Discipline of the Private House (8 page)

There was a click: the sound of a door opening. He forced himself to turn casually.

He saw her. He smiled. He beckoned her to approach.

Inside he was shouting with elation. She was more beautiful even than his imaginings. The blood pounded in his ears. She was perfect, and she was his.

Attempting to maintain an air of detached consideration, he inspected her as she stepped hesitantly towards him across the white tiles. The swimming costume was not immodestly cut, compared with the most fashionable styles, but it clung to her curves and barely contained the swelling mounds of her breasts. Her waist seemed impossibly slim. Her hips swayed as she walked; she was naturally sensual, even when trying her utmost to be reserved.

'Don't be nervous,' he called softly to her. 'There's no one else here to see you. Walk round the pool; get used to this place. I'll just sit here and make sure we're not disturbed. When you're ready, try the water.'

He sank on to a bench, arranging the folds of his robe to conceal his erection. Olena's stroll around the pool was

for his benefit, not hers: he wanted to watch her without *
\

her being aware of his attention.

Her long dark tresses were piled loosely on her head, showing off the graceful curve of her neck. Her large, dark eyes darted from side to side as she stepped nervously past him. The flawless light brown skin was glowing across her wide cheekbones, and beneath her broad nose her wide, full lips had a slight, shy smile. Under his robe he touched the hot, hard flesh, and he imagined those lips opening reluctantly to admit his cock. He imagined her tongue emerging to lick the last drops of semen from those lips -and from the tip of his penis.

Or maybe he would come between her breasts. They were magnificent. He had bought for her a swimming costume that would support her bust, and he had bought the largest size he could find, yet the two perfect hemispheres of flesh were barely contained, swelling at the tops of the cups and at the sides. The blue material was stretched thin, and the contours of Olena's nipples and her large areolae were distinct. Her nipples appeared to be very hard: was she feeling cold, or could she possibly be excited by the situation? Barat could hardly wait to feel the soft heaviness of those heavenly globes in his hands.

But apart from her breasts, her body was not fleshy. Her arms and shoulders were thin; her ribs could be discerned through her costume. Her waist was tiny. Her legs were long and slender. And between her waist and her legs was a second abundance of smooth and bounteous curves: round thighs, with a bulging 'V' between them; swelling hips promised much about her backside.

'Do you like it here?' Barat said as Olena paused in her progress round the pool to stand next to him. She was close enough to touch; the blue material stretched with her every breath.

'Yes, Barat,' she said. 'Thank you for bringing me here. And for giving me this costume. But -'

'Yes, Olena?'

'Well, it is a little small for me, I think.'

He peered at her as if noticing the costume for the first time. 'Nonsense,' he said. 'The material is designed to stretch. Continue with your walk.'

'As you say, Barat,' Olena said, lowering her head and with a quirky smile on her luscious lips.

She walked past him. Barat's gasp was almost audible, he was sure. Olena's arse was even more generous then her bosom, though no less perfectly shaped, and the swimming costume, cut high at the hips, had given up attempting to cover the undulating spheres. The blue material had gathered itself into the deep valley between her buttocks and could no longer be seen between the two smooth, coffee-coloured hills that rolled against each other with every slow pace that Olena took.

And Olena, he reminded himself, had agreed that she needed to be punished. Tonight her naked body would lie across his lap; at his instruction she would lift her perfect buttocks to meet the chastisement of his hand.

Olena was climbing down the short ladder at the side of the pool, into the lapping water. Barat stood, waved to her encouragingly, and went to find a large towel in which to wrap her when she emerged. He wouldn't let her stay long in the pool: just long enough to ensure that the swimming costume was thoroughly soaked. The material would be almost transparent when wet. He would dry her a little with the towel; it would seem considerate of him. And then he would hurry her back to her room to begin her education in the ways to please him.

The dark streets were empty now. There were no pedestrians. Vehicles could be heard rumbling along the wide boulevards, but these narrow alleys were deserted.

Itomi had come twice: once almost as soon as Stefan had started to bring his belt down on her bottom, and later, when her buttocks were burning with pain and Stefan had inserted his hand between her thighs and into her knickers to massage her copious juices round her clitoris. Now, feeling alive and excited and daring, she was walking the streets with her coat and skirt pulled up to her waist. Stefan was half a step behind her. She revelled in the sensitivity of her buttocks; she felt every draught of the cold night air and rolled her hips to encourage the caresses and slaps of Stefan's hand.

Ttomi, my angel,' Stefan said. This is the place.'

They are hiding here? On this road?'

'It is a poor area,' Stefan said. 'But it's quiet. That's better for our purposes.'

'Look!' Itomi whispered urgently. 'Coming out of that big, low building. Two people.'

'Where? Yes, I see. A man and a woman. I'm sure of it. And wearing cloaks! They must be Heinrich and Leila.' Stefan swung the pack from his back. 'They're coming this way. I'll hide in this doorway. I have the tranquilisers and the nets. Itomi, go and bring the cab. Do you remember where we left it?'

Itomi touched her backside, and winced. 'How could I forget? I'll be back in a moment. We'll have those two back at the Chateau by morning.'

Three

'They are idiots, madame.' Itomi felt Robert tug spitefully on her chains as he spoke. 'Idiots. They do not deserve your mercy.'

Itomi and Stefan, naked and in chains, were kneeling in a circle of light in the centre of the Chatelaine's study. Itomi didn't dare to lift her face to look towards the shadowy bulk of the desk behind which the Chatelaine was sitting. Instead, she turned her head in the hope of exchanging a glance with Stefan. He was staring at the carpet, however, and Itomi caught the eye of the Chatelaine's servant Nicole, who was watching the scene with serene amusement, as pert and pretty as ever in her maid's uniform.

Itomi heard a swish and out of habit leaned forwards slightly to receive the lash. Robert's whip-stroke landed like a line of fire across both of her buttocks. She shivered, and held the position in the hope of a second stroke. There was a slender chance that the Chatelaine might prescribe a whipping as the punishment for Stefan's and Itomi's failure.

'Lift your head,' Robert said. 'Look at your mistress while you are being chastised.'

Itomi looked shyly at the tall, elegant figure sitting straight-backed behind the desk. She tried to look contrite, but one stroke of the whip had, as usual, been enough to ignite the warmth in lier loins. She hollowed her back in expectation: already she wanted to feel the whip on the lowest parts of her buttocks and on the insides of the tops of her thighs. She had been punished by Robert many times, and she knew she could rely on him to be thorough and to seek out the most sensitive places.

That's enough, Robert,' the Chatelaine said. The effort is wasted on little Itomi. You will have no punitive effect.'

Itomi was surprised to see the Chatelaine's icy expression thaw into a smile. Her voice, too, was pensive rather than severe.

'Stefan and Itomi must be punished, of course. A week of enforced abstinence should be adequate. Nicole, make a note of this. The two of them will wear control belts for a week; at night the belts will be removed, but they are to be chained so they cannot touch themselves. Each of them will sleep alone, of course.'

Nicole looked mischievously at Itomi. 'And should there be a dildo fitted in each belt, madame?'

'No, Nicole. But note that they are to wear the belts with the metal frames. They must not be able to enjoy any stimulation. They are to be watched when washing and bathing: note that. And make it known that under no circumstances is either of them to undergo even the mildest of corporal punishment.' The Chatelaine smiled again at Itomi as she said this.

Tears welled in Itomi's eyes. It was the cruellest sentence imaginable!

The Chatelaine had not quite finished pronouncing her judgement. 'And I suppose that, during this week of punishment, they might as well refine some of the skills they have been taught. Nicole, let it be known also that the mouths, lips and tongues of Stefan and Itomi will be available for all to use. While they are wearing the control belts they will not be permitted to refuse anyone. That, I think, will teach them to pay attention next time we give them a task to carry out. Robert, take them away. And remember to keep your hands off Itomi's bottom.'

Itomi stood and bowed, in the manner of her native land, to the Chatelaine and turned to allow Robert to lead her from the room. She could hardly bear to think of the next seven days. She wouldn't mind having to use her mouth to pleasure a succession of men and women: in fact, under normal circumstances she would enjoy tasting the liquid secretions and swallowing the ejaculations, and moulding her lips to a variety of penises, nipples and vulvas. But in normal circumstances she could expect to be smacked, at the very least, for such wanton behaviour. And she was going to have to survive for a week without even a slight tingle across her backside. It would seem like an eternity.

As she was trudging from the room, Itomi heard Nicole's voice. 'And what about the prisoners, madame? The ones we have upstairs instead of Heinrich and Leila? They will wake soon.'

'Well, Nicole,' the Chatelaine said. 'That's why I haven't been too hard on Itomi and Stefan. It seems they've brought home a couple of prize specimens. The girl, in particular, is said to be quite extraordinarily attractive. It would be a shame not to show them some hospitality. I sense they might have some potential.'

The room was small and sparsely furnished, but comfortable. The walls were of plastered stone and there were age-darkened beams across the ceiling, which suggested that this prison was old. It was certainly a prison: the door to the tiny bathroom was open, but the other door was locked. Olena had tried it three times.

The view from the window told Olena a little more about her situation: she was in the countryside, or else in a vast park, for as far as she could see there were trees; and she was in a castle, for far below her room there was a moat of dark water and to her left she could see turrets and circular, cone-roofed towers. The evening sky was dark with clouds, and raindrops struck the glass of the window.

The room was warm, however, which was as well, because Olena's cloak was nowhere to be found.

She could remember little of how she had come to this isolated fairy-tale castle. She had felt very sleepy, and her memories were confused: a vehicle of some kind, driven fast through the night; Barat, asleep opposite her, and a man and a woman talking; the smell of the sea, and the rolling motion of the waves.

She had woken in this room: her first sight had been of the white walls reddened by the setting sun. Had she been asleep one day? Two? She had no way of knowing. She had been hungry and she had found on the table by the window a tray with a simple meal of bread, cheese, meat and fruit. She had eaten ravenously, even before she had thought to search for clothes or try the doors. She had found the bathroom and had showered, dried herself and brushed her hair. She felt well, but very nervous. The place was utterly silent. She had put on all the clothes she had been able to find: the bra and the pair of briefs she had donned at the swimming pool. Pathetically small scraps of lace. Underwear that Barat had provided for her. She had wished for his calm presence, and had wept a little. She had told herself that there was no point in crying, and had set out to explore the small confines of the room. Now she sat on the bed, and waited.

The door opened without warning. Olena jumped up and tried to pull the covers from the bed around her body. Two people entered the room, which seemed suddenly crowded.

The man was stocky and muscular. His trousers and waistcoat were of black leather. He had deeply set dark eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. Olena thought he looked sinister. The woman was wearing a maid's uniform, although it was too brief and flimsy to be practical; rather, it seemed designed to show off her slender legs and the tops of her stockings. She had short, straight, dark hair and a bright expression.

They spoke to Olena and to each other. They were clearly doing their best to sound reassuring and friendly, but Olena understood not a word. They were speaking in a foreign language, and Olena knew only her native tongue. Other languages had not been taught in the community's schools: the elders tried to hold at bay all outside influences, and what could be more alien than another tongue? Olena realised that she was in a foreign land, an unknowable distance from her home, in a place where she was even more of a stranger than she had been in the bustling city.

Only the dim memory that Barat had been brought here with her gave her the resolve to stem a flood of desperate tears.