The Pleasure Palace

by Caroline Swift

  Gemma saw him withdraw to send the hot wads of spunk up to and beyond the head of the shuddering body. Verena slowly came back to earth and lay still.

  Wiping his cock on her thigh, Mishka too expressed surprise to Gemma. The girl had, he murmured, the makings of a gifted SM subject, sexually and psychologically, despite her sluggish spleen.

  “Someone who can orgasm as powerfully as that after an exacting flagellation, may well have quite a future before her. The bitch is servile to a degree, Gemma, erotically responsive to pain and, above all, she rides cock well - admittedly better up the cunt than the anus, but that too can be gradually trained.” He paused a second, staring at the girl’s tear-stained face. “No doubt the gullet will prove equally responsive. But that we’ll see in her future sessions. I’ll put her to the whip again, Gemma, on Thursday after my board meeting. Make sure she’s ready, gagged and bound, please.”

  As Verena slowly suctioned her sweating body off the table, staggered upright for the maid to prise out the gag, she did something she had never done before at the Quai d’Anjou. Through her tears she smiled at Mishka and then at the domestic. It was a smile of complicity mingled with a strange leer of sexual lust. For Verena, it was one thing to be whipped nude, but to be whipped and fucked by her handsome guardian before the maid was quite another. It had given her, the expression said, exultation for the first time since her return to France after her disgrace.

  “Thank you, Mishka,” she blubbered, her hands slithering over the welted rump, “that was...what I’ve always wanted... To come like that beats frigging, any day.”

  Her guardian nodded. “Take her back to her room, Gemma, and see to it she cleans herself up. Rub whatever you used on Madame Ellen into the damage and lock her up until her supper’s ready. She’ll eat in her room tonight. And kindly wipe off the table before Madame sees the mess. And replace the whip on the hall stand. Thank you again for your support. It was just like old times.”

  “It’s only natural, Signore,” came the reply. “I’m sure the session taught the little lady a lot and did her a world of good. Shall I serve bordeaux or burgundy for dinner? There’s sirloin. Perhaps your Chateau Courtet 69...”

  “Of course. And help yourself to a bottle, Gemma. While I shower and change, ask the Signora to come for aperitifs in the lounge when she’s ready.”

  The maid held out his bathrobe and picked up the towel. She thought of everything.

  His hand on the door, Mikhail turned before heading for the shower again.

  “And Gemma, throw away that dirty cunt string or whatever it’s called she had in her mouth. I don’t want to see it around again. From now on, I wish to have her stark naked, her wrists tied behind her, when summoned for whipping. And of course firmly gagged. I think I can rely on you to keep the slut out of sight and away from Madame, at least for the time being. Oh, yes,” he added, “and perhaps tie her somehow to her bed.”

  The maid nodded. That was an order she fully endorsed. She had already thought of it herself. There was a dog collar and leash in the kitchen, a remnant from Madame Ellen’s time when she was led around the great apartment on all fours, carrying between her teeth the whip to be used on her.

  With a respectful bow to her employer after grabbing the girl by the hair, Gemma hauled her out swiftly towards entombment in the bedroom. Even in her modest role as an assistant, she had enjoyed the pre-cocktail hour; it had been something of a curtain raiser, a foretoken of the dramas about to be staged.

  Chapter One

  Nude, Claudia lay exhausted on the huge bed. She stared out at the plane trees beyond the windows that stretched to the ceiling. It was now just over a month since she had moved in to live with Mikhail and at thirty-five she felt her cool golden beauty fully in keeping with the palatial residence where she was now the energetic mistress in both senses of the word. She ruled the household with a serene authority and diligence and was happy.

  Elongated naked in the disorder of the black silk sheets, the curves of her slender white body were set off by the dark surroundings that lent the long limbs an unreality that fascinated Gemma every time she brought in the breakfast on its silver tray; Claudia was almost always nude. Gemma had seen others in very much the same state after rigorous nights in the same bed. And, despite her Catholic origins from the Italian Mezzogiorno, still betrayed by her austere black dress and the grey hair drawn severely back into a bun, she accepted it without question. She admitted moreover that this one was particularly attractive, infinitely preferable to the unpredictable Signora Ellen.

  “The Master has gone to tennis, Madame,” she announced, gazing unabashed at Claudia’s slightly upturned breasts and still engorged nipples - indeed the woman must have had a hard night of it and dutifully Gemma made note to change the soiled sheets again. “Will Madame take the lunch here? Shall your bath be run?” Gemma then drew back all the other heavy brocade curtains to let the summer in. It blinded Claudia. She shifted on the bed, adopting the pose of Goya’s Maja desnuda, her hands behind her head, and gave the requisite orders for the day. Then she asked, looking towards Verena’s room: “And the girl?”

  She lifted her eyebrows over the blue pupils to share her despair with the maid who understood her concern only too well.

  “She’s working in her room, Signora.” Gemma said.

  “Or pretending to work, you mean, Gemma. She’s probably masturbating again over more love letters from this woman teacher of hers.” The maid nodded with an uncharitable, hardly perceptible smirk. “See to it her room is locked and she is given lunch there. I have no wish to have her sulking around the house. After all she has everything she needs there - her bathroom, table, books, and even her girlfriend’s photo by her bed.”

  Claudia raised her knees and crossed her smooth thighs imprisoning the sex between them.

  “Really, I think the Master should take the lazy slut in hand. This can’t, it just can’t go on. The girl’s a burden on us all. You know, Gemma,” she confided with a sidelong glance at the Louis XV cabinet where Mikhail kept a number of interesting objects, with some of which she had already become acquainted, “I think a spot of corporal punishment would do her no harm.”

  “But the Master does beat her, Signora. Quite often. This you did not know?”

  Claudia sat up against the pillows. Her surprise was genuine and she did not try to hide it. “Well, no, Gemma. That I did not know. But now you mention it, yes, I sensed something of the sort was afoot. It’s done in her room, I suppose?”

  For the first time since she had seduced her Cossack at the Auteuil races, always a promising locality to be introduced to likely partners by friends, Claudia felt a sting of annoyance at being excluded from a secret. After all, her Mishka was aware of her experience, not only as a bisexual but as a dedicated dominant - as well as a compliant submissive when circumstances demanded it, as long as she was not damaged by sex torture and the scourge. She had declared her various proclivities quite clearly to her new lover.

  “Listen, Gemma. We shall say nothing of this conversation. I shall get Verena herself to tell me so I can broach the subject with her guardian and persuade him to do the beatings in the drawing room or somewhere more appropriate. More overtly Gemma. In fact I should very much like to watch.” Then, after a pause, she added: “And even participate myself. There’s little more I should enjoy than castigating the wretched slut.”

  She paused as a thought crossed her mind. She rose from the black bed and stood up. Her nudity was startling as Gemma caught the customary stale odour of semen, feminine discharge and sweat lingering round the gorgeous svelte loins. What a golden goddess!

  “I presume, Gemma, you are called to assist sometimes, are you not?”

  “I do not think I should be speaking of this, Signora. But, yes, I hold the girl’s arms when the. Master thrashes her. Shall I run the Signora’s bath now?”
<
br />   “1 see,” Claudia said pensively. “Yes, you will run my bath. Now, we agree, not a word of this to the Master.” She slipped into the silk kimono Gemma held out to her, and changed her mind. “Tell Verena she will lunch with me today as a favour, instead of in her room. She need wear nothing more than that brief dressing gown with those ridiculous, hideous flowers all over it.”

  Before stepping down into the sunken circle of emerald, Claudia examined herself closely in the mirrors completely surrounding the room. Apart from some sombre mottling where the breasts had been hurt through the extravagant copulations and the residues of the fucking seeping sluggishly down between the furled sex leaves, Claudia found herself more elegant than ever. The clitoris had long since withdrawn into the shelter of its agile protective hood of which the woman was so proud; the stub too was exhausted after hours of erection, stimulation and orgasm. The memory of the multiple spasms Mikhail had brought about, sometimes in towering, destructive succession, sometimes solitary and far more devastating, compensated for the throbbing that lingered there and also around her sphincter.

  Compared with the cocks of the countless males who had impaled her in the past, her Cossack’s was a monster. And he was fully aware of it. Over the last month, she had known it in every orifice, many times a night and frequently during the day whenever she or her lover, or both, could hold back no longer. One night Mishka had even taken her abruptly against the railings of the Palais Royal, her arms outstretched, grasping the gilded spears of the ironwork, riding the erection as if her last minute had come. And come it did and she with it; Mikhail had to clap his hand over her gaping wail of pleasure. The walk back home she clearly remembered, clinging to his arm, the clots of acrid semen slithering down the inner thighs, the curd congealing in the evening air. Her natural lust could hardly ask more of a man. Yet, deep down, she yearned for a great deal more.

  Delicately in the bath suds she slipped back the sleeved hood off her point of pale flesh; it was too sensitive to endure a masturbation and moreover she had not the will. But it caused her to revert to the girl locked up in the room at the end of the long passage. Claudia knew the slut pleasured herself frequently; the moans were audible in the corridor itself and on one occasion when the girl had to be summoned to take a call - naturally from this blonde lycee teacher who seemed to be infatuated with her. She had issued forth flushed and disgustingly dishevelled. Yes, Claudia decided, I shall put a stop to these clandestine games. If the wench needed orgasms, she would make her frig herself openly before them. And then she would see to it that she be soundly thrashed after coming, hopefully by Claudia herself. The prospect stirred the lurking spirit of dominance within her and, to her surprise, raised the dormant clitoris.

  She was about to direct the shower jet directly and deliberately over her sex when a further query made her refrain. Did Mikhail fuck the girl? The renegade thought made Claudia lie back wistfully in the bath to stare with half-closed eyes at the ornate ceiling and its floral clusters and stupid putti perched on billowing clouds. Perfidious bastard, she mused with a smile. If inded he’s been fucking her all this time, I’ll have to reprimand him sternly. She would do so as a joke, for after all he was the guardian... He’ll most certainly claim it as his due recompense for the trouble of disciplining the bitch. What does it matter as long as he beats the hell out of her? Claudia sank voluptuously into the foam. I’d like to flay the young bitch, she consoled herself. And somehow get shot of her. Quel fardeau! Quelle merde! The whore was in her way. Unless, of course...

  Lunchtime came and the ‘whore’ in question was led quietly by Gemma into the dining room where her place was already laid amidst the silverware and flowers. Deferential was hardly the term for the spiritless humility of the girl; she was more subdued than ever in her short cotton smock, buttoned down the front and reaching just to her thighs, far more strongly muscled than Claudia had expected. She studied the young woman’s features attentively, offering a welcoming smile that, like the straight whisky she sipped, had a chunk of ice in it. The slut was definitely desirable. And with a bit of training...

  “Sit down, Verenka dear. We have melone con prosciutto and those nice coquilles Saint-Jacques a la nage which Mishka says you like so much. Gemma will serve you the biggest slice of melon, won’t you, Gemma?”

  The maid smiled insipidly as she pushed the chair under the girl’s rich, fleshy rump, still nicely striated.

  The meal consisted of a bright monologue from the new maitresse de maison, eliciting only a few terse replies from Verena regarding her studies. Already Claudia knew of her catastrophic shortcomings and hopeless failures at the nearby Lycee Charlemagne and the finishing school in England Her return to Paris had been, for some reason, as precipitous as it was degrading for all concerned. A private tutor seemed the only course open, Claudia hardly relished it for it entailed having the frustrated student still sulking about the house but, in sympathy for her lover, she had held her tongue. The girl hardly left her room where she brooded and was frankly farouche.

  Somewhere in the hinterland of Claudia’s imagination, a novel perspective began to take shape, a prospect so unorthodox as to appear unworkable. Stubbornly however the thought remained there in Claudia’s mind.

  She looked critically at the mournful, beautiful girl. In fact, she was faced not with a youngster but with a fully-fledged young woman, mal soignee true but with exceptionally fine features, robust and sexually attractive in a certain way.

  Verena’s dark locks were long, parted down the middle, framing a delicate face, sombre eyes and a well-fleshed sensual mouth. Claudia was aware that the love the girl bore her was as scant as the nightdress the taciturn slut wore sitting there before her, fiddling with her bread in torment.

  “Verenka dearest, you are really extremely beautiful, you know. You must brighten up. Your attitude worries me.” The courses dragged by until the cheeses and the dessert Gemma had prepared Verena’s favourite, an omelette soufflee normande.

  “Do me a favour, will you, Verenka darling?” Claudia’s voice was pure honey. “it would please me immensely. Take off your silly housecoat or whatever it is, now our little meal is over and let me admire you as you really are. Don’t worry, Gemma’s gone to make the coffee.

  The face at the other end of the table paled under the sultry complexion at the invitation. She dabbed the Bruges lace napkin to her lips after wetting them nervously.

  Slowly she unbuttoned her gown. It slipped behind her.

  The spectacle made Claudia catch her breath. The oversized breasts swung free as the torso, to which they had adhered on the underside, bent forward. To Claudia the things were like proverbial fruits, ripe, soft and exquisitely shaped; the capacious umber areoled teats protruded as if they had just been sucked; they resembled hazel nuts, no, the tips of her own thumbs. Yes, that would do. The surrounding skin was tight and smooth. Claudia gazed. Amazing, quite amazing. The breasts were probably the finest she had ever studied.

  “Please stand away from the table, Verenka dear. You are indeed very lovely. How shall I say? Well, luscious to an extreme.” Her eyes travelled down over the midriff and the flat belly pierced by the nicely whorled navel. It was then she saw within the curled hairs the salient pinnacle, the summit of the clitoris. Claudia, who had fingered and drawn her lips along the length of so many female erections, could not trust her eyes; the organ must be huge, she conjectured; almost salaciously obscene, it protruded there, long, gracious and expectant.

  Claudia swallowed hard. What must it be like in febrile erection when the slut masturbates it with her delicate fingers, twisting it, elongating it, crushing it? She tried not to think.

  As Claudia took in the sight, her own sex contracted along the soft tunnel of her entrails. Then, as they always did, the labia relaxed deliciously, unfurling gently and parting to allow the first liquids to slide down inexorably. Rarely had she reacted so directly to a
nude body - and never at a luncheon. Heavens, what a figure the girl had!

  “Turn round, my dear, if you please.” Her bland request was hoarse with gathering lust beyond her immediate control. Her breath shortened suddenly again as the girl turned away. The effulgence of the heavy, perfectly moulded buttock meat struck Claudia dumb. Across it, a network of welts blazed; some of the damage was very fresh, the crimson marks melding into streaks of mauve, pricked here and there with dark spots where the blood had accumulated under the surface of the skin. On the contour of the right cheek the tip of whatever Mikhail had used on her had imprinted an irregular column of rectangular purple bruises; there was no doubt - the riding crop. Claudia stared for a long moment at the sight: the twin volumes of flesh stood high on the strong thighs; there was no sign of sagging. The masses were firm and rich in all their damaged magnificence. Rapidly and to bridle her thoughts, Claudia tried to gauge roughly how many strokes the girl had suffered but it defeated even her experienced scrutiny. All she knew was that the girl had been lashed very competently and often, some of the weals being recent enough to be still painful.

  Claudia pulled herself together after a brief skirmish with the churning want aching in the depths of her vagina. She took a pace towards the nude and ran her hand irresolutely at first and then firmly over the welts. Instantly the meat clenched, prompting Claudia to release the ridged surface, surprised how much residue of pain still survived. Instead she felt for the rear verge of the cunt and drew the edge of her manicured hand up the length of the anal crevice, hot but perfectly white and pristine, untouched by the beating.

  Then she felt it.

  The object was flat and circular, pressing laterally on the inner face of each buttock but firmly plugged into the rectum. Claudia bit her nether lip with a jolt of surprise.