Cassandra's Chateau

by Fredrica Alleyn

  When Cassandra joined her at the breakfast table she was wearing a bright tulip print sundress with slender shoulder straps, tiny buttons at the bodice, a nipped-in waist and a skirt that ended at the top of her knees, leaving more of her perfectly shaped brown legs bare than Nicola had seen except when she was naked.

  ‘The multi-layered protection scheme!’ laughed the baron when he saw Nicola’s waistcoat over the T-shirt. ‘I hope Rupert feels like a challenge!’

  Nicola felt her face go pink. She hoped that the baron was joking, that Cassandra hadn’t been telling the truth when she’d implied that these visitors would be using her body in the same way as the baron had used it. She decided that he was teasing her and laughed.

  His eyes turned suddenly cool. ‘You’re amused?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she stammered. ‘I just … I mean, I didn’t think …’

  He smiled again. ‘Of course you didn’t! Why should you?’ He turned to Cassandra. ‘As usual you are dressed perfectly for the morning. Is everything prepared for our guests?’

  ‘Everything,’ she said meaningfully.

  ‘Good. They will be here by eleven. Make sure you are all ready to welcome them. I think I’ll go and check over the horses until then; I’m sure Rupert and Giovanni will want to ride.’

  When he’d gone Nicola glanced at Cassandra. ‘He was joking, wasn’t he?’

  ‘About what?’ she asked coolly.

  ‘About Rupert and a challenge.’

  ‘I’m sure you understand him much better than I do,’ replied Cassandra, remembering her attempts to warn the girl during their walk. ‘You must work it out for yourself.’

  For the next three hours Nicola wandered around the grounds of the chateau, across the green fields, down to the lake, even venturing inside one of the small copses, as she tried to come to terms with what she was now beginning to think was the reality of the forthcoming visit.

  Having the baron explore her body, teach it how to respond and how to take pleasure, was one thing; the prospect of others doing the same was terrifying. But if it was true then she knew that Cassandra had done the same, and if Cassandra could do it, then so could she. She was starting to realise that this was all some kind of test, and suspected that if she passed it then she might very well have a permanent home here in the Loire Valley. All she had to do was accept that the baron knew best, that he understood her better than she understood herself and everything would be all right, she thought resolutely.

  On her way back to the small drawing room where the baron and Cassandra had started to explore her body that first evening, she almost collided with Monique who was carrying a huge vase of scarlet and white flowers for the hall.

  ‘Please, do not make me spill any water!’ she murmured as she swerved to avoid the English girl. ‘I would be punished, and when Madame Françoise is here, that is terrible indeed.’

  Nicola stared at her. ‘You mean, the visitors discipline the baron’s servants?’

  Monique dipped her head and carried on, refusing to say more but she left Nicola standing with what felt like an icy hand gripping her round her waist as the first stirrings of fear began to invade her.

  ‘They’re here!’ called Cassandra, hurrying down the main staircase and finding Nicola standing stock-still in the hallway staring vacantly into space. ‘Come along, Nicola, the baron wants us at the door to greet them.’

  The baron was already there, kissing Rupert on both cheeks before taking Françoise into his arms for a more passionate embrace. When he held her away from him to admire her, Nicola had her first look at the Brazilian ex-model and she knew that Cassandra hadn’t been exaggerating. She was incredibly beautiful.

  Dressed in an ankle length Indian silk dress of varying shades of plum, pink and purple, her hair tinged with copper highlights which fell in curls to her shoulders while her dark eyes blazed with energy, Françoise was indeed breathtaking. She was extremely slim and every move she made was elegant and sensual. Nicola thought she was more like a wild jungle cat than a human being.

  At that moment Françoise’s eyes met Nicola’s, and for a moment they narrowed as she made one of her lightning and usually accurate assessments. Then, hiding her conclusions behind a broad smile, she swept across the marble floor and kissed the girl lightly on each cheek. ‘So sweet!’ she murmured, letting one hand stray through the blonde pageboy haircut. ‘Such innocence, such purity, and virtually untouched, Dieter tells us. I can’t wait to get to know you better, little one.’

  Nicola took a step backwards. There was something frightening about the words and the touch, something she knew she’d never encountered before and would have preferred not to meet now. Watching, the baron smiled to himself.

  After that it was Rupert’s turn to grasp Nicola by the hands and study her gravely for a moment before bestowing the necessary kisses and murmuring an appreciative comment about her appealing gaucheness, a comment which Nicola found far from flattering.

  Then, as the Piccards started chatting to Cassandra, the baron brought forward the young man who had been standing behind them. At five foot eleven, Giovanni was slightly shorter than the other two men but his tight black curls, designer stubble and surprisingly soft brown eyes made him just as attractive as Rupert in Nicola’s eyes, if not even more so. He smiled at her, showing very white teeth that contrasted sharply with his tan, a tan gained mainly at the various jet-set resorts where he skied, played tennis and swam most of the year round.

  ‘Nicola, may I introduce Giovanni Benelli, a friend of Rupert’s and like yourself, a first time visitor to the chateau. Giovanni, Nicola is the daughter of a long-time friend of mine, an English historian with an impeccable military background.’

  ‘I am impressed,’ commented the young Italian, bowing low over Nicola’s hand. ‘You are just as English girls are meant to be, but alas so often are not.’

  Nicola was about to ask him precisely what he meant by that when Cassandra came over to meet him, and it was immediately obvious that whatever kind of an impression she’d made on him, it was nothing compared to that made by the baron’s mistress.

  His eyes widened and for a moment he seemed unsure of himself before taking her right hand in his and raising it to his lips. ‘I am honoured to meet you, signorina,’ he said softly.

  The baron looked over at Rupert and they grinned at each other. Clearly this was a conquest and one that should be amusing during their stay. ‘I’m pleased you approve,’ he said lightly, putting an arm around Cassandra’s waist as a reminder to the young man that she was his and any dalliances would only be with his permission.

  ‘I can’t wait to sit by your pool,’ said Françoise, glancing around for someone to take their cases up to their room. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all the way here. Although Rupert tells me I’m wrong, I’m convinced the air conditioning in the car’s faulty.’

  ‘It works perfectly well,’ he assured her. ‘You simply won’t do as you’re meant to and keep the windows closed. That ruins the entire system.’

  ‘It should help,’ retorted Françoise, and she put an arm through Cassandra’s. ‘Let’s go outside. Tell me, is it true that the girl was a virgin until recently?’

  ‘Until two days ago,’ responded Cassandra softly. ‘Dieter attended to the matter himself, with considerable enthusiasm too.’

  ‘How delightful! She still looks virginal of course. What else has she done?’

  ‘Nothing. All the experimental sex has been saved for your arrival. She has no idea of that though.’

  ‘Even better!’ Françoise clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘What about Dieter, does he care for her?’

  Cassandra shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  The Brazilian woman looked sideways at her. ‘You would know.’

  ‘At the moment I don’t think so, but it could easily change. She certainly cares for him.’

  ‘This gets better and better!’ exclaimed Françoise. ‘Rupert told me that Nicola is in need
of a permanent home, so I suppose it’s another one of Dieter’s games. How strange that you should be involved again, but with the roles reversed. Now you know how Katya must have felt.’

  Cassandra, who had spent a considerable amount of time thinking about her predecessor lately, nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Not that I intend to play the game the same way.’

  ‘Of course not; that would be pointless. Katya lost,’ said Françoise shrewdly. ‘You know, your pool is much nicer than ours. Rupert would insist on making ours so modern. I don’t mind when it’s inside, but for outdoor swimming I much prefer something like this.’ She lay back on one of the loungers and pulled off her dress, revealing naked breasts and miniscule pink briefs.

  For Nicola, who was walking a little way behind the two women with Giovanni for company, the sight of such uninhibited behaviour was something of a shock. She almost stopped moving and the Italian bumped into her. He immediately apologised profusely, his arms going round her and his hands encountering her heavy breasts beneath the T-shirt.

  ‘Françoise is very attractive, isn’t she?’ murmured Nicola.

  ‘Si, very, very sexy but I myself prefer larger breasts,’ he assured her.

  Nicola, knowing that he was now aware of the size of her breasts, felt herself blushing. ‘I don’t,’ she muttered. ‘I’d like to look like Cassandra.’

  Giovanni turned his head to see his hostess deep in conversation with Françoise. ‘Now that,’ he said with feeling, ‘is most certainly what I call a woman. She has such poise, such an air of aloofness that she is immediately a challenge. Françoise on the other hand, whilst desirable, is not in any way a challenge!’

  Nicola didn’t want to hear about Cassandra’s attributes. She reached a sun lounger and sat down on it, while Giovanni lay on the grass beside her.

  Françoise looked across at her. ‘Aren’t you going to strip off? It’s much too hot for all those clothes you’re wearing.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Nicola assured her.

  ‘I think I will,’ said Cassandra, and she slowly unbuttoned the bodice of her dress, slipped the shoulder straps down over her arms and then stood up to let the dress fall in a heap at her ankles. Giovanni leapt up and collected it, laying it over the arm of her lounger. She gave him a quick smile of thanks.

  ‘I see the sun worshipping has begun,’ commented the baron as he and Rupert arrived. ‘Aren’t you a little warm, Nicola?’

  ‘A little,’ she admitted, and took off her waistcoat.

  The baron laughed. ‘Come, come! Rupert, help her off with her T-shirt.’

  There was a sudden silence round the pool. Françoise sat up a little so that she could study the English girl’s reaction while Cassandra lay quite still, wondering what Nicola would do. Giovanni, who was scarcely listening because he was trying to work out what it was about Cassandra that so excited him, ignored the undercurrents and lay still on the grass.

  ‘I’d rather keep it on,’ said Nicola hoarsely.

  ‘And I wish you to take it off. Rupert, remove it for her.’

  Rupert leant over the back of Nicola’s chair, tugged the bottom of the T-shirt out of the waisband of her skirt and then peeled it up over her head. To everyone’s astonishment she was wearing a white satin bra beneath it. ‘I’m sure a barrier cream will keep your fair English skin just as safe!’ joked Rupert struggling with the clasp at the back of the garment. At last it came free, but when Nicola didn’t bend forward as he expected, Rupert had to reach round in front of her and remove it until finally her full breasts with their dark areolea and even darker nipples were revealed to the visitors.

  ‘You are out of proportion,’ commented Françoise. ‘Are they sensitive, or merely large?’

  Nicola’s face flamed and she hunched awkwardly forward to try and conceal herself.

  ‘Sit up straight,’ ordered the baron. ‘They are indeed sensitive, Françoise. Rupert, perhaps you would like to test that for yourself.’

  Giovanni, who was quite used to such scenes and at this point in time had little interest in the English girl, stayed silent while Rupert knelt on the grass on the other side of Nicola’s lounger and very slowly reached out to run a finger round her right nipple.

  Nicola felt her nipple expand beneath the caress, and when he cupped the fullness of the breast, lifted it and then let his tongue flick across the end of the nipple it sprang to life, its pointed tip hard and tight.

  ‘Very sensitive,’ agreed Françoise. ‘Even better then. Couldn’t she be put in a harness for the morning? I adore seeing girls with large breasts in harnesses.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed the baron. ‘Perhaps Cassandra … ?’

  She rose and went into the chateau to fetch something suitable, leaving a trembling, disillusioned Nicola behind with the others.

  ‘Don’t you want to touch her, Giovanni?’ asked Rupert. ‘She’s really quite special, and almost a virgin too.’

  ‘Really?’ Intrigued by this, the Italian sat up and grasped Nicola’s left breast in one hand, but his touch was far more clumsy than Rupert’s and although her flesh responded the sensations weren’t nearly as arousing for her.

  ‘He has more enthusiasm than finesse,’ murmured Rupert to the baron. ‘I’m hoping that during our stay here he might learn a slightly more sophisticated approach. He is more interested in taking his own pleasure quickly than in giving it slowly.’

  ‘I’m sure we can change that,’ the baron replied, gazing towards the chateau. A few minutes later he saw Cassandra crossing the path towards them, and in her hands was a most interesting garment.

  ‘Take off your skirt, Nicola,’ he said quietly, resting one hand on the girl’s bare shoulder. The touch of his fingers burned her skin more fiercely than the rays of the sun. If this was what he wanted, if sharing her was a way of showing that he cared, then she would let herself be shared. Anything was better than disinterest, and all the time they were busy with her, Cassandra was left on the sidelines, virtually ignored.

  With surprising docility she stood and unfastened her skirt, stepping out of it awkwardly. ‘You should have let it fall, as Cassandra did,’ reproved the baron. ‘Remember, watch her at all times; that way you will learn how to do things the way I like.’

  Nicola bit on her lip, humiliated by the reproof. At that moment Cassandra arrived and handed over what looked like a collection of strips of leather to her lover who took them and ran them through his hands with a sigh of pleasure.

  He untangled the strap suit and then called for Françoise to help her into it. Nicola felt the Brazilian woman’s hands lifting her breasts as the baron slipped thick leather rings around them, at the same time adjusting the shoulder straps so that her breasts were pulled up high revealing all the undersides to the onlookers.

  From the centre of each breast a double thong of leather passed down the two sides of her stomach and then split into legholes, while a wider band of leather passed between her thighs with two openings, one for her front entrance and the other for the rear. This was looped at the back into one central leather thong that travelled up her spine before splitting off into two at the topmost vertebrae, where it joined with the shoulder straps.

  Each thong was individually adjustable, and both Françoise and the baron worked carefully to ensure that maximum tension was engendered at every point where her body was under pressure, so that when they released her and she took a couple of faltering steps away from them she felt again that deep heavy ache between her thighs, while her breasts seemed determined to swell to their fullest within the confines of the leather rings, and even her normally flat stomach began to press against the leather straps on each side of it.

  ‘Perfect!’ enthused Françoise. ‘Perhaps though, a mask?’

  ‘Of course. This one is very useful.’ He pulled Nicola against him, feeling her heavy breasts squash against his chest and letting his hands take hold of her naked buttocks so that he could press her hips against his for an instant and feel her response before he re
leased her. He fastened a heavy leather mask over her face. It covered her from her hair line down to just above her nostrils, but was cut away over the bridge of her nose and her eyes stared out through the narrow slits, her dark blue gaze so terrified that for a moment Cassandra felt sorry for her.

  ‘You see, there are eye patches that can be pulled down and fastened with tiny poppers, so that if we wish she can be prevented from seeing what is happening,’ explained the baron. ‘It’s a new idea; I got it in Germany.’

  Nicola could see that there was still one piece of leather unused. The baron noticed the direction of her gaze. ‘You can’t wear this, my dear. This is how we control you, see.’ He ran the handle of the leather bullwhip through his hands before letting the lash crack in the sunlit air.

  Nicola jumped, and her breasts bounced against her narrow ribcage. ‘Lovely!’ murmured Rupert appreciatively. ‘Do that again.’ She stared at him, uncertain as to his meaning. The baron cracked the whip once more but she simply stared at him in bewilderment. With a light flick of the wrist he moved the lash towards her and this time it fell across the undersides of her breasts, so that she leapt backwards in fright. Again her breasts bounced heavily.

  ‘That’s what Rupert likes to see,’ explained the baron carelessly. ‘Every time you hear the whip crack, you must jump, otherwise next time I shall make you jump with pain.’

  ‘Cover her eyes,’ said Françoise silkily. ‘I don’t want to watch if she’s going to cry.’

  Nicola wasn’t crying, but she was struggling to control herself and she knew that Françoise was deliberately making it more difficult by isolating her yet more from the group of friends.

  ‘As you wish,’ agreed the baron, and he pressed the eye patches down over her eyes. Now she was in total darkness, standing tightly encased in nothing but leather thongs, there for their amusement and pleasure and nothing else.

  ‘Do let me have that for a moment,’ continued Françoise. ‘Where does it come from?’

  ‘One of my black swans,’ replied the baron.

  Nicola tensed, wondering what they were talking about.