What a nice place!

by Van © 2016


Dramatis Personæ


Several Months Later
The Isle of Caer

CAT STEPPED off the bow of the fishing boat and onto the end of Castle Caerwyn's stone dock, placed her rolling suitcase beside her feet on her left, adjusted the strap of her laptop case on her right shoulder, then smiled and waved to the fisherman in the boat's wheelhouse.  Cat was dressed for business in sensible pumps, pantyhose, a skirt and matching jacket, a stylish cotton blouse, and a trench coat.  Thanks to a recent trim, her auburn locks were slightly more pixie than usual.

Yes, that's right!  Cat Sinclair, notorious tomboy, was dressed for business!  Go figure!

Cat watched the fishing boat back away from the dock... then turn and motor towards the Lancashire coast.  She extended the handle of her suitcase, turned towards the sea cave, and started down the dock.  Castle Caerwyn loomed overhead.  To get to her new home and base of operations, the "Ranger's Cottage" (aka The Hermitage), she'd have to enter the sea cave, trek all the way around the interior, then climb the trail leading up the cliff on the far side.  Halfway around the interior of the cave Cat stopped, dropped her bags, and smiled.  Jocelyn was descending the stairs from the castle.

A warm smile on her beautiful face, her long, blond hair (with gray highlights) loose about her shoulders, and wearing stylish boots, designer jeans, a cotton blouse, and a warm jacket, Her Ladyship strolled forward, pulled Cat into a warm hug, and kissed her lips.  "Welcome back, Ranger Sinclair," she purred.

"Hello, Your Ladyship," Cat replied.  She couldn't curtsy because Jocelyn hadn't released her embrace.  Actually, Cat wouldn't have curtsied anyway.  Rangers don't curtsy.  Cat was always courteous and respectful to the Lady of the Castle, but rangers don't curtsy.

"How went your meetings?" Jocelyn inquired.

"Nothing to add to my e-mails," Cat answered.  "In a nutshell, there weren't any real problems.  There's still a tiny minority vaguely unhappy with what they call the 'problematic independent nature' of our management plan, but I think you're right, it's a couple of bureaucrats at the Forestry Commission who are behind the noise."

"Yes," Jocelyn purred.  "One department or another always seems to have its knickers in a twist about some minor aspect of how I govern the island.  The Isle of Caer is a Crown Dependency and literally not their bailiwick.  That doesn't prevent some of them from grumbling, of course, and it's been that way for generations."

Cat chuckled.  "Anyway, the majority of all concerned are ready to welcome the island into the Royal Society of Wildlife Trusts with open arms."

Jocelyn finally released her embrace and took a step back.  "By the way, I've spoken with Her Majesty, and the Crown is solidly behind the proposal."

"Wow," Cat said in a mocking whisper.  "I forget sometimes that you can ring up the queen whenever you want."

"Cheeky Monkey," Jocelyn chuckled.  "That's because you're my Petulant Tomboy and an American."  She gestured towards the trail up to the cottage.  "Leave your bags, darling," she instructed.  "I'll have Nora have Lily bring it up."

"I can handle it," Cat responded.  She extended the telescoping handle and they started in the direction of the trail.  "How is Lily working out, by the way."

"Famously!" Jocelyn gushed.  "She's a natural maid.  Even Nora is impressed."

"And frustrated, no doubt," Cat chuckled.

"I don't know what you mean, darling," Jocelyn responded primly.

"What I mean," Cat continued with a grin, "is that Lily's eighteenth birthday isn't for two months, if I recall correctly, and while Nora might be instructing her in rope-play, might even take her on the occasional tour of the dungeons, just to satisfy the little darling's innocent curiosity, it's all fully-clothed and very G-rated... or NC-17."

"The British Board of Film Classification uses a different system," Her Ladyship purred, "but you are essentially correct."

"Like I said," Cat chuckled, "frustrated."  She smiled at Her Ladyship.  "And probably yourself, as well."  She paused to retract the suitcase handle, then lifted it by its non-telescoping handle and they started up the trail.

"Yes," Jocelyn sighed, "but now I have my Ranger to play with."

Cat's only response was a modest blush and a coy smile.

They reached the top of the cliff and the cottage came into view, tucked against a corner of Castle Caerwyn.
Ranger sign
Cat's smile widened.  "Oh, wow!"  Everything was the same.  The Hermitage/Ranger's Cottage was just as quaint, picturesque, and charming as ever; however, beside the gate in the stone wall that defined the front yard was something new: a signpost, and the attached sign bore the Caerwyn coat of arms and proclaimed the cottage to be the domain of the Ranger of the Isle of Caer Wildlife Trust.

"What a nice touch!" Cat gushed, and planted a kiss on Jocelyn's smiling lips.

"Baked enamel, or some such," Jocelyn chuckled.  "I'm assured it will last as much as ten years before requiring repainting or replacement."

"Beautiful," Cat sighed.  She nodded towards the cottage door.  "Come in for tea?  I don't know if Nora had Lily replace the milk in my fridge, but if not, I've got some non-dairy creamer someplace."

"I believe Nora did, indeed, have Lily restock your perishables in preparation for your return," Jocelyn replied, "but no, thank you."  She kissed Cat's cheek, then continued along the trail towards the Castle's landward entrance.  "Dinner will be at the usual time," she announced, then turned to face Cat.  "Oh by the way, our scholars have decided to take their school holiday on the island, rather than in London, as originally planned."

"Cecelia and Elyse are here?" Cat asked.

"Indeed," Jocelyn purred, then turned and continued down the path.

Cat shrugged, opened the gate and carried her things to the cottage.  The plan in question had been for Cecelia and Elyse to take their vacation from the academic toil and tribulations of their first year at Oxford to gad about London, using Her Ladyship's St. John's Wood mansion as their home base.  So, what changed? Cat wondered.  No doubt they have their reasons.  She opened the cottage door, carried her bags across the threshold—and froze in surprise.  Then, her smile returned, she shook her head, and closed the door behind her.
The promised renovation and modernization of the cottage had been accomplished long before Cat left for her meeting with the Royal Societies.  The ambiance had remained rustic and charming, but now there were all the modern conveniences, as well as comfortable furnishings.  In any case, the appearance of the cottage interior hadn't been the cause of Cat's reaction.  Her surprise had come from the presence of two unexpected guests: Cecelia and Elyse.

The blond and ginger Oxford scholars were not only present, but were naked, bound, and gagged!  They did appear to be happy to see Her Ladyship's Ranger, but their greetings were limited to their smiling eyes, as well as a little rope-impeded squirming and gagged mewling.

Elyse was seated in one of the cottage's two easy chairs, and her condition might best be described as an enthusiastic ball-tie.  Her wrists and elbows were bound behind her back, her legs folded up with her breasts more-or-less squashed against her knees, and the heels of her bare feet pressed against the backs of her thighs.  Neat, multiple bands of rope pinned her arms to her torso, her legs together and to her torso, and were all elaborately cinched and hitched to form a constrictive web, from the helpless ginger's shoulders to her wiggling feet.  And for no objective reason other than general bitchiness on the part of whoever had perpetrated the maid/scholar's predicament, Elyse's big toes were lashed together with stout cord.  Finally, a wadded cloth had been stuffed in her mouth and a second, narrowly folded cloth tied as a cleave-gag to keep it there.

Cecelia, on the other hand, was tied stomach-down across the well-padded ottoman in front of Elyse's chair.  Her wrists were tied to the footrest's short wooden feet at one end and her knees to the feet at the other.  Her ankles were crossed and bound, and multiple strands of rope lashed her down on the top of the ottoman, encircling her waist and crossing her back, tight enough to press her tummy into the soft leather and squash her breasts.  Cecelia's gag was identical to the one imperfectly silencing Elyse.

Cat smiled, removed and hung her trench coat from a rack mounted on the wall near the door, then carried her suitcase to the bedroom area and her laptop bag to the desk in front of the bank of windows overlooking the front yard and the Irish Sea.  She then went to the kitchen, confirmed that her refrigerator and pantry had, indeed, been fully stocked for her return, as promised, and began preparing her electric coffeepot for service.

Meanwhile, the naked, bound, and gagged Cecelia and Elyse expressed their joy at Cat's return and inquired as to the success of her continuing efforts to establish the Isle of Caer Wildlife Trust.  Actually, they wiggled, squirmed, tugged on their bonds, and forced inarticulate, well-muffled noise past the cloths stuffing and cleaving their mouths, mostly variations on the phrase "M'mmpfh!"

Cat finished her preparations, set the pot to brewing, then strolled to the scene of what she assumed was Nora's crime.  Still smiling, Cat noted an additional detail: her goddaughter's naked rump was flushed a bright, angry shade of pink.  Apparently, it was no coincidence that Cecelia was bound with her derrière in the perfect position to receive a spanking and/or a paddling and/or a whipping; however, seeing as how no paddles, floggers, or riding crops were abandoned nearby, Cat assumed Cecelia had, in fact, been spanked.

Cat strolled behind the easy chair, untied Elyse's gag, and plucked the stuffing from her mouth.  "Nora?" she inquired.

Elyse licked her lips before answering, then confirmed Cat's suspicion.  "Nora."

Cat went to the cottage bathroom... and returned with a tube of soothing and moisturizing ointment.  She dispensed a generous dollop onto the palm of her hand, then applied the floral-scented creme to Cecelia's pink butt-cheeks and began a gentle massage.

Cecelia's reaction was to flinch, then resume squirming in her bonds and mewling through her gag.  She also looked back over her right shoulder and favored her godmother with a rather ambiguous gagged stare.  She could be communicating either anger or gratitude, or possibly both at once.

"Nora must be even more frustrated that I thought," Cat chuckled.  "She can't torture sweet, underage Lily and you two were at Oxford, so as soon as you returned, she took out her pent up feelings on the first naked butt available."

Elyse smiled her adorable, dimpled smile and gazed at her helpless fellow scholar (and lover).  "It doesn't help when one can't keep one's smart remarks to one's self," she sighed.

Cat responded with a knowing laugh and Cecelia by redirecting her now clearly resentful stare to the smiling ginger.

"Well," Cat said as she capped the tube and strolled back to the bathroom, "I'm going to take a quick shower while the coffee brews."

Elyse heaved a sad sigh as the bathroom door closed.  "I suppose it would have been too much to be untied before she refreshed herself from her journey," the helpless ginger said to her fellow prisoner.

Ceclia grunted into her gag in agreement, then settled in to wait for Cat's return.

When Cat did return from the shower, she untied her young house guests.  Cecelia kept her post-bondage pouting to a minimum and Elyse was her usual charming, adorable self.  Apparently, both the blonde and ginger had decided to let bygones be bygones and not retaliate for their delayed liberation by pouncing on Cat and using their former bonds to bind their hostess.  After all, there was way too much juicy gossip waiting to be shared.  Was life at Oxford stuffy, fun, or both?  Was Cecelia making any progress towards choosing an academic major, or was Cat going to have to administer her second spanking of the day?  With an elderly hunk like Sir Richard Attenborough in charge of The Royal Society of Wildlife Trusts, were the executive meetings nonstop parties?  They all had questions.

Cat hadn't bothered dressing after her shower, wanting to put her guests at ease, and the maids-turned-scholars went with their hostess' decision.  That is, the trio poured themselves coffee and settled into chairs without Cecelia or Elyse donning the clothes Nora had ordered them to remove, fold, and arrange in neat, tidy stacks next to the cottage door prior to their being bound and gagged.

They spent a very pleasant hour chatting... then, the girls returned to the castle so they could all dress for dinner with Her Ladyship.

Cat opened her wardrobe... and smiled.  Several new outfits had appeared.  Obviously, all were gifts from Jocelyn, and they all appeared to be professionally related.

There were Ranger uniforms: skirts, pants, blouses, and jackets, all vaguely military in style.  The base color was a very pleasing shade of gray-green, darker for the skirts, pants, and jackets, and lighter for the blouses.  Subdued vermilion stripes ran down the pant legs and piped the button-down flaps of the blouse pockets.  Above the left breast pockets of the blouses were tasteful, embroidered badges similar to the new sign next to the cottage gate.  One jacket was lightweight, with a full-zip closure, a second was more formal, with epaulets and flap-pockets with more of the vermilion piping, a third was a hooded rain-jacket, and a fourth was a long trench coat.

For field wear there were also cargo pants, cargo shorts, blouses, and more jackets, all in a camouflage pattern Cat found to be both novel and attractive.  The colors used were olive-green, bark-brown, rust-tan, and the same dark and light gray-greens used for the Ranger uniforms.  The pattern was "digital," like most modern military camouflage; however, rather than a mottled mosaic of square "pixels," tiny, stylized, interlocking icons of birds in flight had been employed.  The avian aspect was very subtle, visible only upon close examination.  Cat thought the field outfits were very cool, and she could tell the pattern would be excellent camouflage on the Isle of Caer.

There were also new hats: a wide-brimmed floppy hat for sunny days, a ball-cap, and a deer-stalker cap with ear-flaps for winter wear, all in "Isle of Caer camo."  There was also a non-camouflaged, feminine uniform hat in gray-green with vermilion trim and a Ranger badge, obviously for wear with the non-field uniforms.  Cat's goblin-hat was still in the wardrobe, but the felt "horns" had been replaced by the optional felt leaves, and a small metallic Ranger badge was pinned to the front.

Finally, there was a formal Ranger's uniform, what in the military would be called a mess-dress uniform.  It had two parts: (1) a full-length, strapless gown, and (2) a toreador-style, long-sleeved jacket.  The gown was shirred silk with a subtle feather pattern and the long skirt was the same dark gray-green as the Ranger uniform trousers and jackets; however, the gown's cummerbund-like bodice and breast cups were vermilion, like the uniforms' stripes and piping.  The toreador-jacket was the lighter shade of gray-green and sported a brooch-like version of the Ranger badge, in gold with precious stone insets.

Cat's smile became a wry smirk.  The truth had finally dawned.  The grey-green and vermilion were inspired by the coloration of the European robin.  "So," she muttered under her breath, "I'm to be a Red-breasted Ranger."  On a hunch, she opened the underwear drawer of her chest of drawers and found that several new bras and pairs of knickers had mysteriously appeared, all in the same silky vermilion as the boob-cups and bodice of the formal gown.

Cat shook her smiling head and began to dress.  She didn't need a bra, not with the lined cups and open back of the strapless gown, but she did need panties, and they might as well match.
Cat donned the panties, gown, and jacket, as well as the final two new items in the wardrobe: (1) a hooded, full-length cape in a gray-green even darker than the gown; and (2) a pair of vermilion high-heel pumps with ankle-straps.  She noted that the buckles were lockable, but no tiny padlocks had been in evidence, heart-shaped or otherwise—not that she would have used them if they had been present.  She made her way to the castle, let herself in (having long since dispensed with troubling Nora or the maid on duty to answer the door), hung up her cape, and made her way to the Family Dining Room.

Lady Caerwyn was already present, looking as stunning as ever in a gold and silver strapless gown.  Her long blond hair (with gray highlights) was loose about her shoulders, and she was at the dining room's compact bar, pouring an amber liquid into a cocktail glass.  She smiled and handed the glass to Cat.  "Sidecar?" she purred.

Cat took a sip, licked her lips, and smiled.  "Yummy.  Thanks."

Jocelyn poured herself a second glass and took a careful sip.  "Indeed."  Her smile became rather coy.  "Our vacationing scholars won't be joining us.  Nora has made separate dining arrangements.  Tonight it will be just you and me."

Cat hid her reaction (a delicate thrill rippling through her vermilion-knickers-clad pussy) with a sip of her cocktail.  "I see," she responded.

Jocelyn leaned close and continued in a near whisper.  "Tonight, Lily will be serving.  I expect you to behave with the deportment expected of the Ranger of the Isle of Caer Wildlife Trust."

Cat smirked.  "No getting naked, sucking face, and fucking like a pair of randy weasels in front of the youngster?"

"Certainly not," Jocelyn answered primly, then leaned close and planted a quick kiss on Cat's smiling lips.  "Not in the dining room, anyway.  And keep your voice down."

"Yes, Your Ladyship," Cat purred.

"Finish your drink," Jocelyn ordered.  "Lily should be serving the soup presently."

"Yes, Your Ladyship," Cat chuckled, then took a sip from her glass.
"Have we been here before?" Cecelia inquired.

"I assume you mean have we ever been incarcerated in this particular dungeon cell?" Elyse responded in a droll manner.

Cecelia rolled her eyes.  "Yes, this particular dungeon cell."

Elyse frowned in concentration before answering.  "Now that you mention it... I'm not at all sure."

"Yeah," Cecelia sighed.  "Ya seen one dungeon cell, ya seen them all."

The maids (and vacationing scholars) had expected to change into formal gowns and join Her Ladyship and Her Rangership for dinner, but the Staff Mistress had other ideas.  After enjoying a quick but delicious meal in the kitchen, Elyse and Cecelia had been dragged down to the dungeons and were now naked, locked in iron collars, and chained by separate, six or eight foot lengths of iron links to an iron ring set in the stone wall of a semi-dark, straw-strewn dungeon cell.  Also, their wrists were crossed and tied behind their backs and their ankles crossed and tied, as well.  Having been abandoned to a night of languishing, they were both squirming and struggling to free themselves.

"She used a lot of rope," Cecelia complained as she continued tugging on her wrist bonds and groping for the knots or knots securing the Staff Mistress' handiwork.

"She did
," Elyse agreed, "much more than was really necessary."  She grunted in concentration, then pulled her left wrist free of what was now a tangle of rope around her right wrist.

Cecelia watched as her fellow prisoner (and lover) leaned forward and made quick work of the rope lashing her ankles together—and just to be clear, Elyse was untying the rope lashing her own ankles together.  Cecelia remained bound hand and foot.  "You've been practicing," the helpless, naked blonde noted.

Still sitting on her naked butt in the loose straw, Elyse smiled, lifted her arms, and executed a momentarily boob-flattening stretch accompanied by a contented sigh before answering.  "Yes, I have been practicing, as you well know.  You've been helping me practice, studies permitting."

"Studies permitting," Cecelia sighed.  "And you've been helping me."  She tugged on her wrist bonds, kicked her bound feet, then favored her smiling, neck chained, but otherwise unfettered naked dungeon-mate with an exasperated pout.  "Well..."

"Well, what, darling?" Elyse purred as she untangled her former wrist and ankle bonds and coiled the ropes.

"Untie me," Cecelia huffed.

"Now why should I do that?" Elyse inquired.

Cecelia heaved another sigh.  "So we can suck face and... stuff."

"Oh, that."  Bringing the coils of rope with her, the smiling ginger moved closer to her blond fellow prisoner.  "And when has a little rope ever stopped us from doing that?" she giggled.

"Lots of times," Cecelia countered.  "It depends."

"On how we're tied?"

"Yes, on how we're tied," Cecelia huffed, "or what we're tied too."

"Point taken," Elyse purred—then pounced!

"Hey!  No!  Elyse!"

When the dust (or rather, the straw) settled, Cecelia found herself in a very stringent hogtie.  The heels of her crossed and bound feet rested in the palms of her crossed and bound hands, and strands of Elyse's former bonds enforced the arrangement.  Also, the squirming blonde's upper thighs were now tied to their respective shins, adding a frog-tie element and making it impossible for her to close her legs.  In addition, her upper arms were pinned to her sides and the same rope yoked her shoulders, then was passed through her ankle and wrist bonds and pulled tight, reinforcing the hogtie and placing her in a permanent, spine-bending arc.

"Nora did use more than the required amount of rope," Elyse purred as she cinched the final knot.  "It's almost as if she intended to give whichever one of us escaped first something to work with."

"You're a rat!" Cecelia muttered, testing her new bonds.  She'd failed to escape from Nora's bondage and could already tell that escaping from the addition of Elyse's enhanced hogtie would be equally impossible.  "You're a dirty rotten dungeon rat!  Hey!"

Elyse had heaped most of the straw within easy reach into a pile, then flipped Cecelia onto her back, straddled her waist, and settled a portion of her weight on the pouting blonde's flat tummy.

"I take it back," Cecelia muttered.  "You're not a rat, you're a horse."

Smiling her dimpled smile, Elyse leaned forward and began combing her fellow prisoner's long, blond locks from her face.  "Best not to mention horses," she purred.  "Remember, the torture chamber isn't very far away, and you never know when Mistress Nora might be listening."

Cecelia smiled back and a delicate shiver rippled through her pussy and up her spine.  "Point taken," she sighed.

"Now, where were we?"  Elyse leaned down and planted a kiss on Cecelia's lips.  "Oh, that's right: sucking face... and stuff."  She cupped Cecelia's breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze.  "And by 'stuff,' I mean this sort of thing."  She continued kneading Cecelia's breasts.  "As well as licking and biting your nipples, your inner thighs... your labia... etc."

Cecelia continued squirming and testing her bonds, still making no progress towards gaining her freedom.  She also continued shivering as Elyse toyed with her breasts; however, Cecelia being Cecelia, she couldn't help having a smart mouth.  "Oh, not my etcetera!"  Cecelia blinked several times for emphasis (and maximum adorableness).  "Anything but my etcetera!"

Elyse rolled her eyes in disgust, the expected response.  "Mistress Nora should have gagged us," she sighed, "but since she didn't, there's only one way to shut you up."  She leaned forward until her petite body was sprawled across her hogtied lover with their breasts squashed together.  A deep, wet, prolonged kiss followed.

And the night was still young.
Cat's new "Formal Ranger Uniform" was neatly draped across the back of one of the two easy chairs near the fireplace of Her Ladyship's bedroom, including the jacket.  The vermilion high-heel pumps and the vermilion panties rested on the chair's seat.

Cat, on the other hand, was neatly and carefully sprawled on the carpet before the bedroom's blazing fireplace.  As might have been surmised, she was naked, and the heat from the flaming logs was making her sweat—that, and her vigorous efforts to escape from Jocelyn's latest composition.  Cat's arms were raised and her wrists bound together behind her head, with tight, neat, multiple bands of cinched rope binding her upper arms to her forearms.  In addition, a rope harness encircled her torso above and below her breasts, yoked her shoulders, and anchored her wrist bonds high on her back, just below the nape of her neck.  Finally, a long rope depended from the harness, encircled her waist, then continued down her legs.  It was hitched and cinched every few inches, binding her legs together, as well as her ankles, feet, and big toes.  All the ropes were just tight enough to dimple Cat's firm, glistening flesh.  It was another Lady Jocelyn masterpiece.

The naked captive was impressed... also hot, bothered, and increasingly impatient.  "How long are you gonna just sit there and leer at me?" Cat demanded.  She was speaking to Jocelyn, of course, who, after placing her in her current condition, had changed into her usual sleeping costume of nightie, nickers, and long, frilly robe, all gossamer-thin and in no way up to the task of disguising her anatomical charms and preserving her modesty.  She was now comfortably reclined in the easy chair beside the one draped with Cat's uniform, and was, indeed, leering at the wiggling, struggling prisoner—but not in a crude manner.  Her Ladyship leered with the demeanor appropriate for her station and upbringing.

"I see no reason to rush things, darling," Jocelyn purred, then gracefully stood, padded to a cupboard disguising a compact bar, poured dark sherry into a tiny, stemmed glass, then returned to her chair.  "The night is still quite young," she observed, then took a careful sip.

"Oooh!" Cat complained as she executed a vigorous but totally ineffective series of squirms.  She wasn't really upset, of course, but Petulant Tomboys complain.  It's what they do.

Sinister, inadequately clothed aristocrats, on the other hand, lounge around, sip sherry, and leer at their naked captives.  It's what they do.

Cat continued struggling... and squirming... and sweating.  "You never did tell me the real reason Cecelia and Elyse decided to pass on London," she said at one point.

Jocelyn smiled and took another sip before answering.  "They were to be house guests of my Charlotte," she said.

"I know," Cat huffed.

Charlotte was the Honorable Charlotte Caerwyn, Jocelyn's thirty-something daughter and a highly successful businesswoman and philanthropist who lived in the family's St. John's Wood mansion and worked from the family offices in the City of London.

"Unfortunately," Jocelyn continued, "Charlotte's plans changed.  Business negotiations at the home of a dear family friend, Tydwell Castle, have run unfortunately long, so the girls decided to come home for their break, instead."

Cat favored her hostess, employer, captor, and lover with a wry grin.  She hadn't yet had occasion to meet Jocelyn's daughter, but knew something was up.  It was a safe bet that the apple hadn't fallen very far from the Caerwyn family tree.  "I suppose they could have met up with Charlotte at...  What did you call the place?"

Jocelyn laughed. "Tydwell Castle, and I don't think the girls are quite ready to meet Lady Jane."

"What does that mean?" Cat demanded as she executed another futile squirm.

"Never you mind," Jocelyn chuckled.  "I'm sure you'll meet Charlotte and Lady Jane at some point  The girls, also.  But there's no need to rush things."  She finished her sherry, placed the glass on a side table, then picked up a folded scarf and a small, elegantly carved wooden box, and knelt at Cat's side.

Cat watched as Jocelyn folded the scarf into a wide bandanna.  "What's that for?" she demanded.

"We're going to play a game," Jocelyn announced.

"I know that," Cat huffed, "but...  Hey!  Jocelyn!"  Her Ladyship had lifted Cat's head, bound arms, and torso onto her lap, and was tying the scarf as a blindfold.  The naked captive's raised and bound arms complicated the process, but Her Ladyship managed.  "What's this for?" Cat demanded.

"It's part of the game," Jocelyn purred.

"This is stupid," Cat complained, squirming in Jocelyn's lap and kicking her bound feet.  She heard a click and the creak of a metal hinge.  She assumed it was the sound of Jocelyn opening the wooden box.  "What are you doing?"

"Hush," Jocelyn purred.  "Now, over the years—since I was a girl, in fact—I've collected things during my walks on the island, including... feathers."

The horrible truth dawned.  She wouldn't! Cat thought (meaning desperately hoped).  "F-feathers?"

"As my Ranger and resident naturalist," Jocelyn continued, "I thought you might help me identify my specimens... by species and type.  Long Eared Owl, Raven, Avocet, Mute Swan...  Primary or secondary flight feathers, tail feathers, etc."

"And how am I supposed to do that while blindfolded, huh?" Cat demanded.  "If I can't see them I can't—Eeeeee!"

Jocelyn was using what the smiling aristocrat was almost certain was a tail feather from a Rudy Shelduck to trace delicate lines up and down Cat's cleanly shaven left armpit.

"Stop!  Stop!  Stop!"  Cat wiggled and writhed, but bound as she was and held in the tight grip of Jocelyn's left arm and scissored legs, she could do little to evade the tickling feather, nor should she control the giggling laughter punctuating her protests.  "P-p-pleeeese!  Tee-he-he-heeeee!"

"If you fail to adequately identify my collection," Jocelyn purred, "your forfeit will be to lick my pussy until dawn, and to have your pussy licked, as well."

"N-nooo!  He-he-he-he!  Pleeeeese!"

"If your efforts are successful, however," Jocelyn continued, "you reward will be to lick my pussy until dawn, and to have your pussy licked, as well."

"Hawk!  Hawk!  Hawwwwwk!" Cat squealed, continuing to buck and squirm.  "It's a hawk feather!"

"Of darling," Her Ladyship chuckled, "not even close."  She returned the feather to the box and selected a primary from a Green Woodpecker.  "Let's try another, shall we?"


"I like this game," Jocelyn chuckled, "and I love my new Ranger."
The End

Chapter 8
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