One Week in the Private House (40 page)

These private punishments will, however, be less severe than the public ones. You will attend me during all my meetings and wherever I go, and I will let it be known that I will look favourably on those who suggest particularly original and humiliating punishments for you. Even if I have a busy schedule I'll make sure that I find the time for you, and at the very least you'll provide background entertainment by, for instance, performing oral sex while under the lash. But I hope that my followers will be more inventive than that, and that we'll find the time for more creative pursuits. And talking of pursuits, one of my plans is to instigate a Private House hunt, in which mounted hunters with whips dipped in paint will pursue the quarry - guess who that will be, Jem - through the grounds. The different colours of the paints will identify the various hunters, and there will be points awarded for each stripe on your bottom. The winner will be awarded some suitable prize; probably you again, Jem, perhaps tied against a tree for a public whipping and buggering.

'You will also be available, at my discretion, to take on the punishments of others, particularly those silver-tongued miscreants who contrive to make out a persuasive case. You will, of course, express your gratitude at being able to lift the sentence from another inhabitant of the Private House, and when you have undergone the punishment in his or her stead you will demonstrate your gratitude by performing a sexual service of his or her choice. Or mine, of course.

'Another aspect of your role will be in the solving of disputes between individuals. In such cases, I will decide in favour of the party who, for instance, suggests the most shameful act for you to perform or the most innovative form of punishment for you to endure. Such a system is open to abuse, of course, in that some people may conspire to pretend to be in dispute simply as a means to suggest ordeals for the Master's whipping girl. But I won't mind.'

It was all much as Jem had suspected and feared. From now on her life would be one of perpetual subjugation. Her bottom, permanently reddened and sore, would be endlessly smacked and whipped. Her nipples would be forever erect and swollen, her breasts would be lashed again before the previous stripes could fade. She would be made available for sex at all times. Headman would make sure that her mouth, her vagina and her anus were fruitfully employed most of the time.

It was all predictable stuff. Jem didn't think it would break her resolve to win. It would be a challenge. In fact, as long as she could get enough rest and enough vitamins, it might even be fun.

There will be other, subtler aspects of your punishment, Jem,' Headman went on. 'You are wearing one of your costumes. There will be others. You will be required to act in character, at all times, and your character will depend on the costume.'

Jem frowned. She didn't like the sound of this.

There will be several little girl outfits, and when you are wearing them you will suck your thumb, stand awkwardly, nod and shake your head when replying to questions - for which you will be smacked, of course. You will carry a doll. You will skip, rather than walk. On the rare occasions that you are required to talk, you will do so with a lisp and your head cocked to one side.

'I have in mind at least one animal costume. I think you'd look very fetching as a French poodle, with curly fur pom-poms on mittens, boots, knee pads, and elbow pads. Another pom-pom on a stiff leather dildo protruding from your rear. A big bow in your hair. And when dressed as a dog, you'll behave as one. You'll trot at my heel on hands and knees, you'll eat and drink from bowls on the floor.

People will throw sticks for you to fetch. You will not be allowed to talk, of course. If you want to communicate, you'll have to manage to do so by barking. Yes, I think you'll make a fine little doggie.

There is one particularly humiliating aspect of the wearing of your costumes that might not yet have occurred to you. This is a part of your punishment that I will take great pleasure in administering very strictly. It is the matter of your toilet training.

'Little girls are, of course, too young to be allowed to go to the toilet unsupervised. When you are playing at being a little girl, you will be required to ask permission to go to the toilet. If you don't speak up, and say clearly and precisely why you want to be excused, you will of course be made to repeat your request in front of a larger group of witnesses. You will then be escorted to the toilet by one or more appointed adults, who will make sure you do everything properly and clean yourself thoroughly afterwards.

'I can see that you're looking worried at last. I concede that it will be difficult for an independent woman such as you are to plunge yourself wholeheartedly into the role of a little girl. Or of a dog, for that matter: pissing and shitting in the flowerbeds or, even more shamefully, in a centrally situated litter tray, will tax your strength of will. And I'm sure that you're already deciding that no amount of whipping will make you behave so disgracefully.

'I'm sure you're right. But there is one punishment - one particular costume - that I intend to keep in reserve should you ever decline to act in character. If you ever have to suffer it, I'm sure you'll wish never to repeat the experience.

'If the thought of behaving like a little girl repels you, consider how much worse it would be to be even younger. Your ultimate punishment costume, Jem, will be a romper suit that you won't be able to take off. You'll be wearing woollen mittens, woollen booties, a harness with bells that will keep you constrained within your own specially built play pen, a frilly bonnet and a rubber dummy that will be strapped into your mouth - after you've eaten a large meal of rusks in warm milk. Your playpen will be located somewhere very public, of course. And when you've been there all day, and once a large crowd and a video team have gathered, several strong nannies will come and remove your soiled nappy, clean and powder you, smack your bottom soundly, and tie you into your cot with a large bottle of milk in your mouth. More public spanking, of course, if you're found in the morning to have wet your bed.

'Yes, I didn't think you'd like the sound of that. As I say, I'll keep it in reserve.

'Finally, you might be tempted to seek respite from your whipping girl duties by straying from my side. This might seem like a sound strategy, but I think I have devised a rule that will ensure that you are always anxious to stay close to me, even though you know that my pleasure is always to shame you and chastise you. It is simply this: I will announce that if anyone, at any level or rank within the Private House, finds you away from my presence - indeed, if anyone can inveigle you away from me, by persuasion or even by deceit, then that person is entitled to use you in any way he or she wishes, within certain very liberal guidelines and on condition that you are frequently whipped. Some of the people here are very accomplished perverts, Jem. I think you'll stick to me like a limpet. You'll beg to be thrashed rather than sent away from me. Your devotion to me will be constant and very touching.'

Jem had realised, as Headman had rambled about dog costumes and toilet training, that she would not be able to cope as his personal slave. She knew she was strong, but she would not be able to endure the regime without rebelling, and she would be forced into a downward spiral of harsher and harsher beatings and more and more humiliating acts. Headman would cease to find her entertaining, but even if he let her live, what sort of demoralised, broken Jem would crawl from the Private House and back into the real world?

'Don't despair, Jem,' Headman said. He sounded genuinely concerned. He stood and walked towards the two entwined women. 'I've saved the best until last. Let me repeat what I said at the beginning: I'm going to train you up slowly.'

He was smiling. God help me, Jem thought, he looks friendly. And I'm grinning at him like an idiot.

He undipped the chains from Jem's wrists and untied the knotted ribbon behind Lesley's back. Freed, but with her ankles still hobbled, Jem swayed. Headman took her hands in his and looked at her face, waiting patiently until she lifted her eyes to meet his. 'Listen to me, delightful Jem,' he said. 'Everything that I've described will happen, but I will take you there step by step, very carefully.

imagine this: you are on a circular stage, wearing this pink and white costume, tied securely to a bench so that your face and breasts are hanging over one end and your bottom is raised at the other. The crowd moves around you, admiring you and making comments about what they'd like to do with you.

'I step on to the stage and demand silence. I pinch your nipples and slap your breasts, and invite the audience to consider how attractively the right breast will sway and judder and turn pink as it is whipped with a leather strap. I move behind you. You feel me stroking your bottom, pushing my fingers into your vagina. You are very wet. I use your wetness to lubricate your anus. I tell the audience what I'm doing; I advise them to watch your flushed face as I move my fingers inside your rectum.

'After a little while I pull my fingers out of you and ask the two contestants to come to the stage. They are naked young men with erect penises, which they show to the audience and to you. One of them stays in front of your face, the other moves behind you. I produce a stopwatch and announce the rules of the game: one man will enter your mouth, and the other your anus. When I give the word, you are to try to make them come. The winner is the one who lasts longer. His reward is to whip your right breast with a leather strap for the same amount of time as you took to generate his orgasm. What do you think of that, Jem?'

The picture was clear in Jem's mind. She could hear the comments of the crowd, she could feel the hot hardness of the erections, she could almost taste the sperm in her mouth. She could feel the fiery strokes across her right breast.

'Your nipples are very hard,' Headman said, touching them with his fingers.

Jem felt herself blushing. She shivered as Headman touched her.

'Move your legs as far apart as the chain permits.' Headman moved behind her, his hands brushing her buttocks as he moved the folded material aside. 'Good girl,' he said as she pushed her bottom towards him. His right hand slid below her buttocks and cradled her sex. 'You're very hot down here,' he said. 'And very, very wet. Do you begin to see why I think you'll make the perfect slave?'

Jem nodded. 'I understand now,' she said.

'I knew you would. The punishment isn't in the whipping. It isn't even in making you feel ashamed. The punishment is your realisation that you're enjoying every moment of your slavery. I'm going to make sure that you are a completely willing victim. More than willing: enthusiastic. And we both know that I can do it, and that you will enjoy it. Let's move on to another demonstration, shall we?'

The words 'Yes, Master' were on Jem's lips but the voice in the back of her mind was screaming that if she didn't act now she would be lost forever. She had to get away. She had to run. She pulled away from Headman and lunged towards the door.

She fell to the floor as the chain between her ankles snapped taut.

She wasn't hurt; she had been standing on soft carpet. She lay still for a long time. She considered her options: there were none. Headman had captured her. The plans she had laid depended on being able to move freely, being able to leave Headman's study and contact Julia. Headman had found her out and had kept her in chains. He had won. He was watching her now. She was to be his whipping slave. He was waiting for her to surrender: again, and for ever, over and over again until surrender became her natural state and the source of all her pleasure. It was inevitable.

The chain between her ankles would make it difficult for her to stand. She lifted her body from the floor, taking her weight at first on her elbows and knees. She was aware that for a moment, until she sprang upright, her bottom would be raised into the air. She remained motionless, and then instead of pushing herself upright she curved her back downwards and moved her knees apart, sensing her bottom cheeks rounding and parting. She waited for Headman to move, or speak. There was a very long silence.

Damn him, Jem thought. I know what he wants. And he knows that I want it too.

'Punish me, Master,' she said, moving her hips in a circle. 'Please.'

Crouching in the shadow at the base of a stone column, Lucy consulted her instructions again.

Look for two tapestries: shepherds being seduced by nymphs, and the flagellation of a nun. Between them is an archway. Through the archway you will find a short corridor with doors on each side. The third door on the left is a weapons store. Take whatever you need.

She took a deep breath, straightened the cap on her head, and stepped gingerly into the vast and gloomy void of the Great Hall. The tapping of her high heels echoed from the overarching vaults, and she froze in mid-stride, waiting to be apprehended. But the huge hall was deserted, and no one challenged her as she crossed the stone floor and disappeared into the side-chamber between the tapestries.

She still had no clear idea of what she was doing, or why. She was simply following the instructions that had been handed to her in the half-ruined castle to which she had been driven at break-neck speed. The note, which she still carried in her hand, told her that she had a clear path to the Master's den, and that she would find
evidence
against him there; it told her which doors were unlocked, where the few remaining guards were stationed, where she could find weapons. She had no way of knowing whether the instructions came from Jem, the Master's auburn consort, or from Julia, whom Lucy suspected of being a representative of a faction within the House staff. They could even come from the Master himself, or his Security Corps, who might be toying with her and drawing her into a trap. So far, the instructions had been accurate; all she could do was to follow them, and remain alert.