CHAPTER ONE
ARRIVAL
Nothing my uncle had said to me previous to my departure for
that distant part of the continent could have prepared me for
my first experience of the strange and beautiful Chateau Noir.
Really, I had been told very little; simply that, as I was now
a young man of eighteen years of age, it was high time I had
some practical experience of the world. And for that reason,
it was my uncle's intention to send me on an errand of
business to the continent.
I was told by my uncle that I would be staying for some
few weeks at the residence of a "very dear friend" of his, a
friend who held the most respected position of Head Mistress
at a special finishing school of some sort or other that my
uncle helped to support.
I was also told, somewhat suspiciously I thought, that
the exact location of the place to which I was to be sent was
forever to be held in the strictest of secrecy.
From this I secretly assumed that I was in actuality to
be the guest of one of my uncle's immensely wealthy
acquaintances on the continent, perhaps at some highly
exclusive pleasure resort, and that the story regarding the
"business errand" was simply a bit of fiction to allay any
suspicion on the part of my parents.
My uncle's considerable reputation for sometimes
associating with some of the rougher elements of what is
called "low" society, as well as with the higher echelons of
"decent" society, was well known to me through various hints
and allegations overheard throughout my childhood.The ruse of
the "finishing school" had no doubt been designed to deceive
my mother as to the true nature of my journey; she had never
wholly approved of my uncle, and had agreed to my coming under
his influence, even for so brief a time as a few short weeks,
only after the strongest warnings and protests.
And so, with all these delightful and intriguing
suspicions in mind, I prepared myself for some weeks of
extended parties, revels of all-night dancing and delicious
sport among the pleasure-fields of luxury among my uncle's
forbidden "acquaintances", and nothing more.
When I took leave of my uncle at Victoria Station, I
carried upon my person from him a letter of introduction
addressed to one "Mademoiselle Marie T.", but the most
important cargo I carried was another series of letters
addressed to the same lady, some from my uncle and, as I was
to learn later, others from many of the richest and most
powerful men in Europe.
I also carried among my luggage a small wooden case,
locked and bound in iron, it's interior most heavy with gold.
I was told that this considerably weighty amount of money was
to be a charitable donation to what I was again given to
believe was an exclusive finishing school for young girls.
The money, according to my uncle, was to assist this great and
laudable institution in the many and various works of charity
with which it was frequently connected. I, of course, assumed
the money was in fact intended to pre-pay my uncle's
"acquaintance" for the expenses that would be incurred during
my luxurious holiday; the exquisite food, the exotic
entertainment would, no doubt, cost a small fortune.
When I arrived at the Chateau itself, after many long
days of travel by train and boat and ornate private coach, and
a surprisingly long ride along an extensive stretch of private
road, which rolled through the hills for some miles even after
we had passed through the main gate of the estate, I soon came
to realise that this "school" was something much more larger
than I had expected.
I shall always remember huge great pile of stone and
wood, silhouetted against a fiery summer sunset, as the
carriage approached along the cobblestone drive to the rear of
the great building, a rambling three-story complex, surrounded
by high hedges, which also enclosed one of the most beautiful
and well-tended gardens I have ever seen. There was a coach
house, and many other outbuildings on the estate as well.
Overall, the Chateau Noir gave the impression of a pleasant
combination of absolute beauty and total isolation.
Mademoiselle T. met me as I descended from the coach and
approached the Chateau's carved oaken doors. She was a tall
woman, dark, with a certain, slight, indefinable touch of the
exotic about her calm, thin mouth and quiet, watchful eyes.
I felt myself thoroughly examined, as a great physician might
examine a patient, that physician knowing instantly and
instinctively all there is to know about the patient, his many
quirks and ailments, both physical and spiritual, and having
no need whatsoever for questions or answers. It was not the
sort of look one expects in a woman, and I have never known a
woman to look at me that way since.
Wordless and respectful servants took my bags, all except
the one containing the portfolio of letters and the small
wooden case of gold, which I attended to myself, and I was
conducted by the Mistress alone down a long candle-lit hallway
and into an ornately beautiful drawing room.
This drawing room was richly decorated, the walls of dark
panelled wood covered with fine, dark tapestries with traces
here and there of fine gold embroidery that glittered in the
light from many thick and exotically scented candles mounted
in gold and silver candlesticks, which were scattered here and
there throughout the room.Deep, rich oriental carpets covered
the stone floor. A fire crackled in the large fireplace,
beside which there stood a brass and iron rack containing the
usual poker, cinder shovel and hearth brush. The same rack
also contained some curiously fashioned instruments that I was
at the time at a loss to identify, among them were what
appeared to be a variety of pokers that ended in round, rather
than pointed, tips.
Mademoiselle T. and I made ourselves comfortable on plush
velvet chairs and, after glancing for some moments through the
pack of letters I had presented to her, my father's letter of
introduction included, and having sent the heavy case of gold
away with a servant, who had entered the room in response to
a bell that rang somewhere far within the depths of the house
at a single, gentle pull of one of the many-coloured bell
ropes that hung along the wall near where she sat, the
Mistress began at last my education as to the real nature and
purpose of the Chateau Noir.
"You appear to be a fine young man, Thomas S.," Mlle. T.
said with a tight smile. "I do not know your mother, but I
knew your father very well indeed."
Marie T. was a singularly beautiful woman. Her age would
have been hard to guess precisely; perhaps thirty, perhaps
thirty-five. She wore a simple dress of the day. She wore
her dark hair high upon her head, tightly, but not severely.
No, the detail of her aspect that suggested severity was the
cold darkness of her eyes, and the somewhat cruel line of her
mouth. Even when she smiled there seemed to be a message of
warning. She appeared proper, finely mannered, and perfectly
controlled. Her entire aspect sent the message that this was
a woman of great and singular Will.
"Did your father tell you much about my school?" she
asked.
I told her that I really knew very little, other than
that the school was a very private and very exclusive sort of
finishing school for young ladies. Frightfully expensive, I
would imagine.
The Mistress smiled. "The Chateau Noir is indeed a
finishing school for young ladies. Wayward girls, mostly.
And it is, as you say, frightfully expensive. We have nearly
twenty students attending at this time." The Mistress's smile
widened slightly. "Would you like to meet some of them?"
I replied, politely, that I would be delighted, if to do
so would not interrupt the young ladies' studies.
"Oh, no," said Mlle. T., with a tight smile. "In fact,
Thomas, I try consider meeting the few, rare visitors we
receive here at the Chateau to be an integral part of the
education of my young ladies." So saying, the Mistress put
her hand to the group of coloured bell ropes, selected the
blue one on this occasion, and pulled it sharply six times.
After a very few moments, there was a cautious tapping at
the drawing room door and, at the Mistress T.'s bidding, there
entered six timid young girls, aged approximately fourteen to
eighteen years, who quickly arranged themselves in a straight
line, shoulder to soft shoulder, across the centre of the
room, facing Mlle. T. and myself.
They were all six dressed alike, but in no girls' school
uniform the like of which I had ever seen before. They each
wore instead a short, brief tunic of some gossamer fabric,
silk perhaps, beneath which it could be readily determined
that there were no undergarments of any kind whatever covering
their variously sized young breasts. And since the hem of
these tunics extended not far below the girls' waists, the
small white panties the girls wore beneath were almost
completely exposed.
I stood silently astonished.
Mlle. T. smiled at my reaction. "The Chateau Noir is the
world's foremost training school for courtesans, Thomas. Your
father and I began the school five years ago, and we have
procured and trained over a hundred girls since then."
The Mistress walked slowly up and down before the line of
girls as she spoke. "My girls are carefully instructed in the
ancient ways of pleasure gathered from cultures from all
points of the globe. Cultures easily as ancient as that of
Old Egypt." She stopped and stood for a moment, facing a red-
haired girl of about sixteen. "Did you know, Thomas," the
Mistress said, continuing to speak to me, even as she stared
directly into the bright, nervous eyes of the girl before her.
"Did you know that in ancient Egypt there was a cult which
explored the sexual pleasures that could be derived from the
bite of the common adder?"
"Snakes?" I murmured in response.
"Oh, yes," the Mistress whispered, into the face of the
red-haired girl. "You see, they observed that the convulsions
preceding death due to snake bite closely resembled the
tremors of the deepest climax of sexual pleasure. So they fed
snake venom, in ever increasing volume, to certain young slave
girls, until eventually they were rendered immune to the
poison, but not to the intense convulsions following a bite."
The Mistress gazed even more intently into the eyes of
the now trembling girl before her. "Girls who had been
rendered so immune were brought into the temple of the serpent
god on special days. They were tied down spread-eagle on a
stone altar and jars filled with poisonous adders were pressed
over their young breasts."
The red-haired girl before her gasped, suddenly, earning
her a quick look of contempt from the Mistress in response.
"Then," Mistress T. continued, "while they held the first
two jars in place, the priests would press another jar of
serpents between the girl's legs."
A slight whimper came from one of the other girls in
line, perhaps from the youngest, a small-breasted brown-haired
girl of fourteen.
Mlle. T. did not seem to notice the interruption. "It is
said that the girl slaves would appear to orgasm for hours at
a time after being submitted to the Worship of the Snake,
being repeatedly bitten and bitten and bitten again. Most
died, due to a lack of educated supervision on the part of the
priests. But do you know what, Thomas?"
I did not respond. And the girl before Mlle. T. stood
tremblingly silent as well.
"I have perfected those techniques!" the Mistress said
with a cold smile. "The snake-induced orgasm can continue for
days without undue damage to the individual. I have even
determined that for some reason, as yet unknown to me, red-
haired girls seem to have the ability to endure the most!"
A look of inexpressible horror swept over the red-haired
girl's face as she heard this, a look which Mistress T. seemed
to drink in with great relish.
"Carl!" Mistress T. called, suddenly. Almost instantly,
there was one of the servants I had seen earlier, standing
behind the red-haired girl, with a firm grip upon each of her
elbows.
The girl struggled with a fierce effort, but was helpless
in the servant's iron grip.
Mlle. T. then turned away from the girl, to face me, and
continued her speech, most casually. "This is Karen, Thomas,"
she said, indicating the red-haired beauty. "Karen has been
consuming a most special diet since her arrival here, some two
months ago. You see, there is very little taste to distilled
snake venom, as Karl, here, prepares it." This was apparently
the name of the tall, dark servant who held Karen up before
us. "Just one of our Karl's many talents - he is also a
Master Chef, you know. Well, Thomas, our Karen here has been
practically immune to serpent venom for nearly a week now.
And as soon as our shipment of live adders arrives this week,
Karen is going to experience pleasures that no woman has known
in over two thousand years!" Mlle. T. laughed, coldly.
The girl, upon hearing this, issued forth with the most
piercing scream I had ever heard, and she then fainted dead
away in the servant's arms. At Mistress T.'s bidding, the
servant hoisted the unconscious girl over his shoulder and
carried her from the room.
"I'm afraid our Karen will have to be watched very
carefully until her little playmates arrive," Mistress T.
said, laughingly. "Our last red-haired girl hanged herself
with her own bed sheets when she heard of my intentions toward
her. A shame, really. I understand the Worship of the Snake
was thought of as quiet pleasurable for some of the Egyptian
slave-girls. There are rumours, in fact, that the Queen of
the Nile herself, the great Cleopatra, put an adder to her own
breast in envy, after observing one of her slave girls endure
a ceremonial snake-induced orgasm that latest for an entire
month!"
I shivered, but did not know whether I did so in horror
or in fascination. A quality, a sensitivity, that I did not
realize I possessed had been planted within my being, and was
even now beginning to grow and take root.
"This... is Stephanie," Mlle. T. said suddenly, awakening
me from my brief revery. "Isn't she lovely?"
The Mistress was now standing before another of the
girls, a brown-haired nymph of about sixteen. Her breasts
were smallish, but of a taughtness that promised greater
things to come as she grew and developed.
The woman lifted one hand to the young girl's cheek and
wiped away a single tear that hung there. "Are you
frightened, Stephanie?" the Mistress asked, softly.
"Y... yes, Mistress," the girl in question replied,
tremblingly.
"No, Stephanie," Mlle. T. said, comfortingly, as her hand
stroked the girl's pale cheek. "Why be afraid? Is there
anything to be afraid of here?"
As she spoke, Mlle. T. began to slowly trace one finger
down the girl's cheek to the pulsing softness of the girl's
neck, from the hollow of her neck down to the softer swelling
of the girl's left breast, its subtle shape clearly defined
under the wispy fabric of the short tunic. Then, bringing the
fingers of her other hand into play, the Mistress stood,
lightly stroking the tips of both the girl's young breasts
through the thin tunic.
"Thomas," Mistress T. called, softly, but insistently.
"Come here."
I came, as if in a dream. I walked along the line formed
by the other four girls, standing nervous, but docile,
watching what was taking place, until I came to stand by young
Stephanie and her Mistress.
"Stand behind her, Thomas" the Mistress said softly.
I did so.
"Now, Thomas," continued Mlle. T., in a soft, hypnotic
whisper, "do you see the small catch at her shoulder?"
I saw it. A tiny, silver hook against the thin fabric,
which I now identified as fine silk.
"Release it, Thomas."
I did so and the filmy white tunic slipped from
Stephanie's smooth shoulders and fell unheeded to the carpet
at her feet, leaving the soft breasts bare, and the girl's
entire quivering form, except for the brief, white silk
panties she still wore, nakedly exposed in the shimmering
firelight.
"Now, Stephanie," said Mlle. T. "Do you feel better?"
"Oh, Y... yes, Mistress," the girl whispered, a
frightened look in her eyes.
"That's fine," said the Mistress. "Now, I want you to do
something for me, Stephanie. Something very simple. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, Mistress" she murmured. Stephanie's eyes were now
closed, and her soft breathing had become heavier."
"Listen to me, Stephanie," said Mlle T. "You are not to
come. Do you understand?"
The girls whimpered suddenly.
"Stephanie," the Mistress said again, this time most
intensely. "You are not to come! Do you understand?"
"Pleeeeeeeeease, Mistress!" the girl cried, suddenly,
imploringly.
"No, Stephanie... you are not to come! You know this
game. Do you understand? Answer me!"
For some moments, the young girl seemed beyond words, so
intense was her anguish. Warm, glittering teardrops rolled
down her cheeks, unheeded, as she was suddenly racked with
sobs.
I could simply not understand why the girl's reaction
should be so despairing. From what little knowledge I had of
the female sex, this gained from the pages of certain
disreputable and forbidden books obtained from one of my
schoolmates, girls, on the whole, seemingly had to struggle to
attain their illusive female orgasms. Why, then, was this
young girl so afraid of disobeying her Mistress by succumbing
to an unwanted climax?
On the other hand, I was struck with a certain admiration
for Mlle. T.'s establishment of unquestioning discipline in so
young a girl. Stephanie obviously had an absolute horror of
disobeying her Mistress, in any matter whatsoever.
"Stephanie?" the Mistress continued. "You must answer
me. Just because you lost this game the last time we played
it does not mean you cannot win it this time, does it?"
More sobs, but somewhat quieting now.
"So, do you understand the rules? Do you accept?"
"Y... yes, M... Mistress," Stephanie snivelled, finally.
I saw a look of triumph in the Mistress's eye.
"Very well," said Mlle. T. "We can begin. Thomas,
please remove Stephanie's panties."
"Noooooooooo, Mistress, pleeeeease," Stephanie shrieked
at this.
"Stephanie!" Mistress T. yelled, suddenly, shocking the
young girl into a quivering silence. "Shut up this instant!
Just because you have never played the game bare doesn't mean
we can't now! You are being trained to control your sexual
emotions. You must control your emotions so that you can
concentrate on pleasing your future partners! Do you
understand?"
"Yes, M... Mistress, but..."
"There are to be no qualifications, Stephanie!" said
Mlle. T., cutting through the girl's objections. "Now, tell
me, Stephanie. How many love strokes from the Tongue was your
punishment the last time you lost?"
"N... nine minutes worth, Mistress", the girl sobbed,
miserably.
"Very well, for this game the penalty for losing will be
more."
"Nooooooo, nooooooo, oh, you cannnnnnn't..." Stephanie
cried, in absolute panic.
"Quiet, now, Stephanie! The penalty will not be
inappropriate for a girl of your strength and age, and you
have had more than enough training by now to be able to fight
temptation. Stand still, Stephanie. Thomas, remove
Stephanie's panties."
I stepped forward once again, uncertainly. At last, I
stood so close as to feel the young girl's heat. I could
readily scent her sharp perfume. It was not some expensive
scent from one of the world's great perfumeries. It was,
instead, the natural scent of fear, softened, I thought, by a
faint but perceptible hint of feminine arousal.
Though but a girl of sixteen, it was clear enough, through
the evidence of my own senses, as well as from the very nature
of the "test" Madame had devised for the young woman, that of
resisting giving in to orgasm, that Stephanie had a more than
readily aroused appreciation for the pleasures her firm, ripe
body could afford herself.
It was from this, however, still unclear to me then whether
Stephanie was a stranger to physical love with men, although
it was certain that she was more than acquainted with the
pleasures that another of her own tender sex could provide.
It was, in fact, the purpose of Mlle. T.'s experiment to see
if the girl could restrain herself from enjoying such
attentions to the point of spending.
My mind filled with these rushing thoughts, I did as
Mlle. T. instructed me. I approached the girl from behind,
knelt, and I must confess that it was with hands that trembled
nearly as much as the young girl herself that I gently drew
down Stephanie's single remaining garment, my fingers brushing
lightly against the damp flesh of the girl's outer thighs, my
face mere inches from the soft, plump curve of her firm, young
behind. Her warmly radiating flanks shivered at the
sensation, and a soft fretful whimper escaped from her tightly
closed mouth.
"Come, Stephanie," Madame laughed chidingly. "We have
not yet even started! Do you think the Tongue so light a
penalty that you would succumb so early?"
"No, Mistress!" answered the young girl, pitifully.
"Very well," said Madame. "Thomas, place your hands upon
Stephanie's shoulders. You are to steady her from behind."
I followed her instructions. A shiver ran through the
girl's body as I gripped her soft shoulders lightly, but
prepared myself to tighten the grasp should it be required.
Mlle. T. stood facing the girl. From where I stood,
behind Stephanie, I could observe the Mistress's gaze, as she
stared intently into the eyes of her young student.
"Now, then, Stephanie," said Madame. "We shall begin."
With both hands, Mlle. T. began to lightly caress the
girl facing her. Her fingers lightly stroked from the girl's
soft young shoulders, where I held her, down along her willowy
arms to where Stephanie's hands hung trembling at her hips,
then up again along those narrow hips to pause ticklingly near
the girl's tender underarms. I could feel the tension in the
girl's shoulders as she fought to show no reaction to her
Mistress's caresses.
Madame's hands now moved inward, brushing lightly to the
tips of Stephanie's pert breasts, where they paused for a
moment to draw light concentric circles around the girl's
pink, puckered young nipples.
"Hard as little diamonds already, are they not,
Stephanie?" Mlle. T. commented, quietly.
"Y... yes, Mistress," the girl answered, her voice the
tiny squeak of a frightened mouse.
I leaned slightly forward over the girl's shoulder to see
that the small points did in fact look painfully hard.
"Hard as little diamonds," Madame said again, quietly.
"I wonder if that most precious of jewels is equally hard,
Stephanie. You know, the one you keep between your legs?"
The young girl whimpered once again at this hint of much
more intimate caresses to come.
"Well, Stephanie?" Mlle T. demanded, teasingly. "Can you
feel your little ruby of delight becoming firm, becoming hard
for us? Does is ache, Stephanie? Does it burn?" Madame
asked, with a smile.
"I... I... oh...," the girl struggled for words with
which to reply.
"Answer me, Stephanie!" Madame demanded threateningly.
"It... it feels... it feels..."
"How?" Madame asked again.
"I... I... I..."
Madame appeared to have lost patience. "Is this as much
as you have learned about expressing the feelings of love? Is
it for this that you have received your education in the
literature and poetry of love? So that now you can say
nothing? I ask you again, Stephanie... the jewel between you
legs, how hard does it now feel?"
"I... I..."
At this point Mlle. T. appeared to lose her control and
chose a most direct way to express her anger.
"Does it feel as hard as this?" Madame cried, suddenly
grasping the girl's small nipples between thumbs and
forefingers and twisting them sharply in opposite directions.
The girl lifted beneath my steadying hands, still planted
firmly upon her shoulders, and shrieked loud enough to deafen
me for an instant. Where my inexperienced hands found the
strength to hold her I shall never know, but I held on
tightly, a fact which Madame seemed to notice with a mix of
pride and admiration, as if pleased to note the first inkling
of a possible shared nature between herself and the young man
who had so recently entered her world. There was also to be
read in the fiery look within her eyes the promise of further
shared adventures to come.
At last, Stephanie became quiet again. I looked once
more over the girl's shoulder and found the reddened state of
her tender breast tips to be as clear evidence of her pain as
had been the sudden violence of her reactions.
"Since words appear to fail you, Stephanie," Mlle T.
continued, "I suppose we shall have to investigate the state
of that lower treasure ourselves."
With this, Mlle. T. lowered herself to her knees upon a
plush purple cushion she had placed before the trembling girl.
Mlle. T.'s face was now on a level with the very treasure
house of which she had spoken. She looked up into Stephanie's
now tearful face and began her exploration.
The woman's left hand circled behind and around the
girl's left thigh in order to further steady the girl during
what was to be the final stage of her test. Her right hand
now slipped slowly up between the downy thighs in inevitable
approach to the light brown curled delta above. Her hand
paused as the fingers softly brushed the first wispy tendrils.
"Now, Stephanie," said Mlle T. "This is the test. This
is the moment. You must not think of the pleasure. You must
not enjoy it. You most ignore it. You must think only of the
payment you must make if you fail. Think only of the Tongue.
Think only of how that will feel. I promise you that you will
not be able to so much as move for days afterward. Your
little jewel will feel the size of a grape. It will be erect
and burning both day and night with that strange combination
of constant arousal and the most excruciating pain you have
ever known, Stephanie. You will seek release from your
arousal, but will be unable to do so because that achingly
swollen little fruit will be impossible to touch. You will
try to play your little private midnight games with yourself
and the entire household will be awakened with the intensity
of your screams the moment your soft little finger makes the
slightest contact."
"No, Mistress!" Stephanie cried in horror and fear, her
tears now a torrent. "No, pleeeeease!"
"It is what awaits you, Stephanie," Mlle. T. continued.
"Untold pain... unless you can ignore the pleasure. Now, be
brave. Be strong! We begin."
With these words I felt young Stephanie's shoulders
stiffen beneath my hands, as the Mistress's fingers made their
first contact with the warm flesh at the apex of the girl's
thighs. Her head tossed back, lifting a cascade of chestnut
softness into my face.
"Uhmph," the girl moaned as Mlle. T. began a thorough and
methodical massage of the soft woman-flesh she'd found.
"She is wet," Mlle. T. commented, for my benefit. "She
is very wet. I fear she will she will not stand the test this
time. A pity. The Tongue is such a cruel mistress. Much
more cruel than myself. I would wish nothing but love and
pleasure for my little charges. But pleasure... true
pleasure... comes only through discipline. A young girl, to
become a true courtesan, an true artist of the flesh, must
never become a slave to pleasure. Pleasure must serve her.
I have known many young women capable of experiencing the
exciting peak of the most intense erotic pleasure for great
lengths of time, and to hold themselves at the brink of
fulfilment for as many days without succumbing. The intensity
of the final orgasm at the end of such a period is something
that men can never know, and few women, and then only through
carefully cultivated discipline and absolute control. That is
what our Stephanie is learning now. She has been deprived of
pleasure since the last opportunity she had to prove herself.
She has been watched throughout the day so that she has had no
chance at pleasure. At night she has lain tied in her bed
with her hands unable to reach that place between her legs
that so pitifully begs to be soothed. The natural pressure on
a healthy young girl of our Stephanie's age to masturbate is,
I assure you, Thomas, something strong beyond our ability to
measure. On her last night she was actually observed to
experience a small, insignificant orgasm spontaneously, while
still tied in her bed. It was not a release, actually, but
some sort of a physical safety valve, apparently. We
administered a light sedative to her after that which has
prevented any future occurrences of that sort, and so the
pressure has been left to increase unabated, until now."
All this time, as Mlle. T. explained all this, she
continued with her skilful ministrations, while young
Stephanie, the subject of the little lecture, remained
standing stiff and trembling between us, I holding firmly to
her shoulders, and Mlle. T. tightly in charge of the girl's
lower portion.
Now and again, as her Mistress's fingers caressed some
particularly sensitive spot upon the girl's young womanhood,
Stephanie would suddenly stiffen into an even greater
tenseness, as she fought against her every tendency towards
pleasure that nature had endowed her with.
I now noticed that by looking across the room to a into
the glass of large wall-length mirror that hung there I could
look full into young Stephanie's face. The girl stared,
vacantly, as if into an great, infinite distance. Only now
and again, as her Mistress's caresses brought forth some more
intense stimulation, would a slight tick around the eyes, or
a small trembling of the lip betray the violence of her
private, interior struggle. Then, an instant afterward, her
eyes would once again harden, and her stare would focus at
some object even farther removed from this fire-lit room, and
there she would find the extra measure of control she needed,
and both her face and her passion would become controlled once
more.
"Well," said Mlle. T., as she observed these same facial
changes from below. "We may have underestimated our
Stephanie. She is really doing rather well." There was, I
thought, a note of disappointment mixed with the pride in her
tone. "Perhaps our Stephanie has learned what must be learned
after all."
I noted a slight hint of relief pass over Stephanie's
mirror-reflected face.
"Just a moment more, Stephanie, and you shall have proved
your metal." said Mlle. T. "Just a moment more... and..."
Stephanie suddenly erupted beneath my hands.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" she shrieked, as I struggled with great
effort to maintain my hold. I could not imagine what had
happened. Then I looked down and saw that while Mlle. T. had
spoken those soothing words, to the effect that Stephanie's
trial was nearly at an end, she had moved the hand that had
been steadying the young girl's left leg around to cup the
girl's hind cheeks, and apparently, while the girl had been
least prepared, she had, all in a motion, thrust one long
forefinger deeply into the girl's hind-most nether opening.
Mlle. T.'s strategy was now all too plain. The
unannounced intrusion into the young girl's behind had been
designed to so startle the poor girl that her tenuous self-
control would be at last broken, and with that would come the
deluge.
The plan succeeded admirably. No sooner had Stephanie
recovered from her shock and surprise than she instantly
became aware of her broken concentration. I looked once again
into the mirror. Stephanie's face registered both shock and
surprise, and then, finally, horror and panic. Then young
Stephanie made what proved to be her fatal mistake. She
dropped her gaze to look down into the powerfully burning eyes
of her Mistress below. She saw her Mistress smile, knowing
that all was lost. She appeared to struggle once again, in a
last attempt to regain her failed concentration and control,
and then, with a shriek as full of hopelessness and despair as
any soul bound in the tortured caverns of hell could emit, she
stumbled for a second upon the crest of her release, and then
gave herself over to it fully.
For a full five minutes, Stephanie screamed and convulsed
in our hold, as the carefully avoided climaxes of weeks past
churned through and bubbled forth from the girl's strong young
body, until she collapsed with a final, wailing shriek that
trailed out, long and mournfully, its dying echoes absorbed
and consumed by the thick and unsympathetic walls of the
Chateau Noir.
