House Rules (24 page)

Gretchen flinched away from the harsh tones. Richard wondered just how much experience Hannelore Bern had had of whorehouses, on any day of the week. Not much, he concluded.

Hannelore pushed Gretchen over on to her stomach with the toe of her high-heeled shoe, stooping to examine the backs of her thighs as she had the front. There too the straw stuck to her flesh. Hannelore wrinkled her nose in disgust and raised the crop, bringing it down with a swish through the air. It landed on Gretchen’s bottom with a startling crack. Hannelore raised the crop again and again, striking her from her knees to her waist.

Gretchen screamed, more loudly than she had done the previous day, and sought to escape the lash by flinging herself about in the straw. Richard guessed that Hannelore was using her full strength to lash the young woman. Certainly she was striking harder than she had done yesterday. Gretchen was crying out wildly, seeking to escape the blows that landed on her helpless body.

Hannelore placed her foot on Gretchen’s back, the stiletto heel marking her flesh. Gretchen was thus pinioned and couldn’t flinch from the crop. The blows continued to rain down on the helpless captive, and she continued to scream in pain. Her screams sounded genuine. She did not look as if she was enjoying this beating as she had the last one.

Perhaps, Richard thought, Madame really was displeased with her young protégée. And maybe with him, too. Was she punishing Gretchen for enjoying herself during the night? Was Madame jealous of her? It might well be so, Richard thought. And in that case there was a good chance he would be punished in his turn. If so, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Hannelore continued to vent her wrath on Gretchen, whose bottom was by now bright red. She was sobbing, the sounds muffled by the steel mask but unmistakable nonetheless. When Hannelore shifted her target, the backs of Gretchen’s legs began to redden as well. She kicked futilely with her bound legs, trying to evade the rain of blows that continued to fall on her.

Hannelore paused to remove her jacket. Richard saw that there were damp circles beneath her armpits, and that sweat had soaked the front of her silk blouse so that it clung to her, outlining her full breasts as they rose and fell with her heavy breathing. As the blows landed, Hannelore Bern’s breasts bobbed heavily, excitingly. Richard admired them even as he awaited his turn. When her arm was raised for the next blow, they too were raised into prominence, defiantly straining against the sheer material of her blouse. Her face was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. Richard found himself wondering what the rest of her would look like if she were nude. Would the rest of her be as pink as her face and neck? And would she be slick all over as Gretchen had been when she was in the throes of her climax? He felt his cock stiffen at the thought, and he rolled away slightly to conceal his reaction from her. She might be flattered, but then again she might not be.

When Hannelore finally stopped lashing Gretchen, she stood over her captive, regaining her breath. Her arm hung limply by her side, and Gretchen’s bottom and legs were covered in red weals from the crop. Finally she turned to Richard. She noticed his stiff cock, and for a moment her eyes lighted with desire, as if she had been aroused by beating Gretchen. She seemed to be considering what to do with him, whether to have him or not.

Richard waited for her to make up her mind, and was disappointed when he saw her desire lose to – what was it? Pride? Too bad, he thought. It would have been interesting to fuck Hannelore Bern. Or to be fucked by her, which was what would have happened as things stood. But it was not to be. As he watched Hannelore, he saw her sense of her place reassert itself. She became once more the dominatrix.

Hannelore looked at him with anger. ‘I will deal with you later,’ she hissed, turning away and locking the door once more.

Richard lay back in the straw. Gretchen was sobbing quietly against the wall. When she grew still, he spoke. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

Gretchen raised her head, the mask concealing her features, and nodded slowly.

‘I’m sorry you got such a beating.’

‘It’s not the first time,’ Gretchen replied. ‘Madame sometimes forgets herself. She will make it up to me. She always does. Sooner or later.’

‘How much longer will you have to wear the mask?’ Richard asked.

‘I am not sure. Madame will probably remove it this evening when she gets back from the bank. Or she will have one of the other servants unlock it. It is no great inconvenience.’ Gretchen fell silent.

Not long afterwards, the sound of a car departing came to them. Richard surmised that Hannelore Bern was on her way to work. He wondered how long she planned to leave them locked up in the barn. The door opened again shortly, and another young woman came across the barn to the loosebox. She too wore a maid’s outfit, almost identical to those worn by Margaret’s servants. She unlocked the door and helped Richard to his feet. She motioned for him to move outside before turning to Gretchen. She untied the ropes that bound her ankles and knees. Richard could see deep red lines where the bindings had cut into her flesh during her struggles. They must have hurt, but neither Gretchen nor the other woman mentioned them.

Without untying Gretchen’s hands, the woman helped her to her feet and guided her outside to join Richard. Holding Gretchen’s elbow, she led the way to the door. She seemed to be under orders not to speak, and Richard didn’t know quite what he should say to a strange woman who was shepherding him across the open ground towards the cottage. So he said nothing. Once more he had the sense of being watched by hundreds of eyes, but there was no one else in sight. He was relieved when they reached the house. The maid led them to the back door and into the kitchen.

She signed for him to wait as she led Gretchen away. He pulled one of the chairs away from the table and sat on it, only to get up again immediately. The plug in his arsehole made sitting an uncomfortable exercise. Richard prowled restlessly around the kitchen, waiting for the next development. Approximately a quarter of an hour later, the maid came back for him.

She watched him pacing, then looked at the chair he had tried earlier. ‘Not too comfortable sitting down, is it?’ she asked with a sardonic smile. ‘Madame often leaves me plugged when she wishes to punish me. It is tiresome not being able to sit all day.’

‘What about Gretchen? Does she stay plugged all day too?’ Richard asked.

‘Yes, that often happens. But for her it is not a punishment. She likes it. I imagine that even now she is working on her next orgasm. She can amuse herself for hours that way.’

‘Yes, I noticed that last night,’ Richard said with a smile. ‘But what about me? I mean, what happens now?’

‘Madame has left orders that you should be made ready for her arrival this evening. She told me she will attend to you when she gets back from the city. You may find the attention unpleasant. She was not in a good mood when she left a short while ago.’

‘Yes. I noticed that too,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll just have to hope she makes a great deal of money today so that she will be in a better frame of mind.’

‘Perhaps,’ said the girl. ‘But now you should come with me.’

She led the way down a short hall towards the south wing of the house: apparently the servants’ quarters, if one judged by the number of rooms opening off it, all nearly identical in size.

Richard followed, wondering what Hannelore might have in store for him. He was in two minds: he knew he had to think about escaping, and at the same time he was beginning to anticipate the next encounter with Hannelore. Whatever happened, it would be a bizarre experience. Ever since meeting Helena and Margaret, the bizarre had become the everyday.

The girl led him to the last room at the end of the hall, then unlocked the door and stood aside for him to enter. Like his room at Margaret’s house, this one had a heavy door with strong locks. Unlike the room at Margaret’s house, this one didn’t have anyone like Heidi near at hand ready to help him with getting out. Escape would not be so easy, but there had to be some way. Or so he told himself as he looked over the bedsitting room he was to occupy.

There was a bathroom leading off to one side, to which the girl motioned him. Inside, she produced a small bunch of keys from the pocket of her maid’s outfit. With one of them she removed his handcuffs. While Richard stretched his cramped arms, she unlocked the chain around his waist and pulled the plug from his arsehole. She left the chain hanging from his balls. Either she didn’t have the key to it, or she had been told to leave it alone.

‘What is your name?’ he asked her. ‘We should at least introduce ourselves.’

‘Gertrude,’ she replied. ‘And you are Richard. Gretchen told me. Madame wants you to take a shower. Only,’ Gertrude said, a hint of apology in her tone, ‘I will have to lock you in while I am away.’

‘Yes,’ Richard said drily. ‘Madame’s orders.’ He heard the door close as he adjusted the shower.

When Hannelore came home that evening, she sent for Richard, receiving him in the front sitting room whence they had all set off for the bridle path the day before. He had not been allowed to dress, even in the clothes he had brought with him. That was as effective a way of keeping him from running away as any that could be devised. He wore only the chain and ring on his balls, and was beginning to wonder if he would ever have it off.

Gertrude had come for him. She brought the handcuffs with her, and Richard allowed her to cuff his hands behind his back before she led him to the audience with Hannelore.

Standing naked before Hannelore Bern was a daunting experience, Richard thought. Especially when she was dressed, as now, in her leather corselet, shiny tights and stiletto heels. She must have changed as soon as she arrived home, in order to be as daunting as possible. But he was not going to look daunted. There was such a thing as self-esteem. He wondered if she was planning on another outing in the woods, and another night for him in the barn with Gretchen. And a beating for the culprits afterwards. But he said nothing.

Hannelore Bern looked both beautiful and dangerous, regarding him as a cat studies a canary. She appeared to be deciding what line to take with him. Richard decided to speak first, even knowing her preference for silent obedience.

‘How long do you plan to keep me here?’ he asked, with, he hoped, just the right mix of curiosity and irritation.

Hannelore looked sharply at him. Her eyes flashed in anger. ‘As long as I like. Months. Years. Until I get tired of you.’

‘No,’ he said, watching the anger redden her face. ‘I need to get back to Soltau. I want to leave tomorrow morning.’

‘You will not be going back to Soltau. Margaret told me why you want to go back there, and why she did not want you to come back.’

‘Why I want to go is none of your business. But I am going.’

‘Like that?’ Hannelore gestured with amused contempt at his nakedness. ‘I don’t think you will.’

‘Give me my clothes, and I will go,’ Richard told her.

‘I think not,’ Hannelore replied. ‘I want you to stay here. I need a manservant, if only to make the women here know what they are missing. Later, after you have been house-broken, I will let you into the chateau. In the meantime, you will help out at the bank. No one there will suspect that I have a male assistant. Gretchen knows better than to tell anyone about you. You will be Pamela Rhodes, whom I have hired to take care of translation for our Anglophone customers. I believe you will grow to like it in time, and forget about Margaret and little Helena. And besides,’ Hannelore added, stretching like a cat to display herself in the figure-hugging corselet, ‘there may be other benefits in staying.’ She smiled at Richard.

Despite himself, Richard felt his cock grow stiff as he stared at this beautiful brunette who was half offering herself to him.

Hannelore noticed his interest. She laughed mockingly. ‘See, already you are changing your mind.’

Richard said nothing.

The next morning, Richard was woken by the alarm. He heard the distant sounds of feet moving about the house. The smell of coffee brewing came to him. He got up and shaved carefully before beginning to dress. He taped his cock as Ingrid had shown him, then put on a new pair of black tights, threading the chain on his ring through the hole that had been made in the crotch. The corselet came next. Again he fed the chain through the hole in the gusset. Next came the new latex breast pads, provided by Hannelore the day before. He had to admit that they looked more realistic than the ones he had been using. The moulded nipples showed through the corselet.

The sound of the door opening interrupted his routine. It was Gertrude in her maid’s outfit.

‘I’ve come to help you with the make-up and the wig,’ she announced. She carried a pair of leg-irons.

Richard wondered if Madame had forbidden anyone to say even a simple ‘good morning’. Everything here was business, carried out in as few words as possible. Nevertheless he sat quietly as Gertrude locked the leg-irons around his ankles and began to apply the make-up, lipstick and eye shadow. The face which looked back at him from the mirror was almost unrecognisable, his own but yet not his own. Gertrude fitted the wig, combing and brushing the long hair around and off his face. The result was an even greater transformation. When she was finished, she stepped back to inspect her work.

‘That will do for now,’ she pronounced. ‘Madame will tell you if she wants any change. I’ve been instructed to leave the leg-irons on you. You can finish dressing now, but don’t take too long. Madame doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’ She left the door open as she departed.

Richard guessed that Hannelore Bern was taking his threat to leave seriously: hence the leg-irons. With a shrug, he put on the slip and the blouse. Next came the skirt and jacket. He stepped into the high-heeled shoes. Except for the chains, he looked like any other female secretary setting out for a day’s work.

Gertrude was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Leg-irons had been added to her costume since Richard had last seen her. He looked curiously at her, but she said nothing. He shifted his gaze to her legs, which were sheathed in shiny black nylon tights. Against them the heavy shackles looked at once incongruous and highly arousing.