Silverberry Manor--Bed & Breakfast

All Manor of Mischief
_¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯by Van© 2011


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(About Three Months Later...)
Rescuing the Princess

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{ & }~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Princess was spreadeagled on her back and bound to the rack, her wrists and ankles buckled in wide, thick leather cuffs.  She'd been stripped of her tattered gown.  In fact, other than her bonds, she was completely naked.  Her freckled, peachy-pink skin was soiled and slick with sweat and her copper-red hair lay on the hard wood as a tousled mass of unruly curls.  Because of the stringent stretch, her muscles were clearly defined and her breasts were as flat as their volume would allow.  Despite months of cruel captivity, the Royal spirit was not broken; however, the rag stuffed in her mouth and held in place by a tight cleave-gag stiffled any brave comments the Princess might have wished to share.

The Tyrant—who was also a Princess—was supervising the "entertainment".  She was wearing a full-length gown of gleaming brown leather.  It had a tight-laced bodice and a high collar, as well as long sleeves that incorporated stiff bracers studded with brass.  The Tyrant's long hair (also copper-red) was in a French braid.  It trailed down her back, nearly to her wasp-thin waist.  A light, golden crown with numerous sharp tines graced her brow.  A stiletto dagger was sheathed on the belt slung around her hips, as well as a custom-made holster with an array of finely-crafted instruments of torture.  Her cruel, beautiful face smiled down at her victim—who was also her cousin.  "Tighter," she purred.  "Stretch her tighter."

Following her mistress' order, a cruel smile on her tan, beautiful face, the female Saxon Warrior at the head of the rack pulled the fine adjustment lever.  The mechanism turned—Click-click-click!—taking up additional links of chain.  The Saxon was wearing leather boot-sandals, kilt, and a bra-top with brass cups.  Her long, blond hair was parted down the middle and loosely braided, in the manner of her people.  Her preferred weapon, a battle-ax, was leaning against the wall beside the torture chamber door.

"That's enough," the Tyrant said.  "We'll let her get used to that setting ... then tighten it just a little more."  She reached out her right hand and the thrall kneeling at her side held up a goblet of wine.

The thrall was a Wood Elf, and she was tiny, even for her race.  The tips of her pointed ears peeked through strands of her short, straight, dark-brown hair.  A ragged shift of burlap was her only clothing, and her wrists were locked in heavy manacles joined by a foot of chain.

The Tyrant-Princess sipped from the goblet, handed it back to the thrall, that pulled a tool from her holster.  The wand-like instrument's business end was shaped like the paw of a cat, with gleaming, needle-sharp claws.  "Now," she purred, "let's test the sensitivity of my Royal cousin's nipples, shall we?"  She stepped to the rack, extended her hand and the dreadful instrument it held, and—

Suddenly, the chamber door flew open, revealing two figures.

The first was a Desert Nomad.  The tip of the thin-bladed scimitar in her right hand was pointed at the Tyrant-Princess.  Her feet were clad in desert boots with upturned toes.  Her legs were partially covered by skin-tight leather pants that laced up the outside flanks, providing provocative glimpses of the darkly tanned skin of her outer thighs and hips.  From the waist up, her only coverings were a brassiere with chain-mail straps and hammered steel cups .  Leather bracers protected her wrists.  Her raven-black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and a saucy smile curled her lips.

At her side was a Wood Elf.  She wasn't as tiny at the thrall still kneeling at the Tyrant's feet, but was shorter than the Nomad.  Her costume was the soft boots, kilt, and skimpy top typical of her kind, in leather and cloth dyed in several different forest colors.  She was armed with a pair of short swords, still sheathed on her thighs, but also had a pair of small cross-bows with pistol-grips, one in each hand.  They were aimed at the Tyrant and her Saxon retainer.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" the Tyrant-Princess demanded.

"Isn't it rather obvious?" the Desert Nomad chuckled.  She stepped forward and lifted the Tyrant's chin with the tip of her blade.  "Move and you die.  You, Saxon, release the Princess."

Her hands raised, the Saxon glared at the Nomad.  "You won't get out of this Keep alive," she growled

"I rather think we will," the Nomad answered.  "Now, do as you're told, barbarian."

The Saxon released the tension of the rack, then unbuckled the naked captive's wrist and ankle cuffs.

The Princess sat up, untied her gag, and spat out the stuffing.  "Finally," she gasped.  "My mother the Queen sent you?"

"Something like that," the Desert Nomad chuckled, then nodded at the ragged gown on the floor.  "Get dressed, Your Highness."

The Princess climbed off the rack and donned her gown and slippers.  It might once have been an elegant garment, but months of wear while being forced to perform demeaning labor had reduced it to soiled tatters.  Her slippers were in slightly better condition, but were scuffed and dirty.  The Princess had no underwear, not even a loincloth.

The Nomad pulled a leather thong from her belt and tossed it to the kneeling elf.  "Bind the Saxon's wrists behind her back," she ordered, and the tiny thrall hurried to obey.

"Stay out of my line-of-sight," the Nomad's Wood Elf companion cautioned her fellow elf.

"And what should we do with you, my pretty little Tyrant?" the Nomad purred.

"Strip her and put her on the rack," the Princess growled.  "Let's see how she likes being stretched."

The Nomad shook her head.  "No time."  She focused on the Tyrant and gestured towards the wall opposite the door.  "Over there."

Her hands raised, the Tyrant walked to the wall, turned to face the others, and glared.  "I will personally torture you to death for this outrage.  What?  How dare you!"

The Nomad had sheathed her scimitar, pulled the dagger from the Tyrant's belt and clamped it between her teeth, and locked the Tyrant's right wrist in a dangling manacle, all in one fluid motion.

"Release me!" the Tyrant demanded.  "Now!"

The Nomad had seized the Tyrant's left wrist, pulled it to the side, and clamped it in a second manacle.  She turned and smiled at the elven thrall.  "Come here, little one."

The thrall had finished binding the Saxon's wrists and scampered to the Nomad's side.

The Nomad pulled a keyring from the Tyrant's belt and unlocked the thrall's fetters and collar.  The iron clattered to the floor and the tiny elf smiled up at her rescuer, her brown eyes shining.  "Secure her ankles," the Nomad said, nodding at the Tyrant.

The elf knelt, grabbed the Tyrant's right ankle, pulled it to the side, and clamped it in a wall-mounted shackle.  She then shuffled to the left and did the same to her left ankle.

The Tyrant glared down at the elf.  "Your death will take days," she growled.  "You will beg me to end your suffering."

The Nomad had retrieved the Princess' gag from the rack and was returning to the wall.

"What are you going to do?" the Tyrant demanded.  "No—Nrrrf!"

The Nomad had stuffed the rag in the Tyrant's mouth and was knotting the cleave-gag at the nape of her neck.  "That's enough of your bluster," she chuckled.

Her blue-green eyes furious above her flushed, freckled cheeks, the Tyrant growled through her gag and glared at the Nomad.  "M'mmpfh!"

The Nomad removed the Tyrant's belt, then pulled the dagger's sheath free, sheathed the blade, and tucked it in her own belt.  "We'll bind the Saxon a little better, then off we go."

"Wait," the Princess said, and pointed at the glowering blonde.  "She's their best tracker.  We should take her with us."

"I detest unnecessary bother," the Nomad purred, pulled a coil of hemp rope from a peg set in the wall, and tossed it to the Princess.  "If you want to take her, bind her."

"You're going to regret this," The Saxon warned.

"Shut your uncultured mouth, pig farmer," the Princess huffed, and began pulling loops of hemp around the Saxon's arms and torso.  In short order, the blonde was in a tight, well-cinched box-tie, with her already bound wrists pulled up and lashed to the other bonds, almost in a reverse prayer.

"Gag her," the Nomad ordered.

A smile curling her coral lips, the Princess reached up under the Saxon's kilt and pulled her loincloth free.

"I told her you should be put to death," the Saxon growled, her blue eyes locked with the Princess' blue-green orbs.

The Princess tied a knot in the middle of the loincloth, then thrust it in the Saxon's mouth.  She cinched it tight at the nape of the blonde's neck and tied a square-knot.

The Nomad had pulled a second coil of hemp from a peg and tied a hangman's knot in the end.  She dropped the noose over the Saxon's head, cinched it tight (but not too tight), then handed the remaining rope to the Princess.  "Okay, you've got her; but she's your responsibility."

"Remember who you're talking to, Nomad," the Princess huffed.

The Nomad smiled and executed a deep, graceful bow.  "My apologies, Your Highness.  Now, let's go."

With the Wood Elf warrior leading the way, they made their exit.  The Princess was next, with her Saxon hostage in tow.

The Nomad smiled at the elf thrall.  "Are you coming?" she chuckled.

The tiny elf smiled back.  "You're rescuing me, too?"

The Nomad chuckled, lifted the thrall's chin and kissed her lips.  "What's your name, little elf?" she purred.

"Chloe," the thrall answered.  "Chloe, daughter of Sheera of the Five Trees clan."

"I am Pilar," the Nomad answered, "of the Wind Dancers."  She kissed Chloe, again.  "And, yes, I am rescuing you, too."

Chloe sighed, and scampered out the door.

Pilar favored the Tyrant-Princess with a mocking bow, then pulled the door closed.

The Tyrant heard the key turn in the lock... then silence.

"Nrrrrrf!" she screamed through her gag, and tugged on her chains.  Her limbs splayed against the wall and locked in cold iron, she was totally helpless.

A minute passed... then two.

The key rattled in the door, again, the portal opened, and Scholar Constance entered the torture chamber.  "Well, that went well, don't you think?"

Alice sighed through her gag, then nodded.

Connie stepped forward and smiled at the "Tyrant-Princess", taking in her spreadeagled, helpless condition.  "I really like your new leather bitch-princess gown," she sighed.  "Jillie-bean and Sydney have done the Evil Baroness swashbuckling-in-leather-tights thing to death.  This is way cool."

"Mrrf?" Alice "asked", opening her fettered hands.  Clearly, she would appreciate being released.

"Okay, okay," Connie chuckled, and turned to the rack.  She moved the Tyrant's belt to the side, then spun on her heels to face Alice.  "Oh, this is terrible," she sighed.  "Pilar forgot to leave the keyring."

"M'mmpfh!" Alice complained, tugging on her chains.

"I'm serious," Connie said, returning to Alice, "I'm going to have to go find a spare key, and that could take a very long time."

Alice glared at the smiling brunette.  Her assertion was pretty much a bald-faced lie.  The locks of almost every restraint in the Keep were one-key-fits-all.  With few exceptions, the first small key Connie found would fit Alice's shackles.  The Scholar was being cute, the little bitch!  "Mrrrf!"

"Don't take that tone with me, Princess," Connie giggled.  She knelt and began unbuttoning the front of Alice's gown, working her way up the skirt to the tightly laced bodice.  She then leaned close, reached between the gaping leather, and caressed Alice's crotch.

Alice was still glaring, but an involuntary shudder shook her diminutive frame.  "N'mmf!"

Connie reached in with both hands, pulled Alice's loincloth free, and tossed it away.  She leaned close, her left arm around the chained prisoner's waist, her right hand stroking her pussy, and her lips nuzzling her neck.  "You're wet," she whispered.  "Watching Hannah stretch poor, pathetic Princess Sydney got you all hot and bothered.  I can tell."


"Quiet," Connie purred.  "You and Cricket messed with me last weekend, when Lady Carleton was here, so now it's my turn.  Fair is fair."

Alice shivered in her bonds, moaned through her gag, and tried to ignore Connie's gliding hand.
--- Tales of the Foxwood B&B: AMoM
The parade of rescuers and escapees and their hostage exited the Keep by a side door and sprinted into the woods, taking a little used path that led up the slopes of Mount Foxwood.  Pilar and the Wood Elf, Cricket, retrieved the cloaks and satchels they'd stashed beside the trail, and the escape continued.   Pilar's cloak was dun-brown, typical of a Desert Nomad.  Cricket's was comprised of leaf-shaped, overlapping panels, in a dozen forest colors.

They continued up the trail, along the slope of the mountain (hill, actually, but "Mount Foxwood" sounded better), then down into the valley.  Cricket was in the lead, followed by Princess Sydney and her Saxon captive.  They, in turn, were followed by Chloe the rescued Wood Elf thrall.  Pilar acted as the party's rearguard.  Surprisingly (unless you'd read Connie's scenario) there was no pursuit from Foxwood Keep.

Cricket slowed to a normal walking pace and the hike continued.

Eventually, they reached the valley floor and crossed a small stream.  The trail joined another, then continued to drop, winding around trees and boulders and taking them ever further from the Keep.  After a good couple of miles, the forest ahead thickened into a dense grove of mature cedars.  The light faded as the gray trunks closed in around them.  The forest floor was a carpet of fallen needles that seemed to deaden all sound.

Suddenly a Wood Elf stepped onto the trail.  She was taller than either of the elves in the party.  Her cloak was similar to Cricket's.  She was armed with an elven bow and had an arrow notched, but the leaf-shaped arrowhead was pointed away from the fugitives.  (It was Cody Archer in elf disguise.  She was well known to Pilar, of course, but was a complete stranger to Chloe.)

"Greetings, Fair Elf," Pilar smiled.

"You were successful, I see," Cody said.  Her eyes were on Chloe as she returned the arrow to her quiver, threw back her cloak, then slung her bow over her shoulder.  "Why did you bring the Saxon?" she asked.

"The Princess wanted her," Pilar explained.  "I have no idea why.  Perhaps she wants revenge."

"No matter," Cody shrugged.  She pulled a small pouch from her belt and gave it a shake.  Clink, clink.  "The agreed upon fee," she intoned, then tossed it to Pilar.

Pilar caught the pouch and tucked it in her belt with one graceful motion.

"The Wood Elves funded my rescue?" Sydney demanded.

"Not exactly," Pilar chuckled, then pulled a thong from her belt pouch, grabbed Princess Sydney's wrists, and pulled them behind her back.

"What are you doing?" Sydney demanded.

"Bundling cargo," Pilar purred as she bound Sydney's wrists.  "You don't think I risked the dangers of Foxwood Keep just to rescue a snooty Princess, do you?"

"How dare you!" Sydney huffed.

Pilar had pulled a coil of hemp rope from her satchel and was binding the Princess in a tight box-tie.  Strand by strand it was a match for the web of rope binding Hannah.

"Do we have to listen to her incessant whining?" Cricket giggled, pulling a folded cloth from her belt.

"Be my guest," Pilar laughed.  She held Sydney's hair atop her head as Cricket tied a knot in the center of the cloth and stepped forward.

"No—R'rrrf!"  Sydney stamped her feet and grimaced as Cricket thrust the knot in her mouth and tied a tight cleave-gag.

Cricket lifted the hemp leash still noosing Hannah's throat, found the middle, and tied a loop around Princess Sydney's neck.  She then knotted the free end of the rope to a convenient branch.

Meanwhile, Pilar was smiling at Chloe.  "It was your clan that paid me to invade Lady Foxwood's domain," she explained.

Chloe blinked her eyes in surprise.  "Me?  You came to rescue me?"

"That's right," Pilar nodded.

Just then, Cody pulled a generous coil of silver-gray rope from her shoulder, shook it out, and pulled Chloe's hands behind her back.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Chloe demanded.

"Your aura has been contaminated by your enslavement," Cody explained as she bound the tiny elf's wrists, then used the rest of the rope to pin her arms to her sides and lash her legs together.  "You should know that."  She finished by binding Chloe's ankles, then reached under the little elf's tattered thrall-shift and pulled her loincloth free.  "The Green Witch of the Wood has agreed to conduct a purification ritual," she said as she tied a knot in the narrowly folded cloth.

"Purification ritual?" Pilar inquired with a grin.

"It will require ritual bathing, special body oils, and at least a dozen orgasms," Cricket explained, "with the smoke of a sacred fire to carry away the impurities.  Princess Chloe is in for a very long night... or two."

"Princess Chloe?" Pilar demanded.

"We could not tell you that she is an Elven Princess," Cody said as she cinched and knotted Chloe's gag.

"I would have charged more?" Pilar chuckled.

"You might have divulged Her Highness' identity under torture," Cricket explained, "had the rescue failed."

"Or, I might have decided to sell her at the slave market," Pilar chuckled, and nodded at Sydney and Hannah, "like those two."

Cricket winked at Cody.  "Desert Nomads have quite a sense of humor.  Imagine, thinking she could drag an Elven Princess through the Green Wood with impunity."

Cody hefted Chloe onto her shoulder in a fireman's carry.  "Enough of this nonsense," she huffed, and carried her helpless burden away, into the trees.

"You sure you can handle those two?" Cricket asked, smiling at Pilar.

"No problem," Pilar answered as she turned and untied the end of the hemp leash.  "Are you sure you don't need help purifying your cute little Elven Princess?"  She turned back, and shrugged.  Cricket was already gone.  "Oh well."  She walked to Sydney, lifted her chin, and kissed her gagged lips.  "I didn't expect you to ask me to bring along your blond girlfriend," she purred.  "That was a surprise."

Sydney shrugged her rope-bound shoulders.

"Well, I've got a surprise for you, too."  She smiled at Hannah.  "For both of you."  She resumed the hike.  The rope snapped taut and her coffle of two stumbled after her.  "I know you're expecting us to return to the Keep.  Instead, we're headed for the campsite across the valley, the one next to the waterfall.  It's getting late, so I'll have to set a good pace."

Sydney and Hannah exchanged a confused look.  The campsite in question was something like six or seven miles distant.

"Once there, we should find Ashley waiting for us, with camp already pitched and a pot of stew on the fire," Pilar continued.  "After a nice, restful night—with Ashley-the-Amazon and Pilar-the-Nomad-Warrior testing the slave merchandise, of course—we'll continue on to where Ashley has parked her SUV.  You two will ride in the back, suitably bound, gagged, and bagged, of course, and we'll all spend the next week at Carleton Castle."

Sydney sent a complaining "M'rrf!" through her gag and planted her feet.

The leash snapped taut and Pilar turned and stepped back to plant a kiss on Sydney's bulging cheek.  "Silly Princess," the Desert Nomad chuckled, "you act like you have a choice.  If it makes you feel any better, your abduction has been authorized by your big sister."  She focused on Hannah.  "She didn't know she would also be losing her Saxon for a week, in addition to her Princess-Thrall, but I'm sure she'll make do."  A gloating grin on her beautiful face, she locked eyes with Sydney.  "Don't make me cut a switch from that bush over there.  I'd hate to have to mark those pretty, freckled legs.  Now, enough."  She let the rope trail through her fingers 'til she reached the end, then turned and stepped off.

The rope snapped taut, again, and the march resumed.

Sydney looked back over her shoulder at Hannah, and found the Saxon smiling at her over her gag.  Could be worse, Sydney thought. I might have decided not to ask Pillie to bring Hannah along on this little trek.  Actually, the surprise was a good thing.  Truth be told, being Bottom to Hannah's Top since the "Silverberry Affair" hadn't exactly been a burden, nor was being the "Princess-Thrall" in Connie's scenarios an onerous chore, but a little change would be fun—especially if part of it included getting to watch Hannah "suffer" in Ashley's secret dungeon playroom.
--- Tales of the Foxwood B&B: AMoM Epilogue

(An Additional Three Months Later...)
Silverberry Manor
~~~~~~~~~~~~~{ & }~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hannah was feeling very... spiffy.  Her hair was parted down the middle and plaited in its customary Saxon Braids; however, instead of leather thongs whipping the ends, the braids were secured by little sleeves of brown leather crisscrossed by thin laces.  She was wearing polished, knee-length, brown riding boots, blue-gray jodhpurs with sky-blue stripes along the outer seams, and a matching blue-gray, double-breasted blouse-tunic with a double row of brass buttons, each embossed with a stylized crown.  The blouse's top flap was folded back, revealing a flash of sky-blue lining and a reasonably generous display of cleavage.  Epaulets on her shoulders bore a combination of thick and thin gold stripes denoting her rank, which was...  Hannah couldn't remember.  It was unimportant.  Finally, a pair of gold wings bearing a small gear surmounted by a crown was pinned above her left breast.

Yes, Hannah was an Engineering Officer in the Luftflotta of the Ice Queen, ruler of Scandinavia and a generous chunk of Baltic Germany.  The Ice Kingdom was renowned for its deadly, mechanized arctic troops, formidable fleet of armored Zeppelins, pickled herring and salmon roe delicacies, and world class Bikini Team.  Hannah was on leave from her airship, enjoying the amenities of Silverberry Manor (and on a secret espionage mission for Her Frozen Majesty's Intelligence Service, of course).

On Hannah's right was Mistress Saunders and Lady Foxwood, resplendent in elegant tea gowns of fawn and sage-green, respectively.  Their hair was piled atop their heads in fashionable coifs.

On Hannah's left was Lady Pilar de La Calva, visiting from Havana, a major trading port of the Hispano-Mayan Union.  Her gown was a veritable froth of red and black lace ruffles.  It had a tight, corseted waist and a low cut that displayed a great deal of smooth, brown cleavage.  Her long, raven-black curls fell down her nearly bare back, and a whisper-thin black lace veil held in place by an elaborately carved comb framed her beautiful face and draped her shoulders.  A fan fluttered in her right hand.

None of them were bound in any way.  They weren't even wearing chastity belts under their gowns (as far as Hannah knew), nor was Hannah wearing a steel thong under her jodhpurs.  (That Hannah did know.)  This trip, Hannah, Pilar, and Jillian were playing on the Top team.  They were walking down a narrow hallway towards a nondescript wooden door.

Caroline opened the door and motioned for the others to enter.  The room beyond was long, narrow, and dark.  Opposite the door was an expanse of glass, a window-wall looking out on an old fashioned classroom.  Caroline indicated the row of comfortable easy chairs facing the glass, and the group sat.

"They can't see us?" Jillian asked.

Caroline nodded.  "Or hear us.  Double-paned glass, one-way on the far side.  To the students, the wall is one large mirror."

The students in question were Alice, Cricket, Sydney, and Constance.  All four were dressed in schoolgirl uniforms similar to the one Hannah had endured at the tail end of her first visit to the Manor; but without jackets, capes, or straw boaters and with the addition of gray wool sweaters.  Alice's and Sydney's copper-red hair had been parted down the middle and plaited in tight pigtails.  The brunette Clarke cousins' hair was too short for braids, but Connie's slightly longer locks had been brushed back and a she was wearing a striped headband with a pretty bow on top, in the school colors of silver and olive.  Instead of her usual Granny-glasses, the Scholar was wearing "Harry Potter" glasses with large, round lenses and black frames.

"They are so very tiny and cute," Pilar chuckled.

Tiny? Hannah mused.  Sydney was 5' 5", Alice was slightly shorter, and the Clarke cousins were... what, 5' 3"?  She'd never thought of Syd as "tiny", but she did look cute as the proverbial bug in her short, navy-blue skirt and gray sweater over her blouse and school tie.  Alice, Cricket, and Connie she'd always thought of as short, but not Syd.  Of course... now that I'm on Top duty most of the time...  Yeah, she is kinda tiny... in a tallish sort of way.

All four "students" were sitting on old fashioned school desks.  Their hands were behind their backs and laced into leather binders that encased their arms from fingertips to armpits.  The rings at the tips of their binders were clipped to the back of their desks, their ankles were strapped together and to the braces between the desks' front legs, and leather seat-belts were buckled across their laps.  Finally, panel-gags of brown leather covered their mouths, cupped their chins, and were buckled tight at the napes of their necks.

Patricia stood in the front of the classroom.  She was wearing a wasp-waisted tea gown with a high collar.  Her hair was up, gold-framed glasses were perched on her nose, and she was holding a long, thin, wooden pointer.  Clearly, she was the teacher.

Next to her stood Polly, but the maid was not wearing her usual black and white uniform.  In point of fact, she was nude.  Her brown hair was combed back and plaited in a single braid that hung down her back, nearly to her pale, dimpled butt.  Her arms were raised and her hands atop her head, with her fingers interlaced.  A wide strip of medical tape was stretched across her mouth, from ear to ear and nose to chin.  The shape of her lips was clearly visible under the smooth, white panel.

"Art class?" Jillian asked.

"Shibari," Caroline answered.  "You can't see it from here, but there's a rack of hemp rope against this wall."

As they watched, Patricia pulled down a chart from above the chalkboard.  It was a Victorian-style illustration of a naked female figure with arrows pointing to various parts of her anatomy.

"Pressure points?" Jillian asked, and Caroline nodded.  Jillian smiled.  "You realize, of course, that any one of my girls could teach a course on either bondage safety or Shibari."

"Are you suggesting there's no logical reason for 'your girls' to be bound to their desks and forced to listen to Patricia's lecture?" Caroline purred.

Jillian nodded.

"You wouldn't want to spoil the fun, would you?" Pilar chuckled.

"You are all terrible," Hannah huffed.

"And I suppose you don't want Miss Foxwood-Major brought to your room this evening for 'private instruction'?" Caroline chuckled.

Hannah blushed and ignored the question.  Her eyes were on Sydney.  'Miss Foxwood-Major', she thought.  And Alice would be Foxwood-Minor.  That's cute.

"Oh, are you taking orders?" Pilar asked.

"Why not?" Caroline answered, smiling at her Hispano-Mayan guest.  "I'm sure any of our students would benefit from an intercultural exchange.  Which one strikes your fancy?"

Pilar smiled.  "Hmm...  all of them look delicious."

"All of them are delicious," Hannah muttered, "as you damn well know, from firsthand experience."

In the classroom, Patricia was tapping the diagram with her pointer, then prodding the corresponding position on Polly's naked body.

"Point taken," Pilar purred.  "Actually," she continued, "I find the model intriguing."

"Polly?" Caroline asked.  "My personal maid?"

"Polly," Pilar whispered, then smiled at Caroline.  "Polly is her name?"

Caroline nodded.

Meanwhile, Patricia had set down her pointer, stepped to the wall, and was returning with a large coil of conditioned hemp rope.  She shook out the coil, doubled it and found its center, then formed a doubled loop.  She then turned Polly's back to the class, folded her arms behind her back, and dropped the loop over her head and cinched it tight over her arms.  The students and the unseen audience behind the glass watched as Patricia pulled doubled coils around Polly's upper body, pulling the rope through each previous loop and reversing direction with each pass.

"Box-tie," Hannah observed.

Caroline nodded.  "Patricia will also include a Kikkou harness, binding Polly from shoulders to toes.  She'll then plunk Polly on that stool off to the side, so the class can observe the long-term effects of properly applied ropes."

"And when the lecture is over?" Pilar asked.

Caroline shrugged.  "After class, I suppose someone will let her go."  She winked at Jillian.  "Of course, I suppose she could be carried up to your bed, Señorita de la Calva, where she would be waiting for you, whenever you decide to retire."

"All those many long hours, so tightly bound," Pilar purred, her eyes on Polly.  "That would be very cruel.  No doubt Polly would be most grateful to anyone who offered her sympathy."

"No doubt," Caroline agreed.

"I think these personnel orientation visits are an excellent idea," Jillian said.  "I can't wait until next month, when Jaclyn visits Foxwood."

"I can't wait 'til she sees the Horse," Hannah huffed.

"Sees the Horse?" Jillian asked, "or rides the Horse?"

"Speaking of horses," Caroline chuckled, "have you decided who will be making the reciprocal visit to Silverberry?"

"To 'evaluate' your ponygirl program?"  Jillian shrugged.  "Not yet."

"Boss," Hannah said, smiling sweetly, "have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

They all laughed.

"Don't worry, Hannah-bear," Jillian said, giving her employee's hand a reassuring pat.  "You aren't even on the list, nor is Sydney."  She focused on the watching "students" on the other side of the glass.  "It will be either Alice, Cricket, or Constance."

"Any of them would make a fine pony," Caroline stated.  "Of course, they're all a little short to pull a racing trap."  She smiled at Hannah.  "You'd make an excellent racing pony, Hannah."

"Don't hold your breath waiting for me to volunteer," Hannah muttered, then glanced at Pilar.  The Latin beauty was gazing at Polly, smiling as Patricia's ropes tightened in an ever more complex web.  Pilar is certainly tall enough and athletic enough to pull a trap, or so she assumed.

"Alice, Cricket, or Constance," Jillian reiterated, gazing at the students in question.  "Decisions, decisions."

Hannah smiled, and returned to watching Patricia bind Polly—and watching Sydney watch Patricia bind Polly.  This job just keeps getting better and better.  First, Foxwood to play in... then, Carleton Castle... and now, Silverberry Manor.  I wonder what comes next?
Tales of the Foxwood B&B:
All Manor of Mischief
...& All Manor of Mischief... The Story, Entire.

Chapter 9

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