Discipline of the Private House (22 page)

'Yes, sir,' Jem said. Thank you. May I suck your cock now?'

'In a moment, you sex-hungry bitch,' Kadif replied with a laugh. 'I must detach all of these decorations first.'

Kadif was slow and methodical. He removed the clips and clamps one at a time, allowing Jem to experience each release of pressure and the ensuing pain of returning circulation. From time to time he amused himself by flicking the pendulum that hung between Jem's thighs, and watching as she gasped and moaned until the weight stopped swinging.

'Forty-two,' he said as he removed yet another clip, this time from the underside of Jem's left breast. He cupped the tender globe in his hand as Jem quivered. 'That's the last. Except for this one.' He reached down and touched the hanging weight. This time he didn't leave it to swing, but pushed it back and forth until Jem was shuddering continuously and sobbing for breath.

Just when she was on the brink of a precipitous climax, he stopped.

'Now,' he said, 'you verminous shit-eating whore, wasn't there something you wanted to do for me? Get off the table and kneel in front of me.'

No matter how carefully Jem moved as she climbed from the desk, she couldn't prevent the pendulum swinging between her thighs and pulling on the sensitive morsel of skin that was pinched between the jaws of the clip. It would have been agonising if it hadn't been so insistently exciting. Shivers of simmering lust racked her body as she lowered herself to kneel at Kadif s feet.

'Unbutton the flap, slave,' he said. Take out my penis and my testicles. Be very careful. Then lick my balls.'

Jem's fingers wer,e shaking. She could hardly remember when she had last been so aroused. The need for an orgasm was a dull ache in her loins: yet another sensation to add to the throbbing heat of her breasts and buttocks and the sharp pull of the weight that swung tantalisingly close to her clitoris.

She managed to unfasten the flap of Kadif s breeches and his erect penis sprang free. Jem inhaled the scent of maleness, the salty, musky smell that never failed to put her in the mood for fellatio - not that she needed any further inducement on this occasion. Kadif s member was big: long, and broad at the base. Jem had a momentary vision of sliding herself on to it, and feeling her vagina filled more and more as she accommodated the widening girth. The head was of a more normal size, however, and Jem looked forward to taking all of it into her mouth.

First, however, she was to lick his balls. She put her hand into his opened breeches and cupped it beneath the warm, heavy sac. She used her other hand to fold back the loose material of the breeches as she carefully lifted Kadif s testicles. His erection was now very hard, so that his penis stood almost vertically, and it was easy for Jem to press her nose and mouth against the hanging sac. She breathed in the warm smell. The coarse hairs tickled her face. His testicles felt like stone eggs in a purse full of scented oil. She started to lick, and stopped briefly to smile when she heard him groan with pleasure.

'Now lick my cock,' he said. 'Go straight for the head, slave. I can't wait any longer.'

I've been waiting all morning, Jem thought;, no one could be more desperate to come than I am. But she found that concentrating on Kadif s genitalia had diverted her attention slightly from the yearnings of her own body, and she had to admit that it was a pleasure to feel the velvety hardness and hot, rounded contours of his penis against her tongue and her lips. She circled the flanged rim of his helmet; she flicked his frenum, and the smooth, highly sensitive ridges on either side of it; she pressed her tongue against the slit of his urethra. It occurred to her, in a lucid moment, that it had been a very long time since she had taken so much pleasure from serving a man in this way. She kept her hand cupped under his balls, waiting for the sudden tension there that would signal the onset of his climax.

'You certainly know how to do this,' she heard Kadif say. 'But I'm going to take control of things now. Put your hands behind your back.'

Jem let out a moan of frustrated desire, but obeyed. Kadif pulled his erection out of reach of her questing tongue. 'Open your mouth,' he said.

She watched as he took his magnificent hardness in his right hand and began to stroke it, pulling the skin back and forth over the ridge of the helmet. The slit was open and leaking clear fluid; it seemed to stare at her like a single eye.

With his left hand he stroked her hair. 'Such a pretty little slave,' he said. 'And such a filthy trollop. Are you ready to drink my come?'

With her mouth open, and almost touching the glistening purple tip of his penis, she could only nod.

'Don't swallow a drop until I give you permission,' Kadif said, and Jem felt his hand tighten in her hair, holding her head in the position he required.

His right hand pumped faster as he inserted the head of his penis into her mouth. The underside of the helmet rubbed against her tongue; his hand bumped against her lips harder and faster as he masturbated more vigorously.

She heard him cry out wordlessly. He pulled back a little, so that the tip of his penis was just outside her open mouth. His hand moved even faster, and suddenly she felt a jet of hot liquid spurt on to her tongue. Another struck her palate. Another came, and another, until her mouth was filled with hot, viscous fluid.

He wiped the tip of his penis on her lips. He stroked her hair. She felt a dribble escape from the corner of her mouth and trickle down towards her chin.

'Look at me,' he said.

She lifted her head. He was smiling down at her.

'Cocksucker,' he said. 'Spunk-drinker. Pretty little whore-slave. You can swallow it now.'

Jem swallowed., As ever, it reminded her of eating oysters. She licked her lips and smiled up at him.

'Thank you, sir,' she said. 'I enjoyed that. May I ask a question?'

Kadif looked doubtful. 'What is it?'

'I'd like to come, too, sir. Can I, please?'

Kadif sighed, and pushed his manhood, still swollen, into his breeches. 'You should know better than to ask, slave. Why, I shall have to punish you now.' He leaned forwards until his face was almost touching hers, looked from side to side, and then whispered to her. 'But I suppose I might forget that you still have that weight hanging from the skin right next to your clitoris. And I could hardly be blamed, could I, Mistress, if you were to come while I was spanking you?'

Jem couldn't help grinning. He had addressed her by her former title; he was going to spank her; she was sure she would come; and she was sure Kadif would not report the incident to the Chatelaine. The day, she thought, just can't get any brighter.

'You'd better spank me, then,' she said. 'Please, sir.'

He moved behind her. She felt his hands on the insides of her thighs. 'Place your knees further apart,' he said. 'Keep your hands behind your back. Remember to roll with the smacks; get into the rhythm of the movement.'

Jem moved her hips forwards experimentally; she felt the tug of the weighted chain as it pulled at the pinched skin above her clitoris. She moved back and felt a keener twinge of pain - and then Kadif s large hand slapped against her left buttock, already sore from his whip, and she was propelled forwards again. The swing of the chain came back to meet her, and for a tantalising, electrifying moment the metal links were held against the exposed tip of her clitoris.

She almost forgot to rock back into the swing of Kadif s next smack, which resounded in the room as it landed on her right buttock. She was thrust forwards, and once again was rewarded with the touch of the chain on her most sensitive spot.

After a few more smacks, her bottom was feeling big and hot, her nipples were tingling, and she was thrusting her hips back and forth in a steady rhythm, urged on by Kadif s crude comments.

She became unaware of everything except the regular smack of smarting pain on her bottom and the kiss of the chain between her legs. She did not realise that she was exhaling an 'Oh!' of pain with each slap and gulping in a gasp of pleasure at each touch of the chain. She knew, however, that inside she felt as hot and liquid as lava: as she rocked back and forth, between the smacks and the pull of the weight and the caress of the chain, she was riding waves of pleasure that seemed to be lifting her higher and higher.

And then the waves overwhelmed her. She fell forwards, thrusting her bottom upwards, and Kadif seemed to realise that she needed him to increase the tempo of his spanking. He aimed low, and struck gently but very fast. The chain was no longer swinging, but Jem had passed the point of needing to be touched directly on her clitoris. The weight bobbed between her widely parted thighs, dancing as her body vibrated under the rain of smacks and pulling on the clip.

Jem shuddered as the first spasm of her orgasm flooded through her. She hardly noticed that Kadif had stopped spanking her. She scarcely felt him reaching between her thighs and deftly releasing the clip from which the pendulum hung. But, as the next wave of the orgasm crashed over her, she felt a great pulse of sensation begin to throb, as fast as her heartbeat, in the depths of her loins. The circulation of blood, and with it the return of feeling, was rushing into the morsel of tender flesh that had been gripped between the jaws of the clip.

Jem was dimly conscious that she was screaming, huge hoarse gulping shouts of ecstasy, as the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced seemed to last for ever.

She collapsed sideways on to the cushions. After a few moments, she felt able to talk.

'Thank you, sir,' she said.

'My pleasure,' Kadif replied. 'But you have no time for resting, my girl. You're already late for the next lesson.'

The next lesson was a demonstration of corsetry, arranged for some of the more discerning of the Chateau's temporary guests. Jem, already feeling light-headed, found that being constricted in various ornate constructions of whalebone, lace, satin, leather and rubber gave her the sensation of floating through the day. Everything seemed very pleasant: the corsets were beautiful; the guests were appreciative, both of the costumes and of her as a model; and Jem always enjoyed wearing well-made, tightly fitting garments. She protested vaguely each time the laces were tightened; she posed languorously, and offered her body for inspection; she smiled smugly when the guests noticed and remarked on the redness of her breasts and the marks on her buttocks.

Jem's role as a demonstrator was interrupted for a late lunch. Jem was taken to a barely lit scullery, where she was told she could take whatever she wanted from the dishes containing food left over from the meals that had been served to the guests and staff.

I'm glad the Chatelaine regards cuisine in the Chateau as a priority, Jem reflected as she piled a plate with potted and sliced meats, stuffed vegetables, hunks of bread and a large slice of
tarte tatin.
And, she thought, I'm particularly pleased that her guests can't eat everything she provides.

Jem was tethered by her collar to the leg of a table and had to eat while sitting on the flagstones. Nonetheless, she ate ravenously and as she licked the plate clean she considered that the day was improving by the hour. She felt refreshed and ready for more lessons. At the back of her mind, however, was the knowledge that the trials she had been put through up to this point had clearly been designed merely to display her, as ignominiously as possible, to a large number of the people in the Chateau. This was the calm before the storm. The exacting ordeals were still to come. And Jem still feared that she would be unable to submit.

However, the remainder of the afternoon passed pleasingly enough. Jem was led from the kitchens through dingy corridors to the stable block, where a group of the Chateau's slaves had been assembled under the tutelage of a slave-master and a slave-mistress. Jem's role was to demonstrate how to don the various harnesses and accoutrements that slaves could be instructed to wear.

The slaves watched her closely as she was strapped into a pony harness and metal-shod boots and then, encouraged by flicks of the slave-master's whip, as she performed the prancing and trotting steps that the costume demanded. Soon she was feeling hot and breathless as well as humiliated and very aroused. The slave-mistress demonstrated how a pony-girl's speed, direction and deportment could be controlled by pulling on the reins and by applying brisk touches of the whip to the buttocks, the backs of the thighs and, with skill, to the sides of the breasts.

At last Jem was given a few moments in which to catch her breath and, as she stood panting, surrounded by the intense and admiring gazes of the slaves, she lifted her head and looked back at them.

The Chatelaine's slaves were drawn in large part from other institutions within the Private House organisation. One of the Chateau's purposes was to provide intensive training for those individuals who were found to have a penchant for corporal punishment or who it was deemed would benefit from a regime of strict discipline. A few of the slaves, Jem knew, must be men and women who had been invited to visit the Chateau as guests, and who had proved to be sufficiently servile to be brought back to serve in the lowliest positions. Once fully trained and disciplined, a few of the slaves would come to develop a taste for administering as well as receiving punishment, and might be brought on to the Chatelaine's staff; others would return, now fully aware of their needs and desires, to the parts of the Private House from which they had been recruited, or would be sent into the world beyond the Private House to further the organisation's aims there. Others would remain as slaves in the Chateau.