TALES OF THE FOXWOOD B&B _¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯by Van © 2011		_
		Chapter 6

Hannah felt like a pampered poodle, or possibly a trained ape.  It was humiliating, being paraded around in in this ridiculous, scandalous costume.  Granted, her attentive audience of mostly female party-goers hadn't pinched or slapped her transparently "clothed" body, but they had used their gloved hands to explore her curves, pat her cheeks, and chuck her chin, all the while making teasing, catty remarks about her condition.  And they'd made note of the fine details of her humiliation that were visible only in closeup, the little touches Patricia had added while dressing her on the frame back in the bathing chamber.  Specifically: 

1. The tiny, baby-blue ribbons cinched around the base of her nipples and tied with elegant bows.
2. The half-dozen matching ribbons tied around gathered tufts of her dark-blond pubic hair.
3. The pale blue gemstone tucked in her navel, visible through the oval, lace-bordered cutout in the front of her baby-blue corset.
4. And finally, the "chastity belt" of thin silver chain with diamond settings that encircled her waist, passed through her crotch, and cleaved both her labia and buttocks.
   

Humiliating—to be sure.  Hannah's cheeks continued to burn and her eyes flash with smoldering resentment.  (And Hannah assured herself the occasional thrill ripping through her hoo-haw was caused by the gentle sawing motion of the cleaving chain, and had absolutely nothing to do with being the captive center-of-attention of an appreciative crowd of beautiful, elegantly gowned women.)

Hannah might have been tempted to slap a few faces and make a few catty remarks of her own, but either activity was impossible, thanks to the diamond-studded bracelets cuffing her wrists behind her back and the white satin tape, with its humiliating pair of ruby-red, painted-on lips, plastered over her mouth.

Hannah might also have been tempted to kick the most assertive of her "admirers" in particularly sensitive portions of their anatomies; however, subtle restraints shrouded by her diaphanous garments made kicking impossible, as well.  The blue ribbon and white lace garters holding up her sheer white stockings were actually locking straps, buckled tight enough to dimple the flesh of her thighs.  They were joined by a very short, very thin chain of silvered steel that also secured the top ring of a vertical chain dangling between her legs.  Also, the ankle-straps of her baby-blue slippers were, in fact, cloth-covered steel cuffs, and their connecting hobble-chain was held off the floor by the bottom ring of that same vertical chain.  Kicking was impossible.  Simple walking was challenging enough.

Tall and short, young and old, all exquisitely gowned—and a few a little tipsy—Hannah's gaggle of admirers continued to crowd around her squirming, stutter-stepping, mewling form.  Patricia was keeping a firm grip on Hannah's leash, preventing her from escaping... not that flight was possible, regardless.

Hannah couldn't see much beyond her immediate ring of admirers.  She did take note of a robot orchestra on a small stage, more party-goers being served by maids, and— Wait!  Sydney?  Hannah had caught a glimpse of red hair, disappearing through a doorway.  Had it been her kidnapped girlfriend?  Or was it Jillian?

"Excuse me, ladies," a familiar voice purred, "I'm afraid I must intervene."

Hannah turned her head and glared at Jaclyn.  The smugly smiling brunette was resplendent in her white male formal-wear, and was relieving Patricia of the end of the leash, and apparently, of her custody of Hannah.  "Our hostess has sent me to fetch her pretty blond dolly."

A chorus of cooing sighs sounded from Hannah's admirers, as well as disappointed remarks like "Oh, no!", "But she's so delightful!", and "I've not had a chance to fondle her breasts!"

"Sorry," Jaclyn purred, tugging on Hannah's leash.  "Duty calls."

Hannah was led across the ballroom and towards a small door disguised as part of the mirrored and wainscoted wall.  Patricia followed in her hobbled wake.

The door led to a hallway, and Hannah noticed a gentleman in formal attire several steps ahead of them.  He opened a side door, and as Hannah and her handlers came near, smiled and made a sweeping gesture.  "Ladies, would you care to join us?"

Hannah's eyes widened as she surveyed the room beyond.  It was Victorian in decor—no surprise there—but was somewhat more masculine in style that the other upstairs rooms she'd seen, with dark wallpaper, brass lamps, and overstuffed chairs of gleaming leather.  Several male and a few female party-goers were present, lounging in chairs or standing in small groups.  Most were smoking cigars and/or sipping brandy.

In the center of the room, under the glare of bright lights shining from overhead, a diminutive maid was on her stomach, stretched across a padded footrest.  The poor thing's wrists and knees were strapped to the rest's wooden legs and her skirt has hitched up and tucked under her apron ties.  Also, her frilly knickers had been pulled down, exposing her white, dimpled bottom and firm thighs.  A short, straight, brown pageboy framed her pleading eyes.  A thick gag cleaved her mouth and muffled her whimpers of distress.

Off to one side, a mustachioed gentlemen had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and was examining an array of whips, paddles, floggers, and riding crops in an open cabinet.

"Chloe has been a bad girl," Jaclyn chuckled.

"An impromptu meeting of our Flagellation and Tickulation Society," Patricia whispered in Hannah's ear.

"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen," Jaclyn said with a bow, "but our hostess is keeping this one—"  She indicated Hannah with a languid gesture.  "—for herself."

There were nods of polite acceptance, and the door closed.  The parade of three continued down the hall.

"I believe the gentleman about to 'entertain' little Chloe is a newcomer," Patricia remarked.

"He is," Jaclyn confirmed, "but the old hands won't let him get carried away."

They continued down the hall and entered a darkened parlor.  The only light was from a set of French doors opening on the garden.  The flowerbeds and shrubs beyond were dimly lit by the light spilling from the distant ballroom's window-wall.  Suddenly, a light clicked on and Hannah beheld Jillian, seated in a comfortable easy chair.  Standing beside her was a fair-skinned brunette in an ivory gown.  She was forty-something, like Jillian, and quite beautiful, also like Jillian.

Hannah's eyes popped wide and she started forward—"M'rrrfh!"—but before she could reach the limit of her leash, Patricia and Jaclyn had her by the arms.

"Easy, Hannah!" Jillian cautioned her employee.

"We won't let her hurt herself," Jaclyn purred.

"I know," Jillian sighed, then smiled at Hannah.  "Hello, Princess.  You look beautiful."

Patricia kissed Hannah's cheek.  "Beautiful, indeed," she whispered.

The ivory-gowned brunette gestured to an identical overstuffed chair next to Jillian's.  Hannah's handlers dragged her forward and plopped her into its cushioned embrace.

"Hannah," Jillian said, gesturing towards the brunette with her expensively cuffed hands, "allow me to present our hostess, Caroline Saunders, Mistress of Silverberry Manor."

"Miss Blair," Caroline nodded, smiling sweetly.

"Caroline and I are dear old friends," Jillian explained.

Hostess?  Old friends?  Hannah noted Jillian's diamond-studded restraints and elegant gown, a gown not scandalously transparent, like her own.

"If I'm 'old', what are you?" Caroline countered, and shared a laugh with Jillian.

What the hell is going on?  Hannah started to rise from the chair—"M'mmpfh!"—and was immediately forced back down.  Next, a doubled loop of thick rope dropped over her shoulders and was cinched tight.  More rope followed.  Jaclyn was tying her to the chair, and she was making a job of it.  Hannah squirmed and fought, but the antique-gold sash cord continued tightening around her body, pinning her arms to her sides, binding her legs together, and lashing her to to the chair from shoulders to ankles.

Meanwhile, Patricia had produced additional coils of the same shiny, golden rope and was lashing Jillian to her chair.

Caroline sat in a chair facing the two prisoners, and smiled.  "Hannah, allow me to explain your current circumstances."

Rope continued to slither and tighten, pressing Hannah even further into the cushions.

"Your abduction was commissioned by Sydney," Caroline continued.

What?  No!  Hannah blinked in surprise.  "Nh'nee?"

"Yes, Sydney," Caroline chuckled.  "I know you two were conspiring to kidnap Jillian, but it's Sydney you have to thank for being her companion in captivity."

Jillian smiled at Hannah.  "You realize I'm going to have to punish you severely for such treachery," she purred, then shifted her smile to Caroline.  "Or, I suppose I could just let Sydney's betrayal balance the books for poor Hannah, at least as far as I'm concerned."

Caroline smiled back.  "Very well.  Consider our future treatment of 'poor Hannah' as proxy punishment, on your behalf.  Two birds with one stone."

"You're most kind," Jillian nodded, then turned to Patricia, who was still engaged in the process of binding her to the chair.  "Excellent technique, Miss, uh..."

"Patricia Ballard, madam."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Jillian said.  "Helpless, and charmed."

Hannah felt like her head was going to explode.  Obviously, Jillian was a damsel very much not in distress.  And Sydney was the cause of all this?

Caroline leaned close and kissed Jillian's lips.  "I promised to show you a recording of my conversation with Sydney."  She nodded at Hannah.  "I might as well enlighten you both."

Jillian nodded.  "As you said, two birds, one stone; however, in Sydney's defense—"

Caroline was holding a silencing finger against Jillian's lips.  "Let's let your sister speak for herself, shall we?"

Patricia reached over the top of the chair from behind and stretched a piece of satin-white tape over Jillian's lips.  It was identical to Hannah's tape-gag, only its painted-on lips were a shade of coral that complemented Jillian's complexion.

Jillian locked eyes with Caroline as her gloved hands smoothed the tape across her face.

"There," Caroline chuckled.  "At Silverberry Manor, I always get the last word."

Jillian's eyes were smiling, even as she forced an indignant "Harrumph!" past her new gag.

Meanwhile, Jaclyn had walked to a nearby table and turned an elegantly framed panel of dark glass on a tasteful stand to face the prisoners.

"We'll leave you two to enjoy the show," Caroline said, then turned out the light.

Hannah and Jillian watched their hostess (kidnapper) and her staff (their handlers) depart, closing the door behind them.

They were alone in the dark, two elegantly gowned and coiffed captives, inescapably and elaborately bound and gagged in comfortable chairs.

Hannah squirmed and tested her bonds.  It was like something out of a Victorian melodrama.

Suddenly, the glass panel began to glow, revealing itself to be a flat-screen TV in disguise.  An image brightened and came into focus, and it was Sydney, as Caroline had promised.

Jillian's little sister was naked, and was lashed against a horizontal wooden beam, her arms to either side of her pink, freckled body.  A leather blindfold covered her eyes and her copper-red curls hung in a tousled mass.

Despite her girlfriends alleged perfidy, a thrill passed through Hannah's helpless body.  She's so beautiful like that, the helpless blonde thought.  The thrill intensified, and Hannah covered the inevitable shiver of delight with a rope-testing squirm.

The sound of a metronome sounded from the television's speakers.

Tick... tock... tick... tock... tick... tock...

Sydney tugged on her bonds, but clearly, she was helpless... as helpless as her current audience.

A minute passed... and finally, a voice spoke.  "Hello, Sydney."  It was Caroline.

Sydney flinched in surprise, then composed herself.  "Hello, Mistress."

'Mistress?'  Hannah was surprised by Sydney's subservience.

"My goodness, Sydney," Caroline chuckled, "you're even more beautiful than I remember."  She remained off-camera.  "When last we met, you were a coltish young thing; stunning, but very much the hoydenish tomboy.  But just look at you now.  You've grown into an intoxicating woman... a wisely respectful, intoxicating woman."

Sydney didn't answer, immediately.  Then, she cleared her throat.  "May I speak, Mistress?" she asked.

"You may."

Sydney swallowed.  "You said you would have an answer for me."

"I did... and I do... and that answer is... yes."

Sydney sighed in relief.

"However, there are two conditions," Caroline continued.

"Conditions?—Ahh!"  Wielded by an unseen hand, the tip of a riding crop had delivered a stinging slap to Sydney's left nipple.  "Conditions, Mistress?"

"That's better," Caroline purred.  "It's difficult being a Bottom when you're very much a Top, isn't it Sydney?"

"Very difficult, Mistress," Sydney huffed.

"A lesson that we both agree would benefit your sister," Caroline chuckled.  "Now... my conditions.  I'm intrigued by this Hannah that Jillian thrust upon you.  I'll entertain Jillian, as you request, but only if your new girlfriend accompanies her as, shall we say, her chaperon."

Sydney paused before answering.  "Why, Mistress?"

"If Jillian is to receive a thrilling surprise," Caroline explained, "then so shall your pretty blond girlfriend.  I think I understand your motivation, Sydney, but I won't become involved if this is just a sisterly squabble.  If you trust me with Jillian, you will trust me with your lover.  You do trust me, don't you, Sydney?"

"If I didn't trust you, Mistress," Sydney answered, "I wouldn't be here."

Hannah stared at the screen in disbelief.  Sydney had betrayed her!

Earlier in the day, at Foxwood...

---

Sydney peered at the sliver of landscape visible through the heavily barred arrow slit.  The thick, wavy glass obscured most details, but the sun was setting and the forest shadows were lengthening and beginning to merge.  That much was clear.

Earlier in the day, Kayley had moved her from the Stone Tower's unfurnished center cell to one of the furnished Princess Cells, next door.  Sydney now had the "luxury" of a bed, table, and chair.  All were crude and handmade, the sort of things one might find in the hovel of a woodcutter, not in accommodations supposedly worthy of a Princess, but they were much better than a pile of straw.  Also, her bonds had been reduced from a collar and shackles to a collar, alone.  Sydney dragged its heavy, tethering chain to the bed, and sat.  The thick, strong links allowed her to explore most of the cell, but did not allow her close enough to even touch the iron-banded and solidly locked oak door.

Kayley had also provided a bucket of clear water and a linen rag.  Sydney had scrubbed herself clean, as best she could, then donned Kayley's other gift, one of Princess Alice's soiled and tattered "Cinderella gowns".  Her unbrushed hair pulled back and tied with a strip torn from the washrag, clothed in what had once been a velvet gown worthy of the Queen's Court but now was a ragged disgrace, chained by the neck to the wall of her tower cell... Sydney languished.

A key turned in the lock and the thick, heavy door opened.  Kayley carried a wooden tray into the cell and set it on the floor, then picked up the empty lunch tray and stepped back.

The new, cloth-covered tray held her supper, of course.  "Kayley," Sydney said, "please let me explain."

Kayley shook her head.  "There's nothing to explain.  I know what you did and why you did it.  You're staying in this cell 'til Jillian and Hannah return from Silverberry.  Maybe they'll let you talk your way out."

The door closed, the lock turned, and Sydney was alone, again.

She carried the tray to the table and removed the cloth cover.  There was a small jug of wine and a crude cup, a bowl of thick beef stew, a slab of fresh-baked bread, and a peach.  It was probably the same fare that was being served down below, but without the usual condiments and garnishes.

Sydney sighed and prepared to eat.  There was no knife or spoon, but she knew how to tear the bread and use the pieces as edible utensils.

Unexpectedly, the door opened, again.  Kayley carried the familiar shape of Sydney's leather encased harp-guitar into the cell and set it down on the stone floor, within easy reach of Sydney's chain.  She then turned and left, without a word, locking the door behind her.

A sob escaped Sydney's trembling lips, and her eyes welled.  My guitar.  It was a great kindness, as welcome as the easement of her bonds, the change of venue, and the clothing.  A great kindness.

This isn't turning out at all like I intended, Sydney thought.  It was all supposed to be fun... for everybody.  I'll make it up to them, she promised herself, to all of them.  Somehow, I'll set things right.

Silverberry Manor

---

Hannah sighed as she squirmed in her tight bonds.  The chair was comfortable, but sitting in one position was getting old.  The idiot! she fumed, thinking of her girlfriend.  Fun is fun, but what the hell was she thinking?

Hannah had been somewhat distracted of late—an understatement, if ever there was one.  However, tied to her chair and watching the Sydney-the-Dirty-Rotten-Ratfink Show on Caroline's TV, she'd finally had the information and "leisure" necessary to put the pieces together—especially after the onscreen revelations had transitioned into the non-stop boinking of the ratfink in question.

So... Silverberry Manor was a steampunk version of Foxwood.  Caroline and Jillian had history, probably a lot of history.  That part was iffy, probably a little messy and complicated, and wasn't Hannah's immediate concern.  And as for Sydney... it was clear her intentions hadn't been malicious.  She thought Caroline and her staff would "entertain" her girlfriend—in a deliciously kinky fashion—but exactly how she expected this to cement their relationship was anything but clear.

Hannah and Sydney had a lot to talk about, after Hannah was released by her kidnappers and after she had more time to think things through.

Meanwhile, the boinking continued.  The Mistress of Silverberry never appeared onscreen.  Sydney remained the center of attention, but Jaclyn and Patricia had appeared—especially their lips, tongues, and fingers.  And there was also a third entertainer, a cute little brunette in a maid's uniform.  Sydney remained blindfolded, bound, and gagged.  She writhed and fought the ropes as her captors coaxed orgasm after orgasm from her flushed, sweat-dripping body.  It was kinda hot...  okay, it was really hot, but Hannah was hardly in a position to relieve her building tension.

Hannah turned her head and focused on Jillian, and the red-haired captive gazed back.  I wish we could talk about all this, Hannah thought.  Leaving their mouths taped was just mean.  Trapped in her bonds and her thoughts, Hannah had no choice but to continue processing what she'd learned, on her own.

Suddenly, the screen went black.

Hannah sighed and squirmed in her bonds, then closed her eyes.  A nap, she decided, ignoring her simmering state of arousal.  I'll try and take a nap.  Jillian won't mind.

Seconds passed, then, a flickering, reddish light bathed the inside of Hannah's eyelids.  She opened her eyes and found the TV glowing, once more.  The message "SILVERBERRY MANOR, SOUTH GARDENS" flashed several times, then was replaced by what Hannah assumed was the garden in question, but the image was dark and shifted into the red.  A label in the upper left corner read "SECURITY CAMERA #1", and in the lower right, "NIGHT VISION".

What's the point of this? Hannah wondered.  What do we care about...  Hello!

The hedge bordering the formal flowerbeds rustled and a black-clad figure emerged.  Moving stealthily she—and she was definitely a she—darted from cover to cover.  Her hair was long and dark, and her leather costume as tight as a second skin.

Emma Peel! Hannah thought.  She looks like Emma Peel.  The complete Avengers DVD set held a treasured place in Hannah's collection.

The catsuited figure was too distant for Hannah to see her face, but there was something familiar about the way she moved.  Whoever she was, she was getting ever closer to the edge of the screen, and, presumably, to Silverberry Manor.

The screen flashed and changed to a different perspective.  Also, the "#1" in the upper left corner screen changed to "#2".  The catsuited stranger continued her approach.  She disappeared below the retaining wall of an elevated flowerbed... then reappeared at the far end.  Obviously, she was unaware that she was being tracked by the Manor's security system.

The camera angle changed, again—"#2" became "#3"—and the stranger was no longer a stranger!

Hannah and Jillian stared at the screen in surprise.

The intruder was Pilar de la Calva, Hannah's friend and Jillian's friend and customer!  And she was a sight for sore eyes—a somewhat kinky sight for sore eyes, in her tight leather catsuit.

She's coming to rescue us! Hannah realized.  Then, her stomach did a flip-flop.  They know she's here!  Hannah fought her bonds with all her strength.  I have to warn her!

Jillian was unconcerned, or, more probably, resigned to their inability to influence events.  She watched Hannah struggle, then caught her eye and shook her head.

Hannah glared at her red-haired employer, then sighed and collapsed in her bonds.  She's right.  She's always right.

The screen went blank, again.

Seconds later, the French doors opened and Pilar entered the darkened parlor.  She crossed to the desk and clicked on a lamp, then turned and smiled at the prisoners.

Hannah stared in stunned amazement (and simmering arousal).  Pilar's catsuit wasn't just tight, it looked like she'd been poured into the thing.  The seams of the black, smooth, butter-soft leather garment followed every curve of her dancer's body.  Knee-boots, skintight pants, corset-tight bodice, long sleeves, gauntlet-like gloves, and a high collar—only Pilar's exquisite face was exposed.  Her tousled, raven hair was loose about her leather-clad shoulders.  A pair of pistols were strapped to her thighs, and the buckle of the wide gun-belt bore some sort of emblem—and if Hannah wasn't mistaken, it was a Masonic emblem.

"Lady Foxwood," Pilar said, bowing to Jillian in a graceful, feminine manner at odds with her costume.  "Miss Blair," she added, bowing to Hannah.  "I anticipated I would have to conduct an extensive search.  This is too easy."

Suddenly, all the lights in the parlor came on at once and the interior door and French doors flew open.

"Too easy, indeed!"  It was Caroline, resplendent in her ivory gown.  The broom-handle Mauser machine-pistol in her gloved hand was aimed at Pilar.

Behind Caroline came a pair of maids, also armed, one with another machine-pistol and the other with a net-gun.

From the garden, Jaclyn and Patricia appeared.  Both were in the same dark-brown, leather catsuits they'd worn to kidnap Hannah and Jillian from Foxwood, but without the hoods, masks, or goggles. Patricia had a net-gun trained on Pilar, while Jaclyn was aiming what appeared to be a short, multi-barreled shotgun.

Pilar had drawn her rather exotic looking revolvers, but was pointing them at the ceiling.  She knew she was outmatched.  Still smiling, she slowly returned the pistols to their holsters, then raised her gloved hands.

"Pilar du Romany," Caroline addressed her new prisoner, "Gypsy Princess and premiere secret agent of the Illuminati Occidental.  At last you are in my power."

Her hands still raised, Pilar bowed.  "Mistress Saunders," she purred.

Caroline nodded at Jaclyn and Patricia.  "Take no chances.  She's as dangerous as a cobra."

The leather-clad minions surged forward.  Patricia relieved Pilar of her pistols, placing them on the desk.  Meanwhile, Jaclyn gathered Pilar's gloved hands behind her back.  There was an audible click, then the catsuited beauty was turned 180°.

Hannah, Jillian, and the others watched as Jaclyn slipped a wide leather strap around Pilar's upper arms and pulled its friction buckle tight—Vrrrip!—until her elbows touched.  Pilar gasped, but the smile never left her lips.  Her gloved wrists were locked in joined handcuffs, and now Jaclyn was adding steel thumb-cuffs, as well.  Click-click.  Jaclyn took a firm grip on Pilar's hair, then dragged her towards Caroline.

Caroline gently caressed the side of Pilar's smiling face with a gloved hand.  "So beautiful," she sighed.  "So very beautiful."  She let her hand drop.  "Tell me who told you I was holding Lady Foxwood."

"I will tell you nothing," Pilar answered, still smiling.

"Yes, you will," Caroline sighed, her expression sad.  "In the end... you will."  She nodded.

Patricia stepped forward and forced a ball-gag into Pilar's mouth.  Jaclyn held the prisoner's hair while Patricia cinched the strap tight—until Pilar's cheeks bulged—then buckled the strap.

Caroline focused on Jaclyn.  "You know what I want done with her?"

Jaclyn nodded.  "Yes, Mistress."

Her pale blue eyes locked with Pilar's, Caroline nodded.  "Again, take no chances."

Jaclyn and Patricia took Pilar by the arms and dragged her through the door and into the interior of the manor.  The maids stepped aside to let them pass.

"Such a shame," Caroline sighed, shaking her head.  She then turned to face Hannah and Jillian.  The maids had placed their weapons on a side table and were standing behind their mistress, smiling at the captives and awaiting orders.  "Move them up to my bedroom," she purred, then nodded at Hannah.  "Be careful with the blonde.  She doesn't yet know her place."  She turned, with a swish of her full gown, and made her exit.

Hannah and Jillian watched her depart, then focused on the maids.  Both were in their early twenties.  One had straight, black hair and a pretty face with round cheeks.  The other was a fair-skinned blonde, a Nordic beauty with blue eyes. 

"Should we summon help?" the blonde asked her companion.

"No," the raven-haired maid answered.  She reached into her apron pocket and produced a palm-sized metal device with two short, glass-insulated copper studs.  She pressed a button, and a blue spark snapped between the studs.  "I have my Tesla-stingulator," she said, smiling at Hannah.  "If either one of them gives us any trouble, they'll regret it."

Hannah glanced at Jillian, and they both heaved a resigned sigh.