Discipline of the Private House (37 page)

Gustave took a deep breath. 'It's definitely harder, miss,' he said. 'May I let go now?'

'Certainly not,' Isabelle said. 'Not when we're getting such a positive result.' She uncurled her body from the armchair and, swaying her slim hips in a manner that made Barat's erection threaten to burst from his briefs, she sauntered to the box. She stroked Grant's right buttock and drew her fingertips along his spine until she reached his head, where she stroked his cheek.

'Well, Grant,' she said, 'you're obviously getting excited. Do you like having your penis held by a man? Is that it? Or are you looking forward to having the wooden phallus embedded in your anus? Or perhaps you have already suspected that while you're tied up and helpless I'm going to take the opportunity to tame you a little. My whip collection is in the cabinet in the corner. I thought I might test a few of them. Would you like that?'

Grant mumbled a reply that Barat was unable to hear.

'He's getting harder, miss,' Gustave said. 'I can hardly get my fingers round the shaft. Can I let go now, please?'

'No, Gustave,' Isabelle said. She looked over her shoulder at Gustave, and laughed. Barat thought she looked magnificent. 'Try to make him harder. And use your other hand to squeeze his balls.' She turned back to address Grant. 'I like a slave with a big cock,' she said. 'If you're very good, and do exactly as I say, I may let you choose where you put that big cock of yours.'

Barat could stand it no longer. If he could not have Isabelle, then at least he would take the edge off his appetite for her by masturbating while he watched her. He moved his hands to the front of his body and started to undo the buttons of his briefs.

It was difficult to move in the confined space, and it was difficult to concentrate with Isabelle's voice describing the many humiliations she had in store for Grant and Gustave before she would let either one of them so much as touch her.

And then the third button seemed to become caught in the buttonhole. Barat pulled; he tugged desperately, eager to free his confined erection.

The button came free, and Barat's fist, suddenly released and still holding the button, smashed through the wormholed wood of the door. He staggered forwards, blinking in the cloud of dust, and found himself standing on a landing accessible by an open flight of stairs from the room into which he had been looking down.

Isabelle and Gustave stared up at him. Grant, tied face down, shouted questions that everyone ignored.

'Barat,' Isabelle said. 'What a pleasant surprise. I see you were getting ready to join us.' She looked pointedly at his crotch; at that moment his erection finally broke free of its restraint and, swaying, pointed upwards.

'No, no,' Barat said, blushing. 'I was just passing. On my way, you know. I must go.'

'What a shame,' Isabelle said, and placed her hand between her legs. 'And I thought you liked me, Barat. Well, go if you must. If you stay I'll only set these two muscular chaps on to you. I'll tell them to play roughly with you, and then tie you up, and then put something up your arse to make you feel full and stretched open. And then I might whip you. And then, if you've been good, I might let you lick me. So, if you go, you won't be missing much.'

Barat licked his lips. He couldn't decide what to do. He couldn't bear the thought of being touched by the two men; but he wanted rpore than anything to be held again between Isabelle's slim thighs, and to adore her female parts and her delicate arsehole.

The choice was to submit to Isabelle, or to spend the morning assisting Master Robert. Barat took a step down the stairway. Isabelle smiled, and flexed her cane provocatively.

Turn left,' she said, 'and you'll find a bathroom where you can wash off all that dust. Don't dry yourself; I'll have finished with Grant shortly, and I'd like to see him and Gustave drying you.'

'Come here, puppy!'

Jem took a deep breath, renewed for the hundredth time her vow to submit, and set off on her hands and knees across the wooden floor towards Max.

Every position she was obliged to adopt was uncomfortable. She was sure she would have had an attack of cramp by now, were it not for the fact that Max and Ilsa were so thorough in their training that they sped her through exercises that had her sitting, lying, crawling and jumping. Each exercise seemed designed to cause discomfort but gave a little relief from the one that had preceded it.

'Come to heel!' Max shouted as Jem approached.

She knew what she had to do. This was, after all, about the tenth time she had been called to heel. She was beginning to think that Max and Ilsa were trying to make her rebel simply by ordering her to do the same uncomfortable things over and over again. And Jem was not at all sure that they wouldn't succeed.

Jem positioned herself, still 'standing' on her hands and knees, next to Max's right leg. She remembered to rock her bottom from side to side.

'Good girl,' Max said, reaching down to ruffle her hair. He ran his hand along her back, adjusting her posture slightly so that her spine curved downwards a little more. He reached under her torso and ran his hands roughly over her pendant breasts. 'Good little puppy,' he exclaimed, slapping his hand upwards against Jem's breasts with each word. He stroked her back again. 'Good little puppy,' he repeated, this time stressing each word with a smack on Jem's wiggling bottom.

Jem had lost count of the number of slaps and whip-strokes she had received. The trainers used their whips to guide Jem through the exercises, and to punish her for minor shortcomings in her performance; they administered hefty smacks as encouragement and reward for good behaviour; and, it seemed, they were also happy to deliver slaps and whip-flicks whenever they considered that Jem's raised bottom and displayed vulva were targets too tempting to resist.

As a result Jem's bottom felt as hot as a furnace, and very sore. She knew the skin of her buttocks must be criss-crossed with irregular stripes. Usually Jem could be persuaded to enjoy the sensitivity of a well-whipped backside; in fact, simply being bound ready for punishment, or held naked across someone's lap, was normally enough to ignite her arousal. After the first few spanks the stinging pain was subsumed into less specific feelings of warmth and well-being.

But being trained by Max and Ilsa was very different. There was no rhythm to the punishments they administered. Jem was given no time to touch herself, and when the trainers handled her breasts or her vulva they did so roughly, and without any attempt to excite.

However, the frequent slaps and lashes and the growing heat of her bottom were a constant reminder to Jem of the more pleasurable punishments she had received. In particular she remembered the many long, thorough sessions of mutual spanking and lovemaking she had enjoyed with her beloved Julia. But thinking of Julia only served to bring Jem back to reality, because Julia was here, watching her cavort and exhibit herself, watching her wag her bottom playfully as the trainers' whips and hands striped and reddened it.

Julia was here to watch Jem fail. And Jem knew that she would fail. She could find no pleasure in being trained as a puppy; it was hard, demeaning, uncomfortable work, and the trainers made sure that she understood that her education had only just begun. There would be hours more to endure. In fact, Jem suspected that they would continue until she could bear it no longer. Her stamina would be eroded by continuous repetition of exercises; her will would be softened by the whippings, and by the endless necessity of appearing boisterously puppy-like. Eventually she would fail; she would baulk at the instruction to perform some degrading act, or she would simply lose the spirit to keep wagging her tail and running around on her hands and knees. However it were to come about, it was inevitable; and it would be Julia who would have to report to the Chatelaine that the Chatelaine had been right: Jem had been incapable of submitting to the discipline of the Chateau, and had no right to retain the leadership of the Private House, an organisation dedicated to obedience. Jem would be deemed fit only to be a slave, and she would be the Chatelaine's plaything until the Chatelaine tired of her.

I might as well give up now, Jem thought. They'll have me running around in this puppy costume until I can't stand it any longer. They'll make me do more and more disgusting things. They'll whip me harder and harder. What's the point of putting myself through this ordeal any longer? And of putting poor Julia through it, too. I should stop now for her sake. It must be unbearable for her to see me like this. Being the Chatelaine's personal slave won't be insupportable. It can't be worse than this. I should simply stand up now and announce that the Chatelaine has won her wager.

'Walk to heel,' Max said, and strode away. Jem padded after him, hurrying to keep pace with him and remain at his side. 'Good girl,' he said, and flicked her bottom with his whip. 'Now run and fetch.' He threw a ball across the room; it bounced twice, and rolled towards a black lacquered screen at the edge of the room.

Jem scampered away to retrieve the ball.

I'll put up with it a little longer, she told herself. Just in case they stop soon, or at least start to let me enjoy myself.

But she knew that it was only the stubborn, contrary streak in her character that prevented her from admitting defeat. And the streak was wearing very thin.

Jem saw that the ball had rolled to a stop beside the screen; she saw that Ilsa was approaching her and intended to walk alongside her as she retrieved the ball. And then she saw a figure emerge from behind the screen and pick up the ball.

It was the Chatelaine's servant Nicole, as pert and darkly pretty as ever, dressed as usual in one of her delightfully revealing costumes that made her resemble a flirtatious maid. In one hand she held the ball; the other was extended behind the screen, and she seemed to be trying to pull someone out and into the room.

'Come along,' Jem heard Nicole say. 'Come and say hello to the little puppy. Give the puppy her ball.'

Jem watched as Olena allowed herself to be pulled from behind the screen. Olena was naked; she needed no costume or accessories to emphasise the lush desirability of her slim, curvaceous body and the innocent beauty of her wide face.

How many more people are being allowed to see me like this, Jem wondered. Her pace faltered as she remembered the night she had spent with Olena; the trust and care the young woman had devoted to her.

'Come along,' Ilsa said. She was beside Jem now, and encouraged her progress with a flick of her whip that caught Jem between the buttocks.

Jem yelped and looked up to see Olena's face, wide-eyed with shock and confusion. Jem looked away, and felt tears well in her eyes.

Nicole pressed the ball into Olena's hands. 'Give the ball to the puppy,' she said.

Olena leaned forwards as Jem approached, but Ilsa intervened.

'A well-trained puppy knows how to ask for her ball,' she said. 'Come on, puppy. Sit up and beg.'

I can't go through with this, Jem cried internally. But she stopped in front of Olena, adopted the sitting position, and then raised her hands so that they looked like the paws of a pleading puppy. Shp even remembered to start moving her bottom like a puppy wagging its tail.

'Good girl,' Ilsa said. 'Now beg properly. Get up on your hind legs. Beg!'

Jem rocked back on to the balls of her feet and lifted her knees from the floor. She was squatting now, with her legs wide apart and her forearms waving in the air in front of her face. She had never felt so humiliated and vulnerable.

Ilsa knew precisely how to accentuate those feelings. Jem felt the tip of Ilsa's whip touch the parted lips of her sex. 'Now be an eager little puppy,' Ilsa said. 'Bounce up to ask for the ball. That's right.'

The whip flicked upwards, stinging the delicate folds of skin. Jem lifted her body and flailed her hands; it was difficult to keep her balance.

'Isn't she a pretty little bitch?' Ilsa said, with a flick of her whip to Jem's anus.

Jem gasped each time the tip of the whip licked her sensitive skin. She felt her breasts bobbing in front of her. But, above all, she could not drive from her mind the realisation of how absurd she must look.

In her misery she glanced up at Olena's face - and stared in amazement at her young friend. Jem had expected to see in Olena's expression pity and contempt, and perhaps even disgust and horror. Instead she found Olena gazing down at her with eyes that sparkled with blatant desire.

'Take the ball now,' Ilsa said, and Jem stretched up to use her mouth to take the ball from Olena's hand.

Olena finds it exciting to see me like this, Jem thought. But that couldn't be right; Olena had no desire to control or punish others.

With a gasp, Jem understood. Olena was envious. She had watched Jem being trained, and she wanted to experience it for herself. Simply watching Jem as she was exercised and instructed and disciplined had aroused Olena, because she could imagine it was happening to her.

Olena looked down at Jem, holding the ball like a gag in her mouth. Olena smiled, and the smile broadened into a grin of sheer delight. She was happy: happy to watch a training regime that she knew she herself would enjoy, and happy for her friend Jem who had the good fortune to be enjoying it.

Jem saw the hand in which Olena had been holding the ball move to rest on the young woman's hip; then it slid towards the triangle of dark curls and into the gap between the tops of her thighs.