Discipline of the Private House (10 page)

'Your name is Barat?' It was a woman's voice: heavily accented, but crisp and clear. The voice came from the far side of the desk; the figure seated there was definitely female, then. She sounded like a person who was used to being obeyed.

'Yes, madame,' Barat said. This was, he thought, no time for flippancy or defiance. He would be acquiescent, for a while, and learn as much as he could about his captors. He would bide his time.

'Approach,' the woman said. 'Come into the light. Remain on your knees.'

Barat shuffled forward.

'Look at me.'

Barat lifted his head and met the unwavering gaze of the woman behind the desk. Even seated, she seemed tall. She was wearing a gown of dark green silk that was tailored to fit tightly the willowy contours of her body. The material shimmered where it caught the light; her breasts jutted proudly. Her blonde hair was tied back to reveal a face that was agelessly and coldly beautiful.

'I am the Chatelaine,' the woman told him. 'I am the mistress of this place, which is known as the Chateau. It is an establishment devoted to education and discipline. You have arrived here by chance, but you will nevertheless be assessed. If you are deemed suitable, you will remain here until you have been trained. While you are here, you will be obedient to my instructions and to those of my servants. Do you understand?'

'Yes, madame.' Barat could think of nothing else to say.

'When you kneel, Barat, you must keep your knees wide apart.'

Barat felt his penis flex. It was uncomfortably restricted in his shorts. He couldn't marshal his thoughts. He felt frightened and yet, curiously, elated. The Chatelaine and her maid were strikingly sexual; he had never encountered women like them. He desired them both, and it irked him to be bound and on his knees in their presence. Why should he pose for them as if he were a woman offering herself to a man?

'Nicole, fetch a narrow cane. Stand behind him.'

The maid moved out of Barat's view, and then returned and approached him. As she passed he smelled her perfume. Her short skirt was stiff and flared; he could see the pale skin above the tops of her black stockings. He saw the slender ferule that she carried nonchalantly at her side.

'I will give you one more chance to obey,' the Chatelaine said. 'Part your legs.'

Barat knew what would happen if he failed to comply. But he guessed that, whatever he did, he could not for long escape some sort of punishment. And although he hated the idea of being subservient to these women, he thought he was beginning to understand the nature of the place in which he had found himself. In the Chateau, it seemed, authority and submission, punishment and pleasure were all part of the regime. It was becoming perfectly clear; it was a place where Barat sensed he would feel at home, at last.

And I already know, Barat protested inwardly. I don't need to be told. I should be a teacher here, the strict mentor of young women: not a slave.

The Chatelaine lifted one thin finger. Barat heard a swish as the cane cut through the air, and yelped as the rod inscribed a line of fire across his buttocks.

The pain was bearable. The indignity was intolerable. Better to obey than to be whipped like a dog. He moved his knees apart.

'That's better, Barat,' the Chatelaine said. 'Now prostrate yourself before me. Lower your forehead to the ground.'

Barat opened his mouth to object, to try to explain that this was all unnecessary, but the Chatelaine glared at him until he dropped his eyes from her gaze. Almost without willing it, he found himself bending forwards until he felt his hair brushing the thick pile of the carpet. He was acutely aware that with his legs wide apart, his hands tied behind his back, and his bottom thrust into the air he was presenting himself in a most humiliating posture. Only the thin material of his shorts, stretched taut across his rounded buttocks, gave any sort of protection to his dignity and manhood.

'Barat, you have been obstinate. You must learn to follow instructions without hesitation.' The Chatelaine's voice sounded almost friendly. 'You will receive ten strokes of the cane. More, if you dare to move during the punishment. Nicole, begin. Go slowly. Stop after five.'

Ten strokes. Barat was sure he could withstand the pain. He gritted his teeth as he heard the song of the cane swinging through the air.

Each stroke burnt a stinging line across Barat's flexed buttocks. Each stroke made him wince and flinch, but he was determined not to cry out and not to move. He would give the Chatelaine no excuse to prolong his ordeal. In fact, he found himself welcoming the stinging stripes, and wishing that Nicole would ply the rod faster; each lash served only to harden his resolve. He was a man, and he would not be defeated by mere women.

As instructed, Nicole paused after the fifth stroke.

The stinging sensation subsided. In its place Barat felt a general heat; his bottom felt sore and prominent.

'Has he moved, Nicole?' the Chatelaine asked.

'Not at all, madame. He is trembling slightly. Perhaps I should check that I have not struck him too hard.'

'Yes, Nicole. That's a good idea.'

Suddenly Barat felt cool fingers stroking across the tight material of his shorts. Nicole was kneeling behind him, trying to detect through the cloth the welts caused by her cane. He gasped when her fingers encountered one of the stripes. He felt her fingertips follow the line across one buttock, then the other. She pressed her palm against the hot flesh and massaged gently.

Barat pictured her hands roaming over his sore bottom. He pictured her stocking-clad legs; her sharp heels; the pale skin glimpsed under the short skirt. His balls felt tight; he was getting hard. He couldn't help himself.

Nicole's fingers continued to explore. She ran a fingernail down the crease between his buttocks; the back of her fingers brushed against the cloth where it covered his testicles. Her hands moved away; she was not touching him at all. Then, suddenly, she cupped his balls in one hand while the other danced across his buttocks, re-igniting the embers of the pain. His manhood swelled; he was fully erect - or would have been, had he not been constricted by his shorts.

Nicole moved closer. She was kneeling beside him now. He felt her leg press against his thigh and her skirt brush harshly across his hip. She released his testicles and started to pat his backside gently; her other hand reached under him and gripped his cock.

'Madame,' Nicole said, and Barat knew that he was about to be shamed. 'Madame, he has a very big, hard penis. I think he likes to be punished with the cane.'

Barat could have wept with humiliation and anger. It wasn't true. He
didn't
like to be punished; well, perhaps he did when his tormentor was as pretty as Nicole, and when the beautiful Chatelaine was watching, but what man wouldn't? That didn't mean he enjoyed being caned.

Without releasing her grip on him, Nicole resumed the punishment. The remaining strokes were delivered with less force than the first five, but Barat found them much more difficult to bear. Between each stroke Nicole paused to squeeze his manhood, to report to the Chatelaine on its size and firmness and to slap his testicles through the material of his shorts.

During his short time in the city Barat had sought women of easy virtue whom he had charmed, cajoled or even paid to initiate him into the carnal mysteries that the community forbade'to young men. None, however, had held him and toyed with him as teasingly as Nicole. With her fingers curled around his shaft he was almost unaware of the cane landing smartly on his backside; all sensation was concentrated in his prick, and the only coherent thought that penetrated the fog of intense pleasure was the urgent fear that he might come at any moment.

To lose control in front of the Chatelaine; to writhe, and groan, and feel the release of jets of hot fluid soiling his shorts - it was unthinkable. And yet, the more Barat tried to suppress the idea the more he was aware of the movements of Nicole's deft fingers, and the more nearly inevitable his climax became.

Nicole's hand released his manhood. He had received five more strokes. He heard Nicole stand and walk away to resume her position beside the Chatelaine's desk.

'Straighten up,' the Chatelaine said. 'You may look at me, and thank me for disciplining you.'

Barat lifted his head and torso. He stretched his shoulders. His bottom felt sore; his prick was so hard that it threatened to tear through the tented material of the front of his shorts.

He could hardly believe his ears. He was supposed to
thank
the Chatelaine for humiliating him? He would rather undergo ten such punishments. 'Thank you, madame?' he enquired with heavy sarcasm.

'That's perfectly all right, Barat,' the Chatelaine said warmly. 'I'm sure you realise now that not only is it necessary for you to be punished frequently, but it is also a source of gratification.' She looked down at his bulging shorts. 'Nicole, untie his hands. I must find out a little more about our new recruit.'

Barat had to speak. Even as Nicole freed his hands, he struggled out of his fetters and dared to address the Chatelaine.

'Madame,' he said. 'May I speak? Am I to understand that you intend to keep me here?'

The Chatelaine looked at him with an amused smile until his outburst was over. 'Oh dear, Barat,' she said. 'That will be another ten strokes. But we'll save them for later. I will answer your question - just this once. Yes, I have decided that you will do very well here. You obviously require a great deal of training, but I think you have potential. Ah! Don't even think of interrupting me. There is also the question of your companion, Olena.'

Barat stifled the protestations and complaints that he had been on the point of uttering. He had forgotten Olena. For the first time in years, half an hour had elapsed without her appearing in his thoughts. Now his mind was full of her again: her hesitant voice, her soft lips, her dark eyes, her luxuriant breasts. Was she too to be kept here in the Chateau? Would she too be trained in the ways of discipline and desire? If so, he would endure the place. His possession of Olena would be delayed, but he would have her eventually. Or perhaps he could gain her sooner, under the strange rules of the Chateau.

'Madame,' he ventured, 'Olena is not my companion. She is my ward. She is under my protection.'

The Chatelaine lifted an eyebrow. 'It is quite clear to me what Olena means to you, Barat. I can read you. I can see into your scheming heart.'

Barat slumped. There seemed to be no hope. He would be kept here, at the Chateau, at the mercy of the Chatelaine and her minions, and Olena would escape from his influence.

'Don't be so easily defeated, Barat,' the Chatelaine chided him. 'I have no intention of releasing Olena. She shows more potential than any new arrival I have received here for years. I would rather lose you than her. I intend to educate her slowly and very thoroughly. The question is, would you like to help me?'

Barat's heart was racing. Could it be true? Was the Chatelaine really proposing that he would be allowed to participate in the undoing and re-education of Olena? He was overjoyed, but also suspicious.

'What do I have to do?' he asked, forgetting in his anxiety the correct way to address the Chatelaine.

'It's very simple. First, you must do exactly as I say. No more resistance, no more rebellion. It's futile, anyway, as you will learn to love my discipline sooner or later. But if you want Olena, you must be compliant in all things. Immediately. Do you think you can manage that?'

Barat took a few moments to consider. The Chatelaine was clearly no longer teasing. And this, Barat thought, was not the usual kind of arrangement that she offered to new recruits. She had recognised that Olena was special - an opinion with which Barat heartily concurred - and she intended to provide some sort of special treatment for Olena. And in some way she needed Barat's help. Suddenly he and the Chatelaine were deep in negotiations, and Barat needed to keep his wits about him.

He would clearly get nowhere unless he agreed to the Chatelaine's opening demand. He would have to swallow his pride and submit eagerly to the discipline of the Chateau. The thought of Nicole's fingers on his cock flashed into his mind. It would perhaps not be too difficult to surrender.

'Yes, madame,' he said. 'You can rely on my obedience.'

'Good,' the Chatelaine said. 'And there is little else I need from you. Except for your disapproval.'

'Madame?' Barat had no idea what the Chatelaine meant.

'Your disapproval of immorality, Barat. Your stern, unyielding adherence to the tenets of whatever bizarre sect you and that poor girl have fled from. She looks to you for guidance, for authority. I want you to continue in your role as her guardian. Be firm with her, and tell her the error of her ways whenever she strays from the path of righteous behaviour - and you can be sure that under these battlements she will be tempted very often, and very often will stray. We will introduce her, slowly and gently, to the pleasures of the flesh. You will be shocked and appalled by her new appetites, and you will feed her guilt. We will punish her for her wicked desires. You will discover, to her shame, that she can take pleasure even in chastisement. You will instruct her to beg for ever stricter discipline. We will happily administer it, while ensuring that she enjoys every minute.'