Discipline of the Private House (6 page)

But when Olena had seen the lingerie department of the store, with scandalously frivolous clothing displayed as far as the eye could see, she had been overwhelmed with shyness and had insisted on being allowed to leave. Barat had chosen clothes for her and had brought them to her room some hours later.

It had taken Olena a long time to pluck up the courage to open the shiny bags and gift-wrapped boxes. Each garment that she had unwrapped had been a surprise and a delight: the wedge-heeled sandals that Barat had already mentioned as being more feminine than slippers, for wearing indoors; a skirt that was so short that it would reveal her knees, and another that would have been more modest but for the split at the back; T-shirts and blouses; and a dress of light cotton. The bright colours and soft fabrics were themselves so sinful that merely looking at them and touching thepi made Olena's head swim.

But the underwear that Barat had bought was even more wonderful and strange. Olena had only ever glimpsed such things in magazines, on those pages from which she had always averted her eyes. To have them here, in her little room, ready for her to wear, was wicked - and very, very thrilling. These were the kinds of underclothes that all the young women in the city must, she supposed, wear every day: stockings, in white and in black, with lace tops; knickers that appeared to be made of almost no material, and what little there was almost transparent; and matching bras with supported cups that Olena could tell would make her breasts look very prominent under even the loosest of outer clothes. The lace and satin were a glimmering temptation in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

After she had taken off all her everyday clothes, Olena had stood looking at the underwear strewn across her bed. The scanty things seemed more of an affront to decency than did her own nakedness. But, she told herself, Barat had assured her that it was not sinful to wear these clothes. He was her guardian, after all, and he had bought the clothes himself. He had even hinted that it might be permissible for her to wear such things not only in private but when actually going out. The very thought made Olena blush, but she was secretly thrilled at the idea of walking into a lecture wearing her new city clothes. The other young women would look, and pretend not to be impressed; the young men would stare.

Eventually Olena, with trembling fingers, had pulled on a pair of the knickers. Sometimes, in her bed in her parents' house in the community, she had pulled the sheets tight between her thighs, even though she knew it was naughty, because the pressure felt warm and exciting. But she had never worn clothes that were tight between her thighs, tight against the secret places down there. Never any clothing that almost disappeared between the cheeks of her bottom, drawing attention to the prominent twin globes.

She wanted to touch herself there, even though she knew that she must never do such a thing except when washing herself. And she had no such excuse. Instead she squirmed, gasping as the material seemed to hold her even more tightly.

How did city women manage to wear such underclothes all through the day? Surely at every moment they would be aware of the soft fabric touching their most secret parts?

Putting on the bra was even more confusing. The feeling of the lacy cups enveloping her breasts took Olena's breath away and, as she struggled with her hands behind her back to hook up the unfamiliar catches, she was aware of her breasts jiggling within their comfortable imprisonment. She had to slide her hands into the cups to make sure that her breasts were sitting properly; her flesh felt hot and sensitive.

She stood in her room, half in shadow, hardly daring to move.

Footsteps in the hall. A knock at the door. Barat's voice: 'Olena? Are you there?'

She started, and reached for the dress. 'Just wait a moment, please,' she called, and pulled the garment over her head. No time for stockings; no time for shoes. Without thinking, she tightened the dress's belt. Then, as she made for the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the little mirror: her hips and breasts, emphasised by the cinching of her waist, appeared almost unnaturally swollen.

There was no helping it. Barat was calling again. She opened the door.

Barat appraised her calmly. There was a smile on his lips, so she assumed he was not displeased. Nonetheless, she felt she had to be sure.

'It must be wrong to wear these things, Barat,' she blurted out. 'Surely -'

He stopped her by raising his hand. It was almost a gesture of blessing. 'Do you like your new clothes, Olena?'

Olena considered the question. Of course she liked her new clothes; the problem was to protest enough to convince Barat of her righteousness, but not enough to make him agree that she should return to wearing the robe and headdress.

'Yes,' she replied cautiously. 'I suppose so.'

'There you are, then. You must learn to follow your feelings. That's the sure way to avoid temptation.'

'Is it?' This sounded paradoxical to Olena, but if Barat said it was so then she was prepared to agree. And she was feeling so strangely excited that she was in no mood to consider points of theology.

'Of course,' Barat said. 'Now come closer. Let me look at you properly.'

Olena stepped closer to Barat. There was something in that last word of his, in 'properly', that made her shiver and brought a rush of disturbing and disgraceful images into her mind.

She was close to him now. So close that he could touch her. For a breathless instant she imagined his hands touching her breasts, then she banished the thought.

'Your breasts,' he murmured.

'What?'

'You have a very nice figure,' he went on. 'I confess I don't know what women in our community wear as underclothes, but I imagine that your new things feel more comfortable. Is that so?'

'Comfortable,' Olena repeated. Her breasts seemed to be reaching towards him. 'Yes, Barat,' she said, 'but the ends of my, my breasts,' she stammered, faltering as she realised what she was about to say, 'they feel very strange.'

'Strange? In what way? Not painful?' His voice was full of concern. He was so good and thoughtful, and she was so wanton.

'Not exactly,' she said, her voice firmer now. 'But tingly and the very ends feel swollen.'

'The ends? You mean your nipples?

Olena nodded.

'Then say the word,' Barat chided, with a smile.

'My nipples,' Olena whispered. 'They feel swollen.'

'You mean they feel hard,' Barat said, in a tone that was noticeably harsher. 'Hard and stiff. Is that right?'

'Yes, brother Barat.'

His hands pressed against the front of her dress. 'Why, I can feel your nipples through your clothing. Look, you can see how hard they are. This isn't good, Olena.'

'Is it wrong to have stiff nipples?' Olena asked.

'Not always.' Barat was judicious. 'There is a much surer sign of impure thoughts in a woman.'

'And what is that?' Olena said, although she felt her stomach sink and a perverse wave of pleasure run through her, because she was sure that she already knew.

'The elders tell us that impure thoughts cause a woman to become wet in her private places. Although I cannot imagine how such a thing could be.'

Olena bowed her head. She wanted his hands on her breasts again. 'I'm very wicked,' she said.

His fingertips under her chin lifted her face. He is like a brother to me, she thought. But I want him to kiss me. I am truly wicked.

'I find it hard to believe this of you,' he said. 'But don't worry; impure thoughts do not constitute the worst of sins. Far from it. The elders make much of it, to instil goodness in the children, but for adults impure thoughts are not uncommon. Particularly in young women.'

Olena blushed.

'A little punishment is all that needed. A brief penance.'

'Punishment?' Olena's mind was in a whirl; she didn't know whether to be delighted or distressed. 'What sort of punishment?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Barat said with a shrug. 'I don't think it really matters. What kind of punishments did you receive from your parents?'

Olena recalled the hungry nights, the peeling of vegetables, the hours spent digging the family plot in freezing darkness. 'Nothing special,' she said. She hesitated. Then she added, 'But some of my friends were spanked when they were naughty. On their bottoms.'

She couldn't look at Barat. What must he be thinking? She imagined lifting her skirt so that Barat could place his hands on the swelling spheres of her backside. She realised - she had realised all along - that the punishment would be futile. Worse: a spanking would only engender more impure thoughts in her.

'All right,' Barat said, with a strange catch in his voice, 'I'll spank your bottom. But later; before you go to sleep tonight. I'll come here at your bedtime. Before then, however, I think we should go out.'

'Out? But Barat, it's dark outside.'

'We're in the city now, Olena. There are street lamps. Many people go out after dark. It will be all right, I assure you. And anyway, I want you to try on one more new garment. I've brought you a present.'

From one of the pockets of his robe Barat produced a small packet. He offered it to Olena. She took it.

'Open it,' he said.

Carefully she peeled off the paper. Inside was a small roll of cloth: shiny, smooth, pale blue. There were slender straps of the same material. Flustered, she pushed the crumpled paper into Barat's hands. The garment unrolled, and Olena recognised it as a swimming costume.

She didn't know what to say. The implications were too numerous for her to consider any of them for more than a moment: a swimming pool; a public place; crowded changing rooms; men and women in the same pool. Olena had seen pictures of such places. Everyone almost naked. She would have to appear wearing nothing but this costume.

She was on the point of weeping. 'But Barat,' she said. 'I can't swim.'

'Don't worry,' Barat said. 'I've thought of everything. It's quite late now. There is an establishment nearby with a pool; at this time in the evening it is nearly always empty. There will be no one to see you.'

Olena felt strangely disappointed. 'But you will see me, won't you? And you're a man.' She hoped her voice indicated proper indignation rather than the anticipation she felt.

'I'm your guardian,' Barat said. 'My duty is to look after you as your parents would. Of course I'll be there. I'll be watching over you.'

Jem's display had swiftly brought the meeting to a close, and she and her closest advisers had retired to a room in her private apartments. She had called for champagne. The half a dozen men and women - the people who ran the Private House for Jem, and who were therefore among the most influential people in the world - had sunk gratefully into leather armchairs before a blazing fire. There was no other light in the oak-panelled chamber. Servants in revealing costumes stood silently in the shadows.

Now, Jem thought, we can have some fun at last.

She summoned her chief of guards. Julia approached Jem's chair and bowed her head.

Take off your tunic,' Jem said.

Julia looked up. Anger flashed in her dark eyes. Jem understood Julia's irritation, but was not prepared to be thwarted.

'Do it,' she said. Tf you won't obey my orders, who will?'

Julia's belt, with her crop and her strap hanging from it, dropped to the floor. She unhooked the fastenings of the shiny black leather tunic.

T know why you don't want to,' Jem said. 'You're concerned that your authority will be lessened in front of the others. And that it will reflect badly on me, because you are my right hand. But you needn't worry. They will all be jealous of you. And afterwards I'll make them do much more humiliating things with each other.'

By now, Julia was naked but for her collar, her boots and her long gloves. In the orange glow of the firelight Jem could see little more of Julia than the slim outline of her body. It didn't matter: Jem knew every part of Julia, intimately. She had suckled at Julia's small brown nipples; she had licked the length of Julia's slim, muscular legs; many times she had whipped Julia's small round buttocks; she had plunged her tongue into Julia's prominent, deeply split pudenda and into the dark, deep cave of Julia's anus.

'Sit in my lap,' Jem said. In a moment Julia's lithe body was pressed against her. Each woman held the other; their lips met. Jem felt at peace.

'I love you, Jules,' she breathed.

Julia nibbled her ear. 'And I you,' she whispered. 'You can trust me. Always.'

Jem giggled. T can trust you to be lecherous,' she said. 'Move your legs apart.'

Jem's fingers were already pushing into the gap between the tops of Julia's slim thighs. As Julia parted her legs, Jem slid her hand down to cup Julia's dark mound. The women kissed passionately; Jem's fingers parted Julia's outer lips and invaded the wet interior.

'Ask me,' Jem said.

Julia sighed, and tossed her mane of dark curls. 'Please, Mistress,' she said. 'Play with it.'

The piercing had been Jem's idea. A small gold bar had been inserted horizontally in the hood of Julia's clitoris. It was small enough to be invisible most of the time, although Jem liked to try to spot the glint of gold in the midst of Julia's black pubic hair.