Don’t read this if you’re too young, or if it will only upset you, or if it’s illegal, or if the secret police will get you. Don’t repost it without crediting me. Don’t control the minds of unsuspecting bystanders.
The spelling is British. All other errors are my own.
To everyone that commented on the first two chapters and encouraged me to keep on with this.
The Comtesse stood on the balcony, cradling a cup of strong, black coffee in one hand. The smell of the coffee, rising through the warm afternoon air, was itself a relief after the morning’s tribulations. Still, what she really craved was a cigarette. Years and years of research, testing and refinement, her own body chemically altered in a hundred different ways and yet she had not been able to rid herself of the hunger for that particular drug. The irony was not lost upon her.
She had changed into a more formal dress, of red satin. It was long and elegant, but slit almost from floor to hip, so that her bare leg felt the heat of the afternoon sun. The front was high, and tightly fitted, so that her breasts were full and curving in a sharp silhouette. More glamour than was truly needed for an afternoon appointment, but there were certain appearances that always had to be maintained.
With her free hand, she gripped the iron railing and leant forwards. Then she remembered how much it had been rattling in the storm, and thought better of it. As she straightened, she heard the growl of an engine.
She allowed herself a deep swallow from the coffee cup, and after that, a long, calming breath.
Mme. F’s motor vehicle rounded a corner and hurtled up the driveway, spitting gravel out from underneath its fat tyres. It was one of those things that was styled after a pick-up truck, ridiculous and American-looking. Mme. F could trace her family back to the 1700s. The Comtesse did not understand why she had to drive around like a rappeur.
The vehicle pulled to a stop and a small cloud of dust rose and fell on the glittering black paint and tinted windows. No one got out.
The Comtesse sighed loudly, although this was largely for her own benefit; there were no servants on the balcony with her. She watched Adele cross the courtyard, accompanied by two of the guards. The men laboured to carry a large wooden ramp between them. Adele directed them to place it by one of the rear side doors and then all three retreated a respectful distance.
Then, and only then, the driver’s door opened. The chauffeur was an elegant girl. Her jacket, skirt and boots that might have looked quite business-like if they weren’t made from a shiny, plastic material. A girl, the Comtesse thought, who was intended to be ready for use and easily wiped clean. She walked around to the passenger door and opened it.
There was yet more patience and waiting before Mme. F deigned to step out into the afternoon sun, glancing around her with an expression that suggested that the temperature of the air, or the angle of the light, or perhaps the colour of the sky were not quite to her liking. She was a short, heavy woman with spiky blonde hair. A solid five years older than herself, the Comtesse guessed, although she had obviously never asked, and Mme. F had invested so much in her appearance that it was difficult to be sure. She wore a pair of glossy leggings, a black rubber jacket with a high, winged collar, and a pair of stiletto heeled ankle boots. In one hand she swung a pair of leashes. She nodded to Adele, ignored the guards, and strutted around the vehicle to where the ramp had been positioned.
The Chauffeur opened the door, and Mme. F’s bitches scampered down from the seat, and down the ramp. Their body suits shimmered in the heat. Now they squatted, tongues lolling, as the leashes were clipped to their collars. When Mme. F set off across the Courtyard, they crawled on hands and knees at her side. The chauffeur followed, adjusting her cap, and behind her came Adele and the two guards.
The Comtesse went back inside, shutting the balcony doors behind her. She strode through the room, all of its furniture now back in place, and continued towards the stairs. In her head, she had begun to count seconds. Now they would be crossing the Courtyard, now Mme. F would be coaxing the bitches up the stairs, now they would be reaching the front doors and now coming through them and now-
“Good afternoon, Madame,” said the Comtesse, looking down on Mme. F as she descended the grand staircase to the entrance hallway. “It’s always such a pleasure to welcome you to my home.”
“Madame la Comtesse, the pleasure is mine.”
Invariably, thought the Comtesse, but she smiled, and continued down the stairs.
Mme. F’s bitches crouched at her feet. Their rubber suits were black and reflective, and covered their bodies tightly and entirely. Their owner had allowed some limited openings, to grant access to cunt and ass. Now though, each girl’s suit had been sealed tight over her swollen sex, and the swaying rubber tails were (almost certainly) attached to firmly seated anal plugs.
The suits melded, seamless, into tight black hoods. The girl’s lips were full and pink where they protruded from the mouth openings. Beyond their lips hung lolling, panting tongues. Other than that, the hoods were flat and featureless. There were no openings for their eyes.
Mme. F stroked their smooth heads with an idle hand.
The Comtesse remembered the two girls before they’d been ... altered. One of them had been a librarian. It was difficult to imagine Mme. F visiting a library, so the Comtesse assumed that she’d encountered the girl somewhere else. The other one had been a model, and that acquisition had certainly been more challenging. Still, she thought, they were some of her best work.
She particularly remembered that final moment when they were being put into the suits prior to delivery. The one who had been a model had been second; she’d seen the other one reduced to something blind and faceless, and she’d realised that was going to be her fate too. A fragment of the girl’s original personality must have surfaced them, and the Comtesse had seen a final glimpse of the pride that the girl had once taken in her beauty, and poise, and style. The look of dismay. Then the suit had been pulled over her body and her face had vanished under blank, black rubber.
The memory was enough for the Comtesse to feel herself becoming wet. She wondered whether that fragment was still there, although of course there was no way of knowing now which girl had been which.
Both waited obediently, panting and happy.
Mme. F handed the leashes to the chauffeur and came forward to clasp the Comtesse in a rigorous embrace.
“How are you my dear? You look exhausted. Exhausted. Have you been sleeping well? Have you been taking time to rest? Taking time for your own relaxation? Hmmm? You cannot live for your clients my dear, no matter how rich and powerful they think they are. You must always remember your health. Hmmm? Without your health, where would you be? Rest, my dear. Relaxation. A holiday. Hmmm? Have you not thought that one must always have a holiday?”
“Do you know,” the Comtesse said, “that very thought had occurred to me this morning. I am determined to act upon it.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Mme. F nodded with satisfaction. “I have always thought that you work too hard.”
“Can I offer you some refreshment?”
“Tea. Tea with Lemon. Yes, with Lemon, I think. I cannot abide Coffee, you know. Cannot abide it.”
“And may I offer anything for your driver? I don’t recognise her. Is she new?”
“I found her in Monaco. I suspect she may have originated from some kind of ... royal house. She was initially quite reluctant to join my employment, but of course she eventually found me most persuasive.”
“Yes, of course. Would she like something to drink?”
“No, no, nothing of that sort. However, if you could perhaps spare two of your men?”
“Well, in fact-“
“Those two will do,” said Mme. F, waving a hand behind her in the vague direction of the guards. “She is quite desperate for some relief, I fear. Quite desperate.”
“Actually, I think she is eager to say something,” the Comtesse said. She could see the chauffeur, hovering by Mme. F’s shoulder. The girl’s lips were pressed together but she was straining her head forward, trying to attract the older woman’s attention.
“Possibly, possibly,” said Mme. F, who continued to ignore her. “As you know, all my servants must have my permission before they may talk. I rarely grant it. An unnecessary indulgence. Hmmm?”
“You certainly appear to have her well controlled.”
“It is the most important thing to have control over one’s servants. I have always said so. The most important thing. Your men will discover. She will submit perfectly to them. Perfectly.”
She turned around and looked past the girl to fix her eyes on the two guards.
“She will need to be taken hard. Yes? You must ensure that you take her with some vigour.” Mme. F enunciated the words as if the guards were partially deaf, or stupid, or both. “She is quite desperate for it,” she added.
The chauffeur’s eyes had grown wide with alarm.
“Has she been with two men at once, do you know?” asked the Comtesse.
Mme. F looked surprised at the question. “I confess, I do not. I think it unlikely.” She leant close to the Comtesse and whispered, “It seems that she had a rather sheltered upbringing, you know.”
“How unfortunate,” the Comtesse said, as Adele led the other girl and the two smiling guards away.
Perhaps, she thought, when I am next invited to your home, Mme. F, I shall interfere with the training of your staff. How am I to keep mine in order when you come here and dispense your own servants to them like favours?
Of course, she did not say any of that. One could not afford to speak in that way to someone like Mme. F. One always had to remember who paid the bills.
“Your newest acquisition is ready for you to test, Madame,” the Comtesse said, “but perhaps I can provide you with an enjoyable distraction before we deal with the arrangements for payment and collection.”
“My dear Comtesse, I am always happy to be distracted from the sordid business of payment.”
“In that case, I have a small amusement for you in the drawing room; shall we?”
“Oh?” said Mme. F, arching an eyebrow. “How mysterious!”
She set off down the hallway, not waiting for the Comtesse, or for Adele, who had returned with a tall glass of lemon tea balanced on a silver tray. The two dog-girls crawled ahead, tails wagging.
The Comtesse raised an eyebrow of her own at Adele, but neither of them said anything. They followed after Mme. F and her pets.
Had she been able to, the Comtesse would long ago have gutted the drawing room and made it into a much more useful and useable space. However, there were some clients (Mme. F was one of them), who numbered amongst their many contradictory requirements a desire to see some of the old, stately elegance of the Chateau when they came to collect their merchandise.
They expected her to have a room like this, and so she was stuck with it. Stuck with the fading period décor, the creaking furniture, the walls painted in that horrendous burnt umber, and those ridiculous ivory-coloured mouldings. Sometimes, while she waited for a client to complete an inspection, her mind would be filled with thoughts of setting about the antique writing desk with an axe, or ripping out the floral carpet, and the plush furniture, especially that awful chaise longue, and starting an almighty bonfire in the courtyard.
She had allowed herself the one luxury of knocking out the old fireplace. Into that wall she’d had fixed two huge pieces of lacquered oak, crossed in an X and fitted with various useful screw holes and eyebolts. None of her clients had yet complained about the convenience of it.
There was a pleasing simplicity about binding girls to that cross shape, with their arms raised and their legs parted, facing the wall, so that they could see nothing of what was coming and were helpless to prevent it, or to bind them facing their tormentor, so that they could see everything, and were still just as helpless.
There was much to be said for such simplicity, but the Comtesse had felt that Kate deserved something a little more uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Adele,” the Comtesse said. The girl placed the silver tray on the coffee-table and placed the Comtesse’s smartphone beside it. Then, she took her leave, although she had a long, lingering glance at Kate as she left the room.
Kate was seated in front of the cross, naked, on a black leather chair. Her arms were lifted, with lengths of soft white rope connecting the wide leather straps around her wrists to corresponding eyebolts. That procedure had been repeated with her ankles, except that the fixings had been placed further up and wider apart, so that Kate’s legs were raised high above her head, pulled straight by the tension in the ropes, and spread wide open. Her ass was thrust forward so that it overhung the edge of the seat. She was, the Comtesse felt, quite beautifully exposed.
The drawing room had an expansive bay window that looked out on to one of the gardens. It was less brutally exposed to the sun than the terraced side of the chateau. The Comtesse enjoyed the mix of soft light and gentle shadows fell across Kate’s nude body. She suspected that the aesthetics of the arrangement were probably unappreciated by either Kate or Mme. F.
The effects of the spray had kept the girl unconscious for long enough for them to bind her, but the Comtesse did not intend to take anything else for granted. She had stayed there, listening to the ticking of the clock, contemplating various acts of dramatic re-decoration, and waiting for Kate to awaken.
She had to admit that it had been satisfying to see her wake, her mouth stretched into a wide O of surprise by the large ball-gag, and her eyes narrowing with impotent fury. The speed with which she had shrugged off the effect of the spray had been alarming, however.
Now, Mme. F regarded Kate’s situation with a predatory interest.
“An English girl,” said the Comtesse, by way of explanation.
“Whose is she?”
“She finds herself here ... by mistake. Still, I hope to make a helpful impression on her in the time available. It will be a change from my usual work; as you said, it is very important to have a holiday.”
“Yes, quite so, quite so. Although I fear that you will have to exert yourself – she looks like a defiant one.”
“She is unusually resistant, even to my preparations. I think I will enjoy discovering whether classical conditioning can succeed where chemistry fails.”
“She is not one that likes to be tied up ,then?” Mme. F asked.
“But English, you say? One can never tell with the English. They hide a multitude of perversions.”
“She doesn’t seem to enjoy being gagged, but ...” the Comtesse spread her hands, “what can one do?”
“No, indeed. Until they are trained, it is as well to keep them gagged.” She lent close to Kate, her lips close to the girl’s ear. “You will learn to like it you know,” she said. Now she turned back to the Comtesse. “Does she speak French?”
The Comtesse shook her head.
“No? How amusing. May I try her?”
“Of course,” said the Comtesse, knowing that Mme. F took the answer for granted. The Comtesse took the leashes from her. Mme. F reached into her jacket, took out a black latex glove and slipped it over her right hand. She put out the hand for one of the dog-girls to lick. The girl took to it hungrily, running her tongue all over, from the tips of the fingers to the back of the hand. She searched for it, blind and open mouthed, when Mme. F lifted her hand away.
Kate had simply watched with a flat, angry glare while they had been speaking, but now, seeing Mme. F approach, she made loud noises of apprehension. She tried to move her mouth around the gag and shook at her bonds. Taut muscles strained and quivered as she attempted to close her legs, and failed.
Mme. F placed her wet, dripping fingers against Kate’s exposed sex.
The girl struggled again, but to the Comtesse it seemed that she was only succeeding in rubbing her cunt against Mme. F’s hand. The Comtesse felt the heat growing between her own legs as she watched.
Mme. F simply waited. She held Kate’s gaze, unblinking, not giving her anywhere else to look. Anger and indignation hardened the girl’s face, but she knew by now that her bonds were not going to loosen. When she had stilled again, Mme. F began to stroke her, tracing the tips of her fingers over those outer folds. Then, taking full advantage of the girl’s wide spread legs, she began to touch her deeper. The Comtesse could see the careful transfer of wetness from Mme. F’s probing fingers to Kate’s glistening pussy.
“Have you been touched this way before? By another woman? How does it make you feel?”
Now she was inserting her middle finger into Kate’s pussy, sliding it in, lubricated by the dog-girl’s saliva, until she reached the knuckle. Then out again. Then her forefinger. Out again. Her ring finger. Out again. She wiped her fingers between Kate’s legs, taking care to spread the slick wetness over everything. Now she worked two fingers inside together, sliding them in and out as she watched the expression on Kate’s face soften and change. Now three fingers, Kate’s breaths quickening. Now four. In and out. Each new movement brought a deep moan that the gag couldn’t stifle.
The glove was glistening wet and her hand slid past the knuckles now. Her thumb was resting on Kate’s clit.
Kate’s sounds were faster and higher now. What would I hear if I were to remove the gag, the Comtesse thought. Stop? Don’t stop?
“She likes that, I think. Can you feel it girl? My dogs’ saliva is very special. Can you feel what it’s doing to you?”
The look in Kate’s eyes was desperate. When Mme. F lifted her hand away, everything was slick with her juices. Oh yes, the Comtesse thought, she can certainly feel what it’s doing. She can feel herself slipping down into our control. She’s trying to resist it but her cunt is wetter than she’s ever known.
The dog-girls whined, trying to rub against each other.
“They can smell her,” said Mme. F. She lowered her hand again and both of them lapped at it, tasting the girl that they couldn’t see.
“They like it,” she said. “They like her taste. Shall I tell her?”
“If you wish,” said the Comtesse.
Mme. F turned to Kate and spoke, in English, with exaggerated slowness, “They. Lick. You.” She looked back at the Comtesse. “Does she understand?”
“I believe she does,” the Comtesse replied, as Kate’s eyes widened and her shaking against the restraints resumed. “Shall we let them taste her properly?”
“Yes,” said Mme. F, her voice betraying her own hunger for the first time, “Yes.”
She took one of the leashes from the Comtesse, hooked a finger into the dog-girl’s collar and pulled her towards Kate. As Mme. F brought her pet close to Kate’s exposed slit, the masked girl strained forwards. Her breath quickened audibly, and her pink tongue licked at the air. The girl made wordless, low sounds of need, even as Kate’s own noises became louder, higher and frantic.
Now the older woman allowed the dog-girl to pull closer, closer, letting Kate feel the inevitability of what was going to happen. Then, she released her hold. The girl surged forward, rubbing her face against Kate so that the mask became shiny and wet, and then, finally, tasting the place that she had been able to scent but not to see. She lapped at it, greedily.
“Nnnnnhhhh,” Kate cried, and again, “Nnnnhhhhhhh!” She had her eyes closed though, and she had mostly abandoned her struggles.
Would you have fought so much, the Comtesse thought, if you’d known how wonderful it would feel to be helpless? She allowed the other dog-girl, who was still held on the leash, to crawl forwards. The girl bumped into the legs of the chair and groped upwards to touch Kate’s thighs and belly. Taking hold of the dog-girl’s collar, the Comtesse led her up to put her hands upon Kate’s breasts. The English girl’s eyes flicked open at that, and she made a weak noise of protest, but the Comtesse simply smiled at her. Kate’s body slumped then, in acceptance.
The Comtesse let the dog-girl find Kate’s nipples with her blind fingers and then allowed her to bring her mouth to them, licking and suckling, first at one then the other. She let go of the leash and looked back at Mme. F. The older woman had retreated to the chaise longue. Her thighs were spread and she was rubbing herself through the tight material of her leggings. The Comtesse could see the clear outline of her pussy, the swollen lips beneath the shiny black rubber. Mme. F’s finger pressed between them, up and down. The Comtesse imagined how it would feel; the gentle rasping friction of the fingertip against the rubber, and the creamy wetness beneath it.
Dieu, how she wanted to come. It would be bad form though, to pleasure herself in front of a guest, and she knew that Mme. F would have some superior, matronly advice to offer. Tonight, she would have time alone. She thought of the extensive use that she might make of Sylvie’s clever tongue and slender fingers, and she shivered.
The Comtesse turned back to Kate. Whatever was left of her resistance was breaking beneath the dog-girls’ tongues. The English girl’s cries were loud, even with the ball-gag in place. Yes, thought the Comtesse, how does it feel now? How does it feel when you don’t fancy girls and yet their tongues are working on your wet little cunt and your hot, aching, nipples?
As if she guessed what the Comtesse was thinking, Kate’s eyes blasted her with defiance. The Comtesse smiled, and waited.
Kate’s body began to tremble.
Poor thing, the Comtesse thought, you’re trying so hard not to come, aren’t you? There’s nothing you can do to stop it. How will it feel when it conquers you? Ah yes. Now.
The climax shuddered through Kate’s body. She moaned; shouted really. She bit down on the ball gag, trying to stifle the noise. Then her head slumped back and she made the noise again, louder. Her arms and legs shook in their bonds, quivering at the end of the ropes like the limbs of a marionette.
The Comtesse watched until the girl was almost still. The look of rebellion in her face was barely visible. Sounds still pushed past the ball gag, but they were high, pleading noises.
The dog-girls continued, hungry and merciless.
Behind them, Mme. F cried out, ”Ahh oui! Oui!” There was the sound of one spiked heel skittering on the wooden floor as she lost her grip, and came.
The Comtesse permitted herself another smile of satisfaction. The servants would see to the scratches later.
“May I?” she asked, before the ruthless attentions of the dog-girls could drive Kate towards another orgasm. Mme. F nodded, breathless.
The Comtesse clipped the leashes to the collars and pulled the struggling dog-girls away from Kate’s limp body. She heard a noise of grateful relief when the English girl saw her coiling the leashes in her hand.
Kate’s eyes were half closed. She was exhausted.
“I wonder...” Mme. F began, her breath still ragged.
“I’m afraid that it would be very unwise for me to offer her for sale,” the Comtesse said, anticipating what the question would be. “I don’t know enough about her ... background; there might well be unforeseen complications.”
“No ... no, I understand your position,” said Mme. F, sitting up. She was not used to having her desires thwarted. “Perhaps we can discuss that on another occasion. You said that you were keeping for ... how long was it?”
I didn’t say, thought the Comtesse. As you know well, Mme. F.
“Their holiday was for two weeks. They are the sort who would be missed.”
“Yes,” said Mme. F, with a look of calculation, “yes.”
What was the woman thinking now? Showing Kate to her had probably been a mistake, even though these were the sort of unique entertainments that her guests expected of her. Still, it had been particularly delicious to see the girl humbled. Ah well, it was done.
Mme. F hefted herself up from the couch, flushed from her self-pleasure.
“Merci, Madame la Comtesse,” said Mme. F, “this was most diverting. I will require only a brief respite before I...”
“Of course, Madame, there is no hurry.”
She used the smartphone to message Adele, and then took a moment to smooth Kate’s hair back from her face. The girl seemed barely conscious of it.
“A short interval, simply to restore myself,” Mme. F said.
“Yes, Madame, of course. The relaxation room is yours for as long as you require. Adele will show you.”
She waited for Mme. F to take the leashes from her, but of course, the other woman did not.
“I fear that I shall never learn my own way around your Chateau,” said Mme. F. “It remains a labyrinth to me.”
Is there no conversation, the Comtesse thought, in which you, Mme. F, will not insist on having the last word?
“Ah,” she said, “Adele.” The other girl had returned now. As always, she surveyed the room with an air of detached competence. Once again, however, her eyes had rested on Kate for rather longer than the Comtesse thought necessary.
“Adele, show Mme. F to the relaxation room. Corinne will help her to prepare. These,” she gestured at the dog-girls “can be secured near the cloak-room.”
She held out the leashes.
Adele held the door open for Mme. F. The older woman gave a thin smile. She paused, and looked back at the Comtesse, and at Kate. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the dog-girls scampered towards her and she had to step back, not quite in balance.
With a brisk, efficient movement, Adele followed her through the doorway and closed the door behind.
For the first time since Mme. F’s arrival, the Comtesse was able to enjoy a moment of tranquillity. She stood in the centre of the room. Her eyes followed the lines of shadow and light, as they fell from the windows across the floor. She breathed in the smell of the old wood, and scents of sweat and sex, and the stillness.
“All this trouble,” she said in English, “But you’re still the popular one. Hmmm?”
Kate looked up at her. For an instant, that familiar aspect of rebellion played across her face. Then her eyes closed again.
So tired, the Comtesse thought, but still strong. Good.
She closed the door behind her.