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realised that her daydreaming had taken her into depths of sinful carnality. She moved her hand, the fingers of which had been sliding down the inward curve of her stomach as if possessed of a will of their own.
    She threw the mirror on to the chair. Thank goodness Barat was with her. He would prevent her from going astray.
    Two
    The meeting was interminable. Jem, at the head of the table, had gazed over the heads of her councillors, through the mullioned windows and out into the wild parkland where the dismal day had darkened gradually into dusk and then night. Silently, servants had lit lamps.
    And still they talked. Every item on the agenda was discussed and dissected, and each debate led into a maze of corollaries and codicils, until no one could remember what the original item had been. They make it seem such hard work, Jem thought. She was able to follow the ebb and flow of the conversation with barely half her mind and when, as frequently happened, one or other of the disputants appealed to her for guidance, she was able to dispense advice that seemed temporarily to quell the strife. But she found the whole thing very dull.
    I'm not bored just with this, Jem thought as the discussion moved on to the topic of the arrangements for a meeting of the full High Council of the Private House; I'm bored with myself. In fact, that's probably the root of the whole problem. I need to change myself somehow. The Private House doesn't need me any more, except as a figurehead.
    Julia had insisted that at a meeting such as this Jem should be seen in her official costume: the ornate version of the black uniform worn by Julia and her corps of guards. Jem had therefore insisted on dressing otherwise, and had arrayed herself in a confection of white lace and pink ribbons: pink high-heeled pumps, white lace stockings, a pink suspender belt, a very short skirt of flouncy white tulle, and pink ribbons binding her torso and breasts in the eastern bondage style. And, because she was the Supreme Mistress, her managers had expertly concealed their initial surprise. Each one, on entering the council chamber, had complimented her on the prettiness of her outfit.
    But not one of them put a hand up my skirt, or offered to bed me or to spank me, Jem thought. I suppose it's my own fault. I know they're whispering that I'm moody. I prefer to call it capricious. And it's just how I am. Or how I wish I could be, again.
    They need shaking up.
    Jem pushed her chair back and lifted her feet on to the council table. The councillors glanced at her. She moved her feet apart, slowly. They all glanced at her again; looked away; looked back. She brought her right hand to her face and placed two fingers into her mouth. She licked her fingers. Although she was sitting in shadow, they could all see what she was doing.
    She withdrew her fingers from her mouth and trailed them down her body, lingering for a moment to toy with her nipples before letting her hand drop into her lap. She cupped the bulge of her sex. The managers were pretending not to notice her movements, but she knew they were watching her, and that knowledge was making her wet.
    With her left hand she gestured to one of the servants. He was a tall man, no longer young but slender and, Jem knew, possessed of an impressive manhood. He approached her chair and leaned towards her.
    'Yes, Mistress?' he whispered.
    'I want to play with your cock, Philip,' Jem said, in a less quiet voice.
    Philip straightened, moved closer to Jem, and unbuttoned the flap at the front of his breeches. Jem took his member in her hand and felt it begin to harden and swell. She caught the odour of male sex emanating from his genitals, and slipped one of her fingers into the moist opening of her own sex. This, she thought, was the way to cope with long meetings.
    'Carry on,' she said to the room at large. She shrugged, and enjoyed the tightening of the ribbons around her breasts. 'This is the Private House, after all. And I am your