One Week in the Private House (36 page)

Jem realised that she resented Headman's interruption. She didn't want him to take his pleasure in the woman's mouth. The punishment session had become an intimate relationship between Jem and the anonymous woman. She wanted Headman to watch, but not to take part. She started to place slow, half-hearted strokes across the woman's buttocks.

It suddenly occurred to Jem that the whole scene was disturbingly similar to something else. Something recent, but before she came to the Private House. Of course: that bastard Rudi had sprung his surprise on her, and she'd ended up trussed and tied and having her arse whipped while taking Rudi into her mouth. It was almost as though she'd been getting ready for the Private House before she even knew of its existence. Or could there be some other connection? Could Headman possibly know what she'd been doing? Who she really was?

No. It was impossible.

'Jem!' Headman's shout interrupted her thoughts. 'Wake up at the back there!' The chair's legs were shortening, pulling Headman's erect penis from the woman's mouth as the seat descended. 'I detect a distinct lack of enthusiasm on your part. Come here at once.'

Headman's mood seemed to have changed. His smile looked chilly as Jem approached him. 'Sit,' he said.

Jem hesitated. For the first time she noticed that the edges of the back and seat of the leather-upholstered chair were equipped with metal brackets and straps. She looked questioningly at Headman. 'On this chair?' she said.

Headman stared at her until she lowered her eyes. His hand strayed across the half-cups of her corset, pinching her nipples against the lace-trimmed leather. She wished it didn't make her feel so godamned horny.

'You're forgetting your manners, Jem,' Headman said quietly. 'You must remember to keep your legs apart. You must remember to address me correctly.'

'Yes, Master,' she whispered, moving her feet.

'Give me the whip.'

'Yes, Master.'

'That's better. Yes, you are to sit on this chair. Sit at the front of the seat. Be careful not to knock our miscreant's head as you turn.'

She let him seat her on the edge of the chair. He pulled her legs further apart, and pulled her hands down between them. The leather cuffs round her wrists were inset with metal rings; he clipped a length of chain to each cuff, and trailed the chains along the floor to either side of the chair, behind her high heels and outside the legs of the chair. Then, moving behind the chair, he picked up the ends of both chains in one hand and pulled them taut. He placed his other hand on Jem's titian curls and pressed her backwards. 'Let yourself drop backwards, Jem,' he said. 'Lie back on the seat, slowly, while I keep the chains pulled tight.' As Jem fell slowly back to lie on the seat, her legs lifted into the air. Headman's tension on the chains pulled her right arm behind her right leg, and her left arm behind her left leg. Her arms and her legs were bent, and the crook of each elbow caught in the crook of the corresponding leather-clad knee: she couldn't move her limbs, and her thighs were stretched wide apart. As her head came to rest against the back of the ehair, she heard a click as Headman connected the two tight chains to brackets at the top of the chair's back.

Her arms were bent backwards; she couldn't move them. The backs of her knees were hooked over her arms; she couldn't move her legs, except to waggle her feet in the air.

She could roll from side to side a little, but otherwise she was powerless to move at all. Two lengths of chain had rendered her helpless.

With the small of her back resting on the edge of the seat of the chair, and her thighs widely parted and bent back over her torso, she knew that her sex and her arse were exposed in the most blatant display. Headman spent some time running his hands over her rounded buttocks, and then he carefully smoothed her pubic hair away from her moist labia, parted the lips themselves, and tapped the hood of her clitoris until the little bud was clearly erect and Jem was writhing on the seat. The riding crop and his penis seemed to twitch in unison as he worked.

Reluctantly he stopped arranging Jem's private parts, and moved to the back of the chair. He pulled it back a little, and then touched the control that adjusted the height of the seat. Jem felt herself rising into the air. The seat stopped just as Jem's pubic mound bumped gently into the woman's rubber-clad forehead. The woman lifted her head, and Jem felt the woman's warm breath on the membranes of her sex.

Headman, looking very pleased with the tableau he had created, stood with his mouth almost touching the woman's head. 'Can you hear me, miscreant?' he said loud-

ly.

The woman nodded, her lips almost brushing Jem's inner labia.

'You have in front of you,' Headman continued, 'and entirely at your disposal, the woman who has been punishing you. It's my turn to use the whip now, and I won't be as gentle as she has been. However, I'll stop whipping you as soon as you can make her come. And then it will be your turn. Do you understand?'

The woman nodded again, and this time Jem felt the woman's tongue lick tentatively and touch the delicate skin, stretched taut by Jem's bound position, at the very top of her left thigh, close to the opening of her vagina.

Headman swished the crop through the air. 'Start when you like,' he said, i'm starting now.'

Jem could do nothing to speed or slow the inevitable. She couldn't even see much of what was going on. She heard the whistle and crack of Headman wielding the crop: he seemed to be administering a straightforward whipping to the woman's buttocks, repeating Jem's earlier work but with rather more vigour. Jem felt each blow as a slight nudge to her vulva, because the woman - from Jem's viewpoint a shiny black shape moving between her outstretched thighs - had buried her face in Jem's gaping wetness.

Soon Jem was oblivious to everything except the sensations building up between her thighs. The woman had large, soft lips, as far as Jem could tell, and a long tongue. Jem knew that she was herself providing considerable amounts of lubrication. Jem hated being tied so helplessly, but she had to admit that her thwarted efforts to move her limbs seemed to add an urgency to her lust.

Everything below her waist felt like liquified desire, except for the mouth of her vagina, where the woman's chin was lodged, and her clitoris, which the woman was licking and which felt diamond-hard and tight and hot. the woman was moving her head in time with Headman's lashes, and when Jem pictured the bright pink lines appearing across the already reddened globes she found herself crying out to the same rhythm.

Surges of electricity were flashing from her clitoris and tingling in every part of her body. She twisted from side to side, cursing and loving the chains that bound her; her eyes were tightly closed, her ears heard nothing but the regular swish and crack of the whip. The insistent, rhythmic pressure of the stranger's tongue was urging her step by step upwards towards a peak and she thought she would die of pleasure before she reached it. And then she was suddenly rushing up to it, and she was there, and her body seemed to open and dissolve and clench all at once, and she heard someone shouting and then, as her heartbeat started to slow and she became aware of the trembling in her limbs, she realised the voice was hers. She felt a weight between her legs, and saw that the woman's rubber-hooded head, motionless at last, was resting on her pubes.

And then she heard Headman.

'Oh, well done, you criminal.' Headman was shouting near the woman's head, his breath hot on Jem's thigh. 'You've made her come. And very spectacularly, I must say.' He moved aside for a moment and caught Jem's eye. She smiled weakly. 'Very impressive, Jem,' he murmured.

He spoke again at the higher volume. 'Now then. I said that when you'd made my concubine here reach an orgasm, I'd stop whipping you and let you have an orgasm of your own. That's what I said, isn't it?'

The woman nodded slowly.

'Well, I lied.' Headman laughed gleefully.

Jem twisted in her bonds. 'What? You can't do that. Master,' she added, as he glared at her.

'This is none of your business, Jem,' he said quietly. 'I am in sole control of this place, and everyone within it, and I can do as I wish. This disobedient wretch deserves more punishment, and she's going to get it. And you're going to stay where you are. You'll muffle her noise if she starts shouting.'

Jem tugged at the chains, and then subsided into the leather upholstery as she heard the swish of the crop starting again. The woman's head moved between Jem's thighs at every stroke. And Jem found that already, as the woman's breath brushed her labia, and the whip sang, and the woman's lips nudged again and again against her sex, she was beginning to become aroused all over again.

There was someone with her in the bed. Lucy moved her hand, and touched a warm, limp appendage that began to swell beneath her fingers. Where was she? Whose prick was this?

Suddenly she remembered everything. She was inside the Private House; she had succeeded. She was a trainee now; she had passed every stage of her initiation with ease. As her Mentor had promised, once the dam of her inhibitions had been breached, ^nothing could stop the flood. The dance had been easy, really, and she found it hard to remember why she had made such a fuss about it. She couldn't have forgotten about the silly horsehair tail behind her - after all, it was attached to a dildo embedded in her bottom - and the discomfort hadn't been all that unpleasant, it had rather reminded her to keep moving her arse, which had made the tail swish about to the evident satisfaction of the audience.

After that she had felt no qualms about masturbating under the spotlights; in fact she had taken some pride in putting on a good show. And although she had never previously fancied the idea of a man coming between her breasts, it had seemed different when it was partly a test and partly an exhibition. She had always been proud of her large, firm, golden tits, but now she had come to see them as sexual organs that she could use. The thrills that had stiffened her nipples as she had pressed her mounds round the hot, hard shaft were unlike anything she had experienced before.

She closed her hand round the organ that was now nudging her hip and opened her eyes to survey the little room that was to be hers during her training. She turned to face the man lying next to her. 'Good morning, Mentor,' she whispered.

He grunted, and opened one eye. 'Morning Lucy. Feeling fit?'

'Raring to go,' she said. 'What's on the agenda today?'

He placed a hand over her left breast and squeezed. 'Catechism first,' he said, and she knew that her sex was already beginning to feel moist. 'What are you here for, Lucy?'

'Obedience, sir,' she said, 'and sex, please.' Her free hand roamed across his muscular torso.

'Very good,' he laughed, and looked at his watch. 'But we might not have time for the sex until later. You've got a busy schedule today. The costumes will be here soon. Go to the bathroom and get ready.'

While Lucy was brushing her teeth she heard a knock on the bedroom door, and then an indistinct conversation between the Mentor and a female visitor. When she returned to the bedroom, the Mentor was alone again, and a small suitcase was on the bed.

She enjoyed the feeling of the Mentor's eyes following her naked body as she walked towards him. I even walk differently now, she thought, it's as if I'm on high heels even when I'm barefoot.

'You're going to sample the work of a field officer this morning,' he said, pulling her on to the bed beside him.

She let him gather both her wrists behind her back in one of his huge hands, and closed her eyes as the fingers of his other hand flicked the tips of her breasts. 'What does a field officer do, sir?' she sighed.

'Field officers work with outsiders,' he said, his fingers moving ceaselessly from one nipple to the other, pinching and rolling the hardening pips. 'Either with visitors we've brought here, inside the House, or at the Health Club, or outside.'

'What will I have to do?' Lucy said.

'Just follow the script. There are full notes in the case, with your costume. You can study them on the way. These scenarios usually consist of, um, action, shall we say, and not much dialogue. There's plenty of scope for improvisation.'

Lucy giggled. She couldn't believe she had been so nervous about infiltrating the Private House. It was actually going to be loads of fun! 'Should I put on the costume now, sir?' she said, wresting her hands from his grasp and reaching for the suitcase.

'Might as well,' the Mentor said. 'Whatever it is, I doubt if it will stop me playing with your titties.'

Lucy sat between his legs, and his hands slid round her ribs to grasp her breasts. She placed the case on her knees, unzipped it, lifted the lid, and barely restrained her gasp of shock. Inside the case was the uniform of a woman police constable.

It can't be a coincidence, she thought. They've found out what I really am. Or perhaps someone's guessed or recognised me. They're playing games with me!

'Well, put it on, then,' the Mentor said, plunging his hand into the case and pulling out a black skirt that was less than a third of the minimum regulation skirt length of any police uniform Lucy had ever seen. The high-heeled shoes were completely unsuitable for police work, too; and the truncheon was sculpted into an unmistakeable shape that made its purpose very plain.

With shaking hands, Lucy started to clothe herself for whatever charade they wanted her to play.