One Week in the Private House (44 page)

The man smiled, and pulled aside the woman's only garment to reveal her small, pointed breasts. His face sank towards them, and his stiff prick was visible for a moment before it disappeared between her thighs.

A third figure came into view: a slim, lithe young man, naked and with an erect, slender penis. The woman spoke to the older man; he stopped nuzzling her neck, and looked over his shoulder to look at the newcomer. The young man spoke, gesturing at his own body.

The older man nodded, and turned back to face the woman. She arched her back and opened her mouth as he thrust his hips forward, and then her hands stroked down his back as he rested his body on top of hers and began to move against her gently and rhythmically.

The young man climbed on to the bed at the feet of the couple. He pulled apart the older man's legs and knelt between them; and at the same time the woman's hands converged on the older man's buttocks and separated them. Without any preamble, the youth leant forward, taking his weight on the one hand he placed on the bed and using the other hand to direct his member at the centre of the older man's slowly moving arse. His prick penetrated slowly, as he lowered his body only a little each time the older man's thrusting buttocks lifted towards him.

The screen went blank.

'Damn!' Jem exclaimed. 'What happened?'

'Sorry, Mistress,' said the Security guard standing alongside her. 'The tape ran out. They took rather a long time getting down to it, if you see what I mean. And as the camera had been set up on a timer, and it was in a hotel room - Well, we couldn't do anything about it.'

'I can't imagine there was much more to see,' Jem laughed. That tape alone will be extremely useful. Well done, Anton.'

The Security guard smiled and blushed. Thank you, Mistress. The field operatives deserve the praise, not me.'

'Nonsense, Anton,' Jem said, reaching out to run her hand down his muscular thigh. 'Give me a kiss, darling, and then flicker this slave for me.'

As Jem lifted her mouttt to meet Anton's gentle lips, she saw the petulant face of her slave Sharna between her thighs.

'Why, Mistress?' Sharna asked. 'What have I done wrong now?'

'Nothing much,' Jem admitted, pulling away from Anton's embrace. 'I just love to watch you being flickered, that's all. And I didn't tell you to stop licking me when the video stopped, did I?

'No, Mistress,' Sharna agreed reluctantly, 'but my knees are getting stiff. I've been down here for hours.'

'Impudent little kitten!' Jem said softly. 'I'm real glad you're my slave, Sharna, you're just perfect. Flicker her, Anton, just a little. Stick your butt out, Sharna, and don't stop licking until I tell you.'

Jem lounged on the couch and watched through half-closed eyes as the quiet swishes of Anton's flicker landing on Sharna's arse matched the thrusts of the girl's tongue between Jem's legs. Anton's strokes became a little stronger, and Sharna started to shift her bottom from side to side very prettily, Jem thought. At the same time the movements of the girl's tongue became less regular, providing a hint of unpredictability that started to lift Jem towards another climax. Sharna was licking faster and faster now, and her bottom was jiggling delightfully under Anton's whip; Jem surrendered to the jolts of pleasure that merged within her to create a feeling of warm, satisfied pleasure: a slow, relaxed orgasm that seemed to Jem to sum up her feelings about being Mistress of the Private House.

'That's enough,' she said to Sharna and Anton. 'Thanks, both of you. That was quite something. You can both go now.' 
_A

The Security guard and the slave looked crestfallen at being dismissed; but they know better than to protest, Jem thought with satisfaction. 'Teri!' she called; and as Sharna and Anton cast their last backward glances from the doorway, a figure dressed in a maid's uniform emerged from the shadow between two bookcases.

Ten," Jem said, giggling as the maid approached, 'are you ever going to look right in that costume?'

Terence Headman made an unlikely-looking female domestic. He was clean-shaven now, his short greying hair was hidden beneath a wig of blonde curls, and his arms and legs had been depilated; but in stiletto-heeled boots he was taller than the tallest of Jem's Security guards, and the blouse of black voile was stretched across his broad shoulders.

i'm sorry, Mistress,' he said, standing beside the couch with his head lowered, his legs apart, and his hands behind his back. 'I always endeavour to please.'

'And you do please me, Teri,' Jem said. 'Why, I'm almost glad you tried to enslave me, because it's so much fun getting my own back. Are you happy, too?'

Headman took a deep breath. 'Yes, Mistress,' he said, as if repeating a litany. 'I'm happy to be your maid. I'm happy to serve you in every way. And I'm very happy to be displayed in the stocks each evening at dinner, as a visible reminder of your authority and power.'

Jem felt the thrill of pleasure that she felt whenever her maid Teri expressed her gratitude and happiness. Jem lifted the hem of Teri's short black skirt. 'No sign of an erection,' she said gleefully. 'Oh dear, Teri, that means yet another whipping for you after dinner tonight.'

'Yes, Mistress,' Headman said. 'Thank you, Mistress.' A pained expression appeared on his face. Jem thought he might be about to cry. 'If there's nothing else, Mistress,' he said, 'might I be excused?'

'Absolutely not,' Jem said. She was determined that he would not enjoy the satisfaction of private grief. 'Julia's not home yet, Sebastian's just left for New York. I'm lonesome tonight, Teri, and I want you to keep me company. I like to watch you suffer.'

She put her hand under his skirt again and pulled him closer to her. She felt his manhood begin to pulse, and she used her other hand to play with his balls, watching the changing expressions on his rouged face as she caressed, slapped, pinched and squeezed his sexual equipment. 'Good girl,' she said to him as his member continued to swell and harden.

She released his testicles and reached for a telephone. 'Rhonda?' she said into the receiver. 'Hi, kid, it's me. I'm in the Round Tower. Send over one of your biggest boys, would you? I want someone to sodomise Teri while I play with his prick. Thanks, doll.'

Headman had closed his eyes. 'Open those peepers, Teri,' Jem said, if you're about to start blubbing, I want to see the tears. I want to taste them, Teri. I don't think I'll ever get tired of humiliating you. This is going to last forever, Teri. Now bend over the arm of this couch, across my lap. Let's get your arse ready for a good long fucking.'

His penis in her hand was still long and firm. He's getting to like this, Jem thought; and when he likes it, he won't be any fun any more. And maybe that's just as well: I'll never admit it, but I'm getting bored with revenge. I guess I've always had more fun with Julia, and Sebastian, and Maxine and my other slaves, and with new recruits.

She squeezed his prick. 'Did I ever tell you your trouble was lack of ambition, Teri?'

'Many times, Mistress,' Headman said. 'But I never tire of hearing it,' he added quickly.

Jem smiled happily. 'Good. Now where was I? Unambitious and parochial, that was your regime here. You thought you were a big shot, Master of the Private House, but how many cabinet ministers did you have on the books? How many dukes and duchesses? How many overseas branches?'

'None, Mistress,' Headman said, beginning to breathe heavily as Jem worked her hand briskly beneath his bent form.

'That's right, Teri.

^fc
Who was he, Mistress?'

The British Ambassador in Paris, being turned into ambassador sandwich in a hotel room. He'll be a reluctant ally, no doubt, but I think the video guarantees his cooperation. He'll be useful to Julia's plans in France.'

There was a knock on the door.

Jem squeezed Headman's penis hard, and stroked his blonde curls. That'll be some big bugger come to fill up your butt,' she whispered. 'Poor Teri. You saw the Private House as the end of your dreams. But it's just a beginning, for both of us. Come in!'

The Author's Final Word

I was delighted to be asked to work on this new and, I hope, improved edition of
One Week in the Private House.
It gives me this opportunity to explain how the book came about, why is disappeared, and what parts of it have changed.

In 1990 I was commissioned to write an erotic novel by the editor who had just taken over the administration of the Nexus imprint. I know he won't mind me saying that in those days he was inexperienced in both book publishing and erotica. None the less, he had a clear vision of the new direction in which he wanted to take Nexus, a direction that entailed a higher standard of writing in the stories, a distinctive and distinguished cover style, and a slant towards the more underground byways of sexuality.

One of the innovations he introduced immediately was to draw up a set of guidelines for prospective Nexus authors. And he chose me to write the novel that would exemplify the guidelines.

I felt honoured to be asked, and very excited by the challenge. I had written stories in English, but this would be my first full-length novel. I was determined to put into it everything required by the Nexus guidelines, to describe every sort of sexual activity that I find in the least bit titillating, and to go to the very boundaries of what the guidelines permitted.

The title mutated from simply
The Private House
to
One Week in the Private House
, which for some reason seemed much more attractive. The cover photograph was chosen. (I am often asked whether I am the model for the covers of my own books. I'm reluctant to reveal the answer. Let's just say that the model looks very like me - or like I used to look a couple of years before the book was commissioned.) In 1991 the book was published, and it became that year's best selling Nexus title.

Then my earlier hubris caught up with my book. In my enthusiasm to include every activity and to push back the frontiers of the permissible, I had strayed into areas that the Nexus editor now regarded as questionable. Some scenes, in particular those that described non-consensual sex or enforced sado-masochistic activity were deemed to be excessive. The book was therefore denied a reprint. But in a way I was pleased: I hadn't enjoyed writing those scenes, and I didn't like to think of people reading them.

The Nexus guidelines changed, my editor moved on to greater responsibilities, and a new editor - a woman, I was pleased to discover - replaced him. I stayed in touch with Nexus, writing blurbs for them and editing two selections from other Nexus Books. And out of the blue, but very much to my delight, I was told that Nexus wanted to publish a new edition of
One Week
. It was apparently my old editor who suggested to his successor that the book deserved to be resurrected.

And here it is. The less pleasant bits have been removed, the remaining text has been re-edited, and I've written extra scenes that more than make up for the text that's been excised.

I hope you like it, and I hope it gets you as aroused as I became when I was writing the new sections.

By the way, the Nexus guidelines state that sexual acts should be between consenting adults, that no sexual act should cause real anguish, that SM activity should be enjoyable for all the people involved, and that punishments should not be so severe as to cause bloodshed or lasting physical damage. I reckon that's not a bad prescription for real life, too.

Anyone reading this book will be able to tell that I like lots of different types of sexual activity, including activities that some people would describe as perverted. OK, so I'm a pervert. There's a lot of it about, everywhere from the House of Commons to respectable suburban streets. We perverts are not dangerous; we are not child molesters, rapists, or serial killers. In fact I think there's a good case for suggesting that those of us who take an intellectual interest in the subject of sexuality are less likely than most others to be a danger to other people.

But for as long as there is a stigma attached to being a pervert, most of us will keep quiet about our interests for fear of prejudice or ridicule. And journalists and politicians can and do make perverts into scapegoats for what they see as the ills of our civilisation.

I'm not suggesting that all perverts should necessarily join campaigning organisations, come out of their various closets, and march in the streets for the right to spank each other or wear rubber clothes. But we should all be aware that there are political issues involved, that our harmless fun is in the eyes of many people depraved and actually illegal, and that it is in our interests and the interests of a free and civilised world that we should always strive to encourage tolerance and to fight censorship.

That's the end of the sermon!

Stay naughty, that's my motto.

One Week in the Private House
by Esme Ombreux
June 1995 Price: £4.99 ISBN: 0 352 32788 X Jem, Lucy and Julia are new recruits to the Private House - a dark, secluded place gripped by an atmosphere of decadence and stringent discipline. Highly sexual but very different people, the three women enjoy welcomes that are varied but equally erotic.