## Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:40 am

This is a renewed attempt at a storyline which I abandoned a while ago. It is, in part, a homage to my favourite erotic novel.
The theme is female submission and is more about BDSM than bondage alone. There is, however, nothing too graphic (meaning it is relatively safe for those of faint hearts and gentle spirits).
Château Fantaisie
Part One
She felt the way you do at night, lost in a dream you have had before and is now beginning anew; certain that it exists and certain that it will end, and you want it to end because you’re afraid you won’t be able to bear it, and you want it to go on so you know how it comes out.
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
Nothing had been such a comfort to her as the silence, unless it was the chains. The chains and the silence, which ought to have bound her deep within herself, which should have smothered and strangled her, had not. On the contrary, they had been her liberation, freeing her from herself.
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
A black limousine (not unlike one of those hackney cabs you see on the streets of London) waited outside the building, its engine humming languidly. A light breeze and a sprinkle of rain tickled on her face; but otherwise, the night was quiet and still. The avenue was deserted, the houses enshrouded in the early evening gloom. The pallid amber light cast by the roadside lamps was subdued and contorted into weird shapes by the cheerless drizzle.
A tall, heavy-set man in a grey suit and a broad-brimmed hat greeted Jane with an open umbrella to shelter her as they walked briskly to the car.
“Get in,” he commanded. There was impatience in his voice.
She obeyed, and he climbed in after her, shedding his hat and coat and stowing them along with the umbrella under the seat. Daniel was already in the vehicle, and Jane found herself in the middle, braced between the two men. She started to brush the droplets of rainwater from her skirt, taking care to keep them off the trousers on each side of her. She grasped the hem where it had ridden up her thigh, to draw it towards her knees, but the man put his hand on hers and pressed it down. She recoiled at his touch, and he must surely have felt her flinch, but he said nothing.
On the seat facing them was a woman who acknowledged the two men with a quick glance and a terse nod and then looked squarely at Jane. The compartment was only half-lit, but even in the semi-darkness Adrienne was stunning, a petite, gorgeous brunette, with eyes that glistened like blue sapphires and cherry-red lips which curled ever so slightly in a subtle smile. Her cheeks were lightly rouged, but her hair was cut short in a severe, almost masculine style. She was wearing a champagne-coloured overcoat, with the sides parted to reveal a simple black dress. Her hands were folded in her lap, and on left was a signet ring, chunkier than what most women would wear, with some kind of three-cornered motif; it was hard to make out in the dim lighting. Encircling her throat was a close-fitting leather collar, about the width of two fingers, the clasp at the front a miniature padlock. Curiously, the woman’s coat and dress had been bunched up behind her, so she was not sitting on them.
As Jane reached down for the buckle, the big man commanded “No seat-belt.” She had always been very safety-conscious and opened her mouth to protest, but she thought better of it and clamped her jaws.
The glass partition separating them from the driver was glazed, so she could not see who was behind the wheel but was able discern a form that looked fuzzily feminine. Adrienne spoke briefly through a small open panel. And as they slowly pulled away from the kerb, Daniel gently stroked Jane’s arm. She thought he was about to say something, maybe even kiss her cheek, but he just turned away again, staring out the window into the deepening gloom.
“Give him your purse,” Adrienne said, nodding towards Daniel. She spoke with a very slight accent (perhaps French, maybe something more exotic), but there was authority, and a certain coldness, in her voice.
Daniel took her purse but immediately passed it across her lap to the big man, who rummaged through it, for no good reason Jane could ascertain. Then he tossed it rudely to the floor. The contents spilled around her feet.
“You won’t be needing it,” he said blandly.
She dared not reply.
Adrienne frowned but did not otherwise react. “Take off your jewellery,” she instructed after they had driven a while.
Jane removed her watch and earrings and pendant, and dropped them into Daniel’s hand. He did not hand them over (and she was thankful for that), but put them instead in his coat pocket.
“Now your shoes.”
She kicked them off.
“And your stockings.”
“I’m wearing pantyhose,” she said.
The woman did not respond.
Jane paused, pensively, but only for a few seconds. She’d known this was coming, what she was getting into; and when she’d had the opportunity, she had not refused. She had always been like that, of course, never backing away from a challenge. When she was little she was the neighbourhood daredevil, taking on the boys, playing and beating them at their own games. She smiled at that thought, considering her present situation; and with a soft sigh she raised herself slightly off the seat, pushing with her shoulders and the backs of her knees against it. She reached under her skirt and drew the nylon down her thighs. When it was scrunched at her knees, Adrienne raised her hand.
“Leave it there,” she said.
They were, by now, heading out into the country, along a narrowing, winding road. Trees loomed out of the dark across their path, menacing silhouettes against the diffuse orange glow seeping into the sullen sky from the receding lights of the city.
“Don’t sit on your skirt. Pull it up behind you.”
Puzzled, she looked across at the other woman, at her coat and dress and how they were pushed behind her. And so, silently, Jane lifted her body from the seat once more and drew back the skirt from under her bottom. The upholstery was cool and slick and sticky, and queerly sensual, against her naked skin. She felt a delicious tingle when the leather peeled away as the car rounded a bend. It clung again as she sank back into the seat when the road straightened.
She sighed and shivered as the big man raised his hand and lowered it to rest briefly on her right knee. Then fleshy fingers crept slowly up under her hemline and along her bare thigh. This made her shudder, and he pulled away, but only to reach for the collar of her blouse. He fondled it for a moment, then moved his hand downwards. He opened the blouse, taking his time to pop each button; and when he’d finished, he pulled the two sides apart. He traced his fingers upwards over her belly and her chest, pausing to play with the straps of her brassiere. His hand slid over her breasts and seized the gore between the cups.
She marvelled at her own shameless audacity, allowing this man to do what he was doing. She wondered if it was too late now to change her mind, and pondered the consequences of backing out, as well as the cost of going on. At this thought she must have cringed, because the man was all of a sudden angry.
“Sit still,” he growled. That startled and frightened her. Daniel made no effort at all to comfort her, but Adrienne laid a soothing, reassuring hand briefly on her trembling knee.
The man tugged brusquely on the front of her bra to strip it off, and she was jolted forward. It did not break free, and the straps burned into her shoulders as he jerked on it several times.
“Please...” she said finally. He relented, but his hand remained where it was. She leaned forward and reached behind her back, under her blouse. She unfastened the clasp. The man pulled again, and this time the straps broke and her brassiere came away. He let it fall to the floor.
They drove on for a long time, in silence. Her breasts, naked and free, quivered and swayed to the motion of the car. The inside edges of her parted blouse caressed her nipples; the leather tickled her backside and thighs. Each time the road curved, the three bodies on the seat leaned with it, and the touch of the trousers on both sides on her uncovered knees thrilled her in a way that it would not have if she was not feeling so exposed. It was a weird, pleasantly erotic sensation, as she sat there, between the two men, watched by the other woman, feeling open and wanton and defiant.
The rain was coming down hard by the time they turned off the highway. It was difficult to tell exactly how far they travelled after that, because the car sped up and slowed down as it slewed and skidded along the twisting, rutted dirt road. The excitement was building inside her, along with the dread, and it seemed like half an eternity had passed before, after a sharp turn, there was a crunching of pebbles under the tyres, a scraping of low-slung tree branches across the roof, and the rasping of iron gates swinging on rusted hinges. Abruptly, the engine cut out and they rolled to a halt.
No one moved or spoke, except the driver, who exited the car and came round to Daniel’s side to open the door. Their chauffeuse was a woman about Jane’s age, tall and athletic. In the shimmer of a driveway lamppost, Jane saw that she was, like Adrienne almost unbearably beautiful. She waited stoically, standing at attention uncovered in the rain, her tiny, diaphanous white dress clinging soddenly to the luxurious contours of her body. Her throat was girded by a broad leather collar, and similar bands were affixed to her wrists and ankles.
At last the big man beside Jane spoke. “Lean forward. More.”
She bent her body until her chin was almost between her knees.
“Put your hands behind you.”
She crossed her arms over the small of her back. The man was gruff in his words and his actions. He looped a cord about and between her wrists, drawing the ends tightly and cinching the knot with a vicious tug. She barely stifled a yelp.
She didn’t understand why it was necessary that she be restrained in this way, since she had no intention of disobeying any instruction; but she did not resist. (She had never been bound before… except once, when she and Daniel were playing some childhood game. He had tied her up; but on that occasion, at least, she got to do the same to him.) Her instinct was to test her bonds by flexing and twisting her arms, but the effort produced only chafing.
It was Daniel who blindfolded her, with a red satin sash, brushing his fingers tenderly across her cheeks as he placed the cloth over her eyes, and tying it in place firmly but gently. Funnily enough, being rendered sightless did not disturb her as much as the first feel of the rope around her wrists had. There was something oddly comforting about being in the dark. It calmed her to not know what was happening and what was about to happen. She felt like she was having one of those weird dreams, when the things going on around you don’t make any sense but it doesn’t bother you, because things are not supposed to make sense.
As she was being thus bound, Jane was still leaning forward. The two men’s movements as they prepared her caused her nipples, already aroused by what she was feeling (and by the chill of the air from the open door), to brush and rub against her thighs. She could not hold in a soft moan.
She tried to sit up, but a hand on the back her neck brusquely held her down.
“Stay as you are,” the big man commanded.
“Nearly done,” Adrienne whispered.
One of the men (she thought it was Daniel) wrapped a belt around her arms just above the elbows. When he drew it tight and buckled it, the stress on her chest as her shoulders were wrenched backwards by the tension of the strap forced a gush of gasps and groans from her lungs. Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled upwards to make her sit straight once more; but he did so as not to hurt her.
Behind her blindfold, she had no clue what the others were doing, but she heard shuffling noises, and then the part of the seat to her right heaved and settled, as the big man climbed out of the car. She started to move as well, but Daniel’s hand was on her shoulder holding her back. She felt something pressing lightly against her lips. It was smooth but pliable, with a velvet quality, and she did not realize straightaway what it was. But after some prodding she opened her jaws and Daniel pushed the ball in. It fit snugly behind her teeth, filling her mouth and depressing her tongue, but well clear of her throat, so she had no fear of choking. It had a slightly pungent, rubbery taste, peculiar but not repellent.
Daniel secured her gag with a rigid leather strap, the edges of which dug painfully into her cheekbones as he buckled it in place; but once it was fastened it was not so bad. Even without the attempt, she knew she could no longer speak, nor indeed make any sound other than a gurgled, gargled mumble.
She did not have much time to savour this latest brand-new sensation.
“Get out,” the big man ordered.
Both men helped her, half-dragged her, from the car. It wasn’t easy, with her arms pinioned. The pantyhose bunched at her knees fell to her ankles as she stood upright. Neither of her escort made any attempt to free her feet, or to assist her to do so, as she shuffled along the gravel driveway. She managed to kick away the nylon only just before losing her footing.
Daniel had taken a firm grip on her strapped elbows and steered her onto a cobbled path. The stones were jagged under her bare feet, and greasy from the rain. Several times she slipped; and although he stopped her from falling, he did nothing to warn her when they reached a set of steps. Sightless, she stumbled at the bottom one. Her shins knocked painfully against its sharp edge. She rasped a feeble remonstration through her gag.
They halted on the porch. The big man spoke: “We will leave you here. When the door opens, do what you’re told. If you hesitate or refuse, they will take you anyway. If you don’t comply immediately, they will make you. If you disobey, you will be punished. Do you understand? Nod or shake.”
She slowly bowed her head.
It was Daniel who continued. He sounded bothered by his companion’s harsh words. “Never forget, you are here of your own free will. No one has forced you. Do you agree?”
This time she replied with a vigorous nod. Too late it occurred to her that the gesture might displease the big man.
“We are in this together,” Daniel said to her, in a low voice.
Jane was grateful at that moment for the blindfold and bulbous gag. They concealed her laugh.
“We will be along later. Don’t worry about your purse and shoes. You won’t need them.”
No one knocked or rang a doorbell. So she waited. At least she was out of the rain. The men’s footsteps retreated, but in what direction she could not tell. She did not hear what had become of Adrienne. She didn’t hear the car start up and move off. Yet she knew she was alone, cold and wet and fearful. Her pinioned arms ached. Her bound wrists felt numb and swollen. The ball-gag did not quite seal her mouth, and dribble oozed from the corners and down her chin. She shivered as the breeze gusted onto the porch, over her bare arms and legs, under her skirt and through her open blouse. Her wounds, though mild (there was no blood trickling down her shins) had begun to throb.
It was some time before the door creaked open. Warm dry air wafted over her skin. She could faintly discern a bright light as a dull orange-grey radiance beyond her blindfold. Pairs of hands took hold of her arms and guided her over the threshold. No words were spoken, but the fingers were slender, soothing and feminine, and a subtly sweet fragrance tickled her nose. A luxurious thick-pile carpet was squishy and friendly between her toes, even if water still dripped down her legs and formed a saturated patch beneath her feet. Her attendants (there were three of them) did not seem to mind as they undressed her. The skirt came off without any trouble, but with her arms still bound behind her, the blouse could only be cut away. Jane sighed on hearing the scissor blades shear through it. But as she cut, the woman fondled the material, and the back of her hand kept brushing against Jane’s breasts. They lingered long enough for Jane to be aware that the touch was not unintended.
Now she was naked, but for her blindfold and gag, the cord and the strap.
The women began drying her hair and body with a fluffy, heated towel. They dabbed her chest, patted her back and shoulders, buffed her belly, padded her most intimate parts. The way her arms were pinned behind her back pushed out her front, straining her bosom to a piquant stiffness, and the sensual strokes of the warm fleece drew from her a blissful whimper. One of the females tended to her shins, tenderly daubing the abrasions with a cloth and gently applying some sort of ointment. They were fastidious and unhurried. They said not a word.
When they were done, each of the attendants in turn ran her hands slowly down Jane’s torso, front and back, caressing each curve and exploring both creases. She felt an unexpected thrill, something different from what she had experienced so far. As all three at once began to tease and squeeze her nude, quivering body, as her insides tightened and she began to convulse in the exquisite agony of an onrushing orgasm, she suddenly remembered where she was, what she was and why she was here. And that, more than anything else, made her head spin. She could not see these women, knew nothing about them. She was stark naked and completely helpless in their lustful clutches. But they belonged to her.
The mistress of the Château Fantaisie sucked in a few hurried, panting breaths before the next wave of pleasure shuddered through her.
[To be continued...]

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by Mr Underheel » Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:59 am

This is extremely erotic and evocative in its detail and in its passion. Every bit of your writing is riveting, from the way her wrists are bound to the rounding of a corner in the car.
One of my favorite lines: "She marvelled at her own shameless audacity, allowing this man to do what he was doing. She wondered if it was too late now to change her mind, and pondered the consequences of backing out, as well as the cost of going on." Yes, perfect.
It is inspiring me to take more time with my own writing and to put more effort and thought into the details and emotions that the characters are experiencing.
Brava!!!

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by OldTUGger » Sat Feb 08, 2014 5:37 am

Superb, as always!

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by xtc » Sat Feb 08, 2014 8:54 am

*All bow to the master mistress of the TUG story.*
Of course a gentleman would not dream of questioning the source of this homage (Is that a delicate Antipodean term for the more direct British term: rip-off?)
The sneaky humour is, as always, superb and, again as usual, the turning of phrases is sick making enviable. Quote: one of those weird dreams, when the things going on around you don’t make any sense but it doesn’t bother you, because things are not supposed to make sense. Absolutely superb!!
It's so good to see you writing something new(ish) so I think I can say that, once the initial confusion was overcome, this is bloody superb.
Wassail!
Xtc
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 08, 2014 2:08 pm

“Rip-off” is a harsh term (albeit somewhat accurate :o)
Part Two
It was as though clothing somehow emboldened, affording a certain self-assurance which nakedness and night-time chains, and the presence of the masters, obliterated.
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
She wondered why there was so much sweetness mingled with the terror in her, or why her terror tasted so sweet.
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
It must have been close to midday when she awoke. There was just one small window, but she could guess from the angle of the sunrays.
Apart from that there was not much illumination, and it took a while for her sleep-blurred eyes to adjust. The room was more the size of a cell than a bedchamber, sparsely but elegantly furnished with lush carpet of a rich magenta speckled with gold filaments, and in the middle a rug of the same colours, decorated with a circular pattern of three interlocking spirals, also of gold thread, that reminded Jane of the design on Adrienne’s ring. There was no door, just a crimson curtain draped across the opening. The walls were painted a glossy black, and more crimson hangings bedecked the entrance to a compact cubicle containing a hand basin and toilet. There were no light fixtures except for a bracket lamp glowing feebly next to the bed.
The mattress on which Jane lay naked was queen-sized and sumptuous. The silk sheets and quilt had not been folded down. Above the headboard was fixed to the wall a steel circle about the width of a hand, and next to it was embedded a metal hook. They were far enough from the floor that Jane could only just touch them if she stretched on tip-toes; but she was not very tall, and the average man could reach them without effort. A slim silver chain was fastened to the hoop and descended to her collar. She probed the neckband with her fingers. It was snug enough to encircle her throat and stay in place halfway up and not slip around. Fashioned in several thin layers of leather, it was lined on the inside with fur or felt so the edges did not abrade the skin. She could discern by touch an inscription embossed on the outside, flanking the ring on the front and the lock on the back. As there was no mirror, she had no way of determining what the words might be.
Still sleepy, she took a few more seconds to realize why she could not move her hands away from her body. Clamped upon each wrist was a bracelet made of gold (heavy enough to be the pure metal), crafted in the form of three finely braided ropes. On each was a tiny clasp, and the means by which they were snapped together made it impossible for the wearer to unlink them. They were also clipped onto the ring on Jane’s collar, so that her hands were joined just below her chin, in “prayer” position.
Across the room, on top of the dresser, lay the key to her shackles, well out of her grasp. The chain was long enough for her to move about and reach the toilet stall, but it had been looped over the hook in such a way that the slack which remained would permit her to cross only halfway to the key.
Soon after she had awoken, Jane was brought a meal. It could have been breakfast or lunch, it didn’t really matter. It was skimpy, just a piece of dry toast, a peeled banana and a slice of pink melon. She was not hungry anyway. The cup of tea, however, was a blessing. She normally drank coffee in the morning; but flavoured and scented with something aromatic that she could not identify, on Jane’s parched lips this was empyrean nectar.
Her server was the chauffeuse from last night, still wearing her choker and wrist and ankle cuffs, but otherwise nude. Jane could not help but stare. Exposed by daylight, the young woman was even lovelier than she had looked in the evening rain. Her body was trim like a sportwoman’s but shapely as a showgirl’s. Her strawberry-blonde hair, cropped short in the same style as Adrienne’s, her sparkling green eyes and light sprinkling of freckles, satin-smooth skin and sleek long legs conveyed a vibrant athleticism and a fresh-faced innocence. Jane thought back to the lively, laughing girls she used to watch on the university hockey field, the netball court and the running track, their lustrous tanned limbs dancing in a sensual ballet of energy and grace, their breasts bobbing and jogging and swaying to the rhythm of their moves. She had wondered then about the feelings stirring inside her, never really understanding… or if understanding, never really accepting.
While she ate and sipped, the two of them did not speak. The fact is, Jane felt embarrassed, naked and chained as she was, even if the girl standing silently before her was also stripped bare. As she put the empty cup back on the tray, she looked closely at the girl’s collar. Imprinted on it were the words “Monique, property of Château Fantaisie”.
She was about to say something when there was a noise outside the doorway, and the curtain parted. The blonde girl immediately stood back from the bed, rigidly at attention but with her arms behind her back, not folded but with fingertips touching elbows. She pulled her shoulders backwards, to push out her splendid chest. She kept her eyes downcast in humble submission to their visitors.
Daniel and another man came into the room. They were each dressed (rather absurdly Jane thought) in breeches and boots and ruffled shirt (the sort of thing you imagine being worn by poets and pirates). The companion looked to be no more than twenty. He was short and stocky with the teenager’s chubbiness not yet entirely burnt off. He had sandy hair and green eyes just like the girl’s, and it was with a shock (and just a little revulsion) that Jane realized that the two might be brother and sister. The female was a few years older, half a head taller and in far better physical condition, but the likeness was too close to discount. Yet perhaps her mind’s eye was playing tricks. It had been such a strange few days since Adrienne had summoned her and Daniel to that extraordinary meeting.
In any case, both men at first ignored Monique.
“Time to rise,” Daniel said.
“What o’clock is it? Have I really slept all morning?”
“It’s not a lot before noon. So yes, you did.”
The other man grinned benignly. “Don’t worry. Do you know what time they finished with you last night… or rather, this morning?”
She shook her head to disperse the remaining fog, and waited for one of her callers to speak again. An uneasy silence followed. She stole a peek at Monique, grasped what was wrong, got up from the bed, stood ramrod-straight and bowed her head. She did it so quickly, so mechanically (once she knew what was expected of her) that she did not think about the shame of her nudity until it was too late to worry.
Daniel nodded appreciatively. Jane blushed, surprisingly proud of her unquestioning obedience. But she flushed a bright red when he added “Good girl.”
Beside her, Monique giggled.
“There’s a problem, slavegirl?” her male lookalike demanded.
“No, Master,” she replied through gritted teeth, barely keeping in a whole-hearted cackle.
Jane frowned and glanced about again, at each of the three in turn. There was something going on here not quite real. She was beginning to suspect what had fleetingly occurred to her a couple of times before, that all was not as it appeared. It was as if she were in a play, and all the actors but herself had read the script. Or maybe it was a dream, and these other people were nothing more than her imaginary creations. Or perhaps it was indeed real, but part of a joke she had not yet got.
Daniel went over to the dresser and picked up the key. He gestured to Monique, who took it and unlocked the chain from Jane’s collar, releasing her hands as well. But the girl immediately took hold of her hands and pushed then behind her back. She nudged Jane forward until she was just in front of Daniel but turned away, so he could clip together the bands on her wrists. Then he blindfolded her, with the same red sash he had used before. After that, he attached a cable to her collar; and by this he led her out of the room.
Behind them, Monique was most likely taking the tray to the kitchen.
“Hurry up,” she was told. “The games begin in half an hour.”
The floor tiles in the hallway were numbingly cold under Jane’s bare feet, and she almost stumbled as they entered the stairwell. “Mind your step,” her controller advised, far less helpful than he no doubt intended to be.
As they came out into the vestibule, she could hear hushed voices and muted laughter, male and female. Unable to see, she had no way of knowing if she was the focus of attention; but from somewhere off to her right came a muffled squeal and elsewhere a moan, both definitely feminine, both partially smothered by passage through a gag.
They entered another corridor, a short one that led into what seemed to be an interior courtyard, since it was an open, sunny space with neither breeze nor the sounds of trees and birds and insects, and the men’s footsteps echoed. Everyone in the house, no doubt, was soon gathered there and, as promised, the games began on time. They went on for many hours, and by the end Jane was sore and exhausted, humiliated and exhilarated. She had laughed herself silly, shrieked till she was hoarse, screamed in agony and ecstasy, begged for mercy and cried out for more of the torment. No part of her, inside or out, accessible to the players was left unscathed. She was amazed at what her body could withstand and her mind could endure. She was happy when it was over, and saddened that there was no more.
Around her, the other women were reacting the same way; but blindfolded the entire time, she found out nothing about them apart from what they had in common, that which made them playthings. And every now and then, as she sweated and shuddered and whimpered and groaned, she sensed Daniel or one of the other men cringing, imagining themselves to be the ones naked and writhing chained upon the rack, thrashing about lashed to the frame, squirming under the grill, struggling with the weights, bracing against the onslaught of outlandish appliances and bizarre contraptions, dangling, doubled up, stretched out, prostrate, cowering, crying, crawling, stumbling, shuffling, hopping and jerking, gulping for breath, yelling defiance, choking back the sobs and gasps of pleasure.
As evening fell and the first day’s games ended, Jane was led on her leash into the house, to a bathroom on the second floor where she showered alone, revelling in the voluptuous stream of steam that washed away the sweat and the grime and all the other stains from her marvellous ordeal.
Back in her tiny room, she was attended by Monique and another slavegirl. They told her they’d been ordered to prepare her for dinner. Before starting, Monique locked her bracelets behind her back, and she sat on the edge of the bed as they applied perfume, lipstick and eyeshadow, rouged her cheeks and the tip and halo of each breast and the lips below her belly. The second girl lovingly stroked Jane’s hair before tying it up. (It was impossible to ignore that all the women Jane had been able to see so far in the Château had short-cropped hairstyles, whether sporty like Monique’s or boyish like Adrienne’s or pixie-cut like this other girl’s. She had no idea of why this might be so, whether it was a rule or a custom or just a fashion.)
Once she had been made ready, she was blindfolded and taken downstairs. When the red sash was removed, she found herself in a dining room that was not very spacious but opulently adorned and furnished, with marble flooring, polished wood-panel walls, a baroquely carved ceiling and ornate crystal chandelier. On the wall at the far end hung a large portrait, of a stern-faced, middle-aged man and a sweet-faced, younger woman. Wearing an old-fashioned three-piece suit and a flowing black cape, the man stood with one hand clutching his vest and the other resting upon the head of the woman, who was nude and kneeling by his side. She looked uncannily like Jane.
Most of the room was taken up by a heavy oak table, at which were seated a dozen males, looking to be aged from around twenty to forty, in no way distinguished in appearance except for their posh tuxedos. At the head was Daniel and sitting to his right was Adrienne, the only woman at the table, without clothing. The chair at the other end was vacant, and to this Jane was led by her two attendants, one of whom freed her hands from their golden shackles. Adrienne alone rose and stood until Jane was in her place.
The leather under her naked bottom felt clammily cold and slippery, and she did not experience the sensual congeniality of the limousine’s upholstery. The edges of the seat pressed into the raw skin of her thighs, and the intricately chiselled slats which formed the hind part of the chair left their imprint in her bare back. But she was famished, having eaten nothing in more than a day apart from that scanty noontime repast.
In deciding how to behave in the presence of the males, Jane took her prompts from Adrienne, who did not appear to be following the imperative of keeping her gaze lowered or averted to avoid the insolence of eye contact. She spoke freely when spoken to but did not initiate conversation. She addressed the men sometimes as “Master” and at other times as “Sir” and there seemed (from Jane’s perspective) to be no logical pattern or reason. She nibbled at the food on her plate, took but a few sips of her wine. She never acknowledged the presence of the half-dozen slavegirls who served the meal and drinks.
After the dessert had been finished, the dishes cleared away and the coffee brought out, one of the men rose from his place with glass in hand. The other masters, and Adrienne, joined him in standing, facing Daniel who remained sitting. Cued by a subtle shake of Adrienne’s head, Jane stayed seated as well.
The speaker made some remarks before offering a toast. Jane didn’t really listen and hoped she would not be called on to respond. All she heard were his final words.
“So let us drink to the Lord and mistress of the Château Fantaisie.”
[To be continued...]

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:30 pm

Part Three
Daniel opened his eyes, yawned and sat up. The places beside him were empty. He struggled to recall what he had done with the lovely Justine and the gorgeous Adrienne. Then he saw the chain fixed to the post at the foot of the bed. He quietly moved to that end of the mattress and peered over the edge. The two women were curled up on the rug, asleep, their naked bodies embraced, arms and legs intertwined. The connector between their collars had just two or three links, so they were coupled face to face… lip to lip… breast to breast… belly to belly... It was a vision so sublime, so alluring, so devastating that he had to catch his breath, lest he roar out his joy and waken them.
Adrienne stirred, her nose twitched as she felt Justine’s gentle breath on her face, she smiled and sighed, but her eyes did not open. Daniel studied the slumbering forms. In the morning light, Adrienne’s skin glowed honey-gold with a hint of caramel, Justine’s a rich, sun-kissed mahogany. Across the thighs, backs, buttocks and hips of each woman was a criss-cross of faint pink markings and swellings, the slowly fading memoir of yesterday’s games and last night’s entertainment.
He lay back down again and saw himself, sprawled in purple silk pyjamas on black satin sheets, reflected in the overhead mirror. He laughed (but not too loud). Apart from that cliché, he might have been in the royal suite of some palatial hotel. Never had he seen such opulence in a bedroom. But for all the lavish accoutrements, nothing surpassed the sumptuous splendour of his two sleeping beauties. It seemed a shame to disturb them, but he was not yet done with those succulent, obliging bodies.
It had been a strange few days since Adrienne had summoned him and Jane to that extraordinary meeting.
The cousins had known each other all his life; Jane was a year older. He’d always had a crush on her, and since they were actually second cousins that was not out of bounds, although he always considered her out of his league. She was pretty and popular, very smart and from what he’d seen utterly fearless. Because neither of them had siblings and lived close by, they played together as children, and as teenagers were still friends; but in recent years their families had grown apart. Her Grandpa Jack had been an eccentric character, and something happened which caused a rift between him and his brother, Daniel’s grandfather. No one spoke openly about the scandal, but there were rumours of an affair between Jack and his sister-in-law. When they all gathered at the old man’s funeral, nothing was said of the falling out, and some healing took place.
The last to leave the gravesite had been a petite, dark-haired woman whom nobody seemed to know… or at least everyone pretended to not know. When they assembled again for the reading of the will, Adrienne the executrix proved to be some sort of high-powered agent or manager, with a top-floor office at the top end of town. She was beautiful, with luminous blue eyes and a penetrating gaze, a sexy charisma and an intimidating self-assurance which reminded him of a sleek, elusive, predatory cat. She announced herself as Grandpa’s business associate, but she was vague. After that, she called them in one at a time for a private conference. Daniel did not know what the others were told, and the details of his own inheritance were left unclear, but he found himself titleholder, along with his cousin, of an estate in the countryside, a mansion which Adrienne referred to simply as “the Château.”
A week later he was called back to the office. He was ushered in by one of the secretaries, a thin, pale, stiff-backed fellow. The other was a tall, stunning young woman whose coppery-red hair was cut short similar to Adrienne’s. They were introduced as Steven and Gabrielle. Jane was already there. She and Adrienne were deep in conversation, and his cousin’s expression was one he had seen before, when she was struggling with some momentous decision. Adrienne whispered something as Daniel took his seat, and Jane smiled and shook her head. She may have blushed, because she pointedly turned towards the big window so her face was suffused with the orange glow of the late afternoon sun.
This part of the conference did not take long. They were given paperwork to take away for signing and witnessing. Jane then left, while Adrienne asked Daniel to accompany her and Steven to an adjoining room. Half a dozen armchairs were arranged in a circle, three occupied by men in neat, expensive business suits. Serving them coffee, on her knees, was Gabrielle, and she had changed out of her prim and proper skirt and blouse into a barely-there white tunic. The front and rear were open almost all the way down, and there was no hint of tan lines on her back or across her superb cleavage. Her magnificent legs were sheathed in sheer silk stockings held up by a lace-and-ribbon garter belt. Around her slender throat was a thin black metal choker.
Adrienne waited until both Daniel and Steven had taken their seats. Then, as she lowered herself onto the chair, in a single, smooth movement she put her hands under her dress and drew her panties down to her knees and then swept her skirt backwards so that as her bottom touched the upholstery it was bare flesh against the leather. Neither her secretaries nor her guests reacted at all to this curious gesture.
With what followed, he came to understand the true nature of the Château and its clientele. He found out about the masters and their slaves, was told stories about old Jack’s business that he had not known (but suspected), had revealed to him secrets which left him troubled and intrigued and titillated, was enlightened about matters he’d believed existed only in make-believe, and discovered (to his relief) that Jane had been no more aware of these things than he.
There were hints during the conversation of a mysterious co-proprietor, but despite it never being said outright, Daniel was sure that everyone present sensed what he had learnt during the earlier session, that the silent partner was Adrienne. After an hour or so, Daniel was left unclear about so much, but Adrienne was insistent that the best teacher was experience, and anyway it was a provision of Jack’s will that he and Jane must familiarize themselves with the ways of the Château at first hand. For only that way, said Adrienne, could Jack’s legacy be carried on. Then she showed him out, accompanying him down to the lobby, leaving the delightful Gabrielle to entertain the guests.
The next time he saw Jane was outside her apartment building that rainy evening. She seemed no different. But as soon as she had entered the car and put herself in the hands of the two men, one a complete stranger and the other the cousin she had known all her life, he knew she had changed. He could not imagine what Adrienne had told her, how she had prepared her, how she explained the different paths that Daniel and Jane would take.
Adrienne had warned them that their destination was a place where dreams were made real and fantasies fulfilled. But they were very special, very specific fantasies and dreams. And Daniel had the feeling that the story of the Château Fantaisie was, as yet, only half told.
[To be continued...]

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by xtc » Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:46 pm

Yes, I AM glad you're posting again.
Thank you.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 08, 2014 5:51 pm

Part Four
“You are here to serve your masters. During the day, you will perform whatever domestic chores are assigned to you… But at the first word or gesture, you will stop whatever you are doing and avail yourself for what is really your one and only duty.”
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
“You’re lucky, Jeanne had repeated. “They will be much harder on you.” What had she meant by that? Then she ceased to be conscious of anything but the collar, the bracelets, and the chain. Her body began to drift, to vanish in the wake. She was going to understand.
– Pauline Réage, Histoire d’O
Each day the women of the Château played a different game, or if it suited their masters any number of games.
Jane had so far counted at least a dozen females in the house, but from the clues she garnered in the course of her duties she guessed that there were many more who came here at one time or another. She estimated there to be perhaps half that number of men. Since she was not permitted to address any of the masters except in regard to her service to them, and she and her fellow slaves were forbidden to engage in their own conversations, she could not be really sure.
Of course, the rule of silence was broken now and then, but rarely for no good reason. All of the women were here of their own free will, of course. They accepted and indeed welcomed the impositions and obligations and compulsions, and anything else that the masters ordained. There were no punishments for disobedience, at last none that Jane had seen so far… but then she had seen nothing but compliance, abject and absolute. And what she discovered, often to her amazement, sometimes to her dismay, increasingly to her joy, was that there could be pleasure and even pride in such total submission. Her experience had begun as a personal challenge, a test of her limits, a trial of endurance, a quest in search of herself. She had been promised that it would be an adventure the like of which she would never have imagined, a journey few people dared to take and fewer completed. She had not been disappointed.
She had slept on her second night in the Château chained to the ring above the bed but with her hands free. (That was for the best, because in the early morning she needed to use the toilet.) She still had on her collar, bracelets and ankle cuffs. She lay on her stomach because her hindquarters were still sore from the after-dinner amusements.
When Monique came to fetch her for breakfast, the sky outside the tiny window was grey, with just the faintest rosy blush of the coming dawn. It was the first time that she was taken all the way through the house without a blindfold. The kitchen was on the ground floor at the back, and several women were already at work. None turned to watch her come in, let alone greet her. No one spoke except for the supervisor, a statuesque, dark-skinned girl whom one of the masters had called Molly. All of the females were exquisitely, intimidatingly beautiful. Although she considered herself attractive, next to these creatures she was just plain Jane. They were, of course, naked, but Molly and another who was in charge of the stove wore aprons, which were of transparent plastic so nothing would be hidden.
Jane and two others, Suzanne and Corinne, were assigned to serve breakfast to the masters. Before they began, each had her ankles linked by a chain which Molly took from a peg on the wall. The connector was just long enough that Jane could shuffle across the floor without fear of stumbling (unless she was careless). As she picked up the first tray, containing bread-rolls, croissants and other assorted pastries, Molly showed her how to hold it correctly, at belly button level so her breasts and lower parts remained available for inspection. So it amused her when the diners seemed more interested in what was on the tray rather than under or above it.
Only Daniel paused to look into her face. Their eyes made contact for just an instant before Jane lowered her gaze to the floor, where it belonged… though more in embarrassment than in accordance with the rules. And yet the shame had a sweet savour.
Back in the galley at the end of the meal, the slavegirls were permitted the scraps; and the men generously left more than they ate, so no one went hungry. Every so often one of the women who had not been on kitchen duty came in for her breakfast, including Adrienne. There was music coming from the dining room, and she guessed that they were dancing to entertain the masters.
For the remainder of the morning, all of the women went about their household duties, again directed by Molly, who on a regular basis wielded a cane on the backsides on one of her charges, apparently at random, pour encourager les autres. Jane and Adrienne were not exempt. Their chores, though tedious, were not onerous, because there were so many pairs of hands. But they worked in chains, to remind them (as if their nudity, the cane and the rule of silence were not enough) of what they were and especially of what they were not. If one of the masters happened to pass by, they would all stop and stand at attention, eyes downcast; but if two came by, they knelt; and if more than two, they prostrated themselves on the hard, cold tiles. Now and then, one or more of the girls would be called away and would return, sometime later, flushed and sweaty.
Jane was assigned to clean the masters’ bedrooms. Each was three or four times the size of her own. (Yet even her miniscule cell was luxurious compared to the quarters of other women, who slept on mats packed together. But as she was to learn for herself, on most nights they shared the masters’ beds.) And when it came time for Jane to put down her broom, it was Daniel who came for her. He locked her bracelets behind her back and took her to her room. He tethered her collar to the ring on the wall, shortening the chain so she was forced to stand erect beside the bed; and he freed her hands, but only to secure them overhead to the ring.
Without a word, he then went away. After that, she was visited by each of the masters in turn. There were no more chores for Jane that morning.
Monique brought her lunch, and was obliged to hand-feed her, with difficulty since Jane was now on her belly, spreadeagled on the bed, and she did not have permission to use the key. Then came Adrienne, who did have permission. As Jane washed her face and cleaned the other parts of her as best she could in the hand basin, Adrienne asked:
“Are you happy?”
“Yes,” Jane replied. It was an odd question, and she expected a follow-up, but none came. But she didn’t care, because she was not yet ready to express her feelings about all that had happened so far… because she had not quite decided for herself what these were. In any case, Adrienne said “Come” and Jane followed her downstairs and into the courtyard.
The masters had been busy during at least part of the morning, because there was a wooden contraption occupying the middle of the enclosure. It consisted of a rotary base with six horizontal poles projecting as spokes from the axis, like one of those grinding wheels in an ancient flour mill. The girls were given their places, two on each of the arms of the device, and hitched into place. There were “eye” bolts screwed into the wood to which their bracelets were attached with short chains. The six women on the outer part of the arm were linked by a rope that ran from the collar of one, down between her legs, to the collar of the girl behind her, and so on to complete the loop. The six inner girls were connected the same way.
Once they were so placed, music began to play, and according to the tempo the gears in the machine changed to make the revolutions more or less difficult. This altered the rate at which they marched in their never-ending circuit. The mechanism was so designed that each of the arms rotated independently, and the result was that if one pair moved too quickly for those behind to keep pace, the rope between their thighs was dragged deep into their crevices; but if they slowed down the tug on their collars signalled that they were doing the same to those directly in front. The apparatus was also built in such a way that they could never bunch up to relieve the tension, and the result was that as they trudged round and round, they had to keep in a steady rhythm, with their partners side-by-side and front and behind, which was made more demanding by the fact that they were blindfolded, and also gagged, so their only communication could be grunts and groans. The gags were of the whiffle-ball kind which made it easier to breathe but caused, in a very short time, uncontrollable drooling. For some reason she did not fully comprehend, Jane found this particular humiliation to be deeply and intensely arousing. The Château had that effect.
To allow them the full enjoyment of the rope’s movement between their thighs and prevent it abrading the tender flesh, the women had been given small loincloths to wear. It was the first time that Jane had covered her most private part (or for that matter, any of her apart from the eyes) since she entered the house. Yet it was not mercy that was intended, for it meant that the game could go on until the evening. With just a couple of minutes of rest and a sip of water each hour, they were so exhausted by the end that, once released from their harnesses, all of the women collapsed beside the wheel. And it was perhaps the most degrading aspect of the infernal machine that it had no purpose, it did nothing but turn under their efforts. But Jane had found her ordeal as exhilarating as anything she had faced so far; and she was proud that neither she nor any of the other women had faltered. Given maybe half an hour to recover, they were then sent to the bathrooms to wash themselves before preparing dinner for the masters.
They showered together, but under the watchful eye of a couple of the men. Those who used the toilet were allowed their privacy, but in the shower they were not permitted to speak or to touch each other’s bodies or to linger under the steamy flow. Such privileges were reserved for those in the house whose parts entitled them to rule.
In the evening, after the masters had eaten their dinner and the slavegirls their leftovers, everyone gathered in the courtyard again. All of the women except Jane were blindfolded; she was allowed to see for the first time that with which the others were familiar. The wheel was gone, and in its place a scaffold had been erected. From the horizontal beam were suspended three pairs of manacles. Jane shivered, and it was not just the bite of the cold air on her naked flesh.
If, during the day, a girl had pleased the masters in some special way, she was given a white garter to wear on her left breast. Occasionally, one would have been so good that she would be wearing one on each. This evening there were three such girls. They mounted the scaffold to be locked into the shackles. Jane shuddered and cringed as shrill screams and ecstatic moans reverberated around the enclosure. The three were left hanging there, now limp and mute from receiving their reward, while Jane and the others were taken to the games room.
Part Five
It was raining as Daniel stepped out of the limousine, just as it had been that night, almost a year ago, when they had first passed through the gates of the Château Fantaisie. He took the lift to the top floor and was greeted by the ever lovely Gabrielle, who offered him coffee or something stronger (both of which he declined) and accompanied him to the lounge.
Jane and Adrienne were already there. They were both naked, their clothing folded neatly on one of the armchairs. As soon as he had sat, Adrienne knelt before him, and with his nodded permission she opened the zip of his trousers and bent forward between his legs to perform her duty. Neither was Jane deprived of this honour, for Steven, the other secretary, had followed Daniel into the room.
Once they had paid their tribute, the women took their seats. Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his. He felt tiny beads of perspiration breaking out on his brow. These meetings rarely went well for him. His business partners never raised their eyes to connect with his, but downcast they glistened with a familiar steely resolve. He didn’t need to see them to know that.
“If I may begin…” Adrienne began. “The first item is a review of the memberships.”
Daniel sucked in a nervous breath. He hated this part. “Is it necessary… again?”
“Of course,” Jane replied, her impatience ill-concealed.
Daniel wondered which masters would be leaving this time, and how many would remain. He knew that whatever arguments he advanced he would be outvoted, but it was becoming a serious issue. Since Jane had arrived in the Château, the demands of the slavegirls had become insatiable.
_____________

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by Mr Underheel » Sat Feb 08, 2014 7:39 pm

FABULOUS! Fabulous. Fabulous! I am speechless!!!

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by troublemaker1 » Sat Feb 08, 2014 7:45 pm

> xtc wrote:Yes, I AM glad you're posting again.
> Thank you.

I was looking through the archives several days ago and loved your stories, and I agree completely with what xtc says. An amazing story, glad to see your posts are still on-going.
Hey there

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sun Feb 09, 2014 5:33 pm

Thank you for the generous comments. I had intended that this would be the last Château instalment; but I have been inspired to continue.
The Apprentice
The interview had gone well, he thought. Of course he’d been nervous, but that was to be expected. But the funny thing was, it had been more an inquisition, and that worked to his advantage. He had never been good at face-to-face dialogue, and when he saw the sweaty, twitching faces of his predecessors as they staggered out of the room, that was actually a comfort.
In certain circles, the formidable reputation of the pocket-sized harridan was the stuff of legend, spoken about in whispers behind closed doors… or so it seemed. In person, Adrienne (she insisted on being addressed by her first name) was smaller and more delicate than he had pictured her, even more beautiful, much less fearsome. Unlike many of the prospective bosses he had endured, she went out of her way to put the candidates at ease, interrogating them not from behind a desk but in cosy armchairs, with mellow music playing in the background and coffee brought by her gorgeous assistant.
Richard felt stiff and stuffy in his suit and tie. (“Not the silk one,” Laurie had advised. “You don’t want to look too flashy.” His sister was always right about such things.) Adrienne, however, was wearing a sheer black dress with splendid décolletage and a “neckline” that plunged deep below her exquisite cleavage. He wondered (strictly to himself) how it managed to stay in place.
“Cocktail party,” she explained, answering at least one of his questions.
As she took her seat, her hemline retreated up her thigh, revealing the tops of her stockings, held up by lace garters. He noticed that unlike most women, she did not cross her legs or keep her knees pressed primly together. And she seemed not to mind that his gaze lingered there a second or two longer than it should.
Her questioning was direct and incisive, probing his brain and prodding his ego. She did not want to know about his skills or experience.
“On-the-job training?” he joked, and immediately regretted it.
She just smiled. “Something like that.”
After some intense cross-examination, she got him to admit that in his relationships he was generally submissive. “I guess more like the passive partner,” he tried to clarify.
She frowned, stared at him, and then laughed. But she moved on.
When it ended, she dismissed him with the usual “I shall be in touch” and he tried to put the meeting out of his mind. He was accustomed to the “Thank you for your application, however…” letter, and so he was surprised as well as pleased when he received his shortlist notification.
He was called back a week later. It was getting towards evening; the building was shutting down, offices closing, workers heading home. Adrienne was waiting for him as the elevator doors opened, dressed in a powder blue jacket, white blouse and short black skirt. This time she was not wearing stockings, but her legs were as sleek as the finest silk. Around her throat was a slim, leather choker with a small gold insignia, a triskelion. (He had already seen this motif, on the letterhead of Adrienne’s mail.)
She beckoned him into the conference room. She sat on the edge of the big oak table and told him to take a seat. The only chair was directly in front of her. She kicked off her shoes and began swinging her lovely bare legs. One brushed casually against his trousers. She took off her jacket and calmly threw it onto the desk behind her. She leaned forward, close enough that he sniffed the subtle fragrance of an expensive, exotic perfume.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” she asked.
“I’m cool,” he said.
“That’s disappointing,” she replied.
“Getting warmer,” he answered.
“Relax,” she said. “Take off your tie.”
He did so. She held out her hand, took the tie and caressed it, stroked it across her cheeks. She laid it beside her on the desktop.
“And your coat.” She took it also and set it down on top of hers. Then, without another word, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
Not knowing whether to follow the example with his shirt, he did not, and she smiled. There was a strange sparkle in her eyes, and he suspected that this had been a test.
She slipped the blouse off her shoulders and tossed it casually behind her. She was not wearing a bra. Her breasts were not large but perfectly shaped, the rosy nipples already erect. She reached behind her and wiggled her bottom, and he could see that she was unzipping her skirt. Then she lay back, reclining on the table with her buttocks right on the edge and her legs dangling, feet off the floor. She placed her hands on her hips and made a pushing movement. Richard understood and (with slightly trembling hands) pulled the skirt down her legs and cast it on onto the growing pile of discarded garments.
Adrienne paused, took a deep breath and then wriggled and squirmed backwards until she was lying full-length on the gleaming tabletop, near enough to one side that Richard could stand next to it and reach all of her. She turned over to lie on her belly, put her hands behind her back and slid her fingers under the elastic band of her panties. He took hold of them and drew them, at a leisurely pace, over the deliciously soft curves of her backside, her thighs and her calves. For some reason he left them crumpled at her ankles. There was something very sexy, and symbolic, about that, although he didn’t know exactly what it was. But she seemed to approve, because he heard a faint sigh of pleasure.
Her hands were still behind her back, resting on her naked derrière, wrists crossed. She was facing away from him. Her hair was cut in a short, cutely boyish style, exposing the back of her neck. Her collar was secured with a tiny padlock, and he saw that there was an inscription embossed into the leather.
Adrienne, property of the Château
[To be continued...]

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sun Feb 09, 2014 9:29 pm

Richard was unsure where to go from there, how far he was expected or permitted to go. So he stood in silence, studying the woman’s marvellous, inviting nude form prostrate on the tabletop. Somewhat to his surprise, her skin was goosebumpy and glistened with a golden film of perspiration. Was it nerves or simple arousal?
Testing the limits of his privileges, he traced his fingernails along the backs of her knees and thighs, glided them over her bottom, ran them up her spine and across both her shoulders, ending on the nape of her slender neck to play with the lock on her collar. Her felt her shiver. He put one hand in the crevice between her buttocks and caressed the tender flesh. He felt her shudder. His fingers entered and fondled her, and he heard her gasp and then softly moan.
She lifted her head off the table and her body made little jerking movements.
“Lie still,” he commanded, and to his amazement she obeyed.
Near her feet at the edge of the desk was his necktie, and he realized that she’d placed it there for a reason. So he began winding it around and between her wrists, slowly to see if she’d offer any resistance. But she didn’t and he knotted it with a sharp tug. He did not make it too constricted, not to spare her the discomfort but because he didn’t want to damage his tie. So with a flash of inspiration he took off his belt. Adrienne must have heard the tell-tale swish as he pulled it from the loops of his trousers, because she flinched. (It only occurred to him later that the use he planned for the leather strap was not what she expected.) He wrapped it around her arms halfway up and when he buckled it her arms were drawn together so that her shoulders were wrenched and her torso arched backwards from the strain, and her elbows almost touched. Her small fists were tightly clenched, her toes curled.
“Too much?” he asked, and immediately regretted what she might perceive as weakness.
But she replied with a grunt through gritted teeth something that sounded like “Don’t stop.”
He looked about. There was nothing in the room that looked like suitable binding material. She understood the reason for his pause.
“In the cabinet… in my office…” she said.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about her office. It was expensively but sparsely furnished. There were several filing cabinets, mostly locked. One was not, and inside Richard discovered a remarkably diverse collection of objects and paraphernalia… straps, ropes and chains… collars and cuffs… sashes, gags and blindfolds… belts, bars and braces… appliances and devices, some sinisterly familiar, others with uses and applications he could not even imagine. Being cautious, he chose a coil of soft nylon cord, an odd phallus-shaped gag and a large satin scarf. He could always come back for more.
By the time he finished with her, Adrienne was helpless on the desktop, bound hand-and-foot, blindfolded. Gulping breaths rasped past her gag, and tiny bubbles foamed at the corners of her mouth. He had never done anything like this before; but once, when he was small, Laurie had tied him up. It was a game then, and now he wondered what this might be.
For a moment, deciding what to do next, he contemplated the whip or the riding crop he had seen in the bottom of the cabinet; but he thought the better of it. He was a novice at this sort of thing and should stick to the basics. Instead he went to the bar fridge in the corner of the room and extracted a bottle of beer. He opened it and drained half the contents, standing over his beautiful bound captive, allowing some of the ice-cold liquid to dribble onto her delightfully denuded derrière. She cringed and squealed. He pressed the base of the bottle into the sweet, bare, quivering flesh, leaving half a dozen circles of sparkling condensation.
She reached out with her bound hands, and when she grasped the bottle, he told her to hold it there while he considered what more he could do. To keep it firmly in place, he wedged it in the cleft with a thrust more brutal than he intended. She groaned through her gag.
It took him a while to resolve to go forward. He turned her over, onto her back, put a hand between her shoulder blades to get her to sit up, and moved her to the end of the table so her legs were once more over the edge. Though her eyes were masked and her cheeks bulged from the thick shaft of the gag that filled her mouth, she was breathtakingly gorgeous. Panting softly, sweating and trembling, a saliva rivulet trickling down her chin and onto her chest, she looked so delicate and vulnerable that she was hardly the same woman who had quizzed him with such intimidating intensity just seven days before.
He gently parted her knees and placed himself between them. He took hold of her shoulders and drew her forwards until her naked breasts were squeezed against his shirt. Her sublime chest heaved, and he could feel her heart beating faster as he unzipped his trousers. He hesitated, and she nodded. Her body convulsed, just a tiny bit, as he pushed into her.
When he’d finished, he left her perched on the edge of the table while he went for another beer. As he stood there, just looking at her, gloriously nude, bound, gagged, blindfolded, sweaty and yet shivering, he suddenly chucked.
Her head tilted sideward in that adorable way of inquisitive children and puppies.
He did not reveal what he was thinking.
“I wonder if I’ve passed the audition.”

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by hafnermg » Tue Feb 11, 2014 12:25 am

oooh very interesting story im gonna watch this one intently!

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Tue Feb 11, 2014 7:14 am

Exordium
1. Justine
Justine peeked out the open window, down into the courtyard. All of the masters were assembled there, resplendent in their black leather breeches, velvet jackets and crimson capes. She ducked her head below the sill and barely managed to swallow a laugh.
The induction ceremony had, it seemed to her, become more absurdly elaborate with each new intake. She had seen so many young men come and go, and in recent months the turnover had increased, the recruits (two this time) more fresh-faced and callow than their predecessors. And for no logical reason she could discern, the formalities and rituals had grown more intricate and flamboyant. Now that could have been her imagination. Four years of servitude in and out of the Château was bound to play tricks on the mind. Or perhaps it was just that she was getting cynical. After all, the initiation was inevitably harder on those veterans of the Fantaisie whose duty it was to educate the new masters.
A bell chimed, signalling to the females throughout the house and in the gardens that it was time to join the gathering. By the time Justine reached the lobby, most of her sisters were there, getting ready for their entrance, checking each other’s collars and cuffs to make sure they were on straight, properly secured, the leather gleaming, the metal joints sparkling. They organized themselves in a double file, twenty-four women in all, and marched out into the quad, arms folded behind backs, heads bowed. They arranged themselves kneeling in a semi-circle, in two ranks but in such a way that none was obscured by anyone in front. The pair of novitiates stood at the focus of the arc and the rest of the masters (there were just nine in the house) formed an uneven row behind them, being careful to avoid any semblance of order or discipline (for that was the domain of slaves).
Since the masters enjoyed absolute equality, there was no chairman of proceedings; all played some role, and it was Sir Mark who stepped forward to administer the oaths. The trainees were distracted by the two dozen nude bodies, and both mangled their lines. Justine felt just a little smug as she and her sisters flawlessly recited their promise to honour the masters, serve without question and obey without hesitation. Of course, they’d had a lot of practice this past year.
Once the formalities were over, the residents of the Château dispersed, the males to the library for brandy and whisky, the females to finish their chores. Only Justine and Elizabeth remained in the courtyard with the two young men. They prostrated themselves and kissed the boots of Sir David and Sir Richard. Justine thought this was a silly custom but had long since lost her distaste for foolish theatricals. It amused her that both the new masters, anticipating this, had thoughtfully polished their boots to remove all dirt and dust.
Still lying on her belly, her arms behind her back fingers to elbows, Justine slowly rotated her wrists until one of the men received the message, reached down and pushed the insides of her bracelets together until the little clasp snapped into place. It was Sir Richard who had claimed her. He started to help her to her feet but she gently shook off his grip and stood up by herself. So did Elizabeth. It was not easy, without the use of her hands, and the effort left her muscles aching, but it was always a satisfying moment to show how tough and skilled the slavegirls were. Naturally, that was not self-pride. There was and should be no dignity in being what they were (at least so far as Justine was concerned). It was instead a tribute to the master that his slave, while totally devoted to fulfilling his desires, should be so strong and self-reliant. The very thought gave her a pleasant tickle inside.
There was an uneasy, silent pause, until Justine puckered her lips in a way the new masters were taught was seeking consent to speak.
“Yes, girl?”
“Thank you, Master. May we be permitted the honour of going to your room?”
“Yes, girl.”
She tried not to smile. Such euphemisms (and their dysphemism cousins) were part of the play.
With her eyes downcast, she could see the front of both pairs of trousers tightening, the bulges straining against the black leather. These novices were so wet behind the ears that she wondered if they might be virgins. (And actually, that would make an odd sort of sense. It had appeared for some time that the new owners of the Château Fantaisie were seeking the rawest of recruits. That made life more difficult for the slaves, but also more interesting.)
Sir Richard clipped a leash to her collar and led her into the building and up to his third floor quarters. Sir David followed with his property. Along the way they passed Suzanne and Caroline, on their knees scrubbing the floor of the corridor. The lathered pair glanced up and smiled, with both sympathy and envy, as the four passed by.
On the bed, Sir Richard proved as awkward as Justine suspected he would. First, after fumbling with the tiny lock, he could not free her hands from behind her back; so when (due to nerves) he proved inept at penetration she was unable to assist, which made it harder on her. Of course, what was worse was the disgrace she felt in failing to give pleasure to her master. But he was also comically irresolute about his clothing. It was etiquette that a master should not be naked in the presence of a female. But Sir Richard was uncertain whether stripping off his trousers constituted nudity. So he lowered them only to his knees, and he kept his shirt on. At least he took his boots off. Afterwards, however, he could joke about it.
In fact, Justine found her new master to be charming in his own way, naïve and inexperienced but with a self-deprecating sense of humour which as a woman she found endearing and as a slave she was obligated to ignore without giving offence. He permitted her to speak freely, and although she knelt at his feet as he sat in the armchair by the bed, and she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, she expressed herself openly and they learned things about each other.
Sir Richard was still a student (university, not school, she was relieved to hear) and had a girlfriend, and he really didn’t know what had impelled him to take this change of life’s course. Like all of the masters, he had survived the rigorous selection process, so he must have some special quality that was valued in a man of the Château.
Suddenly he said, “Look up at me.”
She lifted her head, and her eyes fleetingly connected with his.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said.
She did not respond, but finally he proclaimed, “Yes... I remember now... the gold medals.”
She was not bothered. They all eventually recognized her.
“Want my autograph?” she was tempted to reply.
“Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend or fiancé?”
She did not answer straight away, not wishing to expose that part of herself which was not already in his possession. He did not insist. Another of the protocols of the Château was that a woman should have no identity of her own; she was defined by what she was not, rather than by what she was, or had once been, or might in the future be. This was not only to make her a better slave; it gave her protection in her life outside. If she was someone with a public profile, such as Justine, the masters were sworn to secrecy. It was rumoured among the slaves that the men had the means to enforce this code, but only Adrienne had that knowledge, which she never revealed.
Sir Richard placed a hand on her head and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Almost time for dinner,” he observed. “Lean forward, on the bed please.”
It seemed he was determined to prove himself. Still on her knees, she shuffled forward. Her body was preparing itself, her nipples began to stiffen and rise, and the touch of the cold satin sheet sent a thrill surging through her. With one hand the master pushed her shackled wrists up to the middle of her back, and with the other he gently nudged her thighs apart.
__________________
Exordium
2. Elizabeth
“I really am getting too old for this.”
It was only as the words came out that she realized that she had spoken and not just thought them. She glanced about fearfully, hoping that none of the masters heard. Nobody had, or at least nobody reacted.
Elizabeth was the oldest and longest serving slave in the Château. It had been eight years since she entered the house. She hadn’t changed much (or so she believed), and there was still no greater pleasure than in doing what she did, but sometimes she wondered if what she had given up, the things other women seek, might have offered equal fulfilment, produced as much joy.
She had not been brought up this way. She had always been of independent spirit and was once ambitious. Before she came to the Château, she was a postgraduate student who earned her living as an exotic dancer. That’s how Grand Master Jack found her. Now, in her time outside the house, she was an associate professor; and while they no doubt questioned why she rarely socialized and refused a full-time position at the university, none of her colleagues or students had any idea of this other side of her life. She was not ashamed of what she was, but there was no point in creating complications where none were needed.
She once had a fiancé, but she brought him into the Château. It was a sweet time, at first, but there was a strict rule, that if a master and a slave married, he would be obliged to leave the house. He would continue to enjoy the privileges of access to the girls on the outside, but could never again step across the threshold of the Fantaisie. So she could not really blame her betrothed when he called off the wedding. He was still one of the masters. They were still close. Elizabeth still loved what he was and she was not.
Nevertheless, the Château had been in many ways a simpler place back then. It was during her third year that she met Andrew. They knew all about each other’s preferences, penchants and proclivities, everything that is except this most precious of her secrets. She left the Château and for a while they were happy; but the flames of her old passion were kindled once more. And so it was on a winter’s night that she drove with him to the house in the country.
They were greeted at the door by the slavegirl Marissa, who took them to the library where a fire crackled in an ornate hearth. Elizabeth knelt on the rug as her lover took his seat in one of the green leather Chesterfield chairs. She set her shoes to the side and slowly removed her scarf and coat.
“What is it you want?” she asked.
Andrew stared after the naked Marissa, with a faint smile, as she crossed the room to the bar cabinet.
“Scotch… one cube.”
The young woman dropped the ice into the glass and swirled them about, gently, lovingly, until it gleamed a golden brown. She brought it to him, genuflected with head bowed, and then retired to the corner of the room nearest the fireplace, kneeling and facing the wall with her hands clasped on her head so that the flickering glow played dancing games across her back.
Elizabeth described to her lover what pleasures would be his if he consented to share her with the other masters. She explained that it was because she belonged to him that he could give her to them, and the more of her that he shared the more she was bound to him by her obedience. But once he agreed that she should serve all of the men in the house, she would not be free to refuse any of them that to which she was obligated, nor was it his privilege to deny them that to which they were entitled.
She assured him that she served the masters joyfully and bore her chains with pride, and that if her slavery might in reality be the loss of freedom and not a willing surrender, that was because true submission was obtained by the master and not offered up by the slave. She served in order to give pleasure, not to receive it.
All the time she was telling him this, Elizabeth did not raise her eyes to see his face, and so she could had no way of knowing what he might be thinking until he spoke.
“Is it because your love for me is unconditional that you want to give me this gift, your submission and obedience, as well as that of all the women here? Or is this really what you desire? Am I merely your excuse… your pretext?”
In reply, she whispered “Marissa,” and while the girl brought two footstools (ottomans matching the armchairs) and set them down in the middle of the room, Elizabeth took off the rest of her clothing. She placed her hands behind her back and Marissa attached her collar and bracelets. Both women then stooped and bent over the stools, their bellies and breasts resting upon the leather cushion, their haunches raised and exposed. Andrew did not hesitate. He knelt behind her, and she felt cold fingers gripping the raw flesh of her buttocks. Her excited nipples scuffed deliciously against the warm leather facing of the ottoman and its sculpted inlaid studs. She quietly moaned.
Her lover had made his decision.

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by Mister Mistoffelees » Fri Feb 14, 2014 9:26 pm

Sarobah, you have the richest and most vivid style of anyone here! Have you ever seriously considered RL publishing?...
Welcome to Snowden! Enter at your own risk...

### Re: Château Fantaisie

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 15, 2014 1:01 am

> Mister Mistoffelees wrote:Sarobah, you have the richest and most vivid style of anyone here! Have you ever seriously considered RL publishing?...

Thank you.
I have considered it, but I write for fun; and with my other commitments using up most of my time and energy, it would be an additional pressure and therefore no longer fun.
Maybe one day :o)
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.