TALES OF THE FOXWOOD B&B _¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯by Van © 2011		_
		Chapter 4

After what amounted to an extended make-out session—somewhat hampered by Jillian's helplessness and Caroline's clothing but greatly enhanced by their mutual enthusiasm—Caroline summoned Polly with a tug on the bell cord beside the bed.

Almost immediately, the bedroom door opened and the maid appeared pushing a cart laden with fresh tea and platters of finger sandwiches, cakes, and pastries.  "Madam's hair is mussed," she observed, smiling at Jillian.  Still helplessly fettered to the spreader bar, Jillian smiled back.  Polly then shifted her gaze to Caroline.  "Madams—plural," she amended.

"Don't test me, Puck," Caroline chuckled, then strolled to the dressing table and began repairing her coif.

Meanwhile, Polly locked the cart's wheels and raised two leaves on its sides, effectively converting it to a small, lace-covered table.  She arranged the two wing-chairs comfortably close, then walked to the wall, thumbed the switch, and lowered the spreader-bar that enforced Jillian's arms-over-head stretch.  She then released Jillian's wrist cuffs from the bar and joined them together, using the same six-inch chain as before.

"Thank you, Polly," Jillian grinned.

"You're welcome, madam," Polly responded, then knelt, unclipped the ankle-cuffs' hobbling chain from the floor, then tucked the ring back through its slit in the carpet.  She gestured towards the table and chairs.  "If madam will be seated, I'll fix her hair."

Jillian lifted Polly's chin with her cuffed hands and kissed her lips.  "Thank you.  You are an excellent upstairs maid, Polly."  Then, naked but for her tight, white satin corset and her bonds, she shuffled to the table and settled gracefully into a chair.

Caroline had been watching in the mirror.  "Why, Polly," she purred, "I do believe you're blushing."

Polly climbed to her feet and headed for the dressing table.  "Madam is mistaken," she muttered.  It was clear, however, that Caroline was, in fact, quite correct.  "If madam is finished with the brush and comb..."

"I'll take care of our guest," Caroline responded.  "Fetch the Etherial Ansible."

"Yes, madam."  Polly curtsied and left the bedroom.

Jillian was eying the sandwiches and trying to ignore her watering mouth.  "Etherial Ansible?"

"A cellphone in steampunk trappings," Caroline explained, "for our call to Kayley."  She carried the brush set to the table, stood behind Jillian's chair, and began fussing with her copper-red locks, tucking errant strands back into their proper places.  "Please, try a sandwich, if you like."

"It would be rude not to wait for my hostess," Jillian responded.

"I had a large breakfast.  Please..."

Jillian lifted her cuffed hands from her lap and reached towards the tray.  "Well, as I was busy being kidnapped and missed both dinner and breakfast..."  She selected a finger sandwich and took a bite.  "Umm... delicious."

"Smoked salmon on pumpernickel?"

"I believe so," Jillian answered.

"Try the egg salad.  We bake our own bread."

Jillian followed her hostess' (kidnapper's) suggestion.  "Also delicious."

Caroline returned the brush set to the dressing table, then walked back to the table, sat, and poured two cups of tea.  "Before Polly returns—"  She handed a cup and saucer to Jillian.  "Sydney contacted me four months ago.  She said she was mad at you for what she called 'meddling in her love life' and requested my assistance in teaching you a lesson."

Jillian continued sampling the various items on the plates, sipping tea, smiling, and listening.

"It occurred to me this was an excellent opportunity for us to mend fences," Caroline continued.  "And to have a little fun."

"Of course," Jillian chuckled, rolling her eyes.  "What about Hannah?  And why did your minions also nab Sydney?"

"I wanted to see exactly how serious Sydney was about all this," Caroline explained, "so, before I agreed to kidnap you, I insisted that her girlfriend be part of the deal.  To my great surprise, she agreed."

Jillian frowned.  "That is surprising."

"In any case, your little sister is still at Foxwood," Caroline continued.  "We gave her a bit of a surprise, but didn't bring her to the Manor.  Regarding her treacherous betrayal of Hannah and yourself, I'll show you the relevant video of our perfidious conspiring, later."

Jillian's smile returned.  "The relevant Etherial Opticon recording?"

"Exactly," Caroline agreed, sipping her tea.  "Obviously, all of this must be laid out in complete detail before we decide how best to proceed."

"And we must include Kayley," Jillian stated.  "She must be a coequal partner.  Hannah and I may be your prisoners, but I have responsibilities.   Foxwood has customers booked through the next several weeks, off and on."

Just then, Polly returned bearing an ornately carved rectangular wooden box, very much like an expensive cigar humidor.  Without a word, she set it on the table, curtsied, and left, locking the bedroom door behind her.

Jillian gazed at what she assumed was the "Etherial Ansible", then raised her eyes to find Caroline gazing at her.

"I swear," Caroline sighed.  Her pale-blue eyes gazed at Jillian's perfect breasts, freckled shoulders, and smiling face; then locked with Jillian's green eyes.  "It's as if not a day has passed.  You're as beautiful as ever."

Jillian felt her cheeks warm.  "Except for the laugh-lines, the cellulite, and the sagging, of course."

"I believe we're both aging quite nicely," Caroline chuckled.  "And if you have any cellulite, I certainly don't see where you're hiding it.  I'll conduct a thorough search, later.  As for laugh-lines... we both have them, and they're far better than the alternative of worry-lines."

"Agreed."  Jillian nodded towards the carved box.  "Work before play."

Caroline laughed.  "Play is work, both at Silverberry and Foxwood, but I'll ignore the irony and follow your suggestion."  She opened the box.  Its lid folded back on ornate hinges and locked at approximately 45-degrees, revealing a small screen and a tiny speaker set in its underside.  Inside the main body of the box was a small keyboard.  It was mechanical in design, like a miniaturized version of an early typewriter.  Caroline lifted a stylus from a slot and began tapping the keys.

"Very clever," Jillian purred.  "The steampunk illusion, I mean."

Caroline smiled, then tapped a final key.  A quiet chirping sounded one... twice... thrice... then a voice resonated from the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Kayley," Caroline answered.  "Is this a convenient time for our talk?"

"It is," Kayley huffed.  "Jillian?"

Jillian winked at Caroline, then leaned closer to the table.  "The old man at the train station has a long mustache."

There was a pause of several seconds before Kayley responded.  "What?"

Jillian smiled.  "That's our agreed upon 'no coercion' signal, isn't it?" Caroline silently laughed, her mouth hidden behind her right hand.

"We don't have a..."  Kayley paused, again.  "Wait a minute.  You're in on this?"

"Not by choice, initially," Jillian laughed, "but I am now.  I'm still a helpless prisoner, of course."  She lifted her cuffed hands and rattled the connecting chain.  "That's the sound of my cruel fetters," she explained.  "Caroline has me locked in her horrible dungeon.  Otherwise, she's being the perfect hostess."

"Horrible dungeon," Kayley huffed.  "A good place for you.  I've been worried sick.  The nerve, leaving me to run this place while you traipse off and cavort with an old girlfriend."

"I assure you, Jillian is quite the innocent in this affair," Caroline chuckled, "and we haven't yet had a chance for much in the way of cavorting."

"Not yet," Jillian agreed, with another wink.

"Well, let's sort this mess out," Kayley muttered.  "There are green-banner guests arriving tomorrow and I have a hundred things to do."

"About that," Jillian said, "I have a suggestion for the running of Foxwood in my absence, but first..."  She nodded at her hostess (and kidnapper).

Caroline smiled and nodded back.  "You've read my letter, Kayley, but I'll summarize, just to get us all on the same page."  Jillian lifted the teapot and refilled both tea cups, being careful her cuffs' connecting chain didn't rattle against the china.  "I was contacted by Sydney about four months ago," Caroline stated.  "She had a proposition she wished to present."

The conversation continued.

Hannah was exhausted by the time Four-Eyes and Catsuit came back to the lab and turned off the machine.  She wasn't sure how much time had passed or how many orgasms she'd "enjoyed".  Her best guess was a little more than an hour... and three... possibly four.  That last one had been borderline, at best.

She tried to recall her captors' names.  Patricia and Jaclyn—that's it.  And they want to be called "Mistress".  Given the opportunity, Hannah would like to call them a few other things, but a wide strip of tape was still plastered over her lips and the straps pinning her to the table prevented her from peeling it off—or from extracting herself from the rubber phallus lodged in her pussy—her wet, flushed, and now hypersensitive pussy.

Hannah was hungry and especially thirsty, but she had enough fight left in her to struggle when her captors released her from the table and changed her bonds.  However, Patricia and Jaclyn knew all the tricks.  Hannah twisted and fought, but her bonds were released and new bonds applied in series.  She was never free enough for her efforts to bear fruit.

Eventually, Hannah found herself on the floor, naked but for a body-harness of the same buff-tan "medical restraint" leather as the straps that had secured her to the table.  Her fingers and hands were encased in tight leather mitts.  The padded cuffs from the table remained buckled around her wrists and ankles; however, the wrist cuffs were now secured behind her back to the waist strap of the harness and her ankles were hobbled by a foot-long strap.  Also, a third pair of cuffs had been added.  They were strapped around her upper arms and secured to the harness.

Patricia and Jaclyn stood and watched Hannah writhe on the hard floor.  Diagonal straps yoked her shoulders and horizontal straps passed above and below her breasts and around her waist, all tight enough to dimple her tan, glistening skin.

Hannah stopped struggling and lay on her side.  She shook her head to clear the blond tangle from her face and glared up at her captors.

"She's got stamina," Patricia purred, scribbling notes on a clipboard, "I'll give her that."

Jaclyn nodded, a gloating smile curling her lips.  "I like the strong ones.  They're so much fun to play with."

"You like all of them," Patricia purred, "strong, weak, and in between.  Holding cell three, please."

Still smiling, Jaclyn stooped, grabbed a handful of Hannah's hair, and none too gently hauled her to her feet.

"Mrrrfh!" Hannah complained, more angry than in pain.

Jacklyn dragged Hannah away, her boots tapping on the hard floor and her hand still gripping the captive's blond hair.

Hannah scrambled to keep pace, her steps shortened by the unforgiving hobble.  They passed through a wooden door and down a long corridor.  The walls were concrete blocks, textured like chiseled stone and stained a dark gray that seemed to suck the light from the wire-covered industrial fixtures hanging from the ceiling.  Far ahead was another wooden door, and along the right wall, spaced about ten feet apart, was a row of five oval-shaped, steel doors.

Jaclyn stopped before the middle oval.  It bore the numeral "3", stenciled in black.  Like the others, it was painted a dull gray. Also like the others, it was as much hatch as door and looked like it might have been salvaged from an old battleship.  There were six steel dogs, evenly spaced around the door, all connected by lengths of steel bar and linked by more bar to a wheel in the center.  Hannah watched as her handler produced a barrel key, unlocked a high-security lock, then gave the wheel a spin.  As it turned, the network of interlocked bars disengaged the dogs.

Jacklyn pulled the obviously quite heavy door open, revealing thick canvas padding on its interior surface.  Beyond, Hannah could see nothing but inky darkness.

Jaclyn grabbed Hannah's hair, again, and pulled her close.  "Home sweet home," she purred, then teased back a corner of her tape-gag and pulled it away with one callous rip.

"Ow—Hey!"

Jaclyn had shoved Hannah forward, into the yawning darkness.  She landed on a padded surface—"Oof!"—and rolled, coming to rest against more padding.  She turned her head towards the door.  "Look, you bitch!"  The door closed with a metallic bang, plunging her into total darkness.  "No!"  Hannah gasped.  Her heart was hammering.  "No," she repeated, this time in a hoarse whisper.

Hannah looked up.  A bulb had begun glowing overhead.  The light slowly increased, revealing a lamp set behind a heavy metal grid in a padded ceiling.  The entire chamber was padded, like a cell in a lunatic asylum, and was about ten feet square.  The padding was all unbleached canvas, in flush-fitting panels of various sizes.  The floor, at least, was about as soft as a standard mattress.

"What the hell is going on!" Hannah shouted.  "Who the hell are you people?  What have you done with Sydney and Jillian?"  Silence was her only answer.  "Dammit, answer me!"

Nothing.

Hannah felt her eyes welling, and stifled the despair rising in her empty stomach.  I have to be strong, she thought.  Sydney and Jillian need me to stay strong.  She tugged on her harness, again, with the same predictable result.  She was helpless.  A tear rolled down her cheek.  "Goddamn bastards," she huffed.

A quiet hum sounded to the right, and Hannah watched a three by three padded panel retract and slide up.  It was immediately replaced by an unpadded panel with an attached horizontal tray and what appeared to be—Hannah blinked in surprise—a rubber breast!

Hannah struggled up onto her knees, then crawled to the panel.  A stainless steel bowl was clamped to the tray and was full of reddish-brown nuggets that reminded Hannah of dog food.  Below the bowl, in an engraved metal frame, was a small card bearing the message "Eat me" in elegant calligraphy.  The rubber "breast" was like the business end of a baby bottle, only larger in scale, about the size of one of Hannah's own boobs.  It also had a hand-lettered card, which read "Suck me".  As Hannah watched, a drop formed on the breast's rubber teat.

Hannah was parched.  I'll worry about the humiliation factor later, she decided, leaned forward, and sampled the drop with her tongue.  It was pleasantly wet, but the sample was too small for her to tell what it might be.  She closed her lips around the nipple and sucked.  Her reward was a squirt of cool, delicious milk.  She continued suckling the rubber breast and more liquid flowed.  The milk was cold—Suck, suck, suck—and a little sweet.  It's fortified with something, she decided.  It was being delivered in measured squirts, with machine-like efficiency.  Momentarily refreshed, Hannah stopped sucking, and the flow ceased with a barely audible click.

Hannah eyed the "kibble" in the bowl, and her stomach growled.  "In for a penny..." she muttered, leaned forward, and tongued a nugget into her mouth.  It was semi-soft, with a surprisingly pleasant, meaty flavor.  She chewed and swallowed.  Whatever the stuff might actually be, it was far from disgusting.  Properly garnished and given a French name, Hannah decided, it could be served as an appetizer at a fancy party.  In any case, it was infinitely better than nothing.

Hannah continued her strange meal, and tried not to worry about her missing friends, or what her captors were going to do to her, next.

Meanwhile, back at Foxwood...

---

"That's it?" Alice demanded, incredulously.  "Jillian and Hannah are visiting one of Jillian's old friends... and will return in a few days?"

"That's it," Kayley answered.  Together with Cricket and Connie, they were enjoying a lunch of shepherd's pie and green salad at the kitchen table.

"Obviously, that's not it," Alice huffed.  "You could have told me that last night, before you made your super-secret phone call.  In fact, you did tell me that."

"I assume we'll learn more when Jillian returns," Connie said, quietly, and Kayley nodded.

Alice wasn't satisfied.  "Jillian just goes away?  There are green-banner guests arriving, tomorrow.  Where's Sydney?  She needs to tell us what to do."

"Sydney will be something of a recluse for the immediate future," Kayley huffed.  "Jillian has left you in charge, Princess."

Alice blinked in surprise, a fork-load of salad half-way to her mouth.  "Me?"  She set down her fork and took a gulp of wine, instead.  She then swallowed and focused on the Mistress of the Kitchen.  "Shouldn't you be in charge, Kay-bear?"

Kayley's pale blue eyes sparkled.  "A mere commoner?  How can the cook be in charge when a princess is in residence?  Don't be absurd, Your Royal Highness."

"But—"  Alice interrupted herself with the delayed mouthful of salad.  She chewed, her blue-green eyes focused on infinity.  Finally, she swallowed and turned to Cricket and Connie.  "You guys'll help?"

Cricket rolled her eyes.  "Duh."

"Of course we'll help," Connie giggled.

"And I'll still cook, of course," Kayley added.  "I'll have the next week's menus ready for the Princess Regent's approval this afternoon."

"And Sydney?" Alice asked.

Kayley's smile faded.  "Here's the deal.  The Baroness is on my shit-list.  She's in one of the Princess-of-the-Tower cells, and will be staying there.  You three are not to go anywhere near the Stone Tower until further notice, understand?"

Connie and Cricket nodded, but Alice didn't.  "We have green-banner guests arriving, remember?" she objected.  "No funny stuff allowed."

Connie and Cricket exchanged a surprised glance.  Alice, of all people, worrying about the rules?  They focused on Kayley.

"And there will be no funny stuff," Kayley answered, "as far as our guests are concerned.  The door to the top floor of the Stone Tower will be locked at all times.  Even if a guest decides to go exploring, they won't even know she's up there."

"Okay," Alice conceded, "but if something happens, I'm holding you responsible."

Kayley nodded (and desperately suppressed the guffaw threatening to escape her lips and undermine the authority of her Royal Mistress).  "Yes, Princess."

"I'd still like to know more about what's really going on," Cricket said, "and what the deal is with the Evil Baroness being locked up.  Ow!"  She glared at Connie.  "Why'd you kick me?"

"So you'll shut the hell up before Kayley decides to lock you in the Stone Tower, too," Connie explained.  "You think I want to be the only one left to serve the Princess and her guests?"

"Speaking of which—"  Kayley reached into her apron pocket and produced a thrall's collar.  Its key was attached with a leather thong.  She placed it on the table next to Alice's plate.  "Your call," she said, patting the Princess' freckled hand.

Alice gazed at the collar, then shifted her blue-green eyes first to Connie... and then to Cricket.  "Decisions, decisions," she purred.

"I was drudge-thrall last month," Connie noted.

"So you were," Alice agreed, and smiled at Cricket.

Cricket heaved a theatrical sigh.  "Woe is me," she declaimed.

"It's your turn next month anyway, drama queen," Alice giggled.  "After lunch we'll hold the ceremony."

Cricket frowned.  "Ceremony?  What ceremony?"

"You strip and Connie ties you up, nice and tight," Alice explained, then smiled at the Resident Scholar.  "Do a real Kinbaku-Shibari number on her, okay?"

"If I have to," Connie answered, grinning at her glowering cousin.

"Then," Alice continued, addressing Cricket, again, "you kneel and I lock the collar around your neck."

"When have we ever done that?" Cricket demanded.

"I'm in charge," Alice explained.  "If I say there's a ceremony, there's a ceremony.  Keep it up and I'll add a chastity belt and you can wear it under your shabby thrall dress all-day-every-day, while you serve our unsuspecting guests."  She took a sip of wine.  "Hmmm... I like that idea.  May do it, anyway."

Cricket focused on the Mistress of the Kitchen.  "Kay-bear!" she complained.

"She's the Princess Regent," Kayley shrugged.  "As long as none of Lady Jillian's rules are violated..."

Alice gave her lover's hand a reassuring pat.  "Just kidding... about the belt."

"Cruel Tyrant," Cricket pouted, and Connie giggled.

"Now," Kayley said, smiling brightly.  "Who's ready for some pears in port?"

Sydney was miserable.

Kayley had appeared in the predawn and untied the ropes melding Sydney to the kitchen chair.  She then lifted her still helplessly bound, gagged, and naked body onto her shoulder and carried her up the stairs to the top floor of the Stone Tower.  Her final destination was the "Bad Princess Cell", the unfurnished cell of the three comprising the suite.  Her rope bonds were untied and immediately replaced by cold iron.  During the process, Sydney was never free enough to offer resistance, even if she'd wanted too.  Her gag remained in place.

Then, without a word, Kayley left the dark cell, locking the door behind her.

Sydney was reclined on a pile of clean, dry straw.  An iron collar was locked around her throat and her wrists and ankles were in tight-fitting shackles.  Long chains attached to the collar and four shackles trailed away to rings set in the walls.  Their lengths would have allowed Sydney considerable "freedom" to move about the cell; however, her wrist-cuffs were locked together behind her back and to the back of her collar by a two-foot bar of rigid iron.  Also, her ankle-cuffs were locked together, further limiting her options.

Time passed... something like three or four hours.  The slit of sky visible through the thick panes of the cell's single narrow, heavily barred window slowly brightened to the cerulean-blue of a cloudless mid-morning.

Finally, the door opened and Kayley entered, carrying a cloth-covered tray.  She set it on the floor at Sydney's feet, then knelt and unlocked and removed the padlocks joining the prisoner's wrists and ankles, as well as the iron bar locked to the back of her collar.  Kayley then removed the cloth from the tray, revealing a terracotta jug, a simple stoneware cup, a thick slice of bread, a wedge of cheese, an apple, and a bunch of grapes.  "Go easy on the wine 'til you've got something in your stomach," she muttered, and headed for the door.

Meanwhile, Sydney had been untying and removing her gag.  "Wait!" she cried as the door began to close.  "Kayley, I—"

"Save it!" Kayley barked.  "Save it for Jillian, when she gets back.  And for Hannah, if she comes back."

"What?"

Kayley turned and glared at the naked redhead.  "If I were the Saxon, the only reason I'd come back to Foxwood would be to slap your face and pack my things."

Sydney hung her head as the door slammed, then looked up when she heard the cover of the barred peep-hatch open.

"Starting tomorrow," Kayley said, "there will be green-banner guests in residence.  If I hear one peep out of this cell, I'll stuff your mouth and lock you in that iron head-cage Cody just delivered.  And it'll only be unlocked once a day, for you to eat and drink, with me standing over you with a whip."

The hatch banged shut, and Sydney let her head drop, again.  She was alone—naked and in chains.

Why did Caroline have to do this to me? she thought.  How else is she changing the plan?  She'd just wanted to take Jillian down a peg and give her a chance to finally clear the air with Caroline.  And Hannah?  Hannah was supposed to be having a thrilling, scary adventure, something they could both laugh about—once Sydney got her safely back at Foxwood and pacified her with several nights of make-up sex.  But now?  Who knew what the hell was going on at Silverberry?

Sydney poured herself a cup of wine and took a gulp, then reached for the bread, took a bite, and chewed.

I really screwed the pooch this time, she thought.