Discipline of the Private House (36 page)

Olena, fascinated, saw Jem arrange her body as instructed and begin to wag her bottom from side to side. The long furry ears flopped ludicrously. Jem looked just like an overgrown, soppy puppy.

'Good girl,' the man said, and delivered three stinging slaps to Jem's wiggling buttocks. 'Now let's see if you can remember how to do it. Run and play.' He undipped the leash from Jem's collar.

Jem began to trot forwards on her hands and knees, keeping her face close to the ground so that it looked as though she was following a scent with the black-button nose on her mask. Her floppy ears trailed on the floor. Her pale body seemed luminescent in the shadowy room, and it was impossible not to stare at her rounded, upthrust bottom. The man followed her, touching her with the tip of his whip sometimes to guide her and sometimes, it seemed, simply because it entertained him to remind Jem that her buttocks and private parts were accessible to him.

'Sit!' the woman shouted, and Jem stopped, straightened her body, and brought her hands together between her knees. She remembered to wiggle her bottom.

'Very good little puppy,' the man said, emphasising each word with a hefty smack on Jem's bottom. 'Now we'll teach you something else.'

Olena pulled her face from the slit in the screen and exchanged a wide-eyed look with Nicole.

The trainers are Max and Ilsa,' Nicole whispered. They're new to the Chateau.'

While watching Jem, Olena had thought of little but how it would feel to be trained as a puppy. The thoughts had made her very wet indeed. Perhaps this was just the sort of training she needed, with plenty of simple instructions to obey and frequent smacks. She looked imploringly at Nicole. 'Please?' she murmured.

Tt will probably be necessary,' Nicole sighed. 'Ordinary punishments seem to have little effect on your bad behaviour. But we should take the present regime to its limit before we start to try new methods.' She began stroking Olena's bottom again with brisk brushes of her hand that reminded Olena of the chastisements that were in store for her. Between each stroke Nicole's hand dipped between Olena's parted thighs, making Olena squirm and gasp.

'Now let's watch more of the puppy training,' Nicole said. 'I wonder what the guards are making of it?'

'The guards?' Olena said, but as soon as she put her eyes to the screen she saw them: half a dozen dark, sinister figures, standing still in the shadows around the edge of the room. She had not noticed them previously because they were as motionless as statues.

A shiver of fearful excitement rippled through Olena's body. She imagined herself in Jem's place, suffering not merely the trials and punishments of being trained to behave like an animal but also the humiliation of being observed by such a sombre audience. Olena decided that she would like both to be trained and to be watched; if the training was necessary, which in the case of her sinfulness it most certainly was, then she deserved also to be compelled to let others see her shame. And, she admitted to herself, she was sure that if she were in Jem's place she would already be starting to feel the mounting sensations that she now knew could become a plume of inexpressible, body-racking joy.

As she watched the trainers harrying Jem, standing beside her, shouting instructions, and flicking her prostrate body with their whips, Olena bit her lip. She was sure she would like to be trained, and in front of an audience, but she was less confident that Jem was enjoying it.

'Lie down!' Max shouted. 'Come on, girl. Lie down.'

Olena thought she detected unfeigned uncertainty in Jem's movements as, with much flopping of ears and waving of paws, she tried to put herself in the position that a dog would adopt when resting. She ended curled on her side, with her knees pulled up to her chest. Olena thought she looked pathetically helpless.

That's not how a puppy bitch lies down,' Ilsa cried, and slashed her whip three times across Jem's defenceless bottom. Olena saw a movement from the corner of her eye: the black-uniformed guards were as stationary as ever, but one of them, a woman, had raised a hand to her mouth.

'Puppy, sit,' Max said.

Jem knelt in the correct position.

'Now bend your front legs, and stretch your front paws out on the ground in front of you. Keep them neatly together. That's right. Now your body is horizontal. Keep your back legs well apart. That's it. That's how a puppy must lie down, when instructed to. Now you're being an obedient little puppy. Good girl. Wag your tail.'

Jem was on her knees and elbows, with her masked face buried between her outstretched arms and her breasts touching the floor. With her legs apart her buttocks were widely parted and lifted upwards; the position, Olena saw, was degrading and uncomfortable to maintain. When Jem, instructed to wag her tail, began to move her prominently presented bottom from side to side Olena stared wide-eyed at the blatant obscenity of the display.

Even as she sympathised with Jem, however, she was visualising herself in the same position, pressing her large, round breasts against the floor and opening to her trainers and to her audience the generous curves of her bottom and the depths of her secret places.

It occurred to her that she imagined Max and Ilsa, tall and severe in their tight leather costumes, training her. Why, she wondered, had she not imagined herself being trained by Barat? She had hardly thought of him for days.

That's naughty of me, she thought. Later, I'll tell Nicole about it. I'll probably be given another punishment.

She smiled happily, allowed the guilty feelings about Barat to dissipate like morning mist, and returned to observing the training of Jem.

Barat was on his way to report to Master Robert when he saw a familiar figure.

He was permitted to wear his robe only when attending Olena's training sessions, and he still felt embarrassed at walking alone through the corridors of the Chateau wearing only a pair of leather briefs. Therefore he crept circumspectly through the narrower passages and the back stairways, keeping to the shadows. He had in this way explored a large part of the four main ranges of buildings that surrounded the Chateau's central courtyard, as well as many of the outbuildings.

He was taking a circuitous route to Master Robert's office when he saw a tall, slim figure disappearing through a doorway. He recognised Isabelle instantly, and felt an immediate pang of longing so intense that it was almost a physical pain. She was wearing a dark red corset and black stockings; her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. Without pausing for thought he tiptoed to the door, now closed, through which she had gone.

He put his ear to the ancient, carved wood, and heard voices from the room beyond. He needed to know what Isabelle was doing in there, but he did not dare to open the door and announce his presence. He ransacked his memory for the mental maps of the Chateau's interior that he had been constructing during his explorations. He remembered that there was another passageway, so narrow that it was no more than a gap between two walls, that ran parallel to the one he was in. Perhaps from there he could find another way secretly to enter, or at least to look into, the room into which Isabelle had gone.

Within a few minutes he was edging through the narrow passage, trying to prevent the dusty walls and hanging cobwebs from coming into contact with his naked skin. He had climbed a short stairway and therefore felt that, while he was now approximately opposite the door through which Isabelle had gone, he must also be on a slightly higher level.

The only illumination came from shafts of dim light that pierced the darkness of the passage. Each shaft of light indicated a fissure in the stonework, but most of them were high above Barat's head and he could not use them to see into the rooms beyond. There were doorways, too, with doors of crumbling wood that appeared not to have opened for centuries. Most of these also allowed light to seep into the passage, as the wooden panels fitted badly in their frames. Barat was able to peer through these, and several times he almost forgot his urgent desire for Isabelle as he found himself spying on scenes of debauchery and discipline that astonished even his fertile imagination.

Each time, however, he dragged himself away from the peephole and onwards, until he arrived at a sagging door beyond which he could hear Isabelle's voice.

It was easy to see into the room; pressing his face against the door frame he found himself looking down on a scene that made his stomach tighten and his eyes widen.

The room was small, at least compared with many in the Chateau. Its walls were hung with dark red silk that shimmered in the light of four lamps. Most of the polished wooden floor was covered with a carpet that matched the colour of the hangings; a large four-poster bed took up most of one side of the room. Its woodwork, and that of the other furniture, was almost black with gleaming polish. It was a crowded, sensual room. A boudoir. Isabelle's boudoir, Barat suspected. The thought made his penis harden and push uncomfortably against the restriction of his briefs.

Isabelle was still wearing the scarlet corset and black stockings. Now she had equipped herself with a short, slender cane that she was flexing between her hands as she lounged in an armchair and gave instructions to the two men standing in front of her. The men were naked but for collars and cuffs around their necks, wrists and ankles.

Both men, Barat saw at once with a twinge of envy, were young, slim and muscular. One was blond and tall, with tattoos on his bulging arms; he was staring at Isabelle with defiance as well as lust in his eyes. The other was darker and a little shorter; his head was lowered, and he was shuffling from side to side. Barat noticed that the darker man was not entirely naked; he was wearing a belt with an arrangement of thin, tightly fastened straps between his buttocks and around his genitalia.

Tt's your turn now, Grant,' Isabelle said to the blond giant. 'Place yourself over the box so that Gustave can chain you.'

Grant looked agitated, but remained where he was. This is not right, miss,' he said. This is not as I requested. We had agreed that we would be alone together. I am not a mere slave, to be pressed into use for the amusement of others.'

Isabelle smiled lazily and opened wide her bright blue eyes. She parted her legs and drew one of them up so that her foot was resting on the seat of the chair. Barat, peering from a distance through a dusty crack, found the gesture arousing; he could guess the effect it must have had on the blond man.

'But Grant,' Isabelle said, 'you told me that you wanted to worship me. That you would do anything I asked. And what I'm asking you to do is to play a few games with Gustave. Are you going to do as you're asked? You know,' she added, in a low voice, 'that I'll make it worthwhile in the end.'

'Oh, very well,' Grant said, and without another word he turned and strode to a large padded box in the centre of the room. The box resembled a vaulting horse with a solid base; unlike most gym equipment, however, all four sides of the box had leather straps and metal chains attached to them.

Grant pressed his rippling muscled stomach against one edge of the padded top of the box and bent forwards until he was lying face down on it.

Tut the chains on his wrists first, Gustave,' Isabelle said. 'I want him to know he can't escape.'

As Barat watched in amazement, the blond giant submitted to being chained and strapped into a most unmanly position, with his hands near the floor, his face pressed into the soft top of the box, his knees pulled up alongside his torso and his arse uplifted beyond the end of the box.

Ts he getting hard, Gustave?' Isabelle asked.

Gustave, who was red in the face from the exertion of binding Grant, was lost for words. He stared at Isabelle, opened and closed his mouth, and then bent, gingerly, to look at Grant's cock and balls hanging beneath his protruding arse.

'It's quite big, miss,' he said.

'But Gustave,' Isabelle said sweetly, 'I asked whether it was hard. Come here. Turn round. Bend over.'

The lithe rod whistled shrilly in the air and landed across both of Gustave's buttocks. He squealed.

'Now, go and look properly,' Isabelle said. 'Hold Grant's penis in your hand and tell me whether or not it's hard.'

Barat was aware that his own penis had become very stiff. Isabelle, playing games in her own little domain, was more alluring than ever, and he couldn't help wishing that he, instead of the two other men, were with her in her boudoir.

Grant writhed and cursed in his bonds as he heard Gustave approach. Gustave seemed wary of the big blond, even though he himself had secured the straps and chains. He positioned himself next to the back of the box, where Grant's pale buttocks stuck out. He turned to face Isabelle, his eyes full of mute appeals for a reprieve. Isabelle merely smiled and gestured f<^r him to continue.

Barat saw Gustave grimace as he placed his left hand on the small of Grant's back. Grant shouted an oath. Gustave leaned forwards and, with an expression of loathing on his face, slowly extended his hand under the bound man's buttocks.

Grant roared and bellowed. Gustave had obviously found his target. He remained unmoving until Grant's protests died away.

'It's big, miss,' he said, 'but it's not very hard. Although I think it's getting harder.'

Grant roared again, and eventually subsided into silence.

'And now?' Isabelle asked Gustave.