Discipline of the Private House (15 page)

The Chatelaine smiled. 'I understand, Robert. You intend to keep alive in her a spark of hope of salvation. In this way you will ensure that her fund of shame and indignity can never be exhausted. She will strive always to be good, and will seek to be punished when, inevitably, she fails. You are a truly inventive disciplinarian/

Robert bowed his head so that his mistress would not see him blushing with pride.

'But I fear, Robert,' the Chatelaine went on, 'that we shall have to leave the training of the delightful Olena in the hands of others for a few days. You and I have been summoned to a council meeting at the main House. We must leave tonight.'

Robert was incensed. 'The Mistress of the Private House shows you too little respect, madame,' he hissed. 'Why should you be at the beck and call of those soft-living part-timers at the main House? Their standards are lax. You, madame, are the true embodiment of the principles of the Private House. If I may say so.'

The Chatelaine hushed him. 'Your loyalty is praiseworthy, Robert. But perhaps misplaced. In any case, if we do not attend council meetings then we will have even less influence on the way our organisation is run. There is no alternative. We must go. Banish Olena from your mind for a few days. Nicole and Isabelle, with Barat's assistance, will train her well.'

Jem, at the head of the table, watched as if from a great distance the arguments among her councillors. At first the wrangling had seemed entertaining, but it was becoming tiresome.

It had been Julia's idea to summon a meeting of the full Council; she had told Jem that it would be an opportunity for Jem to confirm her authority over the sprawling spider's web of fiefdoms that made up the Private House. Jem had agreed, on a whim, but now felt insufficiently involved to do more than watch as personalities clashed and petty rivalries swamped the formulation of policy.

Robert, the Chatelaine's deputy, was upbraiding Sebastian for alleged shortcomings in the organisation of the main house. Jem recognised the attack as an encoded criticism of her, but felt unmoved by Robert's vehemence.

'At the Chateau,' Robert was stating, 'the rules are rigidly enforced. There is no laxity in the Chatelaine's domain. Why, I doubt if a single one of you -' and here he pointed directly at Sebastian '- could undergo the training that our slaves learn to love. Not one of you has the dedication to discipline of the Chatelaine. Not one of you would dare to go through the trials that we, at the Chateau, expect our slaves and volunteers to suffer.'

There was a chorus of refutation from around the table. Sebastian glanced imploringly at Jem. She smiled at him brightly. He turned away with a look of despair on his face.

Jem began to realise that she would have to do something. Julia wks right, as always: in the absence of Jem's attention, the Private House was disintegrating. The House needed the firm hand of its Mistress. The problem was that Jem could not summon any reserves of desire to rule. Quite the opposite, she admitted to herself.

She held up a hand, and the squabbling gradually ceased.

'Chatelaine,' she said, 'are you in agreement with Robert's assessment?'

The Chatelaine, sitting as straight and as sombre as an undertaker, and suitably dressed for the part in a gown of shimmering black, pondered her reply. 'Robert is, I fear, Mistress, merely voicing - too enthusiastically, perhaps -what many of us are thinking. There can be no doubting the Private House's commitment to the pursuit of power and to the enjoyment of all forms of sexuality. However, I think that many of the councillors have forgotten the prime duty of all in the Private House. At the Chateau we have not forgotten that the first and only duty is to obey.'

This was, Jem realised, another subtle criticism of her leadership. The councillors had understood the hidden meaning, too, and were visibly shocked that it had come from the Chatelaine, who was the mistress of the most important site other than the main house and almost as close to Jem as Julia and Sebastian.

Jem closed her eyes as the arguments recommenced and rose in volume around her. The Chatelaine was right, of course. The only duty was to obey. Once, when Jem had first entered the Private House, Terence Headman had almost made her obey him; since then, however, she had been the Mistress, and had only had to require others to obey her. And now she felt drained of- all desire to impose her will.

She stood up. The shouting ceased.

Jem unclasped the brooch at the collar of her robe and let the heavy material slide from her shoulders. Now she was revealed in her ornate version of the guards' uniform; she knew that the shining black leather, which drew attention to her naked breasts and crotch, never failed to impress.

'Chatelaine,' she said, 'do you - or does anyone here -suggest that the Private House would benefit if I were no longer its Mistress?'

No one spoke. Jem looked from one to another of her councillors. Which of them, she wondered, would prove to be disloyal? And did she care?

The Chatelaine smiled contentedly. Her deputy, Robert, was flushed and excited. Sebastian appeared to be speechless with outrage. Rhoda's face was inscrutable. Terence, like most around the table, looked puzzled. And Julia - dear, beloved Julia - was simply frowning.

'Well, it doesn't matter,' Jem said. 'I'm resigning, anyway.'

She waited until the hubbub died away.

'There is just one condition,' she said. 'I intend to take up the Chatelaine's challenge. I will become a slave at the Chateau for five days. If, during that time, I am once disobedient, then I will remain at the Chateau in whatever position the Chatelaine places me. But if I can, during five days of what I am confident will be very rigorous discipline, adhere to the duty to obey, then I will require all of you to renew your oaths of loyalty to me and never again to question my authority. Is that clear?'

Julia was staring at her with a look of unbearable sadness. The others were shouting at each other again.

Jem looked at the Chatelaine, and cocked her head. The Chatelaine nodded, and rose to her commanding height. She paced along the table and, with a final swish of her black gown, came to stand beside Jem. Robert hurried to catch up with her.

'Remove your clothes, slave,' the Chatelaine said.

Jem tugged at the fingers of her long gloves, rolled them from her arms, and dropped them on the conference table. She began to unclasp her tunic.

Julia arrived at the head of the table. 'Jem, Mistress, you mustn't do this. They won't let you come back.' Jem could see that she was almost weeping with anxiety as she implored Jem to reconsider.

'It will be all righj, Jules. I promise you. I can do this. I want to do it. Just help me take off my boots, would you?'

'No talking,' the Chatelaine said into Jem's ear, and pushed her whip under Jem's short skirt to touch it against

Jem's buttocks. However, she didn't prevent Jem from accepting Julia's help.

As Jem undressed, the noise in the council chamber subsided until the night wind could be heard whistling through the trees in the park.

When Jem was completely naked, the Chatelaine's voice broke the silence. 'Stand away from the table. Let them all see you. Remember, you're a slave now.'

Jem bowed her head and backed away from the table into a clear space. All the councillors could see that she was naked from head to foot. Jem felt a great sense of anticipation, as though she were about to embark on an expedition into unknown territory.

'Robert,' the Chatelaine said. 'Collar her.'

Robert was behind Jem. She heard him approach. She felt the leather collar as he passed it round her throat.

She reached up and grasped it. It stopped moving.

This, she realised, is the moment of decision. I can pull the collar off, announce that this whole idea was a prank, a test of loyalty, a moment of madness - anything. I am the Mistress of the Private House; they will all do as I say. I don't have to be a slave. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.

She released the collar, and let her hand fall to her side.

The collar was round her neck now.

'Six lashes for that little exhibition,' the Chatelaine said, as Jem felt Robert fasten the buckle at the back of her neck. Jem shuddered; a jolt of yearning lust, as fast and as shocking as a bolt of lightning, sparked from her nipples to her loins. She was a slave.

'Shall we whip her now, madame?' she heard Robert suggest. 'It would be instructive for our fellow councillors.'

The Chatelaine spoke like an indulgent mother. 'No, Robert,' she said. 'I want to get this little slut into the Chateau as quickly as possible. We have only five days in which to break her. You can give her the six lashes while we're travelling. And don't worry: I'll make sure you have plenty of opportunities to discipline her.'

Four

The conical roofs of the Chateau's towers were burnished by the dawn sunlight. No morning light reached the courtyard below, closed round with stone walls. Instead, the flames of torches danced in chill gusts of wind, throwing curious shadows against the limestone blocks of the walls and across the cobbled ground.

The torches were held by more than a hundred men and women: the staff, guards, servants, slaves and guests at the Chateau, all of whom had been woken at dawn and told to assemble to witness the arrival of a most unexpected and prestigious visitor.

The Chatelaine had sent Robert ahead to make the arrangements. As she strode beneath the twin towers of the gatehouse and into the centre of the courtyard, the throng called out in unison, 'Good day, madame.' Robert had done well: the slaves were almost naked, and shivering; the staff and guests had been told to wear their most outrageous costumes; and all were standing in straight rows and looking wide awake, no doubt in fear of Robert's whip.

While Robert had been organising the welcome at the Chateau, the Chatelaine had remained in the carriage with Jem. She had used the time to give the erstwhile Supreme Mistress of the Private House a first taste of the trials she would undergo beneath the Chateau's battlements. The six stripes created by Robert's whip had already almost faded from Jem's pretty little backside, so the Chatelaine had held Jem across her lap while one of the coachmen gave her a spanking.

Then the Chatelaine had instructed Jem to thank the coachman, and to ask her for permission to lick madame's cunt. When Jem was on her hands and knees before her she had slapped Jem's face a few times and had grabbed two handfuls of Jem's titian locks in order to pull Jem's reddened face against her vulva.

'Coachman,' she had said, 'kneel behind this slave and fuck her. Put a couple of fingers up her arse at the same time.'

Jem was extraordinarily pretty and delicate; the Chatelaine had always thought so, and had for a long time harboured a desire to have the Mistress of the Private House at her command and once again licking between her thighs, and to see those elfin features smeared with the juices of her sex.

As the Chatelaine had reached her climax, gripping the leather armrests of her luxurious carriage seat and watching the coachman's cock and fingers plunging into her lovely new slave, she had concluded that the reality was even better than the fantasy had been. The casually proud Jem Darke was hers to humble; for a mere five days, in theory, but the Chatelaine was confident that no one could willingly submit to certain of the torments that she had conceived. And so Jem would be hers for ever.

She would have both Jem and Olena. Once they were both trained, she would hardly need any other diversion.

The Chatelaine's confidence had been temporarily disturbed when she had noticed that Jem, pulling back from between her new mistress's trembling thighs and with her new mistress's juices glistening on her face, had been grinning mischievously and licking her lips. Worse still, on being released from between the Chatelaine's thighs Jem had started to rock back and forth, meeting the coachman's thrusts, to the evident enjoyment of both parties. The Chatelaine was sure that if she had not ordered the coachman to withdraw Jem would have achieved a climax of her own.

Now, however, as she saw gathered in the courtyard the ranks before whom Jem was about to be humiliated, she once again felt sure that she would be able to transform her former mistress into the most abject slave. Jem was alone, and far from any friends or allies; the Chatelaine had at her disposal all the resources, staff and specialised training equipment of the Chateau. There was no hope for Jem.

The Chatelaine marched back and forth in front of the crowd. Her high heels cracked like gunshots as they struck the cobbles; the sounds echoed against the towers in the still, cold morning air. This morning she was in leather: a one-piece costume of tight-fitting burgundy kid that gleamed in the torchlight. She had had Jem dress her. Her boots were of the same material, as were her gloves, and the whip and the leash that she was carrying. Her blonde hair was tightly plaited and pinned in a coil on her head; her heels made her even taller. She knew she looked magnificent, and she paraded in front of her followers in order to impress on them her indisputable authority, and to emphasise the distinction between her and the slave they were about to see.

As she cast her gaze along the rows of expectant faces she searched for Olena's, and was satisfied when she was sure that the girl was not in the courtyard. Robert had, as instructed, kept her locked in her room; the Chatelaine had not wanted her to be disturbed by witnessing a scene that she might have found upsetting. It was important that Olena's innocence should be eroded only with great care and patience.