Cassandra’s Chateau
Fredrica Alleyn
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
By the same author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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This book is a work of fiction. In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.
First Published by Black Lace 1994
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Copyright © Fredrica Alleyn 1994
Fredrica Alleyn has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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By the same author:
The Bracelet
Cassandra’s conflict
Deborah’s Discovery
Dark Obsession
Dramatic Affairs
Fiona’s Fate
The Gallery
Chapter One
The party, which had lasted three days and nights, was finally over. In the early hours of a Monday morning in June the guests, many of them of international renown, made their way quietly out of the chateau into their chauffeur-driven cars, which then glided smoothly away along the winding roads of the Loire valley.
Baron Dieter von Ritter stood at the top of the flight of white stone steps leading up to the intricately carved front doors of his French home and accepted their effusive thanks and tentative hopes of a future invitation with his usual charming smile.
Next to him, shivering slightly in the chill early morning air, Cassandra Williams kissed the departing visitors’ cheeks, let their hands caress her face and arms one final time and wondered what her lover was really thinking. They had been living here, in his glorious chateau, for over eighteen months now but she understood him no better than on the day they had arrived. Unfortunately, she reflected, she now loved him even more.
As they waited for Sir James Desmond, the acclaimed British historian and secret sexual libertine, to leave, the baron slid an arm round Cassandra’s waist. ‘A success I think, my dear, yes?’
Cassandra, remembering all that had gone on during the party, nodded. ‘Everyone said it was the best party yet.’
He glanced at her. She’d changed during her time here, become far more sophisticated in behaviour and appearance, yet there was still something hidden deep inside her that escaped him. Even in the throes of most extreme sexual passion he sensed that she kept a part of herself hidden. He had changed her, shaped her to fit into his world of dark perversity, a world that she had embraced with enthusiasm, but he couldn’t manage to consume all of her, to make her totally his.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ asked Cassandra.
The baron blinked, drawn out of his musings. He smiled gently at her. ‘But of course.’
Cassandra hesitated. ‘I thought you seemed . . .’
‘Yes?’
She tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t imply criticism. ‘It was as though at times, the party bored you.’
He looked away from her, gazing into the darkness of the night. Cassandra was too perceptive at times. He had been bored. The same jaded people, needing more and more bizarre entertainment, had suddenly irritated him. There had been too many such parties, he needed something new. The problem was, he had no idea what that could be.
Cassandra knew by his silence that she was right. He had lost interest in the party. That was why he’d contented himself with merely observing. Not once during the entire time the party had lasted had he become physically involved with anyone, and he hadn’t touched Cassandra at all until his arm had gone around her waist just a few minutes earlier.
She wondered what she could do. Life without him was unimaginable, but she knew how ruthless he was. Her predecessor, Katya, had tried to re-establish contact with him soon after they’d moved here. His savage, cutting rebuffal had ensured that she’d never try again. There was no reason why Cassandra shouldn’t suffer the same fate.
She swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps you need a change,’ she suggested casually.
The baron was startled. Even now she could surprise him. He turned back to her and saw a pulse throbbing at the side of her neck. Leaning forward he licked tenderly at the spot. ‘When I want a change, you’ll be the first to know, liebling,’ he murmured, and felt some of the pent-up tension go out of her.
At that moment, Sir James Desmond, a tall greyhaired man of military bearing who looked far younger than his sixty-two years, appeared with Lara, his twenty-two year old fiancée, on his arm. It was the first time she’d accompanied him to one of the baron’s parties but her enthusiastic participation had ensured that it wouldn’t be the last. As she stood chatting to Cassandra, Sir James drew the baron to one side.
‘Marvellous party, Dieter. The best ever! Cassandra improves with every month that passes.’
‘Thank you.’
The older man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘The fact of the matter is, old chap, there’s a favour I want to ask you.’
The baron’s eyes were totally without expression. ‘You can always ask,’ he said coolly.
This was proving to be more difficult than Sir James had anticipated.
‘Quite! Quite! It’s my stepdaughter, Nicola, you see.’ He paused. The baron continued to watch him, his wide-set eyes unblinking.
‘She’s twenty-one, only a year younger than Lara. Makes life tricky at times.’
‘I imagin
e so.’
‘Damn it, Dieter, I don’t know what to do with the girl. She was shut away at a convent school until she was eighteen and since then she’s been cataloguing my military library for me. She’s had no experience of the world. I can’t just throw her out to make her own way, but Lara insists she’s gone before we get back from our honeymoon.’
The baron felt a small flicker of excitement at the Englishman’s words, but he kept his face impassive.
‘How can I help? If your stepdaughter is really so unworldly, surely I’m the last person to whom you should turn for help.’
Sir James’s eyes grew hooded, a gleam of pleasure showed in them for a second and when he spoke again his voice was husky. ‘I want you to be her mentor, Dieter, to “bring her out” sexually. You can always finish off with the erotic equivalent of a debutante’s ball!’
For once even the baron was taken aback. ‘If this is what you want, why keep her so closeted from the world until now?’
‘Because it was what her mother insisted upon before she died. I suppose she wanted to make sure Nicola didn’t turn out like me, damn her. Well, I’ve kept my promise but the girl’s reached her majority now. She’s no longer my responsibility.’
‘She’d have a more normal awakening in London,’ said the baron slowly. ‘Why send her to me?’
‘France, finishing school, all that kind of thing,’ blustered Sir James, but the baron knew the truth. This was to be Sir James’s revenge on his long-dead wife; a woman he’d married purely for money and who had found his sexual attentions utterly distasteful.
‘Is Nicola obedient?’ he asked quietly. ‘My chateau is strictly run. I’m a man who believes in rules and discipline.’
‘She’s used to that. She’ll be no trouble, I give you my word.’
The baron sighed with pleasure. This was exactly the kind of stimulation he needed; someone new, untried and innocent, just as Cassandra had once been innocent. It would enable him to use Cassandra and her new-found skills on the girl. He would force her to help him mould her possible successor. The irony of the situation appealed to him and for the first time in many weeks he felt sexually alive again.
‘Well?’ asked Sir James anxiously.
The baron shrugged. ‘If she is all you say, I see no problem. When do you want her to come?’ ‘Next week?’ suggested Sir James eagerly.
The baron nodded. ‘Next week will do very well. There are certain . . . preparations that have to be made before we can receive her, but a week will give us plenty of time.’
Sir James shook him warmly by the hand. ‘Wonderful! If there’s ever anything I can do for you . . .’
‘I shall ask,’ responded the baron smoothly. He glanced towards the waiting Daimler. ‘Your chauffeur is ready.’
‘Of course. Lara, come my dear. Cassandra, you were magnificentlastnight. Absolutelymagnificent!’ Together he and Lara descended the steps and disappeared down the drive in their black limousine.
The baron closed the heavy oak doors behind them. He and Cassandra were finally alone in the vast hall with its scarlet and white mosaic floor tiles whose matching floral arrangements were renewed every alternate day. Roses and chrysanthemums, poppies and daisies, scarlet berries and white gladioli, the permutations were inventive and endless. It was one of Cassandra’s tasks to choose the flowers, while Monique, one of their two maids, arranged them. The baron glanced at the flowers approvingly.
‘How skilfully you enhance the beauty of my home, my darling,’ he murmured, lifting a hand to tidy a strand of dark hair that had escaped from her chignon. Cassandra flushed, unsure whether he was referring to her or the flowers.
‘Such a pity that Monique had the accident with the Limoges cream jug at dinner last night,’ he continued, letting his fingers trace the outline of her jaw so that a shiver of desire ran through her. ‘No doubt you’ll make sure she’s suitably punished.’
Cassandra’s clear gaze met his. ‘Naturally,’ she said calmly.
He felt a moment’s frustration, unable to tell whether or not she enjoyed this part of her role as chatelaine; her eyes and demeanour gave nothing away. Suddenly he gave a wide smile. ‘Come! We will watch the film of you and Sir James last night. After that, I have some exciting news to tell you.’
Cassandra followed the baron to the room they shared on the nights when he chose not to sleep alone. It had been ingeniously designed so that the fitted cupboards formed a room divider between the area where they slept and made love and the incredible bathroom with the enormous bath, large enough to accommodate several people. The walls and ceiling of the bedroom were plain cream, the floor was made up of highly polished pine boards covered by cream sheepskin rugs and against this comparatively spartan setting the specially commissioned, highly explicit paintings of the adventures of the Marquis de Sade stood out in sharp contrast.
The huge circular bed, covered by a cream and pink silk spread, seemed at first glance to be perfectly normal, until closer inspection revealed the metal rings fitted all around it. The other specialised equipment required by the baron was kept hidden away in one of the cupboards, and only he and Cassandra had access to the key.
Cassandra slipped out of her gossamer-fine white silk blouse and flared navy skirt, then lay on her stomach on the bed, feet pointing towards the mound of pillows and chin cupped in her hands, ready to watch the baron’s recording of herself and Sir James.
She wondered how many of the guests knew that every room except one in the chateau carried twenty-four hour security camera surveillance and hidden microphones. Only in the baron’s bedroom was privacy assured. Even now, as the video cassette began to play, a small red light glowed high on the decorated wall opposite the bed.
The baron, still fully clothed, stretched out next to Cassandra and rested a hand on her long slender back. Her skin was warm and she moved slightly beneath his touch. He smiled to himself, well aware that she wanted him but pleased that unlike Katya, her predecessor, she would never admit as much.
On the television screen a very different Cassandra came into view. She was wearing a pale green satin camisole with matching French knickers and her long, dark hair hung loose to her shoulders as she tipped back her head, encouraging Sir James to kiss her throat and shoulders. However, he quickly tired of that and slipped the slim satin straps off to kiss her small breasts with their tiny pink nipples.
All at once the slow, sensuous pace changed. He seemed to become irritated and within seconds had torn the underwear from Cassandra’s body and was spreading her arms wide. Now Lara, his fiancée, appeared. She helped him secure Cassandra’s wrists to two of the columns that lined the arcaded gallery which joined the two wings of the chateau where they were taking their pleasure.
Having thus secured her wrists, Sir James managed to fasten a metal rod between her ankles which kept her legs outspread. Now he and Lara stepped back and surveyed the long, lean lines of the clearly agitated young woman who only minutes earlier had seemed a subtle seducer.
On the bed, the baron’s hand moved languidly up and down Cassandra’s back and she felt tiny tremors of rising excitement caused by a mixture of watching the film and finally having her lover touch her again.
She could remember so well how she’d felt when Sir James had secured her legs, leaving her helpless. She didn’t like him, had never been attracted by his cold, dispassionate use of women, but she knew very well that he was an expert at eliciting shattering responses from them, however reluctant they were at first. As a result she had waited, her highly tuned body already prickling with the first sensations of arousal after his kisses.
The baron watched the screen and saw the dilation of Cassandra’s pupils as Sir James surveyed her. Her quick response pleased him, and he wondered whether Nicola Desmond would ever learn to give herself over so completely to the joys of dark, sensual pleasure.
The video continued. For a few minutes Sir James contented himself with merely touching the fastened figure, pull
ing at the delicate nipples and squeezing firmly at the small waist. Then he glanced at his fiancée who immediately disappeared for a few seconds. When she came back she was carrying a large copper bowl filled to the brim with water.
While Lara vanished again to collect more things required by Sir James for this particular entertainment, he drew a small copper jug from where it had been lying at the bottom of the bowl and proceeded to fill it with the warm water. He then stood in front of Cassandra as he tipped it towards those irresistible breasts.
Cassandra held her breath, waiting for the first trickles of liquid to flow down over her already hardening nipples, and when it did she heard her breath catch in her throat and felt her stomach flinch inwards when the water coursed down over the front of her body.
By the time that Lara returned, Cassandra’s whole body was covered with water and the baron could see quite clearly how her flesh was trembling with excitement and anticipation as she waited for Sir James to make his next move.
Next he took a tablet of rose-scented soap from his fiancée and worked it between his hands until he had plenty of lather. He then proceeded to spread this over Cassandra’s fastened body. He soaped very tenderly up and down the slim column of her neck, letting the suds settle in the tiny hollows on each side of her collarbone. Then he moved down, carefully cupping the breasts as he made certain that every inch of the swelling tissue was covered with bubbles.
By now Cassandra was squirming despite her bonds. When he moved down lower across her rib cage, belly and thighs she trembled violently with the increased sexual tension that this considerate, almost loving touch, was arousing in her; but in her eyes, visible to the baron as he watched the film, was also the awareness that this was not how the game was going to continue.
As Sir James finished working his way down Cassandra’s legs, Lara soaped the young woman’s back and worked the lather carefully around the cheeks of her small, firm bottom. Cassandra tensed, expecting the invasion of a finger, but none came. Instead, all she could feel was the slow seepage of suds from her spine down between the cheeks of her bottom and this made her wriggle her hips causing both Sir James and Lara to laugh softly.
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