Renata's Vacation Ch. 07

After dinner, the Count stood and gave a short speech, in French, English and German, introducing me and Eva, as 'friends of Francisca, who many of you will know' then announcing his 'little diversions,' which were to follow.

First of all, he said, a male member of his staff would circulate under the table, 'attending to' female guests. The first one, who, in his judgement, made it obvious by her facial expression, that she was the object of his attention, would have to pay a forfeit, of an 'interesting nature.' A similar game would follow for the male guests. There was much laughter from those in the know, and a guy, who made yet another servant I hadn't seen before, a darkly handsome muscular youth of about twenty wearing an athletic vest and shorts, came in from a side door, shook hands with the Count, then slipped easily under the heavy white tablecloth. Someone turned up the music, and modern jazz played soothingly. I looked around all the women's faces around the table, but they all looked implacable, some smoking, others chatting to neighbours, others sipping drinks. I relaxed and picked up my own glass ofcassis.

Suddenly I was aware of a hand making its way slowly up my leg. At first I thought it was the German industrialist sat to my right, and glanced in his direction, but he was engrossed in lighting a cigar, and I realised I was 'in the game,' as it were. The hand slid smoothly under the silk of my dress, pausing to caress my knee, then up my thigh, up, up, so slowly, encountering no obstacle in the form of underwear, to the crease at the top of my thigh, which it traced, slowing still more, teasing me, trying to make me change my expression. I took a slow drag at my drink to mask my accelerated breathing when two fingers were plunged deep into my cunt, and I involuntarily moved my legs closer together, momentarily trapping the hand, then releasing it. My neighbour at the other side, a young English guy who did something with stocks and shares, was asking me what I did for a living, and I was grateful for this covering conversation, as the hand desisted, and moved off in search of another victim.

Again I saw no sign of even the flickering of an eyelid, and everyone seemed expert at the game.

But then, just when I thought the game was about to end in failure, our host let out a triumphant cry, and pointed to a pretty girl with shoulder-length brown hair sat across from me.

'You had your eyes closed!' he shouted, in French, and she had an unmistakeable look of guilt.

'Your punishment will be immediate, Nadine,' said the Count, getting to his feet, and walking around behind her.

She looked up at him, but her look was difficult to read, combining fear and, perhaps, lust. She was wearing, like me, a dress with a halter-neck, and le Comte took hold of the ties that secured it at her neck, and flipped them undone, allowing the front of her dress to fall to the table, which revealed a pair of nice, pointed young breasts, nipples standing out sharply at their tips. He cupped them in his large, hairy hands, then, taking his right hand away, fished a small box out of the pocket of his tuxedo. He placed it on the table, opened it, and removed a pair of what I instantly recognised as gold nipple clamps, connected by a fine gold chain. He clipped them in place, causing Nadine to purse her lips and utter a small 'ooh', then, returning to them in turn, screwed them down hard, making her cry out sharply.

'There,' he said, as he returned to his place, 'now everyone can enjoy your pain – and your pleasure!'

He snapped his fingers, and Marianne appeared, now looking very different from when I had seen her before, dressed in transparent baby-doll pyjamas and high-heeled mules. It was obviously her job to try to arouse one of the men, and, at another signal from the Count, amidst some hilarity, she slid under the table. The music was turned up again, and I exchanged smiles with Eva, as she took her eyes, for a moment, off the Count's son, Robert.

I watched the impassive faces of the men, smoking their cigars, for signs of arousal, but could detect none, and again was beginning to lose interest when I heard the Count exclaim, 'Jawohl, Herr Schmidt!'

He had caught my neighbour, whom I had been unable to see, and who looked cutely embarrassed, but was not going to be shamed by his host. The Count had prepared a divan beside the table, and he now had Marianne position herself on it, a cushion under her pretty little arse, so that Herr Schmidt could kneel between her legs, in full view of everyone, and fuck her.

'Is that my punishment?' he roared, delighted.

'It's a part of it,' said the Count, as Schmidt dropped his trousers, revealing a mighty erection.

With an animal grunt, he speared the servant-girl's waiting vagina, and the Count gave another signal, this time to his wife, Fifi. She smilingly walked around behind the German's pumping, hairy arse, concealing something behind her back. Without ceremony, she whipped an enormous black dildo from behind her, and rammed it straight up the German's rectum. He howled in agony, and simultaneously shot his load, well before it had been his intention, deep into Marianne's well.

'Scheiss,' he yelled, and rushed out of the room, with considerable loss of dignity, his trousers around his ankles, amidst much laughter.

We were tired out that night, and went to bed after the 'entertainment' – though Eva ranted on about Robert as we made our way upstairs. I, for one, slept well, and woke to a fine morning and Marianne, apparently none the worse for her evening exploit, bringing in our breakfast trays.

We spent a quiet day walking around the grounds of the chateau, and swimming in the heated pool we found. When it came around to dinnertime, I dressed in a gold backless gown I had bought in London. It allowed my breasts to move freely when I walked, my nipples showing through the thin material. I had Eva put my hair up in an elaborate French twist, and put in outrageously long gold ear-rings. For her, I chose a long scarlet silk dress with spaghetti-straps, which was completely translucent. I told her to be sure to stand against a light-source if she wanted to be noticed, and she grinned. She clipped a heavy silver chain around her waist, and put silver bracelets and amulets around her arms and wrists. As an afterthought, I put her on a broad silver collar.

Whilst we were taking cocktails, I asked Fifi, who again wore a long sheath-dress, but this time a blue one, if we were in for entertainment again.

'Oh no, my dear,' she said, 'in fact, Monsieur le Comte and myself were rather hoping you would both join us after dinner for a quiet drink?'

'We'd be delighted,' I said, glancing at Eva, who hadn't understood a word.

Dinner was a formal affair again, the German at my side noticeably subdued, and then everybody went either to the library, which served as a bar, or for a stroll in the moonlight on the chateau's terrace. Eva and I were ushered into a big, comfortable, modern sitting room, where the Count and, to Eva's obvious delight, his son Robert, were already seated on two of the five or six sofas scattered around.

To my surprise, the Count addressed Eva in perfect Spanish: 'My son would like to show you around his private quarters, my dear, if you have no objection?'

I thought she was going to have a seizure, but she had the presence of mind to simply say, 'Yes, I would like that,' allow the handsome young chap to take her arm, and guide her from the room.

Once they were gone, Fifi offered me a drink, and I asked for a Scotch. She got me one, and sat beside me on the sofa, across from her husband. We sat for a while discussing my Club, but Fifi was interested in me in a more physical sense, of that I was in no doubt. There was a chemistry at work here.

'Francisca has told me much about you,' she said, and she licked her lips as she said it, leaving me in little doubt as to the nature of that conversation.

Her hand was on my knee, and I made no move to remove it. She was a very attractive woman, after all, and there was something about the Count, too.

'She says you are receptive to a little.....what shall we say? Punishment?'

'Did she now?' I said, teasing her gently, 'I wonder where she got that idea?'

'Come, my dear,' said the Count, in his deep voice, 'let's not beat about the bush. Renata would like to be whipped, I'm sure, wouldn't you, my dear?'

'Yes,Monsieur le Comte,' I said, 'I'd like that very much.'

'We'll get you ready then,' he said, getting to his feet. Fifi stood to, and pulled me out of the sofa.

'But you're unmarked, darling,' she said, looking at my bare back.

'I haven't been whipped for a while,' I said, and felt the familiar anticipation build up in me, the wetness between my legs as I thought about the delicious pain which ought to follow.

I reached down my flank and unzipped my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper

of soft material.

'Oh, my, you are so very beautiful,' said Fifi, and traced the deep brand on my buttock with her forefinger, 'and this is gorgeous!'

Meanwhile, the Count was fetching a remote control, like that of a television set, from a drawer. He pressed a button, there was a whirring sound, and when I looked up, I saw that two chains were descending from the high ceiling, each with wide wrist-restraints at their ends. There was a click as they reached the height required, and Fifi led me to a point under them, and had me raise my arms so that my wrists could be inserted in thee restraints. The Count, who was much taller than I, clicked the restraints closed, and I was suspended, so that it was only thanks to my stilettos that I was in contact with the ground.

'Doesn't she look lovely like that?' said the Count, admiringly, and Fifi felt my crack as he said it.

'Mmm,' she said, 'wet through, she really does want to be whipped, don't you darling?'

'Oh yes, please,' I said, and, by now, I really did.

The Count was behind me again.

'I think I'll warm her up a little to start with,' he said, and without preliminaries, there was a swish through the air and 'crack!' as I felt the heat of the leather paddle as it struck the middle of my right buttock. Then 'crack!' harder this time, on the other side, and I knew he was reddening the soft, tender flesh of my inviting arse. He gave me six , probably as hard as he could, between the crease of the tops of my thighs and the top of my buttocks.

'That's nice and red, now, don't you think, darling?' he asked Fifi, and she again fondled my pussy, which was now soaking.

'I think you would like a few strokes with a real whip, wouldn't you darling?' she said, 'I know that's whatIhave to have!'

She came around and kissed me, lingeringly, looking into my eyes, and I nodded to her.

'You'd likemeto do it, wouldn't you?' she said.

'Oh yes,' I replied, 'yes please!'

She walked away from me, her heels clicking on the parquet floor, then she was back, showing me a leather single-strand whip.

'This will hurt, you know.'

'I know.'

I heard its familiar distinctive whistle through the air as she tested her arm, and then her heels again as she moved around behind me.

The lash whistled again, and this time it was for me, and an explosion of white-hot pain seared into my upper back as the cruel thong bit into my tender skin.

I bit my lip and tasted blood, as I squirmed and wriggled in my bonds. Then the second stroke was more terrible than the first, lower down, across more delicate flesh, and I gasped, but with the agony came the start of what I had longed for, and welling up in the very centre of my being was an orgasm which would come with the next stroke which fell upon me. I heard her asking me if I could take more.

'Oh yes, yes, yes, please, please!' I heard myself say, and another awful stinging lash kissed my waiting back. I came, in waves of rapture which almost made me black out, and knew, when I came back to earth, that Fifi knew too. She had thrown down the whip, and asked her husband to take me down.

'God, what an orgasm you had!' she said, and I almost felt guilty. She rubbed balm into my three stripes, which were red and angry, and we sat for a moment with a drink, then I said, 'Thank you, both, for that, but I owe you now. Why don't we all go to bed together, if that's what you'd like?'

The Count smiled, and said, 'That' a kind offer, Renata, but you can forget me. Fifi would be very grateful, I'm sure, however.'

I obediently went along with Fifi to her boudoir, as she explained that her husband was no longer interested in making love – 'got his kicks in other ways' was how she put it.

We undressed and slipped between satin sheets together, her slim body still young enough to give me much pleasure. She had a pierced clitoris, with a little silver ring through it, and I enjoyed toying with it while she lapped my still-wet pussy. I soon had her moist as well, and found what she really wanted was me to finger her anus. She went wild, bucking her hips, when I inserted my forefinger slowly to its fullest extent in her dark tunnel, and when I joined it with another finger, she cried out so that I was afraid I'd hurt her.

'Oh no, Renata,' she said, 'it's been so long. Fuck me with your fingers. Fuck my arsehole. Please!'

I soon brought her to a raging climax like that, and then we slept in each others' arms, until the early hours. At perhaps five o'clock, Fifi woke me up, and I thought there was something wrong, but she was kissing me, and kneading my breasts.

I woke up slowly, but found I liked this new sensation.

'Mmm,' I said, 'that's nice!'

'Renata,' she said, 'are you awake?'

'I suppose so.'

'Would you do something for me?'

'What?'

'Whip me?'

'What, now?'

'Now!'

She clicked the light on, slid out of bed, before I could refuse, and knelt on the floor, naked, her hands behind her head. Beside her, on the floor, was a riding crop.

I got out beside her. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes, darling, I want you to hurt me.'

I picked up the crop, drew back my arm, and lashed her hard across her lower back, raising a bright red welt. She neither cried out nor moved an inch.

I repeated the stroke, lower down, four more times, making a pretty pattern on her pale flesh, but not even causing her to squirm. She started to moan as I struck her the fifth time, but it was a sound that came from deep in her throat, a sound I recognised which presaged a tumultuous orgasm. I threw down the crop.

Without a word, she took my hand, and pulled me into bed with her. We lay entwined until almost eleven next morning.

Ravenous, I slunk back to my room, threw on some clothes, and went in search of something to eat. In the dining room, I found Eva, tucking into croissants.

'Miss Renata,' she said, 'you look like shit!'

'Thank you, Eva,' I said, noting thatshelooked as fresh as a daisy, 'you probably didn't have a night like I had.'

'Hmmm,' she said, 'unless you got fucked seven times, you're right!'

Two days later, we left the Chateau d'Issoire, to drive across the border into Germany. It had been an excellent stay, and we made a lot of friends, some of whom would visit my Club in the future.

Once we got into Germany, theautobahnenwere fast, and we reached our destination, Frankfurt, in quick time. But I decided to let discretion be the better part of valour, and checked in our rented car at the International Airport, from where we should be leaving in a couple of days. I then booked us into a comfortable hotel nearby, and called my local contact.

We had plenty of time to relax in the indoor pool, then have a nice dinner before preparing ourselves for my planned night out in Frankfurt, about which I told Eva nothing, even though she was to be the central figure.

At nine o'clock, a big Audi swept up to Reception, and a slight, bald-headed man came looking for us.

'You must be Fräulein Renata, and this, your....er, companion, correct?' he said, with a guttural accent.

'Correct,' I confirmed. We had only been waiting there a few moments, dressed as suggested. My contact had told me that we should dress 'as if for a sophisticated disco' – so I wore a simple black backless mini-dress, carefully chosen to show off the three livid red welts that Fifi's whipping had left me with, and of which I was proud. Eva I had dressed in a virginal white silk creation, held up by a clasp at one shoulder, which allowed her breasts to jiggle around freely. It had an open panel around the midriff, giving the impression of near-nakedness. The driver could scarcely take his eyes off her as he escorted us to the car.

He drove us into the busy commercial area of the city, and we pulled up outside what appeared to be a shopping centre. As we stopped, a blond guy in casual gear appeared as if from nowhere, and asked us, in perfect English, to follow him. We did so, down a tunnel, into the heart of a huge block of shops and offices. We stopped at the end, and he summoned a lift, which took us smoothly down two or three levels. When we emerged, the noise-level was that of a discotheque. Our guide held a black velvet curtain aside, and we entered a massive ballroom, crammed with people. They appeared to be a normal disco crowd, mainly youngish people, quite well dressed, dancing to a thunderous beat. But our guide ushered us around the side of the floor, and out through a small door, beside which stood a bulky-looking black guy, who nodded us past, then down a corridor, and through another door.

We walked into a nicely appointed lounge, with a bar in one corner, subdued lighting and soft music, people sitting around with drinks, mostly chatting, but some embracing, couples both heterosexual and gay. A smiling, urbane-looking man in his fifties came and shook my hand.

'Hello,' he said, 'I am Helmut Müller.' It was my telephone contact, and he made us welcome. He saw my surprise as I looked around.

'I know,' he said, 'it all looks very normal. But I can't afford problems, and we are very discreet. This is just a meeting place, and there is much more downstairs.' He nodded towards a door at the far corner of the room, discreetly guarded by another very large man.

After we had exchanged pleasantries, he said, 'so this is the young woman, is it?' and appraised Eva, 'very nice! I'll ask my wife to come up – she's the expert, really, at this kind of thing, and then we can move along.'

He picked up a cordless phone and pressed one digit, then spoke a few words of rapid German.

'She'll be here in a minute,' he said, and, while we waited, I saw that Eva was becoming nervous. I did nothing to ameliorate her state – nerves would heighten her receptiveness to the sensations she was about to be subjected to.

'Ah, here's Lotte,' said Helmut, and a thin, almost emaciated woman, with long, long, wavy, auburn hair, in a long brown dress, came through the corner door and approached us. She had lovely eyes, and was ten years younger than Helmut. She embraced and kissed us both, and then bade us follow her back through the door, and down some carpeted stairs to a wide corridor.

She unlocked a door, one of several, with a swipe-card, and stood back while we entered. It was a capacious dressing-room. Helmut left us.

'Now,' said Lotte, who, like her husband, spoke perfect English, 'we believe in doing things properly here. You may say we are very German!' She paused, and smiled. 'We have certain rituals to accompany a branding, which we think you will enjoy, Renata – You don't mind if I call you Renata, do you?'

'Of course not.'

'Well, Renata, I think your slave should be undressed now, please, if you don't mind.'

I turned to Eva, who looked at me questioningly, but I avoided her eyes, and spun her around, then quickly unfastened the clasp which secured her dress above her left shoulder, lifting the flimsy silk bodice clear of her firm young breasts. Aware of the two strangers' presence, she involuntarily covered her breasts with an arm, which I knocked away impatiently.