Discipline of the Private House (26 page)

Jem thought she could hear raised voices and laughter from behind the door. When Robert pushed the door open, the sound of voices abruptly ceased. The silence seemed ominous.

Robert propelled Jem through the doorway. She found herself standing indeed in the bakery, a large, square room of yellowed stone, its ceiling supported on squat pillars. The air smelled organic: yeast and hot bread, carried on currents of warm air. All the oven doors were open, the ovens were empty, and in the vast fireplace only a small pyramid of logs was burning. Nonetheless, the room seemed hot to Jem.

It also seemed crowded. Lounging on and around a sturdy wooden table were half a dozen kitchen slaves; all men, all young, and all staring at Jem with unconcealed interest.

Jem almost allowed her amusement to show on her face. Six strong, libidinous lads: was this supposed to be the ordeal that would break her will? She lowered her head and did her best to look demure; it would not do, she decided, to let Robert catch her eyeing the bulges at the fronts of the aprons that were the only garments the male kitchen slaves wore. She concentrated on absorbing the masculine atmosphere of the room: the heat; the earthy, arousing aromas; the penetrating gazes of hard-working, hard-bodied young men.

'Here she is, lads,' Robert announced. He undipped the chains from her collar and cuffs, but left the leather helmet clasped around her head. 'She's all yours. The head chefs expecting her for lunch, and you'll be in trouble if he's kept waiting. But how you prepare the dish and cook her is up to you. Just remember a few things.' Robert hooked a finger through the metal ring at the top of her helmet and pulled her up on to her toes. 'This promiscuous little slut will do anything you tell her to. And she'll enjoy it. So don't be gentle with her. You like rough games, don't you, slut?'

'Yes, sir,' Jem said. She couldn't honestly deny it.

She felt Robert's free hand cup and squeeze her left breast and then thrust itself into the gap at the top of her thighs. 'She's already wet,' Robert said, 'and she doesn't know yet what you have planned for her.' He removed his hand and wiped a line of clear fluid on to Jem's stomach. 'Tell them the things you like, slut. You know what to say.'

'Yes, sir,' Jem said. She had a fairly clear idea of the words Robert wanted to hear her say. 'I like young men's cocks,' she said, shaking her head free from Robert's grasp. 'I like to touch cocks, and to lick them.'

The men had moved to form a semicircle in front of Jem. Several of them had their hands under their aprons. They passed sidelong comments to each other: 'Look at those tits,' 'She's a real whore,' 'I can't wait to get started.' Jem knew she was supposed to feel threatened, but instead she was excited, and anxious for the fun to begin. It occurred to her that perhaps, despite her efforts subtly to disseminate the tales throughout the Private House organisation, Robert hadn't heard the rumours about the excesses of the Supreme Mistress. It was said, for instance, that during one night she had drained the energies of an entire fifteen-man sports team that had been brought to the House specifically for her purposes. And Jem had taken care to ensure that the rumours were always less remarkable than the real occurrences on which they were based.

T like to take cocks in my mouth,' Jem went on, warming to her subject. 'And in my cunt. And in my arsehole. All at the same time,' she added, with a coquettish smile that drew a growl from the surrounding men.

Tell them about the whip, slave,' Robert said.

Jem snatched a strap from his belt. She drew its tongue across the tops of her breasts. 'You can punish me, if you like,' she whispered. 'I'm your slave. You can do anything to me. You can whip me here. Or here.' She turned round, took one end of the strap in each hand, leaned forwards, and swung her bottom from side to side against the strip of leather. Then, as the young men roared their approval, she parted her legs, bent further forwards, and held the strap by its handle so that the tongue slapped between her buttocks and up against her sex.

'You lads just make sure she gets a thorough lashing,' Robert said, with a note of exasperation in his voice. Jem pirouetted and with a bow proffered the strap. He snatched it from her hand, raised it as if to strike her, and then, scowling, turned and left the room. 'Don't forget to have her ready for Chefs lunch,' he shouted as the door closed behind him.

The room was suddenly still and silent. Jem looked enquiringly along the line of lust-flushed faces surrounding her.

'We'd best make a start on preparing this little bird for cooking,' one of the young men eventually said.

'First step is to truss her,' another said. 'Hold her still while I fetch the rope.'

Two of the men stepped forward and grasped her arms with hands that had been strengthened by months of kneading dough. Jem felt suddenly vulnerable, and began to struggle even though she knew it was futile.

She felt a line of fire across her right buttock, and then another on her left. A man carrying loops of a rope, and swinging the loose end of it, emerged from behind her. 'Master Robert said you'd let us do anything,' he said. 'No struggling, no complaining. Said we've to tell him if you disobey, or even if you're just a bit unwilling. You're not unwilling, are you, you pretty cock-lover?'

Jem took a deep breath, and relaxed. 'I'd love to be tied up,' she said. 'Bondage is always a delight. Just make sure to tie me nice and tightly.'

She noted, with a managerial satisfaction that she realised was entirely inappropriate in her circumstances, that the men were using the correct type of rope. She had decreed that throughout the Private House, when rope was to be used for tight bondage it should be made of braided cotton. This material was soft to the touch, and of a light weight, and yet was quite strong enough to withstand any one person's attempts to break free.

The men had planned precisely how to bind her, and worked in silence. One stood on each side of her, holding her arms away from her sides. A third and fourth stood in front of her and behind her, passing the rope back and forth as they wound it around her.

A long loop was passed round the-back of her neck. The two hanging ends were then pulled beneath her arms and crossed behind her back. The man in front of her pulled the two ends to the front, crossed them at the centre of her ribcage, and pulled them tight so that her breasts were resting on the rope. He then tied a knot, and left the long ends hanging to the floor.

'You'll need to work on her tits,' suggested one of the two men watching the operation.

'I know,' the man in front of Jem said. He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head so that she was looking up into his eyes. 'Move your legs further apart, slut,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' Jem replied. The man had large hazel eyes and curly brown hair. His expression was carefully stern, as if he were concentrating on maintaining his masterly demeanour. Jem thought he looked lovely.

'Ask us to play with your tits,' he said. Jem widened her eyes and pretended to be shocked. 'And with your arsehole, too,' he added.

Jem understood the reasons behind the instruction. If her breasts were massaged, particularly while she was aroused, they would swell, and would look and feel heavier and larger. Once tightly bound with rope, they would remain enlarged, and would both look more prominent and feel more sensitive. She knew exactly what was required.

'Please play with my breasts, sir,' she said. 'And please don't be gentle. Pinch my nipples hard. And if one of you could insert a finger into my anus at the same time, that would be wonderful.'

She leaned forwards, and the man behind her slapped her bottom for a few moments before cupping his hand against her vulva. She felt his fingers press upwards, and couldn't prevent herself wriggling happily against the pressure.

'The little whore's got a cunt as hot as an oven,' the man behind her said. 'And she's sopping wet.'

He twirled a finger inside her vagina, and Jem, still holding the gaze of the brown-eyed man, smiled contentedly as she felt ripples of pleasure begin to expand within her.

The finger was withdrawn, and with a final smile Jem bent forwards a little more, so that her anus was exposed to the man behind her and her breasts were just swinging freely.

The brown-eyed man took one of her breasts in his left hand and began methodically to smack it with his right. At the same time Jem felt a finger, lubricated with her juices, begin to press against the tight ring of her anal sphincter. She relaxed the muscle, pushed back against the pressure, and gasped as she felt the familiar, yet always pleasurable sensations of intrusion and fullness. The finger began, very slowly but insistently, to creep into her; her breast was released, and the other was grasped and smacked. Jem surrendered to the sensations. She was in heaven.

As the brown-eyed man began to pinch her breasts, using the callused tips of his strong fingers and concentrating on her areolae and nipples, Jem was only dimly aware of tossing her head and moaning. Each shock of pain seemed to arc directly to her clitoris; she realised, vaguely, that if the two men continued to play with her she would start to rise towards a climax - and she had not been given permission to do so. She tried hard to clear her mind, but the feelings engendered by the men's persistent fingers could not be banished. A small part of her consciousness began to panic as she felt the pulsing of her climax gather pace: she was about to lose her wager with the Chatelaine.

T think that'll do,' the man in front of her said. He gave her nipples a final pinch and twist, and took a pace back to look at her.

The finger was pulled from her anus, and with a gasp of mingled disappointment and relief Jem straightened her body. Her breasts felt hot and heavy, and they tingled all over and deep inside.

The man's brown eyes were fixed on the reddened, quivering cones of manhandled flesh. He seemed pleased, and Jem felt a strange sense of pride. His work on her breasts had clearly excited him: his member was so stiff that his apron was being held out in "front of his stomach.

Thank you, sir,' Jem said. On a whim she shook herself free of the men holding her arms, dropped to her knees, looked up at him and added, 'May I show my gratitude by kissing you?' She stared longingly at the front of his apron.

The men around her laughed and made lewd comments. The brown-eyed man stepped forwards and pulled on the ring at the top of her helmet. 'You really
are
a whore, aren't you?' he said.

'Yes, sir,' Jem said, and smiled up at him. She was happy to agree to the description. She wanted his cock in her mouth.

He released her hair, lifted his apron and draped it over her head and shoulders. Jem found herself in a tent that smelled of warm bread and male sex. His erect manhood was standing almost vertically, and almost touching her face. She pressed her lips to the veined base of the shaft and inhaled the musky odour of his testicles. She cupped her swollen breasts in her hands, and sighed with pleasure as she started to lick the wrinkled sac.

She heard a voice say, 'Show us your arse, slave,' and she obliged, making her back concave and thrusting her bottom up and back. She felt hands on her buttocks and between her thighs, and resulting tremors of delight, but they seemed distant: her world had been reduced to the dim, flour-powdery canopy beneath which she was lovingly licking her way towards the head of the proud member before her.

At last she reached the tip and, after tonguing with delicate flicks the slit of the urethra, she moved her head up and engulfed the entire helmet. It filled her mouth. It was warm, and as smooth as a polished plum. It pulsed against her tongue. The moment of taking a man's erection into her mouth never failed to give Jem a frisson of pleasure, and she let out an exclamation of distress when the velvet hardness was pulled suddenly from her mouth.

'That's enough,' the man's voice said from above her head. 'On your feet, slut. We've got to get you trussed up for cooking.'

He pulled his apron from Jem's head, and she blinked in the sudden light, even though the bakery was illuminated only by lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling. She stood, and the men beside her grasped her arms once again in their unforgiving hands.

Once the brown-eyed man had assured himself that Jem's breasts were still engorged and sensitive, the business of tying them proceeded. He picked up the trailing ends of the rope and tied them together in a knot that was less than a finger's length from the one he had already made, thus creating a small loop. With the second knot resting above the first in the valley between Jem's breasts, the ends of the rope were passed beneath her arms, and the man behind her pulled the ends tight and knotted them together in the middle of her back. The ends, still long, hung to the floor. Each breast was now roped on three sides, although there was as yet no constriction.

'Cross her arms,' the brown-eyed man said to the man behind Jem. She put up no resistance as her arms were crossed behind her back. She glanced sideways and saw that two new lengths of rope were to be employed: each had one end tied to one of the cuffs that she had around her wrists.

The two ropes from Jem's wrists were passed to the brown-eyed man, who pulled tightly on them to ensure that Jem's crossed arms were pressed into her back, and that each of her hands was pulled up to tuck under the opposing upper arm. He passed the loose ends of both ropes through the loop between the knots that separated Jem's breasts, and then passed the ends over Jem's shoulders to the man behind her. He pulled them tight, so that the two knots were pulled upwards and the rope running beneath Jem's breasts embedded itself in the crease there; he tied the ropes together behind Jem's neck.