Discipline of the Private House (32 page)

'Now another finger,' Nicole said.

Olena needed no urging. She squeezed a second finger alongside the first, and pushed both further into the soft, warm interior. Her little hole felt stretched; her bottom felt full.

Tush them further in,' Nicole said.

Olena did so, and bit down gently on her lower lip to quieten a groan of pleasure.

'Now move your fingers back and forth, just a little way, while Bernard flicks your breasts with the rod.'

The thin lath struck Olena's sore breasts rapidly but lightly, making them jiggle. Olena closed her eyes, moved her fingers in the warm, soft space of her rectum, and surrendered to the sensations. Her body had become a conduit for delicious tremors and spasms; her nipples, her anus and her clitoris seemed to be communicating, urging each other upwards and upwards towards the clear, boundless joy of another climax.

She became aware of Nicole standing at her side. 'Does that feel nice?' Nicole whispered in her ear.

'Yes,' Olena gasped. 'Oh, yes.'

'Your breasts are getting as red as your bottom,' Nicole went on, 'and you've started to move your fingers in and out of your arsehole quite fast now, haven't you? Do you like to show me these things?'

'Yes, Nicole,' Olena said, recovering herself somewhat. Tt's good that others witness my punishments.'

'But you only enjoy it more when people are watching, don't you? It makes you more excited. You're getting very wet now, aren't you?'

It was true. Olena's wrist, which touched her purse every time she pushed her fingers into her anus, was covered in her own juice. Olena could think of almost nothing but the thrills running from her smarting breasts to her invaded backside, but it was beginning to dawn on her that something was amiss, that she had overlooked something important.

'Are you a pure woman, Olena?' Nicole's voice insinuated into her thoughts. 'How pure can you be, if you enjoy being caned on your breasts? If you like to put your fingers up your shit-hole? If you like people to watch?'

As Olena struggled through a lust-induced fog to perceive the meaning of Nicole's words, Nicole landed the final blow. 'What would Barat think of you if he could see you now?'

Nicole was right. Olena knew it. She was nothing but a slut. She could be relied on only to betray all the principles of the community that had raised her. She was filthy and worthless. And if Barat were there to witness the depth of her sin . . .

If Barat were there, watching her, she would feel utterly humiliated. She would feel so wicked, so naughty. She pressed her wrist against the wet warmth of her purse. Jem had been right: the more the shame, the more the pleasure.

If Barat were there, watching her push her fingers into her arsehole, watching her breasts dance and redden as the slave whipped them, she would be able to reach a climax almost immediately. She pressed her wrist harder into her secret place. She would be there very soon. She thrust her breasts forwards and pushed her fingers deeper into her rectum. Very soon ...

'Stop!' Nicole cried.

Olena let out a howl of frustration as Bernard stepped back from her. Blushing, and feeling ridiculous, she withdrew her shaking fingers from her anus.

'Well,' Nicole said, 'now we know exactly what kind of girl you are, Olena. You really are proving a most difficult challenge. Is there any amount of punishment that will correct your behaviour? Is there any vile act from which you will recoil?'

'I don't know,' Olena said. 'I'm beginning to think that I'm just thoroughly bad.' And, she thought but dared not say, I'm beginning to hope so, too.

'Time will tell,' Nicole said. 'Time, regular punishments, and rigorous testing. You are indeed fortunate that you arrived at the Chateau.'

Yes, Olena thought. I'm beginning to realise that's true.

Barat, lying on his back, could move only his feet and his head. The rest of his body was tightly swaddled in a tube of sheer rubber that held his legs together and his arms pinioned at his sides. His genitalia protruded obscenely upwards through a hole in the rubber. The Chatelaine was holding his erect member firmly in one rubber-gloved hand.

The room, which the Chatelaine had called the water closet, was like a bathroom in that its floor and walls were covered in white tiles that glistened in the yellow lamplight. There were taps and basins, but no bath. Hanging from hooks on the walls were bottles, pumps, syringes and loops of hose whose functions Barat could only guess at. He was strapped on to a slim, rubber-covered dais, shaped to follow the contours of a human body. His head was resting on a padded circle which was attached by a metal rod to the main area of the dais.

The Chatelaine looked down at him and smiled in a way that he found both menacing and exciting. She lazily pulled on his manhood until he let out a groan of pain and desire. In her other hand she held a small strap made of rubber, its tongue divided into three. She let the tails play on his cocooned body.

'You must learn obedience, Barat,' she said. 'If you will not behave properly, you must learn through suffering. Isabelle, come closer.'

The tall brunette came into Barat's circle of vision. He looked up to see that she, like him, was clothed in black rubber. She was covered in skintight rubber from her neck to her fingertips to her waist; like his cock and balls, her breasts protruded through holes in the clinging material. She was wearing a short, flared, rubber skirt, and stockings of sheer rubber that gripped her thighs so tightly that the pale flesh swelled above the stocking-tops. And beneath the skirt, Barat could see as she approached, she was wearing a pair of baggy rubber knickers with strong elastic at the top of each thigh.

Without warning, the Chatelaine swung the strap in a slow arc that ended when the three tongues landed on

Barat's exposed scrotum. He yelped, and the Chatelaine smiled again.

'Isabelle,' she said, 'put his head in your knickers.'

Isabelle came to stand behind his head. With his neck bent back he watched in trepidation as she peeled down a flap of rubber that covered most of the front of the voluminous garment. He glimpsed the dark bush of her pubic hair. Then she stepped closer, her hands reached towards him, and he felt his head being supported by her hands. His crown was resting in the hollow of her stomach.

The Chatelaine released her hold on his member and came to join Isabelle at the top of the dais. She leaned forwards and adjusted something; he felt the headrest fall away.

Isabelle's upside-down face smiled down at him. 'Come inside,' she said, and lowered his head slightly as she moved forwards.

His face was pressed against Isabelle's pubic mound as his head was engulfed by her rubber knickers. She pushed forwards again, her legs widely parted, and his head was forced into the space between her thighs. His face was buried in her vulva, which was hot and damp. He fought for breath. He felt something solid under the back of his head: the headrest had been fixed back in its position, but now the gusset of Isabelle's knickers came between the back of his head and the padded circle.

With a giggle and a murmur of pleasure Isabelle settled her sex on to his face. His nose was lodged between her labia; he could hardly move his head, but when he tilted it back the slight distance it would travel he found that his nose slipped into her wet vagina.

Barat could see nothing but the smooth skin of Isabelle's buttocks, close enough for his eyelashes to touch when he blinked. His hearing was muffled. He felt very vulnerable and very excited; he was acutely aware that his manhood, standing rigidly upright, was at the Chatelaine's mercy.

And then she started to whip him. He knew she must be using short, gentle strokes, but the three tails of the strap stung the sensitive skin and made him writhe helplessly in his rubber cocoon. She let the strap play all over his penis and scrotum; sometimes she used it to lash him; at other times the three tails were used caressingly, to tease the most
sensitive
parts of his glans or to tickle the base of his tight ball-sac. She used her other hand to stroke him, sometimes gently and sometimes roughly, and to keep him hard.

Barat, breathing in the hot and mingled aromas of rubber and Isabelle's sex, gasped and moaned as the Chatelaine inflicted pleasure and pain unpredictably on him.

'You can do it at any time you wish,' the Chatelaine said. He heard her voice, dimly, and wondered whom she was addressing. Had a fourth person entered the room? He hoped that Master Robert had not arrived to see him in such a demeaning position.

But it was Isabelle who replied, 'Yes, madame.' And then nothing happened, except that the Chatelaine continued to torment his genitalia.

He had only a moment's warning. He sensed that Isabelle had tensed her muscles; he heard a strange hissing; and then his mouth was full of hot, bitter liquid, and his whole face was deluged with it. Streams of it ran through his hair and pooled under his head.

Isabelle was pissing on him. He gasped for breath, and took in another mouthful of the acrid stuff. He tried to jerk his limbs, but could move them not at all. He tried with all his strength to lift his head, but succeeded only in burying his face more deeply in Isabelle's sex, drawing from her an exclamation of surprise.

He had no choice but to swallow the mouthful of urine. But Isabelle seemed to have inexhaustible reserves of piss; the ammonia smell stung his nostrils, his head was lying in a warm pool that was now up to his ears, and still the stream hissed straight into his mouth. He was sure he would drown in Isabelle's piss.

As the stream at last reduced, in spurts, to a dribble, Barat realised that throughout his ordeal the Chatelaine had not ceased her attentions to his upright member. She was stroking it firmly, squeezing the glans at the end of each upward stroke, and he was very hard. In fact, he was getting close to a climax.

'Lick her, Barat,' the Chatelaine said. 'Lick her well, and I'll allow this poor, sore member a moment of relief.'

Barat was still gasping for breath. He was close to tears: he had never been subjected to such humiliating, frightening treatment, and he could not imagine how he would be able to face the Chatelaine again. And he was sure that Isabelle would tell everyone in the Chateau that she had made Barat drink her piss. His head was still lying in a pool of the foul liquid, and the acrid smell was all around him.

At the same time he could not deny that he was excited; in fact, the Chatelaine's hand around his shaft was making it more and more difficult for him to think of anything but the imminence of his climax. Now he was supposed to pleasure the woman who had just defiled him, and he had to admit that he did find it arousing to have his face in such intimate, helpless contact with Isabelle's sex.

He tilted his head back, and his nose burrowed into the entrance of Isabelle's vagina. She wriggled, smearing his urine-soaked face with her more viscous fluid. His mouth was now touching the forward part of the split of her sex, and he had only to open his mouth and extend his tongue.

He detected and licked into his mouth several drops of urine at the tiny hole that was the entrance of Isabelle's urethra. The stimulation produced a trickle of piss, which Barat swallowed. He extended his tongue again, a little further this time, and felt the tremor that ran through Isabelle's body as he licked close to the exposed tip of her clitoris.

Isabelle had clearly become very excited while she was pissing on Barat, and the movements of his tongue were increasing her arousal. Her sex fluid was now running almost as freely as her urine had, and was trickling into his mouth and down both sides of his face. He could breathe only through his mouth, and his hot panting breath seemed to stimulate Isabelle almost as much as the licking of his tongue.

Isabelle began to move her hips rhythmically, pushing down to meet Barat's thrusting tongue. The Chatelaine was moving her hand up and down his shaft at the same pace.

'You see, Barat,' the Chatelaine said in a low, seductive voice. Tf you accept discipline, you receive a reward.
Imagine
how you will feel when Olena is fully trained and you have her at your disposal. You will be able to play any sort of
game
with her. Games like this, for instance. And to have her, you must merely obey me.'

The Chatelaine's words conjured images in Barat's mind. He imagined Olena on her knees before him, begging him to piss into her face. He added to the picture Nicole, standing behind Olena and encouraging her with flicks of a strap. He erased that image as one even better grew in his mind's eye: Olena wrapped in rubber, and lying on this dais, with her head inside Isabelle's knickers - and Barat, standing beside her, instructing her how to please Isabelle and punishing errors by using the three-tailed rubber strap on her breasts.

This second image was too seductive to bear. Barat lifted his head from the headrest and almost knocked Isabelle off her feet with the vigour of his thrusting tongue. The Chatelaine increased the tempo of her strokes, and with a muffled cry Barat felt the semen boil from his balls into his cock. He slumped back on to the headrest as he felt the seed pump from the tip of his straining erection.

As, with Isabelle's help, he disengaged his urine-soaked head from within her rubber knickers, he saw the Chatelaine flick his semen from her rubber gloves with a look of clinical neutrality. She snapped the gloves from her hands.