadequate covering of the lacy underwear she was wearing served only to draw attention to the abundant globes of her breasts. As she walked tentatively into the centre of the room her ample, round buttocks, reflected in the mirrors, rolled against each other. She was naturally graceful; her hips swayed with each step. Her thighs were plump, but between them at their tops there was an inviting gap, above which the lace-covered mound swelled.

The Chatelaine found her mind wandering from the task of inspection. She couldn't help wondering how the girl would respond to the lash. Her buttocks could accommodate plenty of stripes, and would dance and darken prettily under a heavy strap. Her breasts, if they were as firm as they appeared, would be perfect for prolonged whipping. The insides of her thighs; those ample curves between her legs.

The Chatelaine permitted herself a rueful smile. While she administered discipline even-handedly she had to admit that she had a preference for punishing young women. It was, she told herself, purely a matter of aesthetics and practicality: a woman's hairless, curvaceous body was a more attractive canvas on which to practice the art of chastisement; a woman could be whipped, and made to squirm prettily, and brought to a climax, and would soon be ready for more punishment and pleasure, while a man, once spent, provided little further entertainment.

This young woman had a body that the Chatelaine vowed she would put to the most stringent tests. The Chatelaine unbuttoned the front of her dress, carefully so as to avoid rustling the heavy silk, and curved her long fingers against her sex. She was wet, as she had known she would be. Perhaps, she thought, I will allow myself to come, just this once, during an inspection.

With her fingers moving gently between her labia she turned her attention to Olena's face. The girl's dark hair hung in lustrous waves whose final wayward curls reached almost to the small of her back. Her tresses had clearly never enjoyed the attentions of a fashionable coiffeur, and equally clearly did not require them. Her face, which the Chatelaine could merely glimpse between curtains of curls whenever the girl darted an inquisitive glance at her surroundings, was strong but pretty. Her cheekbones were high and broad, her byes large and dark, her nose straight, and her lips - her lips were wide and full, and looked like miniature plump cushions of scarlet velvet. The Chatelaine noted with fascination that she parted them from time to time to reveal even white teeth and a pointed pink tongue that would emerge nervously to moisten the Cupid's bow of the upper lip.

It was obvious that the blatant sensuality of Olena's body was not reflected in her demeanour. She appeared wary and withdrawn; she kept her head bowed at first, and her arms across her breasts, although once she was sure she was alone she became more animated, examining the furniture and inspecting her many reflections. The Chatelaine was gratified to see that, after a little while, Olena began to relax and to move more freely. She watched herself in the mirrors as she prowled around the small room; she stopped to pose, stretching her arms above her head, turning to look at herself over her shoulder. The Chatelaine pressed her fingers into her sex and stifled a moan of desire. It was all she could have wished for: Olena was enjoying the sight of her own body, and was even touching herself and grinning lasciviously at her reflection.

There is a wanton heart, the Chatelaine thought, within that reserved and timid young woman. I will reach it, and educate her.

Olena started, turned to the door, and covered her breasts with her arms. The door opened. The Chatelaine cursed silently; she could have enjoyed watching Olena on her own for hours. A young man stumbled into the room. The door closed behind him.

'Barat!' Olena exclaimed. This, then, was the man whom Stefan and Itomi had recovered the previous night.

'Olena,' Barat said. 'Are you well? Have you been treated kindly?'

'Yes, Barat. I am quite all right.' Olena giggled suddenly. 'You look funny without your robe.'

The Chatelaine was struck by the stilted formality of their speech. And why did Olena think Barat looked odd? He was, the Chatelaine judged, a perfectly normal specimen of manhood: tall, well-built and somewhat swarthy, with regular features and only a hint of fleshiness. He was wearing a pair of shorts, but nonetheless kept his hands protectively over his groin. Olena, too, continued to attempt the impossible task of concealing her breasts and her pubes, even though she wasn't naked. The Chatelaine began to form some ideas about the kind of background from which this unlikely pair had come. And they had arrived by accident at the Chateau, of all places. The Chatelaine stifled a snort of laughter. She was going to enjoy her latest visitors.

Both Olena and Barat were trying to conceal the fact that they were stealing glances at each other's body.

Barat at length moved his hands to his sides and stepped towards Olena. 'Don't be alarmed,' he said. 'Remember, I'm your guardian. I'm here to protect you. I'll keep you safe.'

He placed his arm protectively about her shoulders. Olena, with her head lowered, did not see the predatory grin on his face. The Chatelaine noted it, however, and began to consider how best to bend to her own purposes the strange relationship between the two captives.

Olena's voice was so low that the Chatelaine could hardly hear it. 'I shouldn't see you like this. Without our robes. We shouldn't be touching.' But she made no attempt to move away; instead, she turned slightly towards him so that her head was tucked into his neck and her arm and hip pressed against him.

Barat closed his eyes and gasped. 'But it seems we have no choice, Olena,' he said. 'As long as our minds are pure and clear, our bodies can withstand a few indignities. At the moment your body is displayed brazenly and provocatively. Are you ashamed?'

'Yes, Barat. Of course. Very ashamed.'

'That's good.' He took her hand and placed it on the front of his shorts. She tried half-heartedly to pull away, but he held her tightly. 'Do you feel the hardness there?"

'Yes, Barat. What is it?'

'It is the result of your unchaste attire. It also shows you have been thinking unclean thoughts. It happens whenever you behave or think improperly. Until now I have always been able to conceal beneath my robe this evidence of your impropriety.'

'Poor Barat. Does it hurt?'

'A little,' Barat replied, and the Chatelaine found she could believe him. His shorts were tight fitting, and the bulge in them was alarmingly large. 'It would help if you would stroke it,' he said.

'Will that reduce the swelling?' Olena asked. The Chatelaine was beginning to suspect that Olena was not quite as naive as she appeared.

'It is very firm,' Olena said. 'I think it's getting bigger and harder than ever.'

Barat seemed to find it difficult to reply. 'It is your fault,' he said, 'for failing to abide by our customs. You must try harder to be dutiful. But don't stop,' he added. 'The firmer you make me, the firmer is my resolve to guide you and guard you.'

'Thank you, Barat,' Olena said, and she cuddled him, pressing her breasts against his chest and continuing to let her hand stray against the bulge in his shorts. 'I feel safe now you're with me.'

The Chatelaine rebuttoned her dress and moved away from the screen. She pressed a button on the wall next to her desk. It was time to separate the two newcomers. And time to make Barat aware of the realities of life in the Chateau.

Barat's awakening after his abduction in the city had been similar to Olena's. He had found himself locked in £ small but comfortable bedroom, with food, drink and a well-equipped bathroom, but with nothing to wear except his undershorts. After what had seemed an endless wait he had been escorted from his room by a wordless, leather-clad man who had led him along lamplit corridors and then pushed him through a doorway - beyond which, in a mirrored chamber, he had found Olena.

And now he found himself stumbling in the man's wake again, along more dim corridors. His progress was impeded because his erection was slow to subside, and because his hands had been tied behind his back. He could only imagine what might befall him next; his sense of helplessness, being bound and almost naked, served only to make his imaginings more lurid and fearsome. He had almost convinced himself that he was to be executed, and that he had been allowed to see Olena one final time before his doom was sealed. He couldn't forget the hard-tipped warmth of her breasts pressing against his bare chest.

The leather-clad man came to a halt in front of a pair of ornately carved wooden doors. Lost in his fears and fantasies, Barat almost collided with him. The man knocked on the door, and a woman's voice replied in a strange language. Barat had suspected that he and Olena had been taken to a land distant from their own, and now he was sure of it. However, the man now addressed him in words he understood.

'Kneel in front of her. Keep your eyes lowered. Don't speak unless you're spoken to. And if you do speak, address her as "madame".'

With that, the man opened one of the doors and thrust Barat through the doorway.

Barat staggered into a large room and almost tripped on the edge of a rug. He heard the door close behind him. He took a few steps forwards and lowered himself to his knees. During this stumbling entrance he did his best to gain an impression of the room and its occupants.

To judge from the shelves of books and the heavy furniture, he was in a study or library. The windows were concealed behind heavy curtains; inadequate illumination was provided by lamps set in the walls. A circle of yellow light radiated from a lamp on the corner of the monumental desk that dominated the room. In the shadows beyond the circle sat a tall figure; Barat thought it was a woman. The only other person in the room was definitely female: a dark-haired young woman, wearing a scanty parody of a maid's uniform, who was standing beside the desk. Barat would have liked to spend more time looking at her, but he remembered the instructions he had been given and lowered his head.

He stared at the dark red carpet and waited. He could sense that he was being examined by both women. The thought was unnerving and yet somehow exciting. In the silence he could hear his own breathing; the sound of a stiletto heel on the floor as the maid shifted her stance; from somewhere, the rustle of silk. He was aware that his manhood, which had not entirely unstiffened, was beginning to throb again. The fact that he could not hide the shameful swelling, because his hands were tied behind him, seemed only to exacerbate the problem.