Mistress Adeline's School

They arrived in a part of the castle where a vast complex of comfortable rooms, with cushions lining the floor, women in long slit skirts that hid almost nothing of their curves, with corsets that seemed painful to wear but shaped them fabulously. What contrasted with the elegance was that they all wore collars.

Some were being pulled by men in early 19th-century Victorian attire. They were pulling them by leashes, another was lashing one against a wall while whip marks streaked across his back.

Emma shuddered with both delicious fear and the beginnings of excitement. Mr. Roarke stopped in front of a desk, smiling reassuringly at her. He knocked, and an authoritative, feminine voice told him to enter.

Courteously, he gestured for her to go ahead. When he opened the door, Emma saw a woman in her forties looking at her authoritatively, indifferent to her celebrity status. She was sitting at a luxurious desk, the only distinguishing feature being the chains attached to the wall.

Mr. Roarke entered and introduced herself.

• Dear Adeline, this is Emma Watson. She wishes to be initiated into BDSM. She will come occasionally, but she can stay with us for two weeks.

Adeline stood up and circled Emma.

• Well, noted, leave, my dear. What follows is no longer your business.

Roarke, a little irritated by this authoritarianism, nodded, gave Emma an elegant sign, and left, closing the door behind him.

Adeline's heels clicked abruptly on the wooden floor as she circled Emma, her gaze as calculating as a jeweler appraising a stone. The air between them vibrated with tension, thick with the scent of lavender starch coming from Adeline's stiff collar and the faint metallic taste of the chains exposed on the far wall.

Emma gasped when Adeline abruptly grabbed her chin, her gloved fingers pressing down with an almost overwhelming pain. "Open," the woman ordered, her thumb grazing Emma's lower lip. When Emma instinctively parted her lips, Adeline slipped two fingers into her mouth, the kid leather cool and bitter with tannin. "That's good," she purred, slowly withdrawing, watching the trickle of saliva break in satisfaction.

• Undress now, you will be my thing here, my ****, you will call me mistress, you understand, I don't care who you are, you wanted something, you will get it, do you understand?

Emma nodded.

• Yes, Mistress.

Emma undressed. She was restless, her nerves making it difficult to undo the buttons of her shirt. Her fingers trembled, sliding over the smooth mother-of-pearl of the buttons while Adeline watched every movement with calculating patience. The cool air of the office brushed against her skin as the fabric finally parted, revealing Emma's pale curve of shoulders and breasts.

• Faster, Adeline ordered in a low voice, almost a whisper, but filled with an authority that made Emma shiver.

Finally, she was in her underwear; instinctively, she placed her hands on her breasts and sex out of modesty.

Before she could react, Adeline had taken a riding crop and smacked her across the buttocks.

• Stop being childish, show me your curves.

Emma jumped at the bite of the blow, a hot flash streaking across her bare skin. Her hands immediately fell back to her sides, sweaty palms pressing against her thighs. The pungent scent of her own perspiration suddenly mingled with the smell of beeswax and aged leather that pervaded the room.

Adeline circled her new student, nodded approvingly, and pulled a cord. A maid entered with her head bowed.

• Honey, you'll take the new girl to wash. I want it firm and vigorous with cold water. Then she'll come back here in an hour, dressed like the others, wearing her novice collar. No one is to touch her without my permission.

With a gesture, she dismissed them. Honey took Emma's hand, smiled shyly at her, and pulled her outside to the bathroom.