|by Van © 2016
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
Cat gave her left armpit a delicate sniff. "At least we
"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.
Cat smiled. "Did you just say 'castlely?'
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
"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
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.
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,
"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,
"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
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
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
Cat and Cecelia exchanged a slightly worried glance. Back
at camp they only had a little more that one day's food
"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
"Yes we do!" Cecelia hissed in an urgent whisper to her
godmother. "A chance to stay in a real castle? Are
"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
"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
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
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
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
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
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
"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?"
"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
"I see," Jocelyn chuckled. "Again... what do you have in
"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,
"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,
Meanwhile, Nora had knelt beside the bedside table, reached
under the bed, and pulled out a steel chain terminating in a
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
"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
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
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
"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
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.