Discipline of the Private House (16 page)

'Good day, everyone,' she announced at last. 'I have gathered you here at this unsocial hour so that all of you can witness the arrival of a new visitor.'

Cold feet shuffled; clouds, barely perceptible in the grey sky, raced over the roofs; in the courtyard the shadows still danced.

'The visitor has been here before, on several occasions. Some of you will recognise her, from her previous visits or perhaps from seeing' her at other establishments belonging to the Private House. She is memorable, at least in part because of her beauty. And, of course, because she was

Supreme Mistress.' The Chatelaine raised her voice and shouted harshly. 'Enter the Chateau, slave. Let them all see you.'

Everyone in the courtyard, including the Chatelaine, stared into the darkness beneath the gatehouse. From the shadows a figure emerged: a young woman, naked but for a black collar, her form small and slender, crawling on hands and knees. Her wavy titian hair touched the cobblestones as, with head bowed, she made her way slowly and painfully towards the Chatelaine.

Whispers flew about the crowd. Ts it her?' Tt can't be her.' 'No, it is, it's Jem Darke.' 'Yes, I saw her here in the summer.' 'It's definitely the Mistress.'

The Chatelaine did nothing - yet - to silence the murmurs. She wanted everyone to be sure that the pathetic naked waif crawling towards her booted feet was, indeed, Jem Darke. And so only when Jem had reached her, and had waited on all fours beside her for several minutes, did she hold up a gloved hand for silence.

'Master Robert, come forward,' she called out.

Robert pushed his way through the crowd and stood, smiling tightly, next to his mistress. She handed him her whip of burgundy leather. It was light and short, but its song would be audible in the enclosed space of the courtyard. And it would sting.

'The new slave will kiss my boots to demonstrate her subservience,' she announced. 'During the demonstration she will be whipped.'

She took a few steps so that she was in the very centre of the courtyard. 'Approach, slave,' she said.

As Jem crawled towards her the Chatelaine wondered, not for the first time, whether she should not take the responsibility for ending Jem's foolish behaviour. In the informal hierarchy of the Private House only the Chatelaine, and perhaps Julia as chief of the guards, had the authority to step in and call a halt to what could easily be seen as an aberration on Jem's part, a momentary whim that might well consign the former Supreme Mistress to a life of perpetual slavery.

The Chatelaine and Jem had never been close friends, but they had worked well together. It had been Julia, acting on Jem's behalf, who had recruited the Chatelaine and her disciplinary establishment into the Private House organisation. And, although Jem and the Chatelaine had not frequently been lovers, there had been a summer afternoon here at the Chateau, and a long night in the cellars below the main House, that the Chatelaine remembered fondly.

Those memories - Jem's slim body bound and writhing in chains, her pert buttocks wriggling and reddening as the Chatelaine plied her riding-crop, her pretty face suffused with joy as she came - were among the reasons why the Chatelaine was delighted to have Jem at her mercy in the Chateau. But the Chatelaine remembered also, with a shock of pleasure, that she herself had experienced the surprising strength in Jem's slender arms, and the skill with which Jem wielded a whip. In the candlelit cellar, locked into a wooden frame that permitted no movement, the Chatelaine had been able to do nothing but moan, and plead, and come over and over again as Jem had used on her exposed breasts, bottom, anus and vulva a whip, a strap, a cane, her tongue, her fingers, and a large artificial phallus. Jem had been pitiless: the punishments and the pleasurings had gone on for hour after hour, with interruptions long enough only to allow the Chatelaine a drink of water and for her limp body to be repositioned in the frame so that a different target was presented for Jem's remorseless attentions.

What concerned the Chatelaine now was that she remembered that Jem had enjoyed the Chatelaine's ordeal almost as much as the Chatelaine had, and had come almost as frequently, using the Chatelaine's face, or her own fingers, or the handle of the whip between strokes, or the phallus as she worked it into the Chatelaine's vagina or anus. Surely Jem would find it unthinkable to devote herself entirely to submission?

The Chatelaine looked down at the woman on all fours before her. Jem had parted her legs and hollowed her back, like a well-trained slave, and her bottom was invitingly open and uplifted. I can't resist this temptation, the Chatelaine thought; or the challenge of breaking her spirit within five days. I will be firm, and very cruel.

She reached down and touched Jem's tumbling hair. 'My dear Mistress,' she whispered, 'I will do my best to make you suffer beautifully.' She stood straight. 'Now get your face pressed against my boots, you slut,' she ordered loudly, for the benefit of the crowd, 'and get your arse up for the whip. Robert: twenty lashes, delivered with long gaps. I want this moment to last. And I want all of you here today to remember it.'

Jem swept her hair from one side of her face as she lowered herself to rest on her elbows, with her lips pressed against the toe of the Chatelaine's right boot. The Chatelaine realised that Jem had revealed her face for the benefit of the audience: those who were not in a position to see the whip landing on her parted buttocks would instead be able to witness her devoted kissing of her new mistress's boots.

Robert lifted the whip into the air and brought it down with a ferocity that wrung a cry from Jem and a collective gasp from the crowd. The Chatelaine glared at him until it was clear that he understood he was to use the whip moderately. 'There will be a time for that, Robert,' the Chatelaine said quietly, in the pause between the first and the second of the lashes. 'But don't let your enthusiasm overrule your experience. As usual, we will proceed by degrees.'

'Yes, madame,' Robert said, and delivered the second stroke, eliciting from Jem no more than a grunt and a brief interruption in the kissing and licking that she was lavishing on the Chatelaine's boots.

After the tenth stroke the Chatelaine began to address the ranks again, pausing at intervals whenever the whip descended. 'You all know, now, the identity of the new slave,' she said. 'However, her previous identity and position are now erased. She is here of her own volition, and does not wish to be addressed by her name or by any of the titles she once held.'

The Chatelaine leaned forwards to look at Jem's buttocks. Robert's first stroke had left an angry weal, but the other stripes, while visible, were more decorative than damaging. Nonetheless, the Chatelaine was sure that Jem's bottom was beginning to feel very sore, particularly as it had already received a whipping during the night and a spanking that morning. She smiled at the thought as Robert administered the fifteenth stroke.

This new slave,' she went on, 'enters the Chateau for intensive training and for a regime of hard discipline. She is, from this moment, the lowliest of the slaves. I expect all of you to assist me in ensuring that she infringes none of our rules, and that she is severely punished should she do so. You will report at once to any member of the staff if she is disrespectful, if she speaks without invitation, if she covers her breasts, her buttocks, or her sex, if she masturbates, or if she fails to be polite or to make her body available. As I have devised a thorough training schedule for her she will have little time at large in the public rooms and grounds of the Chateau; however, should you meet her, remember that she is the most subordinate slave, and therefore is at the disposal of any one of you.'

The Chatelaine wondered how her words, and the whipping while in such a humiliating position, were affecting Jem. Was she fearful, and beginning to realise the mistake she had made in volunteering to submit? Did she not care - was her decision to come here the result of some nihilistic despair? Or was she excited - were her juices even now starting to seep from between the shaven labia that she was displaying to the crowd as the stripes were laid across her bottom?

In the end, it didn't matter. The Chatelaine had no doubt that, whatever Jem's frame of mind, the erstwhile Supreme Mistress would sooner or later quail at one of the torments the Chatelaine had planned, and would be unable willingly to submit. And then Jem would belong to the Chatelaine for ever.'

The whip descended for the eighteenth time. The Chatelaine looked down and saw Jem's body shudder.

'Finally,' the Chatelaine pronounced, 'remember that this new slave has no name. She will obey you if you address her simply as "slave", but you can use any description that suits her status: slut, whore, whipping girl. She will be punished if she fails to answer to any such description. Stop kissing my feet now,' she added, and stepped back.

The Chatelaine held up her hand to delay the application of the final stroke of the whip.

'Lift your face, whore-slave,' she said. It felt strange but very satisfying to address Jem in such demeaning terms. 'Look at your new mistress. Let us all see you enjoy the last taste of the lash - for the time being.'

Jem lifted her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen, and her violet eyes were bright with tears.

'Now, Robert,' the Chatelaine said, and smiled; Jem gasped as the blow landed, and then grimaced.

'Straighten up, pretty little slut,' the Chatelaine said. 'Kneel with your hands behind your back. That's right. Look at her, everybody; isn't she the very picture of a chastised slave? She looks very contrite now. Perhaps you're thinking that she's been punished enough? That now we should pardon her?'

The Chatelaine noticed a puzzled frown appear briefly on Jem's face. Did she expect to be reprieved? Did she hope for it, or fear it?

'You would be wrong,' the Chatelaine stated. 'I cannot tell you what offence this slave has committed; all I can say is that her behaviour has been such that no amount of punishment, and no amount of repentance, can possibly be adequate. She is cunning and manipulative; she will try to persuade you that she is sorry, and that she deserves to be forgiven. We must all be on our guard. We must show her no mercy.'

Grabbing a handful of Jem's hair, the Chatelaine showed her new slave's face to the crowd. 'She looks contrite,' the Chatelaine said. 'She will pretend that she is sorry. But we must ignore her. What she requires - what she knows she needs - is a strict regime of discipline. What do you want, little slut?'

'I want to be punished again,' Jem whispered.

The Chatelaine pulled her hair. 'Say "please", you despicable wretch. Address me properly. And this time, speak up.'

The hint of a smile appeared on Jem's face. T want to be punished again,' she said m a clear, firm voice. 'Oh, madame, please do have me whipped all over again.'

'Precocious slut,' the Chatelaine whispered, and released Jem's hair. 'I can see you're going to bring out the worst in me. And,' she added in a louder voice, 'do you bind yourself to obey me, and the rules of the Chateau, and the instructions of all within the Chateau?'

'I do, madame,' Jem replied, as loudly. 'And thank you for allowing me to kiss your boots.'

'Very good,' the Chatelaine said. It thrilled her to hear Jem speaking so subserviently; suddenly she wanted nothing more than to take her new slave to her chamber and hold that pretty, tearful, disconsolate face between her thighs.

'You are all dismissed,' the Chatelaine said. The lines of staff, guests and slaves began to troop fi;om the courtyard into the surrounding ranges of the Chateau. 'Robert, have you arranged a room for the whore-slave?'

'I'm sorry, madame,' Robert replied. 'I didn't know what arrangements you would think best.'

'That's all right, Robert. I hadn't considered the question until now, and it does present certain difficulties.'

'Given her lowly position,' Robert suggested, 'the only place for her is surely the common slaves' dormitory. We have no accommodation less comfortable or more crowded.'

The Chatelaine took a few steps away from Jem, and beckoned Robert to follow her. The pretty little slut was still kneeling, with her head bowed, and looked entirely passive. The Chatelaine distrusted appearances, however. 'The problem with putting her with the other slaves,' she said quietly, 'or indeed with any of the staff, is that, as I have just decreed, she is to be available for general use at all times.'

'Are you concerned that she will be become exhausted, madame?'

'To some extent, Robert. But it would be wise never to underestimate the stamina of this particular slave. No, I'm more concerned that she might find the experience far too enjoyable. And more than that, I don't want her mixing with any others here. I want to know where she is and what she's doing at all times. I'm sure you've heard the stories of how she organised the staff at the main House to overturn the rule of Headman, when he started to become too autocratic. I don't want to give her any opportunity for exercising her political skills here.'

'A solitary room, then,' Robert said. 'A cell in the dungeon, perhaps.'

'Yes,' the Chatelaine said. An idea had come to her. 'The big cell. It has spyholes, and a listening chamber above. It's the best place to keep her under observation. And place Olena in the same cell.'

Robert was surprised. 'Olena? But only a few days ago we moved her to one of the guest chambers. I don't understand, madame.'