One Week in the Private House (38 page)

The rubber-suited woman was now standing, chained to
a
pillar in a corner of the room. With a flourish,
Headman
inserted a cassette into a video recorder next to the television. The screen flashed on, and he settled into an armchair next to Jem.

i know you'll enjoy this,' he said, as numbers appeared on the screen, counting down from nine to zero, it's not a film, I regret to say. It's more like a slide show, I suppose; a collection of stills. But I'm sure you'll immediately recognise its significance.'

i won't recognise a thing unless I get some circulation back into my arms and legs,' Jem grumbled.

Headman patted her sex-pouch. 'Shush,' he said. 'Lie back and enjoy the show.'

The first picture appeared on the screen. It took Jem a few seconds to recognise the three figures: one crouching, one standing, and the third bound kneeling between them.

It was not until half a dozen pictures had flashed in front of her eyes that Jem remembered to breathe again. She risked a sideways glance at Headman: he was staring at the screen, his lips white with rage. His fingers tightened about her labia until she cried out.

'Do you see, Jem?' he whispered. 'Do you see the miscreants? A brainless oaf, an incompetent field officer - and an ungrateful viper whom I invited into my bosom.'

On the screen, Rudi's face was twisted into a grin as he held the blindfolded head against his groin. Lesley's expression was serious and determined as she lifted the wooden switch for another blow. The figure between them was small and slim, but otherwise anonymous.

The rubber-suited woman was Lesley, Jem realised. She closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? Rudi had spoken of a business contact, a big man in the city who found him lucrative contracts but demanded control over his commercial activities and his private life. The same man had provided Lesley for Rudi's threesome. Lesley was Mike McKenzie's secretary, and Mike had said that he was sure his office was bugged, that he felt that someone was looking over his shoulder and knew everything he was doing. Jem fumed. Why hadn't she made the connection? Lesley must have gone straight to Headman and told him all about Jem ...

But that was wrong. Lesley had been punished precisely because she hadn't told Headman. So how ... ?

Jem opened her eyes. 'I get the picture. All right, so you're a little pissed off. It's no big deal. But how did you find out about me?

'No big deal?' Headman turned to look at her at last. His mouth was fixed in a grinning rictus and his eyes were glittering. 'You'll find out, Miss Darke, how much of a big deal this is.' His hand trailed along her flank until his first finger came to rest on her hip. The tattoo,' he said. 'Miss Morelli mentioned it in her report of course, and I've become familiar with it myself during the last few days. You've been keeping me preoccupied, Jem: I like to see every new tape and photograph on the day that it arrives, but this week I've allowed a backlog to accumulate. I didn't see these photographs until last night; and it wasn't until the final frame that I realised there was something familiar about the positioning of the tattoo on the girl in these photographs.'

'Just a stroke of luck, then,' Jem said, desperately trying to keep a flippant note in her voice.

'It seems so. I don't know what you were hoping to achieve by your deception. I can't imagine that your intentions were otherwise than to the detriment of the Private House. Had it not been for the fortunate coincidence of your tattoo appearing on these photographs, and my per-ceptiveness in recognising it, I might not have discovered Lesley's incompetence and your treachery.'

Jem's insides turned to water. Bound and helpless, she could think of nothing to do but to play for time. She did her best to look appealing. 'What will become of me, Master?' she asked.

'You've had your revenge on Lesley, and she has received punishment appropriate to her crime. Now I will take my revenge on you. Your punishment will be rather more severe, of course.'

Jem was becoming impatient. 'You might as well tell me,' she said.

Headman gazed at her with his ice-blue, soulless eyes. 'You're going to suffer, Jem,' he said. 'Now, and for always. Over and over again. From today, you're my

personal punishment slave. My whipping-girl.'

* * *

Chief Anderson had recovered consciousness, and glared malevolently from his chair. He maintained a continuous stream of curses, but they were rendered incomprehensible by the gag strapped into his mouth. Every now and then he would try to stand up, straining against his bonds and causing the chair to bounce up and down on the flagstones. At these times it was usually Asmita who would run to him to check the knots in the ropes, and to tease him by manipulating his exposed penis into an unwilling erection.

Julia was having fun. Asmita and Maxine, fearfully obeying unexpected orders from Security, had arrived in the Rotunda to find Julia in command of the entire Security system. They had deluged Julia with outrageous suggestions for new orders she could issue to the House, and Julia had implemented the more practical of them. Now they were giggling and kissing as they unlocked and explored Chief Anderson's Top Secret cupboards and files. Julia kept a maternal eye on them, requiring them to surrender to her any weapons they found, and demanding to know the contents of each newly-rifled hiding place. Asmita had been subdued at first, but was now as high-spirited as Maxine, and Julia found that both of them needed frequent but considerate application of her flicker.

At last every locker and filing cabinet had been opened. Chief Anderson's office was quiet now, as Maxine's lips were busily pressed against Asmita's, and both girls were moving only gently as they lay together on Anderson's desk.

Asmita rolled on top of Maxine, covering both their heads with the veil of her long black hair. Her sari lay trailed across the floor, and her naked rump, rising and falling slowly as she ground her crotch against Maxine's thigh, presented Julia with an enchanting target.

Julia applied her flicker gently, in time with the movements of Asmita's brown body, using the tip to indicate when she wanted the Asian girl to turn slightly to expose the inside of a thigh, or^to separate her legs more widely, or to lift her arse so that Julia could flicker the underhang-ing sex-lips. For several minutes there was no noise in the office except for deep breathing, and heavy sighs, and the soft sucking of lips against lips, and the whistle and slap of Julia's flicker.

Then Asmita lifted her bottom into the air, and Julia could see Maxine's fingers moving inside her dark slit, and Asmita's hand curled between Maxine's plump thighs. Julia stepped back, measured her aim to Asmita's uplifted arse, and delivered a rain of rapid downward strokes to the yawning cleft between the swollen cheeks. Asmita and Maxine shuddered to a simultaneous climax, gasping and moaning into each other's mouth.

'Well,' Julia announced, feeling a little bit left out of the fun, 'it's a good thing I turned off the cameras and sent most of my colleagues off duty, that's all I can say. You seem none the worse for your recent adventure, Asmita, and as for you, Maxine, you seem to have forgotten your heroine already.'

Asmita brushed aside her hair to reveal Maxine grinning sheepishly at Julia. 'Me and Asmita are just good friends,' the maid giggled. 'I couldn't ever forget Miss Jem, Miss, any more than you could. Should we do something now, Miss? I mean, Miss Jem is all right, isn't she?'

'Don't worry, Maxine. We're ready to move when the time comes. I've sealed off the Round Tower. I've sent all the guards off duty, or out to patrol the perimeter. Jem's a very clever lady. Everything's under control.'

Headman gave Jem no chance to make a run for it. In any case she had been lying with her legs in the air for so long that she doubted whether she could have walked, let alone run, when Headman loosened, but did not entirely release, the chains that ran from her wrists to the back of the chair.

Jem was now sitting upright on the edge of the seat, but her elbows were still crooked behind her knees. She flexed her muscles as discreetly as possible, hoping that she
would
get a chance to escape. Headman, grimly silent, was busy unlacing her high boots. That was good: she could run faster in bare feet than in high heels.

He spoke at last. 'Step out of the boots. Left foot first.

Now.' He held the boot's heel at arm's length, out of Jem's kicking range, while she shook it from her foot. 'Now the right.'

Jem considered refusing to obey his commands. But what was the point? She shook off the second boot. If she went along with Headman's instructions, maybe she'd lull him into thinking she was quiescent. If only he'd free her hands, she'd have a chance.

Her heart sank. Headman had grasped her left ankle and was buckling round it a cuff like the ones round her wrists. Another cuff went round her right ankle, and a short chain was clipped between the two. She wasn't going to run anywhere. The best she could achieve would be a hobble.

'We can't have you running off,' Headman said. 'Not when I'm about to tell you all about your future life as my personal slave. Keep still. There's a costume change coming up.'

He moved behind the chair, but didn't free her hands. She was unable to lean back without lifting her legs, so she remained sitting upright. She felt his hands moving over her back, and realised he was unlacing the black leather corset. She felt strangely embarrassed as the stiff material fell away from her body; it was as if she was being denuded, as if she was more naked than when her bound limbs had obliged her to display her arse and her sex.

'Black leather is much too imposing for a sex slave,' Headman said. 'From now on everything you wear is going to be lacy and fluffy. You'll find the whole process much easier if you imagine yourself reverting to childhood.'

Jem considered her juvenile years. The memories seemed to be made up of cheeking teachers, dodging classes, hanging out with a gang, necking with boys who drove old cars dangerously fast, and negotiating endlessly for a bigger allowance. 'I doubt it,' she said.

Headman hadn't heard her. 'From now on,' he said, unchaining her wrists at last, 'you're my naughty little girl. Always in need of more punishment. And always enjoying it, too. You'll see. And always ashamed of enjoying it.'

Jem shivered as she pulled her aching arms from beneath her knees and flexed her muscles. 'No chance,' she spat at him, but she already knew that her defiance was covering her fear. It wasn't the endless punishments that she feared; it was the suspicion that she might, as Headman promised, enjoy them. She would be trapped by her own desires.

She stretched her spine, stood up, took a step forward, and almost fell. She had forgotten the short chain connecting her ankles. She swore.

Headman laughed. 'Little girls take only little steps,' he said. 'Come over to the mirror, Jem. It's time to try on your new costume.'

Cursing under her breath, and taking care not to stumble, Jem made her way to the corner of the study where a full-length mirror was set into the panelling of the wall. Headman, watching from his desk, flicked a switch, and the mirror's frame was suddenly aglow, casting a soft light over Jem. Reflexively she crossed her arms in front of her breasts as she suddenly saw her illuminated reflection in the glass.

Headman neither moved nor spoke. In the silence Jem couldn't help studying her reflection. She looked every bit like a slave girl, naked but for a leather collar, leather cuffs round her wrists and ankles, and her feet chained together. She tossed her head in what she hoped was a defiant gesture. Her red-brown curls caught the light. She moved closer to the mirror, turning to one side and then to the other. The tightly-laced corset had left indentations in her skin, but they were already fading. Her fingers touched the faint red marks round her waist, and then moved up her ribs as she thought to inspect the undersides of her
breasts
for similar marks. She placed her left hand over her left breast, lifting it, and surprised herself with a surge of sexual arousal. She felt her nipple hardening against her palm, and an image of Lesley's rubber-clad head moving between her upraised buttocks suddenly came into her mind.

She looked into the mirror, and glanced shyly over the shoulder of* her own reflection. Headman was staring at her. He had seen her hand on her breast, her shy
glance
towards him. The familiar sensation of tickling desire stirred between her legs. He was still staring at her; he could see all of her, front and back simultaneously, her big blue eyes, her pointed nipples jutting from her full breasts, the perfectly-shaped backside that he couldn't keep from touching. She turned slightly, and pushed her bottom out. She looked at him again. He was still staring at her.

'Are you getting bored, Jem?' he said. 'You'll find your costume in the cupboard next to the mirror.'

Jem hobbled to the cupboard, and pulled open the door. There was only one hanger on the rail. Jem unhooked it. She could already see what the costume was. The thought of wearing it made her tremble with a strange mixture of dread and excitement.

On the floor of the cupboard there was a pair of flat-heeled, round-toed brown sandals. Lying across them was a pair of white ankle socks. The dress in her hands was a grown-up's version of a little girl's dress: it was made of thin, soft cotton, with a pink and white candy stripe.