One Week in the Private House (9 page)

'As my guest, Jem, you have certain privileges,' said the amused voice in her ears, 'but at the Private House I am Mr Headman at the very least, and usually addressed simply as "Master". Is that understood?'

'Sure. I mean, yes, Master. So is that the Private House?'

The helicopter was swooping over the moss-encrusted slates of a Jacobean country house surrounded by a walled garden.

'That is one aspect of the Private House, certainly. Don't cross your arms; I want to be able to see your breasts. That's better. That property is the health club known as the Private House; it occupies one corner of the estate. I believe it was once a gate-house.

'So all of this is still your spread, er, Master?'

indeed it is. It extends almost as far as you can see in all directions, and it includes woods, pasture, a few farms, various other buildings and, of course, the House itself. You can see the rooftops over that avenue of oaks.'

'Are we going to land there?'

'No, the airfield is further west. Jem, you must learn to sit properly. You are a delightfully attractive young woman, and clearly very talented, but I expect more than just a pretty face and a ready wit. You are here at my pleasure, Jem, and I expect you to take the trouble to look sexually provocative at all times. There is no turning back now. Understood?'

'Yes, your Mastership.'

'Very well then. Back straight; head up; hands together at the back of your neck. Chest out; tummy in; legs apart - more than that - and feet pointing down with toes touching the floor, so that your thighs are clear of the seat. That's much better. Now stay like that until we land. And no more talking!'

The landing-strip was lined with aircraft and vehicles. Along one side of the tarmac, ranged in front of a complex of modern buildings, were several Land Rovers, a Porsche, various estate cars, two Cessna light aeroplanes, and commercial vehicles in a range of sizes; on the other, symbolically separated from the up-to-date machines and nearer to the site of the House, was a working museum of antique cars and lorries, including a 1930s Bentley sports car, a vintage Rolls-Royce, and a number of trucks that would have been obsolete in the Second World War.

Jem was helped from the helicopter by a young man in chauffeur's livery who removed the crash helmet from her head. With some difficulty, because of the swirling winds caused by the still-spinning rotor, he wrapped a long black cloak around her, and led her into the glass-fronted reception hall and the waiting arms of Terence Headman.

Jem, feeling suddenly very small and helpless, looked up into Headman's ice-blue eyes. He smells nice, she thought, and he's got strong arms and a very tasteful silk tie and black hair which is going a little grey at his temples which are attractively high and very white teeth . ..

'Jem,' Headman said, 'kiss me.'

Jem lifted her head anci pressed her open mouth against his lips. His tongue touched hers just as his left hand moulded itself round her right breast; she pressed her body against his, and shivered as his thumb flicked back and forth across her nipple. He raised his head and spoke to the chauffeur above Jem's tousled curls.

'You received the fax? And the video transmission of Jem's audition?'

For a fleeting moment Jem wanted to protest, but Headman hugged her to his chest while using the hand that he had insinuated inside the cloak to caress her back and buttocks. The idea was for me to get him on tape, she reflected, not vice versa; but she found it difficult to maintain a sense of disappointment. Headman lifted her chin, kissed her lightly, put his arm around her shoulders, and led her along a passage into another building.

Here, at last, was something like a real office. Young men in tail-coats looked out of place in front of computer terminals; young women festooned with chains and leather thongs answered continuously-ringing telephones. Through the smoked-glass windows Jem saw the contents of articulated trucks being unloaded into cavernous warehouses. A short woman with tightly curled red hair put down her telephone and stepped forward to meet Headman. She was dressed like a St Trinian's schoolgirl, with a skirt short enough to reveal that she was wearing no knickers, but given the general state of undress in the room, she looked almost respectable.

'Master,' she said, 'it's good to see you again.'

it's good to be back, Rhoda. The city's getting less and less bearable. But soon we'll be able to handle almost everything from here. And I've brought back a prize: this is Jem.'

'I'm very pleased to meet you, Jem. She's lovely, Master; prettier in the flesh even than on video. Wherever did you find her?'

'You know my methods, Rhoda, but in this case I must admit that Jem found me. Is everything running smoothly here?'

'Of course, Master.' Jem was sure she detected a note of flustered exasperation in Rhoda's voice. 'We're moving out of construction, and showing a good profit on every transaction. We're keeping the personal handles, of course, in case we want to move back in. The office services operation is almost complete; we've still to mop up one or two of the companies that were doing well against the trend. Robert and his team have started on life-style retailing: it's going through a bad patch, and there are several big players who would benefit from our particular brand of commercial investment.'

That sounds reasonable, Rhoda - although I haven't seen a proposal paper from Robert. He's getting almost too keen. Remind me to have a word with him. And I'm not happy about office services; I wanted that finished by now. I want a schedule of the current position first thing tomorrow morning.'

'Of course, Master.'

'Don't sulk, Rhoda. You've done well. Jem, give Rhoda a cuddle to make her feel better.'

Jem stepped uncertainly towards the plump redhead. She and Rhoda were the same height, and as their eyes met they both grinned suddenly. Rhoda slipped her arms inside Jem's cloak and clasped Jem around the waist, one hand sliding unerringly in the furrow between Jem's buttocks and delving into the moist hollow between her thighs. Jem gasped, and her mouth sought Rhoda's as the redhead almost lifted her off her feet. Headman's voice broke in.

'That's enough, Rhoda. You've got your own staff to have fun with. As for you, Jem: you're incorrigible. Rhoda, have the wardrobe department found something for Jem?'

'Yes, Mr Headman,' said Rhoda, giving Jem a final kiss on the cheek and a pinch on the bottom before thrusting her back into her Master's arms. 'Everything's ready for her in room 109 of the hospitality suite.'

'Then I'll take Jem through myself. We both need to relax and change. Would you tell John that I'll need the Rolls in about an hour?'

'Handcuffs.'

'Yes, Chief.'

'Chain.'

'Yes, Chief.'

'Holster.'

'Yes, Chief.'

'Air pistol.'

'Yes, Chief. Chief, I don't know how to -'

'I know, Julia, I know. That's what your training's all about. Marksmanship's included as well as unarmed combat and all the rest. Hypodermic darts.'

'Yes, Chief.'

'Buzzer.'

'Yes, Chief. Chief, what is this buzzer?'

'Very useful, your buzzer is. Delivers an electric charge - adjustable from a little tingle right up to a jolt that'll knock a horse flat. Comes in very handy for impromptu interrogations, although I'm told some of the lads and lasses use their buzzers on the lowest setting for purposes that are, shall we say, therapeutic. Flicker.'

'What, Chief?'

'Your flicker. Your flexible friend. That swishy number made of plaited leather. No, don't stick it in your belt; put the loop round your waist and carry it at the ready. Perk of the job, isn't it, dishing out little flicks to all and sundry.'

'Is it?'

'Course it is. You're in the elite now, Julia my darling. The Security Corps reports direct to the Master, through me. You can use your flicker on anyone you meet.'

'Can I now?' Julia said, experimentally slicing the air with the thin whip. 'Well, I suppose there has to be some compensation. I don't think I'm cut out for Security, Chief. There must be younger people who'd enjoy it more than I will.'

'No doubt; and I don't want them in my force.' Chief Anderson sat down heavily in his swivel chair and watched Julia as she disconsolately took her equipment from his desk and clipped each item to the correct hook on her belt. 'You're about right, as far as I'm concerned. Not too eager, a mature head on your shoulders, and coming up to the age when you could do with the exercise.'

'My body's in good shape,' Julia protested.

i can see that. Now's the time to make sure it stays that way. And Security training'll teach you all the physical jerks you'll need, you mark my words.'

'So is that all I'm going to do, Chief? Just training?'

Training and drill in the mornings; in the afternoons I've got some real work for you. Undercover work.'

That certainly sounds more interesting. Is that why I haven't seen many Security people when I've been here before? Because they work incognito?'

Tartly that's it; and partly because a lot of our work's out on the estate, patrolling the grounds; and partly because we can see without being seen, thanks to the surveillance kit; and partly because Security often operates beyond the estate - although that's always in plain clothes, of course.'

When I was here before, Julia thought, Security wasn't much more than a rumour. There were obviously wheels within wheels: entire layers of the organisation of the Private House of which she had been unaware. Rumour had whispered that the Security Corps remained within the crumbling walls of the old castle, but here she was in Chief Anderson's office; and beyond the door was the Rotunda, the circular cellar of the Round Tower, beneath the very centre of the House, packed with computer terminals and video screens and efficient-looking Security personnel.

'So what's this special job, Chief? Tell me about it.'

Anderson pressed a button on his desk console. After a few seconds, there was a knock on the door. 'Enter!' he shouted.

A young woman with coffee-coloured skin and long black hair stepped into the room. She smiled at Julia and then looked questioningly at Anderson. He nodded, and the girl walked up to the side of his desk, put her hand behind her back, and pulled open the overlap of her sari. She bent forward, allowing the sari to hang on either side of her rounded bottom, and reached across the desk to grip its far side with her outstretched hands.

This is Asmita,' Chi£f Anderson said, standing up and placing his left hand on the small of her back. 'She's on duty in the club, pretending to be a masseuse or some such nonsense. As you can see, she's been here before. She knows all about the flicker, don't you, Asmita? How many would you like today?'

The Asian girl's face was turned towards Julia, who saw her purse her lips in thought. 'Five please,' she said at last, 'but only if they're not too hard. I don't want any marks you see.'

'Get your arse up, then,' Anderson said, fondling the bulge that was threatening to burst through the thin layer of gauze at his crotch. That's the best thing about the flicker, he added, it stings, but it doesn't mark. Much better than the riding crops we used to have. Now hold still, darling.'

Asmita's light brown bum-cheeks were large and round, bisected by a cleft that was so dark it was nearly black. Almost unconsciously Julia moved a few paces to the side, so that she could see the whole expanse of the twin globes, and she was slightly disconcerted to see Asmita had turned her head to watch her. Anderson's flicker whistled, and landed with a loud crack across the tops of Asmita's thighs. The girl flinched, and lifted her bottom higher into the air. The dark red stripe that appeared on the nut-brown skin was broken where it crossed the black grotto within which Asmita's hidden split could just be discerned.

That's right, girl,' Anderson muttered, urging Asmita's bottom upwards with little taps of his flicker, 'you keep your arse up or you know what you'll get.' He emphasised his point with an upward flick into the dark cleft, whereupon Asmita, on tiptoe now, merely grinned more broadly and waggled her hips.

Julia was enthralled. She had watched - and participated in - plenty of punishment games during her previous visit to the Private House, and she realised that she had not lost the taste for them during her long absence. Now the mere symbols - the bent body, the taut muscles of calf and thigh, the rounded, outthrust buttocks, and the raised whip -were enough to make her randy. Conscious of Asmita's eyes on her, she slowly parted her legs and pushed two fingers into her hot, wet channel. The flicker swished again.

Asmita yelped. A second line appeared, parallel to the first and a couple of inches higher. Anderson wiped his brow. His face was flushed. That's set the parameters,' he panted, 'now the final three have to be equidistant and between the first two. And sharpish, too, before they start to fade. I always like to set myself a challenge, Julia, and that's a fact.'

Anderson accomplished his self-imposed task with an accuracy that hinted at long years of practice. He sank into his chair while Julia helped Asmita up, all the time caressing the smooth globes of flesh and anointing the hot stripes with the juices from her own body. The Asian girl tossed her hair and laughed as she disentangled herself from Julia's embrace. 'Chief,' she said, 'do you want me to talk about this customer or not?'