by Van ©2021
		Chapter 10

Tragically, the capture and release of the Corbyn Matriarch and Paige the Cruel (her villainous red-haired minion) marked the end of the Bondage Olympics for that summer.

Bernadette and Paige put their heads together and decided to be big about the Great Youth Rebellion.  That is, they decided to immediately punish neither their rebellious daughters nor their fully complicit friends with paracord, tape, stretch-wrap, or spherical gobstoppers of medium-density foam applied as hideously tight bondage and plea-stifling gags.  (The fact that they were outnumbered six to two might have had something to do with their decision.)

That said, Bernadette's arrival, her hijacking of the vacation agenda, and the nocturnal events that followed did not put an end to the formalized shenanigans.  Paige may have scrapped her elaborately preplanned Olympic Events, but she came up with a fun and ingenious substitute: Random Asymmetrical Duels, or RADs.  Here's how they worked:

Each morning after breakfast—unless Mrs. C had decreed they were all going on a shopping trip into town (with lunch at her favorite restaurant) or some other sort of super-fun field trip—Teams Alice and Chelsea would assemble (resplendent in their lavender-purple or jade-green bikinis), and Paige would roll a pair of six-sided dice, one purple and the other green—twice.  The high number of the first roll determined which team would provide the Binder and the low number the Bindee.  In the event of a tie, the die was rolled again.  In the event of a second tie, however, both teams agreed to chase down, tie up, and tickle either Paige or Bernadette, but only for one hour.  Certainly no more than two.

The second roll determined the specific identities of the Binder and Bindee according to the following table:

Roll	TEAM ALICE	TEAM CHELSEA
1-2	Alice	Chelsea
3-4	Betty	Sophie
5-6	Ivy	Ripley

There were several noteworthy RADs, memorable for the Binder, the Bindee, and the spectators.  For example...

SOPHIE MAKES THINGS CLEAR FOR BETTY

---

"You Dexterized her!" Ivy chuckled.

"She did, indeed," Ripley agreed, smiling evilly.

"I think you may owe HBO royalties," Ivy added, then frowned.  "No, wait.  Dexter is still streaming somewhere, isn't it?  Does anyone know where?"

"Does it matter?" Chelsea purred gazing down at Betty, while Betty gazed back.  "No one will ever know what happened to her, so no one will come asking for royalties."

All members of both teams (except for Betty) cackled like Dr. Evil (even if they all were wearing bikinis and looked nothing like Austin Power's nemesis).

Poor Betty was naked, lying flat on her back on a 1" x 12" x 8' board of sanded pine, and multiple tautly stretched layers of clear plastic stretch-wrap bound her in place!  The only things exposed to the hot summer air were her bare feet, crotch and upper thighs, tummy, boobs, and her nose and big brown eyes.  Her long, straight, brown hair draped off the end of the board and a band of wrap pinned her forehead in place, reinforcing similar layers across her already tape-gagged mouth.  And oh-by-the-way, Sophie had flipperized Betty's hands as the first step, and the flippers in question were to her sides under multiple layers of clear plastic!!  The captive's fingers and hands were completely useless to her.

"Of course," Alice added, "it's not a true Dexter because of the tape."

Sophie had reinforced (unnecessarily) Betty's stretch-wrap bonds with multiple layers of clear T-REX tape, doubly binding Betty to the board at her ankles, above and below her knees, her hips and lower tummy, above and below her breasts, across her mouth, and across her forehead.

Something like 30% of Betty's firm, fit body was exposed.  The rest was shrouded under tight, form-fitting layers of clear plastic and tape.

"It's an enhanced Dexter," Chelsea suggested, and the others nodded in agreement, even Alice (reluctantly), and except for Betty (who was physically unable to nod).

Sophie blushed and gave a cute little curtsy.  "Gee, thanks guys," she giggled.

Betty's big brown eyes blinked and her gaze darted from face to face as she silently begged for rescue/release.  Sadly, her eyes and toes were just about the only things she could move, but she definitely didn't want to wiggle her toes.  They might draw unwanted attention!  Feathers might appear and tickling might occur!

"I like the way her skin shows through the plastic," Ripley sighed.  "It's nearly... translucent.  Know what I mean?"

"Yes, we know what translucent means," Ivy chuckled.  "We also agree."

"Swim?" Chelsea suggested, and the others nodded and padded away, abandoning Poor Betty to her nearly-plastic-packaged fate.  There was no reason for prolonged gloating.  Betty would be there when they got back.

After the swim, they propped Betty and her board up so she could watch them eat lunch, (which was delicious, by the way), then returned her to the horizontal.  She'd been under the dappled shade of the pergola all morning and during lunch, but Sophie produced a pump-bottle of Guava-Orange Aromatherapy Body Lotion (from Bath & Body Works®) and moisturized every exposed square inch of Betty's body (except for her hair and eyes), anyway.  At St. Ignatius Island, Aftercare is mandatory.

ALICE LEAVES RIPLEY IN SUSPENSE (& SHE HAS TINY VISITORS)

---

Alice pointed out that whereas the official Bondage Olympics were cancelled for the year, there was no reason they should feel constrained by the Head Umpire's arbitrary choice of materials.  A solemn bikini-clad conference was convened and all members of both teams solemnly agreed.  So, Alice padded into the mansion... and eventually returned with a large duffel-bag crammed full of neat coils of quarter-inch conditioned hemp rope.  (It was Alice's personal stash of authentic Japanese bondage rope.)

And then, Alice ordered Ripley (her pouting brunette victim) to remove her jade-green bikini.  She did, and then...  "Alice went all Shibari on her ass!" as Chelsea would later put it.

Ripley wound up in a horizontal hover a few inches below the Mandevilla vines of the pergola.  Her left leg was bent at the knee and ladder-tied from thigh to ankle.  Her right leg was stretched to the side and lashed to the top of a post.  Her wrists, arms, and upper body were bound using the "shotgun" technique.  Her left arm was behind her back, her right arm raised and folded back, and her wrists tied together behind her back, and a torso harness was added to make sure everything stayed exactly where Alice wanted it.  There was also a crotch harness to support Ripley's hips (and crotch).

A dozen or so vertical and diagonal ropes supported Ripley's body, including one rope knotted in her coiled hair to support her gagged head.  Everyone present (including Ripley) agreed that Alice had done a magnificent job.  The tension on the suspending ropes was uniform and evenly distributed.  Clearly, as a rigger, the oldest Corbyn sister knew her stuff.  Even Chelsea was smiling, proud of her older sibling's engineering acumen and not ashamed to show it.

And Alice wasn't done!  She produced a pair of clover-style nipple clamps and put them to their intended use!  She opened a pair of spring-loaded steel jaws... and captured Ripley's left nipple—"MRRRF!"—followed by her right nipple—MRRRF!"—and without so much as a by your leave!

Oh the drama!  Of the cruelty!  Sophie was scandalized!  "Alice!" she whined, defending the honor (and nipples) of her semi-Goth friend.

"Relax," Ivy purred, then planted a kiss on Sophie's cheek.  "Those things have pretty weak jaws and don't hurt all that much.  Believe me.  I know."

Now that Sophie noticed, Ripley's distress did seem to be rather... theatrical.  "Oh."  She gave one of her cute little Sweet Sophie shrugs.  "Never mind."

And then, Alice upped the ante (by a few ounces) by hanging a weight from the light chain drooping between the two clamps!

The weight in question was a hummingbird feeder full of artificial nectar (granulated white table sugar to water at a ratio of 1:4).  Granted, the feeder was the smallest in the mansion's inventory, and they usually didn't bother putting it out for the local hummers.  It only held a few ounces, and the local flying jewels sucked it dry in no time.  The pergola was always host to much larger feeders that were replenished daily, as well as being cleaned regularly to prevent the growth of mold (which can be fatal to hummingbirds). 

Anyway, the cute little saucer-style feeder in question now dangled invitingly between Ripley's clamped nipples.

Ripley might have complained about the nipple-clamp-and-nectar-feeder escalation of her suspended sentence, but Alice had taken the precaution of gagging her in the traditional Japanese manner using three long, six-inch wide strips of white linen.  The first strip was folded, knotted, and deployed as a tight, mouth-filling cleave-gag.  The second strip was folded once and used as a tight over-the-mouth gag.  The third was left unfolded and covered Ripley's lower face from nose to chin.  Acting together, the three strips made an effective gag.  Ripley could make very little noise.  She could, however, stare a steady stream of daggers at her smiling, bikini-clad Binder, and she did.

Betty, Ivy, Sophie, and even Chelsea admired Alice's artistic ingenuity, shaking her hand, kissing her cheeks, and patting her on the back.  They then collectively decided to go for a nice refreshing swim.  (Morning swims were very popular at St. Ignatius Island.)  Anyway, Alice suggested Ripley should "hang out for a while," giving her admirers a good laugh, then they all got wet, abandoning Poor Ripley in suspended solitude.

However, Ripley wasn't alone for long.  It was only about three minutes before the first Anna's Hummingbird arrived.  The tiny wonder was mostly green, with a little white and gray, and was absolutely adorable!  Ripley was thrilled (as well as naked, bound, gagged, and suspended).  At first, the female hummer seemed a little tentative.  (Ripley looked up hummingbirds in the mansion's library the first chance she got and confirmed her first visitor was, indeed, a female)  She hovered and gave a nervous little tic-tic-tic call... but finally, she sampled one of the blossom's three feeding ports, inserting the tip of her bill and flicking her long tongue into the clear nectar... sampled the nectar again... then landed on the feeder's circular rail, gripping it with her tiny little feet, folded her tiny wings, and settled in for a nice, long, tongue-lapping drink.  She was adorable!  Ripley had never seen anything so cute!  She'd seen hummingbirds before, of course, both this summer, during previous visits to the Corbyn mansion, and at home, but never this close!

And as far as Ripley's nipples could tell, Anna's hummingbirds are weightless!  Who knew?

The little green lady was the first of several hummingbird visitors Ripley received during her term as Alice's Bindee.  That night at dinner, she told the others all about her buzzing visitors with gushing, giggling, and not at all Gothic enthusiasm.  Her friends were impressed and amused (especially Sophie).

Alice made a mental note to herself.  After the current vacation, after all their visitors had gone home (as well as Mother), and when the hummingbirds' fall migration was at its peak, she intended to bind her little sister to a pergola post so tightly she couldn't wiggle, then surround her with nectar-feeders.  She was sure Paige wouldn't object, and her kid sister would find the experience... educational.

IVY & CHELSEA IN THE STRETCH

---

Once Alice's Shibari rope collection was out of the bag (so to speak) the brown coils were used several times.  On one memorable occasion, Ivy was the Binder and Chelsea the Bindee.  Being an honorable damsel, Chelsea cooperated fully, allowing Ivy to make her artistic vision real without interference.  The end result:

Chelsea was completely naked, up on the toes of her right foot, and with her left arm raised overhead.  Her left leg and right arm were folded and lashed to themselves, ladder-tie-fashion, from ankle-to-knee and wrist-to-elbow, respectively.  Neither limb was tied to anything else, so Chelsea was "free" to flap them like flippers.  However, she didn't, meaning she didn't flip, wave, or flutter her folded extremities.  There was no point.

An elaborate harness of horizontal and diagonal hemp strands bound Chelsea's torso from shoulders to crotch, and vertical ropes traveled up and down between steel ring dangling from the pergola and her body.  In short, Alice's little sister was semi-suspended at her crotch, the torso-harness, her coiled and bundled hair, and her left wrist.  And the crotch-rope was of the cleaving variety, in that it bisected Chelsea's labia and butt-cheeks!  The pressure was uniformly distributed between the suspension-points and her right foot was able to contribute to the support of her weight, which was good.  That said, she knew that eventually the foot in question would get tired (and possibly cramp), and she'd find herself riding the crotch-torso-harness, which was not good.

Being in excellent physical condition and with a low body-fat index, Chelsea had always had remarkable muscle tone, but the tiptoe supported stretch and arm reach were enhancing their definition.  Sophie remarked that in her current predicament, Chealsea made for an excellent anatomical training aid.  Ripley suggested they find a suitable reference work and hold an impromptu anatomy class.  Alice shook her head and apologized that the mansion's library didn't include a copy of Gray's Anatomy.  Betty went in search of an iPad to see if she could find a human anatomy reference online.  The discussion turned to whether they should use a permanent Sharpie®, a ballpoint pen, or perhaps a feather to trace and label each muscle once it was identified.

Chelsea had strong opinions on the matter, but they were rendered inarticulate by the foam ball stuffed in her mouth and the Microfoam tape covering her lower face from nose-to-chin and ear-to-ear.

At that point, Bernadette and Paige joined the group, resplendent in white and black bikinis, respectively, and vetoed marking up Bernadette's youngest daughter's tan skin, permanently or otherwise.  However, they did compliment Ivy on a job well done, then ordered the youngsters not dangling from the pergola to take a swim... and they reluctantly did so.  Their bikini-clad elders joined them.

Just then, Betty reappeared, waving an iPad and babbling something about Wikipedia.  She realized she'd wasted her time, heaved a disappointed sigh, deposited the iPad on a convenient side table, then padded after the others and jumped into the pool.

All on her own and almost dangling from the pergola, Chelsea watched the watery fun and glowered at her villainous friends, evil mother, and the cruel redhead who ruled the mansion.  Objectively, she knew somebody had to be the Designated Damsel Du Jour... but that didn't mean she had to like it when it happened to be her.

In addition to several more notable Officially Sanctioned Daytime RADs (Random Asymmetrical Duels), there were additional, un-official, nocturnal RADs, all of which took place after lights out and in various bedrooms.  Of course, they might actually have been impromptu practice sessions for daylight RADs-to-come... or they might have been romantic liaisons by moonlight (with rope).  Who knows?  Anyway, most were one-on-one, most were between teams (meaning Team Alice vs. Team Chelsea), but a few were within teams.

(There were also elderly shenanigans involving Bernie and Paige, of course.)

In any case, everyone agreed it would be very de classe to expose (so to speak) transitory personal sleeping habits to general ridicule and/or teasing.  What happened in darkened bedrooms stayed in darkened bedrooms, and was nobody's business (as long as they kept the noise down and didn't disturb the general domestic tranquility).

The exception that made the rule was, of course, Bernadette and Paige.  If either of them showed up at breakfast visibly exhausted and/or with might have been ropemarks on their wrists or other anatomy, the youngsters gossiped about it mercilessly, but only behind the oldsters' backs.  (Also, while Alice and Chelsea tolerated the gossip-fests about their mother and Paige, but didn't participate to any great extent.  (And to their credit, they managed not to get visibly sick when the topic of Mother and Paige messing around came up.  Yuck!)

Anyway, the final day of the vacation finally arrived, there were tearful farewells, Paige distributed souvenir coils of white paracord to Betty, Ivy, Sophie, and Ripley, and the former rommates departed in their rented SUV.  Mother Corbyn stayed an additional day, then drove away in her fancy SUV.  She'd already sent an e-mail to Lady Tydwell to get the ball rolling for next summer's castle vacation.

Everyone agreed that this year's severely abbreviated and compromised Bondage Olympics had been a complete and total disaster, but were looking forward to next summer's excursion to the Green and Pleasant Land (England).

	GUEST STARRING IN THE Epilogue...
	Jane Seymour as...		Gemma Arterton as...		Jessica Keenan Wynn as...
	Lady Jane Tydwell		Cressida Tydwell		Corky O'Brien
	Mistress of Tydwell Castle		Lady Jane's loving daughter		Cressida's Personal Assistant
	☻  60-something ☻  5' 5" (1.65 m) ☻  Brown hair ☻  Left eye brown &       right eye blue		☻  30-something ☻  5' 7" (1.70 m) ☻  Brown hair ☻  Brown eyes		☻  30-something ☻  5' 5" (1.65 m) ☻  Red hair ☻  Green eyes

		Somerset County, England ╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬ ║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║║ ╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬ Down in the Dungeons

Corky O'Brien found herself in a bit of a pickle.

Firstly, she was naked.  Secondly, she was straddling what amounted to an elaborate Sybian with its vibrating phallus lodged in her pussy!  Thirdly, she was in what might be called a flying vertical spread-eagle, with her wrists and ankles locked in padded manacles and shackles and all attached to taut chains!

Most Sybians are semicircular padded hassocks with a vertical phallus and a horizontal latex strip studded with nubs or ridges.  The masturbatory stimulus (the point of the exercise) is provided by an electro-mechanical vibrator controlled by a rheostat.  The user straddles the device with the bar and phallus positioned where they'll do the most good, then rides the vibrations to orgasm.  This can happen voluntarily, or (as was the case with poor, naked, helpless Corky), the user can be bound in place, removing the element of choice entirely.

This particular Sybian was... unusual.  Rather than being hassock-shaped, it took the form of an English riding saddle, and rather than resting on the floor, it was solidly mounted atop a vertical timber post embedded in the stone floor.  There were no ornate carvings or turnings in the wood, nor was there decorative tooling on the saddle; however, the wood was darkly stained and the leather of the finest quality.  Most important of all with respect to aesthetics, the proportions of the Sybian-saddle's elements were pleasing to the eye.  It was a work of art (as well as an instrument of erotic torture).

Riding any Sybian to orgasm can be a delight.  But being forced to continuously ride one, especially after having already achieved orgasm and with the relevant body-parts now at the height of sensitivity?  That could be torture... depending on who was at the controls.

And speaking of controls.  The Sybian-Saddle was the very height of Information Age modernism.  There were no unsightly dangling wires trailing to a control box or console with levers, dials, or buttons.  The insidious (but artistic) device was controlled via WiFi.  Any laptop or tablet running the appropriate app could be used to vary the timing and intensity of the stimulation, as well as control an array of modulation/stimulation subprograms.

And speaking of Corky not being in control...  As previously mentioned, she was spreadeagled.  Her legs were stretched full-length to either side with her ankles in wide, heavy, well-padded, and form-fitting shackles tautly chained to iron rings set in the floor.  Her wrists were locked in similar padded manacles and her arms outstretched to the left and right and chained to iron rings in the ceiling.  Kicking her pale, freckled legs was out of the question, and she could barely tug on her wrist-chains.  Corky's most vigorous struggles were barely enough to make her breasts wobble and shake, and lifting herself off the phallus, the ridge of knobs, or the saddle itself was quite impossible.

Equally impossible was complaining about her situation.  Corky's head was caged in a harness of thin leather straps that solidly lodged a large rubber ball in her gaping mouth.  She usually kept her ginger hair long and curly, but she'd recently had it straightened, cut, and styled in a classic pageboy.  And whoever had rigged the harness-gag had been careful to evenly distribute her now short, red locks among the straps and leave her new coif intact (more-or-less).

The chamber in which Corky was incarcerated (and stimulated) was, in proper English understatement, adequately heated.  Her peachy-pink and freckled skin was rather flushed, and it glowed with a patina of unladylike sweat.  In fact, beads of sweat dripped down her body... including her thighs, flat tummy, chest, and pert breasts.  Her nipples were pointing, but that probably wasn't due to the elevated air temperature.

Despite Corky's best efforts to pout, sulk, and induce crippling guilt in her captor, she'd been stripped naked, chained in place, gagged, the Sybian-Saddle programmed to give her a quick but devastating orgasm, and then to continue buzzing at an exceedingly low and decidedly irritating level from that point forward.

And who was the rigger/captor in question?  Who had done this unspeakably cruel thing to Poor Corky O'Brien?  It was the Honorable Cressida Tydwell, of course.

Cressida was the daughter (and only child) of Lady Jane Tydwell, and Corky-the-cute-little-Yank had started her career with the Tydwells as one of their small army of Junior Maids.  She'd caught Cressida's eye, Cressida caught all of Corky, and the adorable ginger was promoted to Cressida's Personal Chambermaid.  And within a year, Corky was elevated further to her current post as Cressida's Personal Assistant, Lady's Companion, and Confidant.  That meant when Corky accompanied Cressida to London or on her other travels, she did so wearing the latest fashionable/expensive designer clothing.  Cressida loved playing dress-up with her "Corky-doll."  That also meant Corky only had to wear a skimpy, sexy, humiliating and/or traditional maid's uniform when they were in residence at the Castle... or when she wasn't naked and tied up, of course.

[Author's note:  How Corky Met Cressida is detailed in Immured (Story #30).]

Anyway, using the excuse of testing the latest Sybian-Saddle software update, Cressida had dragged poor Corky down to the dungeons, placed her in her current naked, bound, gagged, sweaty, and spreadeagled predicament... used the Saddle to bring the Poor Yank to orgasm... then abandoned her in low-level vibratory purgatory and gone upstairs for a cup of tea.  She'd only just returned to the overheated dungeon.

Cressida had decided the appropriate costume for torturing adorable American redheads was full riding costume: brown knee-boots, camel-tan riding breeches (with suede patches over her inner thighs and seat), long-sleeved blouse in white with a lacy, white matching tie, and a black riding jacket—but given the perpetually overheated conditions down in the dungeon, she opted to go déshabillé from the waist up.  That is, Cressida was topless.  Also, she had a riding crop conveniently tucked down her right boot.  One never knows when a disobedient ginger might need "touching up," does one?  Cressida's stylishly tousled brown hair was currently cut short in an off-the-shoulders bob.  The dungeon might be slightly overheated, but Cressida hadn't been subjected to a vibratory orgasm, nor had she been abandoned to languish in low-level vibration.  Therefore, while her firm, fit, tan body did have a definite glow, her exposed skin wasn't nearly as... fluid as Corky's.

Cressida smiled at her devoted servant (playmate, and lover).

The devoted servant in question smiled back... with her green eyes, anyway.  The gag-harness was rendering the rest of her smile more-or-less as a grimace.  Truth be told, Corky loved being the Bottom to Cressida's Top, but one must keep up appearances.  She squirmed in her bonds and whined through her gag, telegraphing her distress with crystal clarity.  It was heartbreaking.

Cressida's heart was not broken; however, a thrill rippled through the crotch of her riding pants and across her exposed nipples.  Cressida loved her Corky, and the feeling was mutual.  Everyone in the Castle knew it, from the lowliest Junior Maid to Lady Jane herself.  They were an adorable couple.

Cressida's smile turned evil.  "This latest upgrade includes a dozen or so sub-programs designed to keep the, uh, 'user' hovering at the cusp of orgasm indefinitely," she purred.  "Supposedly, they're highly effective frustration torture."  She paused to pluck an iPad from a table near the door.  "I suppose due diligence requires a test of each and every one, don't you agree?"

Corky did not agree.  "Mrrrf!"  In her current condition, she was hardly a good test subject, but even though she knew her opinion on the matter was of little consequence, she had to try.

Just then, the dungeon's heavy timber and iron-banded door opened—"Creeeeak!"—and Lady Jane strolled into the chamber.  She was wearing one of her stylish, expensive, sundresses, this one in Royal Blue.  As usual, Lady Jane looked stunning.  But then, Her Ladyship would need the services of a highly talented theatrical makeup artist if she wanted to look less than stunning.  The Tydwells are blessed with very good genes.

"Good news, darling," Lady Jane gushed, planting a kiss on her daughter's right cheek.  "The window of possible dates for the Corbyn visit next summer is firming up.  Our New York office will coordinate with their New York office."

"Wonderful, Mother," Cressida purred.  She stabbed the screen of the iPad, then shifted her smile to Corky.

Lady Jane's eyes were also on Corky and her predicament.  Her Ladyship had a refined appreciation of the naked damsels-in-distress.

"I suppose I should light a fire under the oubliette project," Cressida purred.  The Castle was always undergoing maintenance and minor renovations, but at the moment a team of expert stonemasons were at work in a chamber on the other side of the dungeons, converting an already existing dungeon cell into what would be more-or-less a stone-lined dry-well, a very deep stone-lined dry-well.

"We have several months, darling," Lady Jane noted.

"But we want all signs of new construction to have time to fade," Cressida countered. "And that includes the outgassing of any adhesives or stains.  No worries.  I'll handle it."

"Our New York office is also preparing dossiers on the Corbyns and their guests, who will be our guests," Lady Jane stated.  "You've met Bernadette Corbyn."

"I have," Cressida nodded.  "She's... cute."

"As the proverbial button," Lady Jane purred, "as well as feisty."  Her smile widened.  "And remember, she's mine, daughter... but wait 'til you meet her daughters.  New York is sending you photos gathered from social media.  Alice and Chelsea are as beautiful as their mother.  I'm sure they'll be a lot of fun.  And Bernadette assures me her daughters and their friends are all enthusiastic... shall we say... hobbyists?"

Cressida's dimples deepened as her smile widened.  "You mean they're bondage freaks like us?"

Lady Jane sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Don't be crude, dear."

"Sorry, Mother," Cressida purred.  "Hmm...  Alice, Chelsea, plus four more...  I think I should order an inventory of the tack room.  We may not have sufficient ponygirl harnesses on hand in all the relevant sizes."

Corky had been following the conversation, her green eyes darting from Lady Tydwell—to her beloved Cressida—and back.  But now, something was happening between her legs... and inside her pussy!  The Sybian-Saddle was pulsing!  So far, the pulses had been low intensity and with no perceptible pattern... but now, the frequency and strength was... increasing?  She was sure of it!  Well... pretty sure.  A shudder shook her glistening, freckled body and her breasts quivered.

"Well... I'll leave you to it," Lady Jane said, but her smile remained focused on Corky and she made no immediate move towards the dungeon door.

Corky continued shivering, quivering, and weakly tugging on her steel bonds.  The chains didn't even sway.  Also, her green eyes were growing visibly desperate.  It was horrible!  Or mesmerizing.  Or both.  Corky panted through her harness-gag and her breasts began to bob in earnest as her "ordeal" continued.  The vibrator or vibrators built into the saddle were, indeed doing their thing with increased enthusiasm.  The crescendos of the buzzing pulses were barely audible, but Corky could definitely feel them.

Cressida leaned to the side and kissed Her Ladyship's left cheek.  "Goodbye, Mother," she chuckled.

Lady Jane blinked, then a sheepish smile curled her lips.  "Goodbye, Daughter."  She then shifted her smile to Corky.  "Goodbye, my Dear Little Leprechaun."  She left the chamber, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.  "Creeeak-thud!"

Cressida continued smiling at her "suffering" lover.  Now, her bare chest (and breasts) were nearly as flushed and beaded with sweat as her maid's.

Corky continued sweating and shivering, but not cumming.  So far, the frustration element of the software upgrade was passing its test.  She was very hot and bothered, but release remained elusive.  Corky tried moving herself on the phallus, but her stringent bonds severely limited her ability to lift up and drop back down.  Lubrication, however, was not an issue.

Cressida couldn't wait to see the photos of Bernadette Corbyn's offspring and their friends that were supposedly waiting in her e-mail queue... but there was no reason to hurry.  Corky was putting on quite a show.

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Chapter 9

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