One Week in the Private House (12 page)

'Good morning, Ma'am,' she said. 'I'm Jenny. Is there anything I can do for you? Breakfast?'

'Orange juice,' Jem replied decisively. 'And coffee. Maybe a piece of toast. And some clothes? I want to get out and look around.'

'There are clothes in the wardrobe, Ma'am. I can find others if they're not suitable. Will you take breakfast here in your room? Or shall I help you to dress first?'

'I can handle getting dressed. Just bring me the breakfast. And fast, OK?'

'Yes, Ma'am,' Jenny said, and fled from the room.

Jem opened the door of the vast rococo cupboard to reveal an array of coloured silks and satins. Most of the garments were underwear, and Jem selected a bra that consisted of little more than two triangles of apricot silk, a hatching suspender belt* and pale cream stockings. There ^ere few clothes that were suitable for exploring a country estate, but Jem found a pair of black ankle-boots with almost sensible heels, and a black leather jacket that was long enough just to cover her stocking-tops. She laced up the boots and draped the jacket over her shoulders. There was a knock on the door.

'Enter!' Jem called, and arranged herself comfortably on one of the tapestry-covered settees. Jenny, carrying a tray, pushed open the door and stood uncertainly on the threshold, scanning the room for a table. Jem watched the maid's half-open lips and her wide dark eyes darting back and forth; she looked like a lost puppy. Jem spoke as if to a wayward pet.

'Here, girl! Put that on the floor, just here. Now kneel next to me. That's right. Now pour me some juice and coffee.'

Jem sipped her orange juice and looked down at the maid. 'Jenny!' she said, and the girl jumped. 'What are you wearing under that uniform?'

'Nothing, Ma'am. Is that all right?'

'We'll see. Get undressed! Did I tell you to stand? Stay where you are. I can see well enough.'

Jenny pulled the cap from her head and shook her wavy brown hair so that it fell to her shoulders. There's nothing obviously sexual about this, Jem thought as the maid unbuttoned her blouse to reveal small high-nippled breasts; the thrill is in having the power to make her do it - to make her kneel and expose herself while I sit and enjoy my breakfast. I've never felt anything quite like this before; this place of Headman's must be getting to me. Executive Environments? It seems a lifetime away. Just an unimportant part of a large operation; an annoying little company doing well against the trend; small fry that can't hope to evade Headman's net for very much longer. Does Headman really care what happens to Mike McKenzie? Do I?

The girl was naked. She had a small, slim, pale-skinned body, with very rounded buttocks. Jem bit into a slice of toast. 'Come here,' she said, 'and kneel in front of me. No, the other way. Facing the door. I want to see your arse. Keep your legs apart and lean forward.'

Now this is getting sexy, Jem thought as she spread her own legs, nudging Jenny's ankles further apart with the tips of her ankle boots. The maid's sex-pouch was almost hairless, and the puckered skin of her deep anus was dark brown. 'Now, Jenny: put your right hand between your legs,' Jem said steadily. The girl lowered her head until her hair was brushing the carpet. Jem saw a timid hand appear between Jenny's slim thighs to cover the split flesh. She drained her coffee cup.

'Don't hide it, Jenny. I want to see. Open yourself, girl! Show me your cunt. That's better. And now put your fingers inside . . . Very good. Play with yourself, Jenny. Make yourself wet. This is more interesting than breakfast television, that's for sure.'

As she watched the maid's fingers move in and out of the increasingly moist slot, Jem found her own hand straying into her lap. Her fingertips came to rest at the apex of her slit, pressing very gently on the area above the hood of her clitoris. She shivered.

'Your left hand, Jenny,' she ordered, 'put it behind your back ... And now slide it between your buttocks. And put your thumb up your arsehole. Quickly!'

The maid groaned as her thumb disappeared into the dark opening. Jem rose from the settee and stood astride Jenny's back, clenching the girl's ribcage between her knees. She leant and seized the girl's left nipple between finger and thumb. 'You're a well-trained servant,' Jem whispered, twisting the nipple savagely as she spoke. 'I'm going out in a moment, and I want you to bring yourself off before I leave. So keep those fingers moving, OK?'

Jem stood back to watch the maid's performance and to listen to the growing harshness of her breathing and then turned and went into the bathroom.

When Jem emerged, Jenny was lying on the carpet in a foetal position. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted, moist, and moving slightly. Both hands were still trapped between her thighs. Jem zipped up the leather jacket and left the room.

As needles of hot water drummed against her skin and the cubicle became filled with warm steam, Julia found that she was able to think about something other than the muscular ache that seemed to extend from her neck to her toes. And the first thought that floated into her mind was the rueful realisation that being slim is not at all the same thing as being fit.

She felt half-dead. The warming-up exercises had left her exhausted, and then there had been circuit training, and weights, and a cross-country run. And the morning was still only half-way through. She would have to endure two hours of unarmed combat before she could dress herself again in her Security leathers and report to Chief Anderson. Compared to a sweaty track suit and muddy plimsoles, even the tight black Security uniform seemed comfortable, and a session with the Chief and his flicker would be infinitely preferable to charging across cow-fields followed by Instructor Peterson bellowing orders from his Land Rover.

Julia shook water from her eyes and turned off the tap. As she towelled her tired limbs, she thought that she could already detect a firmness, a definition of the muscles that had not been noticeable the day before. She felt suddenly proud of herself, and reinvigorated. The prospect of bending over Chief Anderson's desk and responding to the flicks of his flicker and the thrusts of his member was now quite definitely more attractive than worrying.

Trainee squad!' It was Instructor Peterson's roar. 'Get yourselves out of those showers and report for unarmed combat now! Instructor Goltz is waiting for you in the gym! It's the building at the base of the Sallyport Tower. Get moving!'

Julia wrapped her towel about her body and joined the half-dozen other weary trainees who were scurrying out of the shower block and into the inner bailey of the old castle. I hate to admit it, Julia said to herself, but I think I'm beginning to enjoy this.

The receptionist, a middle-aged man in a uniform that looked like a Hollywood costume for the part of
Jeeves,
was very polite, but really was unable to say where the masseuse Asmita might be found this morning. Would Madam like him to procure the services of an alternative masseuse?

Lucy, equally polite, declined the offer: she had already spotted Asmita's name and room number written in the register behind the reception counter. She ambled across the hall, turned past a vast parlour palm, looked back to make sure that she couldn't be seen, and pelted up the stairs.

The room was at the end of the first floor landing. Lucy didn't bother to slow down: her shoulder hit the venerable panelling with a power born of years of police training and drug busts. The door, which had not been locked, flew open, and Lucy landed on her hands and knees on the carpet.

She looked up to meet the amazed stare of a naked man. He was sitting astride both a long, narrow table and the head of the woman strapped to the table top. His hands were covering her breasts, and his buttocks were obscuring her face, but Lucy instantly recognised Asmita's lissome brown body.

'You filthy bastard!' she growled and launched herself at him.

The man had no time to move. Lucy's left fist sank into his midriff; her right arm locked around his neck. His spectacles flew across the room and he managed only to gasp a few feeble protests as he fell to the floor. Lucy landed on him with all her weight, pinioned his arms behind his back, and began to push his face into the deep pile of the Axmin-ster.

Filled with rage and with the familiarity of police training, Lucy had almost suffocated her victim before she heard Asmita's anguished appeals. She stood up, delivered a final kick to the man's ribs, and turned to rescue her adored masseuse.

'Lucy,' Asmita said with a broad smile, 'what on earth do you think you're doing?'

Lucy put her hands on her hips, recovering her breath as she gazed down at the prone body of her friend. Asmita was secured to the table with leather straps across her ankles, her thighs, her waist and forearms, and her shoulders; only her head could move. 'Rescuing you, of course,' Lucy panted at last.

'Close the door,' Asmita said.

Lucy started to cross the room, and then turned back; she realised that Asmita wasn't responding as she'd expected a damsel saved from distress to respond.

'Go on!' Asmita urged. 'Close the door before someone comes.'

Lucy shrugged and closed the door. 'This bloke -' she started.

'It's all right. He's a customer. He likes to tie me up when we do sixty-nine. That's all right, isn't it?'

'Is it?' Lucy was dumbfounded. 'I mean, well, yes, if you say so. I mean, no, it isn't. What do you mean, a customer? He pays you? Is that what this Private House thing is a cover for - just a knocking shop?'

Asmita sighed and shook her head. The man, having dragged himself across the carpet to retrieve his glasses, was now huddled in a corner of the room and staring fearfully at the blonde Amazon. Lucy had forgotten him. Her anger had dissipated, and she found that the sight of the Asian girl's imprisoned limbs was stirring feelings that distracted her train of investigative thought.

'What is this place, Asmita?' Lucy said, stroking the girl's long dark hair and her soft brown throat. 'Tell me the secret of the Private House. This isn't just a health and fitness club, is it?'

Asmita sighed again, i can't tell you, Lucy. Really, I can't. I don't want to, but even if I did ... Anyway,
what
about you? There's more to you than meets the eye, I think. I've never come across a customer here who knows how to flatten someone the way you just did. That looked very professional.' She flashed the mischievous grin that never failed to melt Lucy's heart.

'I'd better stop you talking,' Lucy whispered, and lowered her mouth on to Asmita's smiling lips. 'I can kiss you all morning, and you can't do a thing to stop me.'

That's - mmm - very - ohh - very nice,' Asmita gasped in the spaces between Lucy's determined kisses, 'but -mmm, Lucy, stop a minute! - I want more than this. Kiss me with your other lips, Lucy, please. That will keep my mouth occupied, won't it? I'd love to lick you. Get undressed and sit on my face.'

'What?'

'Sit on my face, you silly. Look, I'm tied up. There's nothing I can do to stop you.'

Almost without thinking Lucy reached behind her back and unzipped her skirt. She saw Asmita's dark eyes widen as she felt her breasts push outwards; the Asian girl's lips parted as Lucy's skirt slid down to reveal her long golden legs and white, bikini-style knickers.

'Hurry up, Lucy. I want to kiss and lick all the bits under those knickers. Take them off now.'

Lucy had ridden the faces of a few of her past conquests: she remembered with particular pleasure a spectacularly pretty special constable who had been so desperate to join the regular force that in order to gain Lucy's recommendation she had submitted to Lucy's every whim, every day for six weeks. She had a wide mouth and large eyes in a round, freckled face. Lucy loved to gaze into those eyes as she lowered herself on to the girl's trembling lips; the silent pleading of the girl's eyes gave Lucy as much pleasure as the thought of her juices filling the girl's mouth and smearing all over her freckles. Riding the girl's face became part of Lucy's morning routine; the girl was not permitted to wash until just before lunch, and Lucy found every opportunity to comment publicly about her sloppy make-up.

Those were happy days, Lucy thought. But I never once found a girl who begged me to tie her up and sit on her face.

She was down to her bra and knickers. She leant over Asmita to remove her bra, teasing the girl by jiggling her nipples only millimetres above Asmita's questing tongue. And then she turned round and slowly pulled down the brief white knickers, letting her perfect buttocks sway towards Asmita's prone face as she bent down to step out of the scrap of cotton.

'Do you like the view?' Lucy said. 'Well, now you're go-ing to taste it.' She straddled the table. Asmita's head was between her knees as she surveyed the girl's pinioned brown body. Asmita was staring straight up at the pink pudenda surrounded by golden curls.

'Beg for it,' Lucy said.

Asmita giggled, and stopped suddenly when she saw Lucy's frown. 'Please. I want to taste.'

Lucy lowered herself slowly on to Asmita's face. Hours spent in the gym paid off as she effortlessly halted her descent just before her vulva touched Asmita's lips. She could feel the girl's warm breath on her delicate membranes, and then something - she realised immediately it was Asmita's tongue - probed hesitantly between her labia. Her self-control broke and she allowed herself to drop the remaining couple of centimetres, squashing her open labia against Asmita's lips. Careless of the Asian girl's comfort she clenched her thighs and rocked back and forth.