Discipline of the Private House (33 page)

'Very good, Barat,' she said. 'It seems you have a talent for being obedient, when you're provided with the right incentives. I wonder if you know yourself as well as you think. You might prove to be an asset, after all. Now run along and clean yourself.'

As Nicole escorted her back to the dungeons, Olena promised herself that as soon as she was alone in the cell she would touch herself until she achieved the climax that had been denied her throughout the morning's punishments.

Once the door of the cell had been closed behind her, however, Olena found that she was not alone. She stepped hesitantly into the bathroom and found Jem, still wearing nothing but the collar, cuffs, and chains, trying to turn the tap that would produce the shower of water in the corner of the room. She ran to help her friend.

'You're sticky!' Olena squealed as she broke from the passionate embrace in which she had clasped Jem.

'It's cooking oil,' Jem said with a wry smile. 'And the copious emissions of six strapping kitchen-slaves. I'll tell you all about it in a moment. For now, just scrub me, please.'

As she used the sponge and plenty of soap to clean Jem's body, Olena found the marks of the punishments that Jem had been subjected to during the morning. She felt slightly aggrieved: her bottom and breasts were still glowing from the whippings inflicted by Nicole and Bernard, and when she had realised Jem was in their cell she had hoped to impress her friend with the evidence of her devotion to discipline. It was clear, however, that Jem had undergone chastisements at least as severe as those Olena had enjoyed.

Dripping with water, Olena turned off the shower, found a vast towel, and wrapped it around both herself and the bound Jem, so that their damp bodies were pressed together. Their lips met, and for several minutes there was silence as they kissed each other's mouth and face.

At last Olena drew away. A worrying thought had occurred to her, and she didn't know how to raise the subject.

'Jem,' she began, and then looked nervously over her shoulder as she remembered that she might be overheard. 'I mean, slave,' she went on, 'I hope I haven't misled you by kissing you so freely. What I mean to say is that I don't really prefer women, if you know what I mean. Or I don't think I do. It's been getting very confusing. So I hope I haven't disappointed you.'

Jem smiled. 'I like men and women,' she said. 'And I particularly like you. But don't worry. It's all right for women to kiss and cuddle. Kiss me again.'

Olena pulled the towel more tightly around them and put her lips to Jem's. 'It's lovely kissing you,' she murmured. 'But it must be wrong, mustn't it? It makes me feel guilty and very naughty.'

'And that makes it even better, doesn't it? I wish I had half of your sense of shame. Did they punish you this morning?'

Olena knew that Jem had mentioned punishment as a way of reminding Olena that she took pleasure in being chastised for her sins. And it was true: she had enjoyed her punishments so much that several times she had almost reached one of the beautiful climaxes to which Jem had introduced her.

'Yes,' Olena said. 'Twice on my bottom and once on my breasts. And - something else, too.'

Jem looked into Olena's eyes. 'Let's compare bottoms,' she whispered, and burst into a fit of giggling.

'All right,' Olena said. She was thrilled at the prospect of showing Jem her striped bottom, although she told herself that she was merely doing so to demonstrate the strength of her zeal for discipline. She unwound the towel from around their bodies.

Laughing like schoolgirls they stood side by side, looking over their shoulders at their reflections in one of the bathroom's huge mirrors.

'Mine's redder than yours,' Olena said, proudly.

Jem wiggled her bottom. 'Yours is darker than mine to start with,' she said. 'And bigger. And you haven't got any of those wide strap-marks, like I have.'

'Yes, I have,' Olena protested. 'I had the paddle first, and then the strap. All over my bottom.'

'Let me see,' Jem said, and lowered herself to kneel behind Olena. Olena felt Jem's lips touch her smarting buttocks.

Jem gave an appreciative whistle. 'That's amazing,' she said. 'The marks are so close together I can hardly tell them apart. And you were paddled first?'

'Yes,' Olena said happily. 'All over.'

'I can see why the Chatelaine wants to keep you here,' Jem said. 'You're quite literally a glutton for punishment. Is this her handiwork?'

'No,' Olena replied. 'That was Nicole. She tries very hard to give me enough discipline.'

T can see that,' Jem said. 'Nicole's obviously getting very practised with the strap. Your bottom must be very sore.'

Tt feels very hot,' Olena said thoughtfully, 'and sensitive. It also feels bigger, in a way.'

'It's swollen,' Jem said. 'It's even bigger than usual, and bright red. Adorable.' She planted a kiss on the right buttock. 'Now help me to stand. I'm beginning to find these chains very tiresome.'

Olena pulled Jem up into another long embrace. 'Your breasts feel as hot as mine,' Jem said, and pulled away from Olena's kiss. 'Let me see.'

Unable to reach with her chained hands, Jem used her lips to explore the surface of Olena's tender globes. Olena, simultaneously proud that her round, punished breasts were worthy of such admiration and embarrassed that they were receiving such attention, could feel her secret place become wetter with each gentle touch of Jem's lips on her sensitised skin.

'You've been caned,' Jem said. 'A thin, light rod. The strokes varied in intensity; the earlier ones were harder. But I don't believe this was Nicole's work; the caning is thorough, certainly, but the stripes are positioned much less precisely than those on your bottom.'

'His name is Bernard,' Olena whispered, overcome with shame at the memory. 'He's a slave.'

'Bernard,' Jem exclaimed. 'Why, I know him. He's rather attractive, isn't he?'

Olena felt irrationally jealous. 'You seem to know everyone,' she snapped.

Jem merely laughed. 'That's not surprising,' she said, 'when you think about it. What kind of Supreme Mistress would I be if I didn't know my own people?'

'I suppose so,' Olena admitted. A wild, irresistible urge
came
into her mind. 'Will you have to spank me now, for being grumpy?'

Jem merely twisted her lips and shrugged, making her chains jingle.

'I'd love to,' she said, 'but you see how it is. Tell me: what was Nicole doing to you while Bernard was caning your breasts?'

'Nothing,' Olena said, and lowered her eyes. She knew that she would have to tell Jem the things that Nicole had made her do, and she knew that telling Jem would make her feel miserably wicked and thrillingly trembly at the same time.

Jem said nothing. Her delectable pink lips were curved in a knowing smile. Her sea-blue eyes were fixed on Olena's face.

'She made me touch myself,' Olena whispered at last.

'Oh,' Jem said, innocently. 'Where?'

Olena was blushing intensely. Her face felt as red as her punished bottom. 'I can't say,' she whispered. Then she added slyly, 'Unless you make me.'

'I wouldn't be so cruel,' Jem said softly into Olena's ear, which she then kissed in a way that sent shivers down Olena's back. 'I'm afraid you'll have to show me.'

Olena sighed. Yes, she would have to show Jem what Nicole had made her do. 'It's disgusting,' she warned Jem. What if Jem found the act repulsive? What would she think of her? 'I had to do it,' she whispered, and felt tears sting her eyes. 'Nicole made me.'

'Hush,' Jem whispered. 'I know. It's all right. I love everything about you. I'll enjoy watching you.'

There was to be no escape from performing the deed. Olena wondered how she should position herself. She looked uncertainly about her. There was nothing in the bathroom that resembled the chaise longue on which she had knelt. 'I have to bend over,' she said, and looked imploringly at Jem.

'Then bend over,' J,em said. Her voice had an edge of impatience, and her eyes were glinting with desire. 'Lean towards me,' she said more gently. 'I can see your bottom in the mirror.'

Olena was sure that Jem had guessed what she was about to do. Slowly she bent forwards from the waist, and shuffled her legs wide apart.

'Very pretty,' Jem said, stroking Olena's hair. 'You have a most spankable bottom. Usually a big bottom is flabby, or unshapely. Your buttocks are so perfectly round.'

Olena felt a stab of pride and a wave of shame. Her secret place felt open; when she put her hand between her parted thighs, her juice streamed over her fingers.

'Leave that hand there,' Jem said, suddenly. 'Put your other hand behind your back, and use it to do what Nicole made you do.'

Olena was becoming accustomed to obeying instructions. This wasn't precisely the way in which she had performed the disgusting act for Nicole, but it was better: she could keep one hand pressed against the seeping wetness of her pulsing purse.

She closed her eyes and steeled herself to do the deed. She slid her hand down her back and into the valley between her sore buttocks. She remembered to collect some of her liquid on her fingers, and to rub it all round the crinkled crater. Jem whispered words of encouragement.

It happened almost without Olena willing it. Her longest finger slid into the little hole, and she gasped in surprise. To be able to perform so easily such a despicable act! She was becoming more and more dirty and sinful. And yet it felt good: wrong, and intrusive, but the finger in her little hole was sending tingling signals to her secret place, and to her pendant globes and their stiff nipples. A second finger slid in alongside the first, and Olena started to move them back and forth.

'Oh, Olena,' Jem breathed. 'You're such a beautifully naughty girl. And while you were doing that, Bernard caned your breasts?'

Olena nodded her head and nuzzled her lips against Jem's nipples.

'And did Nicole permit you to have a climax?' Jem asked, her words slow and careful.

'No,' Olena gasped, 'but I almost did.'

'You can now,' Jem whispered. 'If you keep your fingers inside you, and use your other hand to touch near the tip of your clitoris, as I showed you. I'll watch you.' She stepped back.

Jem was right. The full feeling in Olena's bottom, and the shudders of pleasure that emanated from there, would combine with the lightest of touches of her fingers at the top of the split in her purse to bring her quickly to the peak of sensation. The knowledge that Jem was watching Olena, and could see in the mirror every time her fingers pushed into her hole, only served to make the progress easier.

Olena heard the jangling of Jem's chains.

'It's no use,' Jem announced. 'I don't care who's watching us. I can't resist any longer.' Jem had undipped the chains from her wrists; her arms were free.

'Keep playing with yourself,' Jem said. 'I'm going to smack you.'

Jem steadied Olena by cupping Olena's left breast in one hand. She began to bring down the other hand on Olena's tender buttocks, gently at first and then with increasing vigour. As the speed and severity of the spanks increased, she took Olena's nipple between her fingers and squeezed it in time to the smacking of her palm.

Olena cried out in pain with each slap. Her bottom was fiendishly sore and although Jem's hand was small it seemed to ignite a blaze wherever it struck.

Within seconds, however, Olena's cries had become exclamations of impending, inexorable ecstasy. Her body was a volcano on the point of eruption: nothing but heat, violent tremors and shocks. Her fingers, moving at an ever more frantic pace, found her secret place a cauldron of seething lava.

And then, as Jem's smacks rained down on her bottom, and with both her hands thrust shamelessly into her, Olena felt the quaking shocks run together into a shuddering, heaving, spouting explosion that seemed to go on and on indefinitely.

'Good girl,' Jem said, and stroked her face. 'Now clip my chains on to my wrists, kiss me, and run and ask the guards for some food. I'm famished.'

'And then, madame,' Robert said, his voice rising with indignation, 'she released herself from her chains, and proceeded to spank the girl until she succeeded in reaching her climax. I saw it with my own eyes.'

Nicole looked from left to right: at Robert and then at the Chatelaine. Robert looked expectant; the Chatelaine concentrated on slicing into the
magret de canard
on her plate. Nicole glanced across the table at Isabelle, and caught her eye; Isabelle raised her eyebrows and looked upwards, silently communicating her disdain for Robert's manners.

Nicole felt slightly nervous: the Chatelaine seldom took lunch in the small private salon, and when she did Nicole and Isabelle might be called on to serve at table but very rarely to eat with madame. However, the Chatelaine seemed to want to be informal today, and as the business to be discussed over lunch included both the new whipping-slave and Olena, it had been deemed appropriate that both Nicole and Isabelle should join the Chatelaine and Master Robert.

Nicole ventured to break the silence. 'But madame,' she said, 'it seems to me that the new slave has done nothing that cuts against the grain of our programme for Olena. She was in a humiliating position, fingering herself in ways that she finds embarrassing, and she-was being spanked. These are ideal circumstances for her climaxes.'