Discipline of the Private House (35 page)

T am Ilsa,' the woman said. 'My partner is Max. You will not address either of us. You will not speak. Do you understand?'

Jem nodded, and kept her head lowered. It was already clear that this dour couple would accept no nonsense, and she decided to bide her time before making any attempt to flirt with them.

'We are obedience trainers,' Max stated. 'Today you will be trained to be obedient. Wear these.' He tossed a number of small articles on to the floor in front of Jem.

None of the items was familiar to Jem. She picked up two that appeared identical, and realised that they were mittens. She pulled them on. The tips of her fingers and thumbs appeared through holes at the ends of the tight-fitting envelopes of material. The mittens were of tough leather on one side, against the palms of her hands; on the other, on the backs of her hands, they were covered with soft fur. The fur was long and reddish-brown; Jem
realised
that it had been chosen to match exactly the colour of her hair.

'Dainty paws,' Max said to Ilsa. 'I think she might show well.'

'We'll see,' Ilsa replied. 'Looks aren't everything. We need obedience and character, too.'

Jem was beginning to understand how she could expect to be trained. She was to take the part of some animal. Well, she thought, there can be nothing very challenging in that. But in the pit of her stomach she felt a stirring of anxiety.

There was, of course, another pair of paws, longer than the first, that covered her feet, ankles and shins and, at the front of her legs, projected over her knees. They slipped over her feet like moccasins and were held in place with straps that buckled across her calves and behind her knees. The leather pad on each extended along the sole of her foot and over the tips of her toes; there was a second leather pad covering each knee. The rest was covered in fur that matched that on the mittens.

That makes sense, Jem thought; if I'm to be an animal I'm certain to spend a lot of time on my hands and knees.

There was one more part of the costume: a mask that covered the upper half of Jem's face. It was a beautifully crafted item. The internal surface was soft, and moulded itself precisely to the contours of Jem's face and forehead; she wondered whether it had been made specifically for her. With the mask fitting comfortably against her skin, Jem found that the eyeholes were in exactly the right position: she could see, and blink, without obstruction.

The trainers adjusted the straps and buckles at the back of Jem's head to ensure that the mask was secure. Then Max clipped a leash to the ring on Jem's collar.

'Come along,' he said, and tugged on the leash. 'Walk on all four paws.'

As Jem crawled on Jier hands and knees behind Max and Ilsa she found herself becoming both nervous and excited. Once the trainers had led her up from the dungeons, she was aware of being the subject of some interest from the servants and slaves running errands through the Chateau's corridors. Jem always enjoyed dressing up in outlandish costumes, and being on her hands and knees drew attention to her - and particularly to her raised bottom, which she suspected looked rather attractive as she crawled behind her trainers.

It was only when their route took them along a corridor lined with full-length mirrors, however, that Jem discovered what sort of animal she was supposed to be.

Jem had always thought of herself as feline, and she had assumed, for no better reason, that the face of the mask would make her resemble a cat. But when she turned her face and found herself looking in a mirror, she recognised the half-woman, half-beast as herself, and could not at first decide what animal she had been dressed up to be.

She thought she certainly looked desirable. The fur of her paws and mask complemented the paleness of her skin and the sea-blue of her eyes, and was so similar in colour to the titian curls on her head that it could have been her own hair. Just a couple of days in the Chateau had made her body look thinner while accentuating her breasts, which swayed beneath her ribs, and her buttocks, which were presented upwards by the curve of her spine. And her collar, with the leather leash being held taut from above her, implied both her bondage and her debasement.

But if she was not a cat, what was she? The outside of the mask was not a literal depiction of any creature. Its design had large eyes, so that her pale irises glinted at the centre of inhumanly large, dark orbs. A short snout covered her nose and ended in a shining, black button. And there were ears: long, fur-covered flaps that appeared to be sprouting from the midst of her auburn hair.

She was a dog. A young dog, she realised, with floppy ears and big paws.

Max and Ilsa stopped in front of a door. Max squatted next to Jem and held her by the chin.

'Now then, slave,' he said. 'We're at the training room. You've probably realised that today you're a little puppy. You're going to be taught how to behave and be obedient.

We'll turn you from an unruly puppy into a well-disciplined bitch.' He allowed himself a thin smile.

Therefore,' Ilsa continued, 'from the moment we lead you through that door we want to see you acting like a puppy. You will be boisterous. You will run and jump aimlessly - until such behaviour is beaten out of you, of course. You will be pathetically eager to please. The slightest failure to act in a puppyish manner will be regarded as a breach of your promise to remain submissive and obedient. And, as you are about to discover, today your adherence to your vow will be particularly closely monitored.'

A heavy, cold dread constricted Jem's heart. This was going to be a difficult day. Until now she had been able to find distractions in each of the ordeals she had endured: the taste of a man's penis in her mouth, the exhilaration of a whip lashing her flesh, the shivers and warmth of sexual arousal.

But today, it seemed, there would be nothing to take her mind from the constant humiliation of being required to obey instructions. Worse, she would have to concentrate on colluding in her own debasement: if for even a moment she behaved other than as a puppy, she would forfeit her freedom for ever.

Jem gathered her resolve. Her imagination had already shown her a gallery of the degrading acts she might be obliged to perform during the course of being trained as a puppy; if she could imagine them, she could endure them. It was only play-acting, after all, and she knew she was capable of throwing herself into a part. She had the measure of what was to come; there would be no surprises.

She became a puppy. She opened her eyes wide and stared at Max; she licked his hand, and then lifted her front paws from the floor and began to scrabble at his hands and the leash until he almost lost his balance, and hurriedly rose from his squatting position.

'Down, girl,' he said. 'I can see that obedience training is just what you require.'

Jem felt a booted foot touch her left buttock. 'A puppy wags her tail,' Ilsa said. 'Nearly all the time, and certainly when being paid attention by her trainers. Let us see how enthusiastically you can wag your tail, puppy.'

Jem wiggled her hips from side to side, slowly at first but faster as Max and Ilsa moved behind her to watch her bottom jump about. She lowered her head to the floor so that her twitching hindquarters were thrust upwards and her anus and vulva were in full view. She could never resist showing off, and she could feel the trainers' eyes on her shaven sex, making her warm and wet.

'She's one of those disgusting puppies that likes everyone to see its backside,' Ilsa said in an offended tone.

'We'll tie her down and flog the parts she's so keen to display,' Max said. 'It's cruel, but it inhibits this sort of disgraceful behaviour.'

Jem wagged her tail faster. In the eyeholes of the mask her eyes sparkled. Perhaps, she thought, obedience training would have its consolations.

'Keep wagging, little puppy,' Ilsa said. 'It's time to go into the training room.'

Jem, immersed in her role, trotted on hands and knees to the door and began to scratch at it with her right paw. Max pushed the door open and Jem raced through it, pulling taut the leash as Max followed her. She felt her collar being released from the pull of the leash, and wiggling her bottom excitedly she darted from side to side and ran in circles.

The room was large and high-ceilinged. Dusty light came in shafts through tall, half-closed shutters, leaving the corners of the room in darkness. The furniture - chairs, sofas and screens - had been pushed towards the walls, although there were a few less readily identifiable objects placed more centrally. Rugs covered only patches of the wooden floor, and Jem was glad of the leather pads covering her knees, toes and hands. And, she realised, the room was not empty of people.

Around the shadowy perimeter of the room, almost invisible against the dark panelling, figures stood silent and still. Men and women, Jem saw, dressed in familiar uniforms of gleaming black.

They were guards. Her guards, from the main House.

Don't forget to wag your tail, she told herself, even as her circling run brought into view the one person she most wanted to see - and who she least wanted to witness her present humiliation.

Julia.

Unsmiling, standing rigid, her face showing no expression, no sign of recognition or greeting.

Jem wanted to run to her and hold her in her arms. Instead she pretended that a scent on the floor had attracted her puppy attention, and as she sniffed, with her bottom in the air, she gave herself time to think.

Julia's here, she told herself, with a squad of guards. They're here to watch me perform. Julia is the only councillor that the others would trust to give a fair and accurate report of my behaviour. The Chatelaine wouldn't have summoned Julia unless she was confident that there would be something to show her. So the Chatelaine knows I'm going to fail.

And she's right, Jem thought. I can't do this. Not with Julia watching.

She ran in a circle and used a paw to scratch her ears.

But I'll do my best, she vowed. This might be the last time that Julia and I see each other. I'll put on a good show.

Nicole helped Olena to remove her robe. When Olena was naked, she felt Nicole's lips brush her ear.

'Remember,' Nicole whispered, 'we must be very quiet. Not a sound.'

They were in a dark, tiny space, behind a black lacquered screen in the corner of a room. There was room only for the two women and one high-backed armchair; not enough room, Olena noted with a twinge of disappointment, for anyone else to stand and watch while Olena was tested, or /or Nicole to swing a cane or a strap.

'Kneel on the seat of the chair,' Nicole whispered, 'so that you're facing the screen.'

Olena did as she was told, placing her knees as far apart as she could and curving her back inwards so that her bottom was pushed out. The position came naturally to her now.

She leaned her head against Nicole's, so that they could communicate in soft voices.

'I'm already wet,' she said, blushing. 'Are you going to spank me?'

Nicole giggled. 'Not yet,' she replied. 'It would make too much noise. I'll just stroke your bottom, like this, to remind you that you'll be punished later.'

Olena shivered as she felt Nicole's fingertips brushing the most sensitive part of her left buttock, where it curved inwards near her little hole and her secret parts. 'That's lovely,' she said, and kissed the lock of dark hair that Nicole always had carefully curled on her cheek. It felt naughty and exciting to be pressed close to Nicole in this confined space; it reminded her of cuddling Jem under the covers in the cell that they had shared.

'I've brought you here to watch something,' Nicole said, her fingers gently twining the hairs of Olena's secret parts. 'If you put your face against the screen, just there, you can see through it.'

'What will I see?' Olena said.

'You'll find out,' Nicole replied. 'I think you might find it instructive. Perhaps you'd like to do it yourself, one day soon.'

Olena was intrigued. She found the opening in the screen and stared through it. She was grateful that Nicole, so as not to distract her, had stopped playing between her legs and was instead using the palm of her hand to caress her bottom.

'You're so lovely,' Nicole whispered. 'You have so many round curves,' she giggled, 'and your skin is so smooth. I could stroke you for ever.'

'You can,' Olena said, but her attention was already fixed on the strange scene that she could see in the room beyond the screen.

She realised instantly that the woman kneeling in the centre of the room was dressed - if that was the expression for someone who was almost entirely naked - as an animal. It took her only another moment to recognise the woman's mane of auburn hair and petite figure. It was Jem, wearing paws, a mask and a collar.

Standing beside Jem were two tall, menacing figures wearing tightly fitting leather clothes and carrying short whips. The male figure was holding a leash that was attached to Jem's collar. Their voices, echoing in the room, carried easily to Olena kneeling behind the screen.

That's not how a puppy sits,' the man said. The woman casually flicked the tail of her whip against Jem's bottom.

'Front paws close together,' the man said, 'and keep your back legs apart so that your front paws fit neatly between your knees. Lift your backside so that you can wag your tail.'