by Van © 2026
		Chapter 7

Jill's pulse was definitely racing.  She was also sweating... a lot.

It might have had something to do with the way the tall, dense hedges of Her Ladyship's Basking Garden were blocking whatever cooling breezes might currently be wafting around Lancashire, or it might be the combination of tanning lotion and extreme nervousness.

On the other hand, it might be her reaction to Lady Clifton (in all her shapely, glistening, pulchritudinous, magnificent nudity) revealing that she knew Jill had experimentally duct-taped Mel back at Jill's bungalow near the Lewis and Clark campus and prior to their journey to Jolly Old England in general and Jolly Old Bastillon Cottage in particular.

Obviously, Mel had told her about it, meaning getting taped-up by Jill.  How else could she know?

The perfectly understandable incident had been engendered by Jill's perfectly understandable and natural curiosity about Mel's sorority shenanigans, and that was all there was to it!  Dr. Jill Walker was not into kinkiness.  As if!  Puckish mischief?  Maybe.  A little.  But not kinkiness.

Anyway, the proverbial cat was out of the proverbial bag and Jill was busted!  And now Her Naked Ladyship was standing there, all tan and smiling and naked and holding coils of thin hemp rope!

"I have very little familiarity with duct tape bondage," Lady Clifton purred, "but I do have experience with rope bondage, as well as something of a... proclivity."

While Jill was processing this revelation (and sweating), Her Ladyship dropped all but one of the coils of thin hemp rope and began preparing it for use!  Jill had "normal" experience with rope and cordage, but it was all dig related, the rigging of tents and tarps, running rope and string between stakes, lashing supplies to pack-frames or rooftop racks, that sort of thing.  Anyway, Her-Ladyship-the-Self-Professed-Rope-Bondage-Expert had doubled the length of thin rope in her hands, found its center, then spun Jill around—"Hey!"—pulled her hands behind her back, took a doubled loop around her crossed wrists, and was pulling it tight!

"Nooo!" Jill objected (whined) as loop quickly and deftly followed loop, around and between her wrists!

"This is only a demonstration, darling," Lady Clifton purred (continued purring) as she did things with the rope that Jill could follow only by feel.

Whatever Her Ladyship's actions, the doubled cord was growing progressively more secure... in a uniform and not excessively tight manner... and Jill was letting it happen... and she had no idea why!

"That should hold you," Lady Clifton said as she tied a final knot between Jill's wrists and opposite the naked archaeologist's fluttering, groping, and useless fingers... then tucked the knot's very short free ends into the rest of her wrist-bonds.  "I give you five minutes to free yourself before I continue."

"This is tight," Jill observed (pouted)... then focused her horrified expression on Her Ladyship.  "W-what did you say?  Five minutes?"

Lady Clifton's smile widened.  "You're right.  Why delay the inevitable?  We'll proceed with the rest of the exercise."  She then spun on her bare heels and padded back into the stone building.

What the hell have I gotten myself into? Jill mused as she tugged and twisted her crossed and bound wrists and stared down at the two coils of hemp rope/cord still lying on the grass at her bare feet and waiting their turn to join the "exercise."  No, that's not it, Jill silently fumed  What the hell has Melvin gotten me into?

Her Ladyship padded back into the sun, and this time she was holding the long, narrow sashes from the cotton robes they'd worn from the gym area.  Also, she was tying the sashes together, end-to-end, crafting an elegant knot with very short free ends.  The result, of course, was one very long and narrow cotton sash with a knot in the middle.  Jill frowned.  It was almost as if Her Ladyship had prepared... a gag?!

And then, Her Ladyship pounced!

"Hey!  No!  Mrrrpfh!"

The knot was now wedged in Jill's indignant mouth and Lady Clifton was tightening the sash/scarf/bandage/gag from either side, first cleaving Jill's knot-plugged mouth—"Mrrrp!"—then progressively covering her lower face under carefully stretched and flattened layers of white linen!  "Nrrrf!  Nrrrrrrr!"

Jill wiggled, squirmed, twisted at the waist, and stamped her bare feet, all to no avail.  She was now wrist-bound and gagged.  In fact, her entire lower head was mummified in a horizontal swath of tight, neat, multi-layered cotton bandages, from nose to chin!  The gag's final knot was at the nape of her neck with its free ends tucked into the rest of the cotton bands!  Jill's short blond mop was a tousled mess.  Lady Clifton had made some effort to free the silky flaxen strands from under the sash bands as she crafted the gag, but Jill's coif was still in disarray.

"Mrrrmp!"

Jill continued struggling, then noticed that her hostess/captor was preparing a second coil of thin hemp for immediate use!

Then, once again, the naked blond aristocrat pounced!

Lady Clifton's efforts quickly coalesced into a tight, horizontal, neatly stacked band of hemp strands that pinned Jill's arms against her torso, just above her elbows and a few inches below her breasts.  A nexus of crisscross strands passed between her well-separated elbows and anchored the arm/torso-tie, with cinches between her arms and body to further stabilize the arrangement.  The key knot was tied directly over her spine.  Twisting her elbows and arms away from her body was now quite impossible—but not from lack of trying on Jill's part.

"Mrrrpfh!"

Jill continued her efforts to wiggle free... then bleated in alarm when Her Ladyship forced her down onto the grass—"Mrrrp!"—pulled her bare feet together, and used the third and final coil of rope to bind her ankles together!  (Jill had been busy with her pointless struggles and hadn't noticed her captor/instructor preparing the third coil of rope/cord for use.)

Lady Clifton finished binding Jill's ankles, expanded the tie to include her feet and big-toes, then tied the final knot, stood, placed her hands on her bare hips, and smiled.

It was only much later that Jill came to know that this, her first "Rope Exercise," was a direct homage to the opening scene of Maestro John Willie's Escape Artiste comic.  As it turns out, Her Ladyship was a big Willie fan (so to speak), as were the other residents of Bastillon Cottage.  Anyway, Sweet Gwendoline's and Poor Jill's rope/cord bonds were virtually identical.  Granted, Gwen had been wearing a scandalous (for the time) one-piece swimsuit (and high-heel sandals) and her gag was a single very long, thin, narrow scarf, whereas Jill was nude, her "sandals" took the form of more rope, and her gag was a knotted pair of long, thin, narrow sashes.  Otherwise, their predicaments were strikingly similar.  Her Ladyship had to have done it on purpose.

Jill rolled on the grass, twisting her upper body, kicking her bound feet and wiggling her bound toes.  She knew she wasn't going anywhere (not quickly, anyway)... but she couldn't just lie there.  Jill heaved herself up onto her knees (with effort), gave her bound body a final squirm, settled her bare rump on her bare heels, then glared at her grinning, gloating, gorgeous kidnapper.  Actually, her expression was one of... terrified defiance?  The gag made it difficult to be sure.

Her Ladyship gazed down at her student, a coy and infuriating smile curling her perfect lips.  "It's traditional to allow a student one full hour to evaluate a new technique," Lady Clifton purred, "but seeing as how you're a complete novice,  I'm willing to grant you even more time to make your escape."

Jill's big blue eyes blinked above her cloth-mummy-gag.  An hour?  More than an hour?  I'm perfectly willing to concede right now that I can't get free!  Let me go!  "Mrrrf," she whined to reinforce her point.

Lady Clifton's response was to pad back to her lounge chair... gracefully recline on her back... and (still smiling) close her blue eyes.

Jill rolled her blue eyes in frustration, flopped down onto her right side, extended her ankle-foot-toe-bound legs, and resumed her pathetic and patently futile efforts to defeat Lady Clifton's bondage.  Might as well, she mused... then twisted, rolled, and squirmed with renewed effort.  Got nothin' better to do.

The grass was lush and green, but Jill was still glistening with sweat and/or shining with tanning lotion.  Nothing more than the odd grass stem poked her skin as she wiggled and rolled on the lawn... but she could feel the texture of the underlying soil and knew her tan skin was accumulating a patina of dirt to go with the layer of sweaty lotion.  It was unavoidable... and humiliating... as was being helplessly bound with expertly applied thin hemp rope and gagged with multiple layers of tight linen.

Mel was reading the "Operator's Manual" for the yet-to-be-delivered GPR robo-drone for the third time.  There were other manuals in a stack on the desk, but they were all thicker, full of complicated diagrams, tables of numbers, and were highly technical.  She'd tried reading them as well, but quickly realized they were for the engineers and technicians who would be repairing and maintaining the device and not for the archeologists who would be using it.  By the way, the manufacturer did not refer to their soon-to-delivered product as a "robo-drone," and neither did Dr. Jill; but at least until she could actually watch the vaguely beetle-shaped thingie humming around the estate and came up with something better, Mel decided "robo-drone" was a cool nickname.

And speaking of Dr. Jill... where in the world was she?  Specifically, why wasn't she here, in the "Archeological Center," the sitting room Her Ladyship had assigned them as their office.  It was Dr. Walker's job to give her charming young protégé interesting tasks to accomplish and tell her educational and entertaining stories about her past digs, right?

The point was, Dr. Jill and Mel had done everything project related that needed doing and/or they could think of before robo-drone's arrival, and Mel was bored.  Maybe I should give up and do my daily exercise now, she thought, instead of this afternoon.  Another run?  No.  Another swim?  No.  Maybe a long hike packing a picnic lunch?  Hmm... That might work.  I wonder what the maids are up to.  Her Ladyship won't care if they goof off for half a day, would she?

"Here she is!"

"Hiding in the office!"

Speak of Her Ladyship's devilishly cute devils, it was the maids.  Mel closed the manual, returned it to its proper place among the other GPR manuals and reference books, then turned towards the open door.  Apparently, the comely domestics had telepathically sensed Mel thinking about them and scurried to the office in response.  It was the only reasonable explanation.  Dressed in their official Bastillon Cottage black-and-white servile uniforms they strolled towards Mel and the desk, all smiles... then crossed their arms under their boobs and continued smiling.

"Mistress Bailey has given us a task," Skylar stated.

"Indeed," Elfrida confirmed.

"Cousin Bailey has ordered you to clean something?" Mel huffed.  "Why should I care?"  Obviously, the maids were up to something.  Mel decided her best course of operation was to act nonchalant (and maybe prepare to run).  "I'm busy," she stated (lied).

At that point—"Hey!"—the maids pounced.  Actually, as their actions didn't seem to have much urgency and Mel didn't exactly resist, it was less an attack or ambush and more the commencement of the aforementioned but unspecified assigned task.

Elfrida stepped behind Mel and held her arms behind her back.  Meanwhile, Skylar reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a black leather panel-gag—"Sky-lar!  No!  MRRRFH!"—crammed its attached mouth-plug into Mel's indignant mouth, then buckled the attached strap tight at the nape of her neck and under her tousled blond mop.  The panel now pressed against Mel's lips and mouth with uniform efficiency (as designed).

"Nrrrf!  Nrrrm!  Mmmpfh!"

Mel struggled (a little), complained (a lot)—"Nrrrm!"—and stamped her sneaker-clad feet while, working with well-coordinated choreography, the maids switched roles.  Skylar held the squirming and complaining Mel—"Mrrrrrf!"—while Elfrida pulled a length of cord from her apron pocket and tied the agitated blonde's crossed wrists together behind her back.  Then, the maids each took a firm grasp on Mel's arms and dragged her from the office, down the hall to a closet, through one of Bastion Cottage's plenitude of Secret Doors, and into Her Ladyship's maze of clandestine and spooky secret passages.

Mel continued struggling, twisting, squirming, and objecting—"Nrrrrrm!"—that being the proper and expected thing for a damsel to do while being kidnapped by sinister and comely maids—but found she could do nothing to prevent herself from being spirited away to... her guest bedchamber.

Once inside the bedroom (and with the door closed), the maids proceeded to forcibly strip the reluctant subject of their mysterious assignment.  Once again revealing their well-honed damsel-handling expertise, Skylar and Elfrida peeled away and removed by main force Mel's "field sneakers" (the trail-runners she intended to use when the actual digging commenced), her cotton socks, her faded and slightly frayed denim jeans, her long-sleeve chambray work-shirt (with its sleeves rolled up), her heather-gray tank-top, bra, and finally, her panties ("knickers" in Brit-speak).  This had required Efrida to fetch a coil of hemp rope/cord and bind Mel's elbows together so Skylar could untie her crossed wrists in order to free the squirming blonde's shirt, tank-top, and bra from her arms and hands.  And with that... the deed was done.

Not counting her panel-gag and hemp-bound elbows, Mel was now totally naked!  Oh the nude drama!

Grinning in the gloating manner Skylar always assumed when kinky shenanigans were afoot, the page-boy maid controlled Mel's efforts to scamper away while Elfrida returned the kidnapped archeologist's jeans and sneakers to the closet and dropped the rest of her involuntarily removed ensemble in the laundry hamper.

It was only then that Mel noticed the black leather coat or jacket or... garment of some kind resting on the otherwise neatly made bed.  Whatever it was, it had a lot of straps and buckles, and—

Mel's blue eyes popped wide above her panel-gag, then began blinking.  She'd realized what she was looking at—what she was probably looking at.  It was some sort of straitjacket!

With one hand gripping Mel's arm and the other clutching a handful of her tousled blond hair, Skylar leaned close and spoke softly into her right ear.

"Your first lesson in leather," Skylar purred.  "You aren't going to give us any trouble, are you?  Otherwise, somebody might bruise something, and we don't want that, do we?"

Elfrida had picked up the jacket and was turning it in her hands, providing Mel with her first really good look at the thing.

"Don't worry, darling," Elfrida smiled.  "It's our size.  It may not be custom tailored and is somewhat generic, but it's a good fit, nonetheless."

"You would know," Skylar chuckled.

Elfrida favored her fellow maid with a surly pout.  "As would you, smarty-boots."

Mel glowered at the jacket.  Now they'd done it.  The maids had piqued her curiosity!  And if the maids had survived wearing the thing (and apparently they had)... how bad could it be?  It wasn't fair!  Now Mel had to try it.  Dammit!  (By the way, Elfrida's surly pout had caused her cuteness index to spike into mega-cute territory, as had her use of the appellation "smarty-boots."  Elfie's big round glasses also had a contributory effect.)

Anyway, Mel sighed and nodded.  The maids took that as enthusiasm on Mel's part (which it wasn't).  Skylar untied Mel's elbow-bonds and controlled her struggles while Elfrida pulled Mel's left hand and arm into the left sleeve... her right hand and arm into the right sleeve... then settled the jacket onto her shoulders.  Adjustments followed.  Many adjustments followed. Straps and buckles were involved.

Mel believed this particular design was an example of what aficionados call the "bolero jacket."  Its long sleeves closed into flippers at their ends and were continuous with the shoulders, making it more-or-less a regular jacket with the body cut off at the level of the armpits.  Mel's boobs were completely exposed, as was her torso and the rest of her naked body.

The jacket had an integrated collar, a wide and substantial integrated collar with a harness of thin straps dangling down the front.  A horizontal strap of said harness encircled its wearer around her waist, anchoring the jacket and preventing Mel from lifting and/or shrugging it over her head (which would have been patently impossible even without the strap).  Mel's encased arms were crossed in front and below her breasts in conventional straitjacket manner, then the tips of the sleeves were strapped together behind her back in the conventional self-hug.  Next, the remaining vertical harness strap was tightened across her sleeve-encased forearms, anchoring the jacket and restricting her arms even more.

Mel commenced her "Courtesy Struggle," twisting at the waist, shrugging her shoulders, tugging against the sleeves, and confirming that the maids had executed their rigging duty with due diligence.

"Not yet, Silly Goose," Skylar chuckled.

"We aren't finished yet, darling," Elfrida explained.

Then, while the pixie-maid (the mega-cute one with glasses) held Mel in her firm grip, the pageboy-maid (who, in Mel's opinion, was only very cute) went back over each and every buckle of the jacket, collar, and its integrated harness, tightening the straps and removing one, and in some cases two grommets worth of slack—and as for the encased-fingertips-to-encased-fingertips buckle and strap, three grommets!  When the maids were finally satisfied, there was no slack.  They released Mel's jacketed body, stepped back, and assumed the required very cute and mega-cute gloating smiles.

The jacket hugged Poor Melvin like an amorous boa constrictor.  She could breathe (as evidenced by her bobbing/heaving boobs), but the damn thing was tight!  By the way, Mel's nipples were both pointing, meaning were now fully erect.  This might have been a result of the way her breasts were slightly squeezed by the jacket-imposed self-hug, or it might have been for some unrelated reason.  Who knew?

Mel recommenced her Courtesy Struggle without awaiting permission.  Skylar and Elfrida smiled (gloated) and watched as the prisoner-of-the-jacket did her best to pull off a Full Houdini and wiggle out of the thing.  She didn't.  Thirty additional seconds of strenuous effort followed.  She still didn't.

Naked, panel-gagged, and bolero-jacket-bound, Mel was helpless, but the maids weren't satisfied.  "Mrrrpfh!" Mel complained as she was dragged to the bed (it was a short trip).  Elfrida piled its pillows against the headboard while Skylar made sure she didn't sneak away and escape.  The maids then "encouraged" Mel to hop onto the mattress and arranged her with her back against the pillows.  They then used several coils of hemp rope/cord from the courtesy stash Her Ladyship had thoughtfully provided in the bottom drawer of the right bedside table (for the use of her young guest) to frog-tie Mel's legs and lash her in place against the pillows with her bent knees splayed wide, leaving her lady-bits on full display.  Additional rope made use of the headboard, the upper bedposts, and convenient D-rings sewn into the bolero jacket's collar and harness to further reinforce Mel's predicament.

Mel could barely wiggle!  The symmetrical web of taut hemp rope/cord lashing her in place was very effective, as was the jacket—"Mrrrrrm!"—as was the panel-gag.  This was not Mel's first experience with being lashed against a pile of pillows, of course.  The maids had done very nearly the exact same thing to her when they'd lashed her against pillows piled against the foot-board of Her Ladyship's bed.  This time it was Mel's bed and she was lashed against the headboard, but she was just as helpless and her pussy was just as... available.

"Brilliant!" Skylar beamed, then turned to her fellow maid and coconspirator.  "Okay, strip."  (Elfrida was the only person she could be talking to as Mel was already naked and in no position to strip anything from anybody.)

Elfrida's gloating smile was instantly replaced by wide-eyed surprise!  "What?  I mean, no!  I mean... I have to dust the, uh, dining room... the big dining room.  Mistress Bailey was adamant."

"I'll dust the big dining room," Skylar purred.  "Mistress Bailey ordered this demonstration, I'm in charge, and I've decided to add cunnilingus to the exercise."

"Cunnilingus?" Elfrida demanded (her big blue eyes blinking behind her glasses) then pointed at Mel.  "How can she do cunnilingus?  She's gagged.  And if we remove it she'll scream her head off and, uh, disturb the peace.  Mistress Bailey doesn't like it when the peace is disturbed.  That's why she's such a gag enthusiast!"

"Nice try," Skylar chuckled.  "Strip."

"Oh!" Elfrida whined, then divested herself of her maid's uniform... including her undies and sensible shoes.  The pixie-maid was now nude (in a very mega-cute and mega-embarrassed manner).

Mel watched.  She knew what cunnilingus was.  She didn't have any actual experience munching carpets, or having her carpet munched, but she knew what cunnilingus was.  Tongues were involved.  Pussies were involved.  Vibrators could be used with similar results, which she knew from her recent experience of being bound in this very same position by these very same maids when they'd conducted their orgasmic vibratory demonstration.

Maybe if I ask politely Skylar will give me a pass, Mel silently posited, or at least give me more time to think about it.  Unfortunately, she was gagged.  Panel-gagged.  Also, who was she kidding?  Skylar always had way too much fun topping Elfrida and doing things to Her Ladyship's young American guest.  Why would she stop now, just because Mel was being a naked, bound, gagged, and unenthusiastic chicken?

All too soon Skylar had fetched more rope/cord from what now had to be a seriously depleted bottom drawer of the right bedside table... and used it to ruthlessly rig Poor Naked Elfrida!

The out-of-uniform pixie-maid was now lying on her stomach on the foot of Mel's bed.  It was a combination box-tie/crossed-ankles-tie/frog-tie/hogtie!  Elfrida's arms were folded behind her back and bound forearm-to-forearm, her upper-arms pinned to her sides, her shoulders yoked, and everything hitched and cinched into one tight matrix.  (That was the box-tie portion, of course.)  Elfrida's ankles were crossed and lashed together with her legs folded and her shins lashed against their respective calves. (That was the crossed-ankles/frog-tie contribution.)  Finally, Poor Elfie was bent like a bow with her ankles lashed to the nexus of her box-tie with very little slack.  (That was the hogtie.)

Elfrida could barely squirm.  Her upturned face was towards Mel, so she could easily see that the pixie-maid had dialed up her betrayed-pout expression to eleven.  Elfrida was not happy.  She was, however, helplessly and inescapably bound.

Meanwhile, Skylar-the-Cruel had removed Elfrida's glasses, folded them and placed them on the right bedside table, then gathered up Elfrida's no-longer-needed uniform and was now smiling (gloating) at the occupants of the bed.

"All right then... I'll get on with the day's other assigned tasks," the pageboy-maid announced, then winked at Elfrida, "including dusting the big dining room."  She then spun on her sensibly-clad heels and sauntered towards the bedchamber door (swinging her hips seductively).  "No rest for the wicked," she sighed, then opened the bedchamber door, crossed the threshold, closed it behind her—Thud.—and was gone.

Elfrida and Mel stared at the back of the door... then at each other.

Elfrida heaved a truly tragic sigh.  "Well, your pussy isn't going to lick itself," she muttered, then commenced squirming up the bed towards her naked, straitjacket/rope-bound, and panel-gagged goal.

Progress was slow, awkward, and laborious... but the gap was slowly closing.

Mel tugged and squirmed, hoping against hope to free herself before the arrival of the hog-tied Eldrida (and especially her tongue).  And was it Mel's imagination or was the naked, hemp-bound, and very much not gagged maid blushing?  Maybe she was flushed from the exertion required by her ongoing inchworm imitation, but Mel thought it looked like she was blushing.  It was very cute.

Mercia
The Tenth Century

---

Lady Jorun was having a very bad day.

She'd been out for a ride (for once without the guards her father always insisted should accompany her everywhere) and had been ambushed by an Anglo-Saxon raiding party!  Also, not only had she failed to slay any of her attackers, but was unhorsed and knocked unconscious!

When Jorun came to... she found she'd been stripped naked—her loins clad in an iron belt with a narrow vertical band that closely covered her crotch region, front and back—her wrists manacled together behind her back and somehow attached to the back of the belt—and her ankles fettered, separated by only a couple of spans of hobbling chain!  In addition, an iron collar with a long attached chain was locked around her neck, and finally—"Mrrrpfh!"—she'd been tightly gagged with a coarse linen cloth!

There was no sign of Luftdånd, her beloved mare.  She hoped she'd escaped and at this very moment was galloping back to Father's castle.  When she thundered through the gates without her rider Father would mount an immediate rescue.  Then, Jorun saw Luftånd among the English remounts and heaved a gagged sigh.  There would be no immediate rescue effort.  Her captors would have a significant head start escaping with their prisoner, and a couple of their leather-clad scouts were already dragging brush across the clearing and obscuring all signs of the attack.

By her captors' livery and shield markings Jorun surmised she was the captive of Baron Kliff, which was not good.  It was well known that the House of Kliff (and especially the current Baroness Kliff) were no fans of Viking settlers and contributed to the intermittent raiding across the Danelaw border.

Anyway, the Anglo-Saxon party quickly made their departure.  Jorun was indignantly draped across the lap of their leader, face down, and they were off.  Jorun wiggled and complained, but all she got for her trouble was a slap across her bare bottom.  Despite the bouncing and jostling Jorun could see that her captors knew what they were doing.  The scouts were making cross trails and dragging more brush.  Father's trackers, whenever they finally showed, would have a difficult time following their trail.

Finally, near sunset and after hours of hard riding, the riders halted near a burbling stream and Jorun was unceremoniously dumped to the ground, still naked, chained, and gagged, of course.  The soldiers laughed as one of them dumped a bucket of cold water over her head!  They then kicked dirt over her wet body!  It was to humiliate her, of course.

After watering the horses the journey continued, only now with Jorun stumbling at the end of her collar-chain behind the leader... or more specifically behind the rump of the leader's horse.  Castle Kliff was only a mile or so ahead... and eventually, amidst the cheers of the castle residents, the raiding party passed through the gatehouse in triumph.

Naked, chained, gagged, filthy from head to toe, her long flaxen curls a tousled mess, but her expression defiant, nonetheless, Jorun was led by her neck-chain into the keep... then on into the Feasting Hall.

The evening meal was underway and two or three dozen well-dressed men and women were seated at a pair of long tables, drinking and eating.  A rousing (and humiliating) cheer greeted Jorun's arrival.  She was dragged down the isle between the two tables towards a third table on a raised dais.  It was obviously the main table.  Her father's Ale Hall had a similar arrangement.

Lady Kliff was seated at the center of the raised table, and to her immediate left was an empty throne-like chair.  Apparently, Baron Kliff was absent, no doubt off somewhere doing something brutal and inexcusable with or to his other neighbors.

Jorun had to admit that Lady Kliff knew how to dress.  The middle-aged blonde was undeniably beautiful.  Beside Her Ladyship sat two women, another blonde and a redhead.  Both were also beautiful and expensively dressed.

"Lady Jorun," Lady Kliff purred.  "Such an unexpected delight."  She gestured to the leader of the raiding party.  "Well done, Sir Hartley.  Chain her to the floor."

Soon Jorun found herself sprawled on the stone flags with the far end of her collar-chain padlocked to an embedded iron ring.   She was only a few feet in front of the main table and the smiling (and gloating) Lady Kliff.

"Our guest must be famished from her journey."

With that, a pair of serving girls carried forward a small tub of what was either cold, thick soup or kitchen slop... and unceremoniously dumped it over Jorun's helpless body!

The diners cheered with renewed enthusiasm.

Naked, chained, gagged, and now dripping with what amounted to cold gravy, Jorun's humiliation reached a new low.

"Release the hounds!" Her Ladyship commanded.

A yelping chorus ensued, then several distressing large wolfhounds bounded into the hall and made a beeline for Jorun!

"Mrrrpfh!"

"Don't worry," Lady Kliff stated, "they won't bite."

It was true.  The hounds didn't bite.  They did, however, snort, snuffle, nuzzle, slobber, and enthusiastically lick!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~ Blink! ~~~~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jill was lying on the grass of with her head and shoulders cradled on Lady Clifton's naked lap.

"Oh, Jill, darling," Her Ladyship cooed, combing her fingers through Jill's tousled blond locks, "were you having a dream?"

Jill blinked her blue eyes several times... then nodded her gagged head.

Lady Clifton beamed, leaned close, and kissed Jill's glistening forehead.

"Brilliant!" Her Ladyship sighed.  "You must tell me all about it."

◄

Chapter 6

Chapter 8

►