by Van © 2016
		Chapter 3

CAT AND Cecelia did their best to prepare themselves for attendance at a tea party.  They were clean—as clean as could be expected, anyway—as were their shorts and blouses.  Rumpled?  Yes.  On the positive side, was their hair brushed and shining in the afternoon sun?  Yes.  Did a tantalizing hint of perfume waft in the light breeze?  No.  The duo didn't use scented products while in the field.  Experienced backpackers know that every ounce counts, and there was no one to impress on the trail... usually.

Cat gave her left armpit a delicate sniff.  "At least we don't stink."

"There is that," Cecelia agreed with a giggle.

The duo crossed the grassland (Cecelia's "bleak moor"), trekking towards their destination.  Caerwyn Castle was picturesque from a distance, but as that distance diminished... they found the gray stone edifice to be increasingly imposing.  Truth be told, the castle wasn't all that huge, and while as a fortress it was, of course, a military dinosaur, it was impressive.  The path under their feet had begun as one of several game trails that converged to become one of several tracks, which in turn converged to become a single actual trail.  There was no moat, wet or dry, and no gatehouse separate from the main castle; however, the main entryway had both a massive timber door and a raised portcullis.

Cecelia paused to gaze up at the stone ramparts overhead.  "Very... castlely."

Cat smiled.  "Did you just say 'castlely?'  Seriously?"

Cecelia shrugged.  "Castle-ly.  Adjective.  'To have the attributes of a castle.'  Look it up."

"I'll Google it later," Cat purred.  "And I do agree that the castle does, indeed, have all the attributes of a castle.  Crenelated ramparts, towers, arrow-slit windows—a few of them, anyway—the flag of the local tyrant flapping in the breeze.  Very castlely."

Cecelia's response was typical for this sort of exchange with her godmother: an admonishment to "Shut up!" followed by a rudely extended tongue with a giggle chaser.

The flag in question flew from the highest point of the castle, what was either the tallest tower or the main keep.  It was difficult to tell from their current perspective.

"A red cross of St. Andrew on a light green field, with four converging arrowheads," Cecelia noted, pausing to stare up at the flag and shielding her eyes with one hand.

"That article Mrs. Ingleby showed us said it's the flag of both the Caerwyn family and the Isle of Caer," Cat lectured.

Cecelia turned to face Cat.  "I know.  I read it too."

"The Isle of Caer is a crown dependency," Cat continued, "like the Isle of Man, and not technically a part of England, proper.  It's not self-governing, as the Carewyn family are the sole inhabitants, and for the same reason it's not represented in the House of Commons; however the current head of the family does sit on the House of Lords as a non-voting member, and that's true even if the Lady Caerwyn is the head of the family, like now.  Back in the day that was very controversial, meaning the female-in-the-House-of-Lords part.  Also..."  Cat's voice trailed off when she noted her goddaughter's unamused expression.

"Again," Cecelia said evenly, "I read it too."

Cat smiled.  "Oh, that's right," she purred.  "I keep forgetting.  You can read."

"Again, shut up!" Cecelia giggled in outrage—and yes, Cecelia Harper had mastered the art of the outraged giggle—and swung her hip into Cat's, for emphasis.

Now they were both giggling.  They'd reached the gate and were standing in front of a man-sized postern built into the right panel of the massive portal.  Cat's hand was poised to knock, not knowing what else to do to gain entrance, when the postern abruptly swung open.

Cat and Cecelia instantly composed themselves and found they were gazing at a brunette woman about Cat's age with striking blue eyes.  She was wearing a somber but stylish heather-gray skirt with matching jacket and a white blouse buttoned at the throat with a white cravat.  Cat decided the woman's features were... intriguing... and not entirely unattractive.  That is, whoever she was, the woman had sort of a fey beauty.  That said, her expression was polite but not exactly welcoming.

"May I help you?" the brunette intoned.

"Uh..." Cat responded (with an embarrassing lack of profundity), then cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  Hi.  We're invited to tea with, uh, Lady Caerwyn?"

"Show her the invite," Cecelia whispered urgently.

Cat glanced at her ex-ward.  "Huh?"

Cecelia rolled her eyes and continued whispering.  "Show.  Her.  The.  Invitation."

"Oh!"  Cat pulled the envelope from the cargo pocket of her shorts, pulled out the enclosed note, and handed it to the brunette.  "See?  We're invited."

The brunette had added an ever-so-slight smile to her otherwise disapproving expression.  "It would seem you are," she conceded, her eyes on the invitation in question.  She took a step back and made a sweeping gesture.  "If you'll follow me."

Cat and Cecelia entered the castle... and the postern swung closed behind them with a solid thud, followed by the loud clunk of a heavy iron bolt sliding home.

Castle Caerwyn was as impressive within as without.  The Americans followed their brunette guide, who they assumed was one of Lady Caerwyn's servants, down a narrow courtyard.  Stone walls loomed on all sides.  It wasn't at all clear whether the castle was composed of different buildings or was one interconnected structure.  There were towers, both square and round, and other narrow passageways leading off in different directions, sort of like corridors without roofs.  Anyway, Caerwyn Castle wasn't like one of those really big castles organized for a layered defense with outer walls, inner walls, and a main keep.

They passed through a second door, much smaller but as equally siege-resistant as the main gate, and into the castle interior.  The decor was a mix of about two parts medieval and one part Victorian/Edwardian.

"Very nice," Cecelia remarked, "in a Game of Thrones sort of way."

"With a side of Downton Abbey," Cat added.

They were speaking quietly but knew their guide could hear every word.  They sensed the brunette wasn't inclined to conversation, so they refrained from asking questions.  She was in the lead with her back to Her Ladyship's guests, so the Americans could see neither the smile curling Nora's lips nor the twinkle in her blue eyes.

They passed several closed doors and corridors leading elsewhere, as well as two large staircases leading up and down.  Cat and Cecelia could tell they were traversing the entire length of the castle, from the side facing the island's interior to the side facing the mainland.  Their guide opened a pair of doors and ushered Cat and Cecelia into a medieval chamber with a bank of windows overlooking the Irish Sea and the green, distant coast of Lancashire.  The furniture was Victorian and arranged into conversation groups, and—

"Wow," Cecelia whispered under her breath.

Cat was speechless.

Further analysis of the room and its decor could wait.  Their eyes were riveted on the chamber's sole occupant, a slender, elegant, beautiful woman in her fifties with long blond hair (with gray highlights).  She was wearing a very pretty beige, or off-white, or ecru, or whatever dress that showcased her wasp-thin waist, tan arms, and long, tan legs.  Her features were... beautiful!  Cat and Cecelia stared in wonder... realized they were staring in wonder... and blushed.

"Your Ladyship," their brunette guide said with a respectful bow, "the American trespassers."

"Nora!" the woman laughed, smiling at Cat and Cecelia as she rose from her chair, "please, our American guests."

"Whatever," the brunette said with a shrug.  "I'll see what's happened to the maid."

Cat and Cecelia watched the brunette ("Nora") leave, then turned back to their hostess ("Her Ladyship").

"Uh... hello," Cat said, her cheeks burning.  Her Ladyship extended her hand and Cat shook it.  "Caitlyn Sinclair, Your Ladyship."

"Pleased to meet you, Caitlyn," Lady Caerwyn said, then turned to Cecelia and offered her hand.

Cecelia smiled (blushed) and shook Her Ladyship's hand.  "Cecelia Harper, Your Ladyship."

Lady Carewyn indicated the sofa adjacent to her chair with an elegant gesture.  "Please, call me Jocelyn, and make yourselves comfortable."

Over the next several minutes... which became more that an hour... Lady Caerwyn ("Jocelyn") encouraged her guests to describe their impressions of the Isle of Caer and its wildlife.  Once they warmed to the situation, Cat and Cecelia needed little coaxing.  They were having a lot of fun.  Also...

Early in the visit the door opened and a maid pushed a serving cart into the parlor.  Her arrival made an impression on the visitors, especially Cecelia.  The maid in question was a redhead, a flaming redhead, about Cecelia's age and height, and she was really cute (in what Cecelia hoped was her carefully hidden opinion).  She was wearing a traditional black and white maid's uniform, complete with lace-trimmed apron and a little cap atop her tightly coiled ginger hair.  It wasn't one of those sexy French maid uniforms, exactly, but the skirt was rather short and she was showing a little cleavage.  Cecelia was impressed... or something.

"Ah, excellent," Jocelyn sighed, then turned to her guests.  "Would you prefer tea or coffee?  Knowing you are Americans, I asked Elyse to prepare both."

"Tea will be fine," Cat smiled.  She waited for Cecelia to answer, then turned to find her goddaughter staring at the maid as she poured a steaming cup of the beverage in question.  She gently, carefully nudged Cecelia with her elbow.

"Huh?" Cecelia said with a start, then blushed.  "Uh, tea.  I'll take tea, thank you."

Cups were filled, doses of milk and/or sugar added upon request, and Her Ladyship and her guests enjoyed a sip.

"Delicious," Cat sighed.

"Yeah," Cecelia agreed.  "Delish."  She very carefully did not return to staring at the maid, who, apparently, was named "Elyse."

"Now that we're all settled in," Jocelyn said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news.  The borrowed boat that Kadence Harrington used to ferry you to the island has developed mechanical difficulties and will be unavailable for several days."

Cat and Cecelia exchanged a slightly worried glance.  Back at camp they only had a little more that one day's food remaining.

"Since you would appear to be stuck," Jocelyn continued, "I've instructed Nora and Elyse to prepare rooms.  You will be my guests until the boat is repaired."

"That's very kind," Cat responded, "but we don't want to impose."

"Yes we do!" Cecelia hissed in an urgent whisper to her godmother.  "A chance to stay in a real castle?  Are you nuts?"

"No, I'm not nuts," Cat intoned, then nodded towards their smiling hostess, "and Lady Caerwyn isn't deaf."

Cecelia blushed and turned to Jocelyn.  "Sorry, it's just... a real castle.  This place is cool!"

'Charming," Jocelyn chuckled, then focused on Cat.  "How can you refuse?  This place is cool."

"It is that," Cat agreed with a grin.  "We don't want to impose."

"Nonsense," Jocelyn said with a dismissive gesture.  "I insist."  She nodded to Elyse and the maid picked up a platter of tiny sandwiches and offered it to Cecelia.

"Thanks," Cecelia responded, smiling at the maid (and blushing).  She reached for a sandwich—"Ow!"—but withdrew her hand when it was gently slapped by Cat.

"Take a plate and a napkin," Cat scolded her goddaughter in a whisper, "and use the tongs, not your fingers."

Her Ladyship and her maid exchanged a surreptitious smile while Cecelia glared at Cat and lifted a small plate and a napkin from the serving tray, followed by the serving tongs.

Cecelia pointed to a sandwich with the tongs.  "Is that cucumber?" she asked the maid.

"Yes, Miss," Elyse answered with a shy smile.

"Oh," Cecelia said as she transferred the sandwich in question to her plate.  "I've always wanted to try one," she explained.  "I've heard of 'cucumber sandwiches,' but wasn't really sure they're a real thing."

Cat rolled her eyes, then exchanged a smile with their hostess.

"Charming," Jocelyn purred, and the tea party continued.

After tea, Cat and Cecelia returned to their campsite, struck their tent, rolled and stowed their sleeping bags, and packed their backpacks.  Next, they buried their tiny latrine, drenched the fire-pit, making sure it was thoroughly soaked and stone cold, then did their best to restore the rest of the site to its natural state, distributing fallen leaves and chucking their modest cache of firewood back into the surrounding forest.  They then shouldered their packs and trekked to the castle.

Nora led Her Ladyship's guests to their assigned rooms, which were several doors apart down a side corridor.  Both had pleasant views of the Irish Sea and a modest stretch of the castle peninsula's rocky coastline.  The rooms were comfortable, even luxurious, and large.  The decor was similar to the rest of the castle and the beds, especially, were "way-cool," as Cecelia put it.  Each was queen-size, with a richly embroidered canopy, four heavy, elaborately turned and carved corner posts, and a massive headboard.  The nearest "water closet" was down the hall and would be shared by both guests.  It included a large clawfoot tub, so they were able to take turns and enjoy their first hot baths since coming to the island.

The rooms included wardrobes full of clothing for all occasions, including underwear, shorts and blouses similar to their own bird-watching outfits, designer jeans, additional casual  blouses, sweaters, jackets, dresses, and formal evening gowns.  It was the later, the formal gowns, that Nora announced were the mandated costume for the evening meal.  She explained that Her Ladyship had decided a formal welcome was in order.

After their baths, Elyse went from room to room and helped Cat and Cecelia change into strapless, full-length gowns.  Cat's was crimson red and Cecelia's was a shade of cadet blue that complemented her eyes.  There were also borrowed shoes, and they fit!  Elyse mentioned that Lady Caerwyn had daughters and that the clothing was theirs.  The daughters in question were grown and were either away at school or working in the city (meaning London).  She didn't go into any further detail.

At the designated hour, Cat and Cecelia were led by Elyse to what was unmistakably the castle's formal dining room.  Their hostess was waiting, and her gown was dazzling white, her long, blond hair loose about her bare shoulders, and she was stunning.  Cat and Cecelia exchanged a wide-eyed glance and silently agreed, Lady Caerwyn was stunning.

The table was big enough for at least fifty guests, but was set for three, with Her Ladyship at the head, Cat on her right, and Cecelia on her left.  Cat had only the vaguest idea of how to use the various elements of the formal place-settings before them, but she'd already prepared her ex-ward as best she could, whispering in her ear as they approached the table, explaining that she should keep an eye on Lady Caerwyn and mimic how their hostess used the vast array of knives, forks, spoons, to eat what, and in what order, and to not embarrasses either Cat or herself.  Cecelia's response was an eye roll and a patient, long-suffering sigh.

Conversation was light, the meal delicious (all seven courses), and soon Elyse was leading the Americans back to their rooms.  Cat and Cecelia agreed to go bird-watching in the morning, but felt no need to bound out of bed at the crack of dawn.  They'd sleep in, enjoy a light breakfast, then explore the area around the castle.  Now that there was no concern about being seen by the castle's inhabitants, they could check out the rocky beaches of the peninsula for shorebirds and cliff-nesting species.

Jocelyn was having difficulty concentrating on her book.  She had retired early and was in bed, attired in her usual sleeping costume of whisper-thin, lacy nightgown with matching knickers, and was attempting to plow through another chapter of Startide Rising... but it was turning out to be a futile exercise.  There was nothing wrong with this section of David Brin's classic science fiction novel.  It was Jocelyn who had the problem.  Her thoughts kept turning to the topic of her American guests... or "trespassers" as Nora continued to teasingly characterize the brash, amusing, adorable Yanks.

It was all part of the game, of course.  Nora's role was that of the "bad cop," Elyse was the "good cop," and Jocelyn's role was to be entirely passive and "innocent," at least during this part of the unfolding, seductive melodrama... assuming that all went as planned.  The scheme Jocelyn and her beloved servants had devised was only now beginning to unfold, but Jocelyn's thoughts kept racing to the endgame... to what would be the most favorable outcome.

Jocelyn sighed, bookmarked her place, set the book on the nightstand, then removed and folded her reading glasses and placed them atop the book.  It was frustrating (literally)... as well as somewhat ironic.  Lady Jocelyn Caerwyn was the unquestioned sovereign of the Isle of Caer (not counting Her Majesty), but at the moment she was "innocent" and "uninvolved" in what was happening in her own castle.  She was a bystander, a spectator, an onlooker.  None of those descriptions were accurate, of course.  Jocelyn knew precisely what was about to happen, but she wouldn't be able to participate... or even watch!  Jocelyn heaved a discontented sigh.  Yes, it was ironic, indeed.  She was the captain, but it would be the most junior and inexperienced member of the team who would be advancing the ball.

Nora is probably feeling the same way, Jocelyn mused, even if she does have a role in the opening gambit.  Jocelyn reached to turn off the reading light on the nightstand when there was a quiet knock on the bedchamber door.  It could only be one person.  "Come, Nora," Jocelyn called out, the door opened, and her Staff Mistress entered.

Nora was still wearing the plain (but stylish) suit she'd been wearing since the arrival of the Americans at the castle.  She approached the bed and smiled down at Her Ladyship.

"Elyse is thoroughly briefed and poised to strike?" Jocelyn inquired with a coy smile.

Nora nodded.  "I warned her what would happen to her if she fails in any way."

Still smiling, Jocelyn gazed at her senior servant.  "And since she knows she'll continue to be tickled and tormented no matter what happens with respect to our guests—"

"Trespassers," Nora corrected Her Ladyship.

"Guests," Jocelyn countered, unperturbed.  "Anyway, I'm sure Elyse found your speech to be highly motivating."  She noted the mischievous curl of her Staff Mistress' smile... and a lambent frisson of anticipation rippled between Jocelyn's legs.  "Why are you here, Nora?" she purred.

"I'm concerned that Her Ladyship will involve herself in what's about to happen elsewhere in the castle," Nora explained.

"Are you, now," Jocelyn chuckled.

"Indeed," Nora confirmed.  "It is my solemn duty as Her Ladyship's most senior retainer to insure Her Ladyship has plausible deniability if the most junior retainer makes a complete botch of her assignment."

"Her Ladyship appreciates your due diligence," Jocelyn chuckled.  "What do you have in mind?"

"If Her Ladyship was not only unaware of her maid's highly questionable and deplorable behavior... but physically unable to intervene," Nora explained, "who could entertain even the slightest suspicion that Her Ladyship was in any way culpable?"

"I see," Jocelyn chuckled.  "Again... what do you have in mind?"

"If her Ladyship will please strip to the skin?" Nora requested.

Jocelyn blinked in mock surprise.  "To the skin?"

Nora was still smiling.  "We wouldn't want to snag the fabric of that delicate nightie, now would we?  French, isn't it?"

"Italian," Jocelyn sighed.  "Very well.  I suppose you know best."  She sat up in bed, pulled the nightgown over her head, then tossed it away.  Next, she lifted her posterior and tugged her knickers down her legs, freed her feet, and tossed the silky, frilly garment after its matching top.  Lady Jocelyn Carewyn was now gloriously, aristocratically nude.

Meanwhile, Nora had knelt beside the bedside table, reached under the bed, and pulled out a steel chain terminating in a steel cuff.

Lying flat on her back, Jocelyn watched—a mischievous smile of her own curling her lips—as Nora closed the wide, heavy cuff around her left wrist.  It closed with an authoritative click.  Nora then moved to the right foot of the bed, knelt, and pulled out a second chain and cuff.  Jocelyn gasped and bit her lower lip as her servant seized her right foot, gave it a firm tug, and stretched her body full length until her wrist chain snapped taut, then closed the second cuff around her right ankle.  Jocelyn's right wrist was captured next... and finally, her left ankle.

Jocelyn was now somewhat stringently spreadeagled on her bed.  The chains allowed only about an inch of slack for each limb.  The cuffs were thick and heavy but with smooth interiors and well-rounded edges, and their oval shapes followed the curves of the relevant anatomy, making them more-or-less comfortable.  Jocelyn tugged on her steel bonds.

Nora released the knot of her white cravat... followed by the top four buttons of her blouse.  The Staff Mistress' smile was now decidedly (deliciously) evil as she reached into her cleavage and produced a small key.

"You're enjoying yourself entirely too much," Jocelyn purred as Nora made her way around the bed, once again, this time inserting the key in a tiny slot in each cuff and giving it a full, clockwise turn.  The cuffs' locking mechanisms were spring-loaded, but used in this manner the key acted to extend and fully engage the bolts, making the restraints totally secure.

"I do enjoy my work," Nora agreed, returning the key to her cleavage.  She didn't bother buttoning her blouse or restoring her cravat.

Jocelyn smiled up at Nora's chest and the cleft between her full breasts as the Staff Mistress leaned to the side, opened the lowest drawer of the nightstand, and produced first a small plastic spray-bottle, and then a curious object.  The object in question was a gag, and even the uninitiated (or a pair of semi-initiated American guest/trespassers) would recognize it as such.  It was a panel of chamois-thin black leather with an oval-shaped, rounded mouth-plug of red rubber and a wide strap secured by means of a roller-buckle.  The curious part was the padding lining the interior of the panel, above and below the rubber intruder, the area that would cover the lips of the wearer as she bit down on the plug.  It was pink latex foam and glistened in the light from the reading light.

Jocelyn tugged on her bonds and watched as Nora uncapped the spray-bottle, spritzed a clear liquid on the pink padding, then restored the cap, returned the bottle to the drawer, and slid it closed.  "Is Her Ladyship ready for her moisturizing treatment?" Nora purred as she sat on the bed at Jocelyn's side.  In point of fact, the latex padding was a hydrating and moisturizing mask attached to the inside surface of one of La Roque International's most popular panel-gags.  It was a beauty treatment and a reasonably effective damsel-silencer in one.

Jocelyn favored her servant (friend, and lover) with a disapproving stare.  "Entirely too much enjoyment," she reiterated, then opened her mouth and allowed Nora to ease the plug inside.  The moisturizing mask settled against her lips, Nora threaded the strap's buckle at the nape of her neck, under her loose, tousled hair, pulled the strap taut, compressing the panel against Jocelyn's lips and lower face, then secured the buckle.

"There," Nora sighed as she combed her fingers through Jocelyn's long tresses until they were more or less fanned out on the pillow cushioning Her Ladyship's gagged head.  Nora's smiling gaze lowered to Jocelyn's breasts, and her lips pouted in a disapproving moue.  "Oh... this won't do."  Jocelyn's spreadeagled position had caused her breasts to flatten, somewhat, but they still had sufficient volume for Nora to reach out with both hands and give them a gentle squeeze.  "Just as I thought," she sighed, shaking her head.  "This won't do at all."

Jocelyn watched as Nora went to the bathroom and returned with a bottle of moisturizer.  She sat on the bed, once again, squeezed a generous dollop onto her palms, rubbed them together... then applied the clear, oily creme to Jocelyn's breasts.

As always, Nora was diligent in the discharge of her duties, ensuring both globes received thorough, uniform, thick coatings.  She then used her slick, shining fingers to make sure the moisturizer was well worked into Jocelyn's skin.  Next, Nora enlarged the scope of her efforts to include Her Ladyship's taut tummy.

Jocelyn shivered and tugged on her bonds as the moisturizing massage continued.  It was most unseemly to allow a servant to take such liberties with her body, but she was not only inescapably locked in taut chains, but effectively gagged!  What could she do?

A wicked grin curling her lips, Nora continued her slow, gentle massage for a full minute... then allowed her left hand to glide between Her Ladyship's legs and brush against Her Ladyship's pink, glistening labia.  "Oh, goodness me," Nora chuckled.  "Look who's all wet and... squishy."  She locked eyes with Jocelyn as her hand continued to gently glide against the flushed, aristocratic pussy.  "You can't wait to play with your new American toys, can you?" Nora purred.

The chains clinked as Jocelyn tugged on her chains.  "M'rrrpfh!" she mewled through her gag.  It was humiliating in the extreme to be touched in such an intimate manner by her Staff Mistress.  (It was also delightful!)  "Mrrrf?"  And then Nora's hand stopped moving!  She frowned above her gag at Nora.  "Mrrrpfh!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Nora purred, "shall we?"  She withdrew her hand, rose to her feet, and strolled back to the bathroom.  "Elyse hasn't even made her first move, remember?" she called back over her shoulder.

Jocelyn heard the water run in the bathroom.  No doubt Nora was washing her hands.  Jocelyn tugged on her bonds, yet again.  She hadn't been close to cumming, but her feet had been firmly on the path to a nice orgasm, metaphorically speaking.  Anticipation had primed the pump... and now wicked Nora had left her in the lurch.  "Mrrrf!" she complained as the grinning Staff Mistress returned to the bedside to gaze down at her naked, spreadeagled, bound and gagged body.

"I suppose I could fetch one of the castle chastity belts from the dungeons," Nora purred, "but there's really no point, is there?  Her Ladyship certainly won't be playing with herself, not in her current state.  Elyse will be busy with the opening act of our little melodrama, and I'll be waiting to play my part.  Perhaps I'll spend the time playing with the gamine American with the pixie hair and charming accent."  Her smile broadened.  "I think it's a Brooklyn accent, but I'm not really sure.  Granted, it's not very pronounced, but I find it... charming."

Jocelyn believed Cat did, indeed, have a slight Brooklyn accent, and she also found it charming, but was hardly in a position to share her opinion.  Also, she knew Nora wasn't serious about "playing" with Cat.  That wasn't a part of the plan, not in the opening phase, anyway.

"In any case," Nora continued, "as a precaution against either American trespasser sleepwalking or deciding to go exploring before Elyse makes her move," Nora purred, "I've taken the precaution of locking the gates to the back staircase at the top and bottom, and I'll be doing the same with the front staircase as I leave."  Nora's smile returned to wicked mode.  "Her Ladyship's beauty sleep will not be disturbed until morning.  Goodnight, Your Ladyship.  Pleasant dreams."  Nora then turned off the reading light and left the bedchamber, closing and locking the door behind her.

The only light in the chamber was a pair of dim, blue-green, LED nightlights, one on either side of the bed and close to the floor.  As Jocelyn's eyes became fully adapted to the dark, she could just make out the familiar furnishings... the closed drapes of the windows overlooking the grasslands of the castle peninsula and the forest beyond... the closed door to the bathroom... and the closed door to her walk-in closet.  She tugged on her cuffs once again, then sighed and willed herself to relax.

Jocelyn and Nora didn't play this game very often... and now she remembered why.  Stoic suffering might be good for the soul, just as delayed gratification made the final reward all the sweeter—and all that rubbish—but Jocelyn did not enjoy frustration, sexual or otherwise.  Well, that wasn't entirely true.  She had passively allowed Nora to place her in her current predicament... but Jocelyn did not enjoy frustration.  That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

Also... she knew that sometime during the night—just before dawn, at the very latest—her Staff Mistress would return to "surprise" her and end her frustration in a rousing and thoroughly diligent manner.  But until then...

Jocelyn heaved another gagged sigh, tugged on her chains one last time, patently ignored her tingling "naughty bits," and willed herself to go to sleep.