House Rules (23 page)

‘Yes,’ came her reply, sounding hollow from within the iron mask. She didn’t say anything else, and he concluded that she was being careful not to show too much interest in him.

Since there was nothing else to do, Richard lowered himself to a sitting position, bracing his back against the wall as he sat down. When he was seated, he was immediately aware of the plug in his arsehole. It pressed insistently as he shifted position. He made himself comfortable and thought about Hannelore Bern and his present situation. Yes, he liked what they had done this afternoon; he would even like to repeat the experience, or take part in similar exercises. But not at the price of never seeing Helena and Ingrid. At the same time, Margaret’s cavalier gesture in giving him to Hannelore without any hint of her intentions made him very angry.

He now thought she had done it in order to get him away from Helena, to avoid losing her and having to make a decision about him. But that knowledge did nothing to help him escape. He was naked, locked inside a barn, in handcuffs, and with a plug up his backside: escape would not be easy. His minimum requirements were freedom and clothing, even if the latter meant donning women’s clothes again, as it probably would. He needed his suitcase. But there was nothing to be done about it tonight. He would have to wait for a chance.

He shifted uncomfortably, the dildo in his arsehole moving as he did. Gretchen lay quietly, enduring her bondage and her double penetration stoically. She shifted from time to time, turning over with difficulty in the straw. Richard admired the play of her muscles as she shifted her position. She tugged against her bonds, as if trying to free herself, but of course she couldn’t. She relaxed.

The barn darkened as the sun went down, the shadows deepening until Richard could not make out the shape of the interior any longer. Gretchen was merely a pale shape nearby. He drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He came awake abruptly. Something had startled him. The moon had risen, and its pale light shone in through one of the high windows of the barn. The barn had dimension again. Gretchen was once more a definite woman-shape beside him. His shoulders ached from being held behind his back for so long. He imagined Gretchen would be even more stiff in her tighter bondage.

The sound came again. It was a hollow muffled groan, and it came from Gretchen. She was once more shifting in the straw, but it was soon obvious that she was not merely changing position, or struggling against the ropes that bound her. She drew her knees up against her stomach, curling into a tight ball, before straightening them once again. She moved restlessly, then rolled over in the straw and began to raise and lower her hips, as if she were making love to an invisible person beneath her.

As he watched her, Richard realised that she was doing something very much like that. As her hips rose and fell, she groaned again, twisting her head from side to side. The moonlight glittered on the steel mask locked over her face. Her sexual arousal became more and more obvious as she thrashed about. As he watched her, Richard felt the beginnings of his own arousal: the tightness in his stomach and the stiffening of his cock.

Hannelore Bern must have had something like this in mind when she had left them in the barn, he thought. She must have known how Gretchen would react to the bondage and her dildoes. She must have known too that Richard would be aroused by her autoeroticism. So she had locked him in with her protégée, handcuffed and unable to do anything about his reaction. She would be laughing if she were there to watch.

Gretchen was becoming more frantic, bucking and writhing on the moonlit straw. She moaned loudly, the sound rising as she sought release. But evidently she could not quite make it. Had Hannelore known this too, wishing to torment Gretchen as well as Richard?

‘Gretchen, are you all right?’ Richard asked. His voice sounded queer and tight in his ears.

She lay still abruptly, aware again of his presence. She struggled to turn herself. After a series of heaves, she managed to roll on to her side so that she was facing him. ‘Help me,’ she said, the words hollow and muffled behind the mask she wore. Her head, and the featureless face, gave her an air of the inhuman, but from the neck down she was a desperate and desirable woman.

‘What can I do?’ he asked, feeling his cock stir as he looked at her.

‘Move over and touch my breasts. Help me! I cannot make myself come alone. And I need to, so badly. It will drive me mad.’

‘But how?’ Richard asked her. ‘She handcuffed my wrists behind my back.’

‘Use your mouth, then – your teeth. Lick me! Bite me! Do something! I am burning up.’

Richard in turn heaved himself over on to his side and moved towards her, the plug in his arsehole stirring inside him. His stiff cock seemed to point the way. When he was within range, he manoeuvered himself until he could reach one of Gretchen’s breasts with his mouth. Her nipples were erect with excitement. He took one of the engorged nipples into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, nipping gently at it with his teeth, sucking it.

Gretchen gasped with pleasure. She arched her back and thrust forward and back with her hips, being careful not to move her breast away from him. ‘Oh, God,’ she moaned. ‘Oh! More! More!’

Richard guessed that she had worked herself almost to the edge of orgasm by herself, and that his effort had been the final nudge that pushed her over the edge. Gretchen was clearly out of control, jerking wildly and moaning as she came. He marvelled at her concentration, how she never jerked her breast away from his mouth, even while the rest of her body writhed and bucked in the straw. His cock was so stiff it hurt, and the occasional bumps as it made contact with Gretchen’s thighs and belly served to excite him even more than the sight of her naked body and her wild movements. Had she not been plugged, he would have tried to penetrate her himself, difficult as that would have been with neither of them able to use their hands.

Her orgasm went on and on, her nude body writhing in the moonlight. Richard imagined her mouth open and her eyes wide with her pleasure, but he saw only the featureless helmet locked over her head and face. That had the perverse effect of exciting him more than the sight of her face had in the woods earlier. Evidently the steel helmet had a similar effect on her, as if it granted her privacy, anonymity, divorced her in some way from the pleasure that racked her helpless body. She was certainly more abandoned than she had been earlier.

Gretchen appeared to have come to the end of her climax. Her breath whistled slightly as she sucked air in through the breathing tubes of her helmet. Her body was bathed in sweat, and small tremors shook her from time to time. She moaned softly, deep inside her throat, the sound muffled by the mask. But she was not finished. When Richard made to draw back, she whispered harshly, ‘No! Kiss me! Bite me!’ And she arched her body towards him once more.

Richard bent forward again to take her breast into his mouth, sucking on the nipple and feeling it stiffen against his tongue. Gretchen moaned softly as her excitement built. Her hips moved tentatively, thrusting forward and back as she made the plugs move inside her. On the forward stroke, the fronts of her thighs brushed against Richard’s stiff cock. He picked up her rhythm, thrusting himself so that the contact became more pronounced. Even though penetration was impossible, plugged as she was, Richard was excited by the increasing wildness of her thrusts and the evidence of her arousal, so close to him.

Gretchen’s body was covered by a thin sheen of perspiration, and her breath was coming in gasps as she writhed in the straw. Once his cock slipped between her thighs, which were clasped tightly together to maximise the friction from the dildoes.

At once Gretchen drew back. ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Madame will see your semen if you come all over me. She will not be pleased.’

Richard wondered how much Madame’s displeasure had to do with the matter. He suspected that much of Gretchen’s reluctance was due to her own disinclination. He remembered her attitude that afternoon in the woods. Now that there was no one to beat her and enforce her participation, she was unwilling to let a man get close to her. Except on her own terms, of course, which seemed to be limited to ensuring her own pleasure. Mentally shrugging, he resumed work on her breasts.

Gretchen relaxed again as he nipped the engorged nipple between his teeth. She seemed to like it well enough when his attention was restricted to that area, as if she had set boundaries not all that different to those imposed by the girls he had seen when he first began dating: those who belonged to the no-hands-under-the-clothes school. That stage had long ago ceased to excite him. But he was excited by the proximity of the bound woman who writhed and gasped in the straw beside him. And not a little of the excitement was due to her reluctance to allow any further contact. Not for the first time, he wished he had the use of his hands.

Gretchen seemed all the more excited because she was bound and helpless. The steel mask, glinting in the moonlight through the high window, made her both anonymous and doubly a prisoner. The situation was clearly highly arousing to her. All this made her resistance to Richard much less convincing. It was almost as if she were seeking to emphasise her helplessness and fear. Or as if she were testing his resolve.

Richard continued to nip and nuzzle Gretchen’s breasts, watching as she had her second climax – a small one, causing a rippling of her stomach muscles and a slight gasp of indrawn breath that ended in a moan. She writhed in pleasure, moving closer to the wall of the loosebox behind her. Richard followed. Gretchen shivered as she felt his mouth on her, giving herself to the spasms that swept through her.

Finally, as she bucked and arched in the straw, Gretchen came into contact with the wall of the loosebox and could move no further across the straw pile on which they lay. She seemed not to notice, being too wrapped up in her latest climax. She drummed her heels against the wall as she came, gasping and crying out.

But Richard had noticed the barrier. He pressed his body against Gretchen, rubbing his chest against her breasts while she cried out in her pleasure. But he also began to thrust with his hips, and now Gretchen had no further retreat. She clenched her legs tightly together when she felt his stiff cock begin to slide between them, but she was too late. Her body was covered by her sweat, and Richard’s cock slid between her thighs, against her crotch. He could feel the heat of her as he thrust.

Once more Gretchen cried out in protest, ‘No! Don’t do that! Madame will be angry.’

‘But will Gretchen be angry?’ Richard asked her.

She seemed confused by the question, and didn’t reply immediately. And when she did, the reply was indirect. ‘You will come all over me, and Madame will see it when she comes for us in the morning. She will beat me – us – if you don’t stop.’

But Richard never stopped thrusting between her thighs, even as she spoke. He had been too close to Gretchen as she came repeatedly, and he couldn’t restrain his excitement. Nor did he particularly want to. If a beating was to be the end of it all, so be it. A stiff cock has very little imagination, he reflected, as he pinned Gretchen to the wall. He could feel his excitement building as the delightful friction brought him to his own moment of release.

Gretchen seemed to catch his mood. Or it may have been that she realised he wasn’t going to stop. She began to thrust in rhythm with him, her breath rasping in the moonlit stillness of the bam. ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘Oh, oh!’ She arched her back as her orgasm took her, moving wildly as he spurted between her thighs, his cock sliding in and out. She seemed to have forgotten Madame’s displeasure.

Richard never gave it another thought when he felt himself going over the edge. He pushed himself tightly against her and let himself come.

Gradually she became quiet, exhausted by her own climaxes. Her breathing slowed, and the sweat cooled on her body. She shuddered several times – minor aftershocks after the main seismic disturbance of her prolonged and repeated orgasms.

Finally she spoke. ‘That was much better than doing it on my own,’ she admitted. ‘Madame likes to leave me tied up so that I can stimulate myself. When she comes in the morning, she will sniff me to see if I have managed an orgasm. She seems to be excited by the idea of my autoeroticism. But she never joins me.’ Gretchen’s last remark was filled with regret.

‘A bit like Margaret,’ Richard told her. ‘She gets excited by beating people and then letting them fuck one another. She doesn’t join in.’ Except the time she had been overcome by her excitement after beating him, he recalled silently. Would Hannelore Bern react the same way? That would be a real treat. Though maybe Gretchen wouldn’t think so. So he said no more.

They lay against one another to stay warm, and gradually Richard drifted off to sleep. His last thought was that he had to escape and get back to Helena. And Ingrid. Maybe even Margaret.

In the morning, as Gretchen had predicted, Madame was displeased. Richard thought that one of the most wearing things about being the alpha female was the necessity of being perpetually displeased. Or of pretending to be. Hannelore Bern strode into the barn and came straight to the loosebox. She unlocked the door and looked over her two captives. Today she wore her business suit: the same severe pinstriped skirt and jacket she had worn at their first meeting. Her long, full legs were sheathed in black tights, and she wore stiletto-heeled shoes, also in black. The only relief to the sombreness of her costume was the cream silk blouse that showed through above the jacket front.

Richard managed to return her look, even though she brandished a riding crop menacingly. He watched as she inspected Gretchen. There were wisps of straw sticking to her thighs where the semen, in drying, had acted as a sort of glue. Not that there was any lack of further evidence to indicate what they had been up to during the night. The smell alone would have been a dead giveaway.

‘This place smells like a whorehouse on a Sunday morning,’ Hannelore declared loudly.