TALES OF THE FOXWOOD B&B _¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯by Van © 2011		_
		Chapter 7

The maids untied the ropes lashing Hannah and Jillian to their chairs and the ropes binding their legs; however, antique-gold, satin-finish sash cord still pinned their arms to their sides and yoked their bare shoulders.  Hannah's diamond-studded cuff-bracelets still locked her wrists together behind her back and Jillian's still bound hers in front.  In addition, they still wore satin-white tape-gags with painted-on lips, red in Hannah's case and coral for Jillian.  Nooses around their throats, the captives were led from the parlor and through the back corridors of the manor.

They climbed a set of stairs and Hannah scrambled to keep pace.  Jillian only had to deal with the train of her gown, but Hannah's steps were restricted by the thin chains linking her thigh-strap garters and ankle-cuff slippers.  The journey wasn't too difficult, but the little black-haired bitch of a maid kept a tight grip on Hannah's leash and quite literally cut her no slack.

The parade of four reached a wide hallway.  The blonde maid leading Her Ladyship opened a door and they entered a large, dimly-lit bedroom.

Caroline was in the process of being undressed by a dark-haired maid Jillian recognized as Polly and Hannah recognized as the unknown maid on the video-recording who had shared the burden of boinking Sydney with Jaclyn and Patricia.  Her hair still up, Caroline's costume was already reduced to frilly knickers, corset, and stockings.  "I've changed my mind about the blonde," she drawled, indicating Hannah with a dismissive gesture.  "Take her to bed with you.  Best use the crib, so she doesn't wander off before morning."  She smiled at Jillian.  "Leave the ginger trollop."  Caroline whispered additional instructions in the blond maid's ear, then turned her back and Polly began unlacing her corset.

Both handler-maids turned and led Hannah from the bedroom.  She locked eyes with Jillian—  "M'rrmfh!"  —then was across the threshold.  The door closed and she sighed through her gag.  They retraced their steps to a door at the far end of the hallway and passed through to yet another set of stairs.  Hannah climbed with mincing, hobbled steps... and finally they came to the top landing.  Beyond another door was a very large room with neat rows of beds, bedside chairs and tables, and wardrobes.  It was an attic, with exposed rafters and steeply sloped walls punctuated by garret windows.

More than a dozen maids were present, all in various stages of undress.  Apparently, there was a bathroom nearby, for two of the maids were wearing robes and had their hair wrapped in towel turbans.

"Ooo!  It's the blonde from the party!" a maid cooed, and the others crowded close.

Hannah squirmed and tugged on her bonds.  It was the ballroom all over again, only the maids were much more grabby than the aristocrats they'd served.  Where the elegantly gowned guests had stroked and caressed Hannah's body through her scandalously transparent costume, the giggling maids squeezed, fondled, and even goosed her flesh.

"Now, now," the blonde holding Hannah's leash laughed.  "Back off, you lot!"

"Who died and made you queen?" one of her fellow maids giggled.

"Mistress Saunders' orders," the blonde explained.  "This one gets a nice, restful night in the crib."

"Nooo!" Hannah's domestic admirers complained.

"Where will Chloe sleep?" one of them asked.

"She can share my bed," another offered, and the others giggled.

"We'll flip for it," another suggested, and the giggle-fest continued.

Hannah was pulled free from her latest crowd of admirers and led the length of the attic.  Soon, she was staring at what was obviously "the crib".  It was a bed, the same as the others, but its frame was, in essence, a cage of closely spaced bars.  It did somewhat resemble typical infant furniture.  The bars were turned dowels and the whole thing was painted white; however, the high-security padlock securing the bolt assembly was anything but typical—unless the crib was intended for baby tigers.

Hannah stood in silent cooperation as the end of her tether was tied to a corner of the crib and the blond maid began the process of untying her bonds and removing her clothing.

The black-haired maid with the "Tesla-stingulator" watched, a coy smile curling her lips.  Her hand was in her apron pocket, ready to produce her shocking device if Hannah gave them any trouble.

Eventually, Hannah was nude but for the leash still tied around her throat and the strip of tape over her lips.  Even the humiliating ribbons tied around her nipples and through her pubic hair, the jewel in her navel, and her chastity-belt/belly-chain had been removed.  Finally, the blonde peeled the tape from Hannah's lips.

Hannah stood and glared at the grinning maids, her hands at her sides and balled into tight fists.  Several maids were watching, sitting on their beds or chairs or standing in front of open wardrobes, brushing their hair and donning nightgowns.

The blonde untied Hannah's leash, and for the first time since being brought to Silverberry, she was completely free—nude, but completely free.  The blonde gestured towards a doorway.  "The powder room," she explained.  "Why don't you freshen up and come right back?"

"Yeah?" Hannah growled as she lifted her right fist.  "Why don't I—"

"Now, now," the black-haired maid interrupted, pulling the Tesla-stingulator from her pocket.  "Rude young ladies get tucked into bed in a most uncomfortable manner... to teach them manners."

Still glaring, Hannah spun on her heel and stomped (padded) through the door and into the powder room.  A maid was taking a shower at one end, and a row of toilet stalls occupied the other.  Hannah emptied her bladder, then went to one of the row of sinks, washed her hands, and splashed water on her face.  She stared at herself in the mirror.  Her blond hair was a tousled mass of wavy curls, very... girlie.  "I look ridiculous," she muttered.

The now clean maid had wrapped a towel around her torso and was preening in the mirror next to Hannah.  She turned with a friendly smile, leaned close, and kissed Hannah on the cheek.  "I think you look beautiful," she giggled, "like Sweet Gwendoline."

Who the hell is 'Sweet Gwendoline'? Hannah wondered as she watched her latest fan depart.  The towel-wrapped maid was a few years younger than Hannah, with green eyes and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her shoulders, and between her breasts.  She's cute, Hannah decided.  They're all cute, and they're all young.  She stared at the mirror, again.  Could be worse.  I could be down in the basement, locked in one of Mad Scientist Patricia's holding cells, or strapped to her Orgasmo-blah-blah-blah machine.  For all Hannah knew, that would be her fate, tomorrow.  But for tonight...  Could be worse.

Hannah came back into the main dormitory to find a half-dozen maids in nightgowns gathered around the crib.  As she came near, they began hugging her nude body and kissing her blushing cheeks.  Might as well put up with it, she decided.

"Good night, Hannah," they cooed, one by one.  One of the crib's side-panels had been opened and the bed's covers turned down, and they helped her slip between the cool sheets.

They know my name, Hannah realized, as the maids pulled the top covers up to her chest.  Then, the crib was closed, the bolt assembly engaged, and the padlock snapped shut.  Click!

The maids turned away.  Most went to their beds and settled in for the night.  The remainder continued their preparations.  One by one, bedside lamps clicked off, and the attic grew dark.  Only a few glowing nightlights remained, providing soft illumination.

Hannah pulled the covers to her chin and sighed.  It's a madhouse, she thought.  But then...  A huge yawn escaped her lips.  ...so is Foxwood.

More maids continued to arrive, still wearing their black and white uniforms.   Hannah assumed they were the very last to be relieved of their duties for the night.  They clicked on their lamps, undressed, and got ready for bed; but they were quiet and considerate of their slumbering fellows.

Hannah closed her eyes.  Sydney, she thought.  What am I going to do with you?  Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

Hannah opened her eyes.  It was still night.  In fact, she didn't think she'd been asleep for very long.

A diminutive maid was shuffling down the center isle of the dormitory, weeping softly and wiping her eyes.  She was tiny, only five feet in height, if that.  At first, Hannah thought she was a teenager, but as she drew closer, she decided the pixie was in her twenties, like the other maids, and was just... short.  Her straight hair was black and cut in a Lulu bob.  It's the maid who was about to get her butt whipped, Hannah realized.  As the sniffling pixie drew near the crib, three of the maids left their beds and gathered around her.

"What's wrong, Chloe?" one of them cooed, kissing the newcomer's flushed, wet cheek.

"They-they-they-spanked and whipped me," the little maid sobbed.

"Ooo..."   The others kissed and embraced Chloe.

"She's in my bed," Chloe accused, pointing at Hannah and the crib

"Mistress' orders," one of the maids whispered, and kissed the trembling Chloe's lips.  "C'mon, you can sleep with me."  She led Chloe towards her bed.

One of the other maids smiled at Hannah.  "Go back to sleep, Hannah," she whispered.

Hannah watched through the bars as Chloe was helped out of her uniform.  Soon, she was nude, and her fellow maids were examining her buttocks.

"Poor thing," one of them cooed.

"I'll get some ointment," another whispered, and scampered away.

Chloe was helped onto the bed and she stretched out on her stomach.  She whined in distress, then sighed as ointment was gently applied to her naked rump and the firm globes were massaged by her fellow maids.

"It's not too bad," one whispered.

"Only a very few marks," another added.  "It's pink and warm, but not too bad."

The maid whose bed it was peeled off her nightgown and climbed onto the bed next to Chloe.

"Good night, Chloe; Goodnight, Mary," the other maids whispered as they kissed the pair on the bed, pulled up the covers, and returned to their own beds.

Mary, Hannah mused.  Her name is Mary.

"Mary!" Chloe hissed.  "Stop!"

"Hush, Munchkin," Mary whispered back.  "I'm just making you feel better."

"You'll wake the others—Oooo!  I'll wake the others."

"Not if I stuff my knickers in your mouth and tie your hands with my hair ribbon," Mary whispered.

Hannah smiled.  She couldn't help herself.  The glinting eyes and stifled giggles from the other beds told Hannah she wasn't the only member of Chloe and Mary's audience.

"Oh, Mary!" Chloe whispered.

Hannah watched the covers of Mary's bed quiver and shake.  As if by its own will, Hannah's right hand found her crotch, and she began to slowly slide the edge of her palm against her labia.

"Quiet, you little weasel," Mary chuckled.  "I really will gag you, if you make me."

Hannah continued frigging herself, even as Mary (apparently) frigged Chloe—but despite the erotic, dimly lit and blanket shrouded spectacle visible through the bars of her crib—Hannah drifted off to sleep, again.

Sometimes nervous exhaustion trumps pleasure.

Earlier, in Caroline's bedroom...

---

Jillian watched as Hannah and the two maids made their exit.  The door closed, and she turned to face Caroline and Polly.  Caroline was now nude, but for the stockings Polly was rolling down her white legs.

Finally fully nude, Caroline walked to her dressing table and began removing her jewelry.  "See to Lady Foxwood," she ordered.

Polly curtsied and went to Jillian.  "Madam," she said, and began untying Jillian's rope bonds.  In a surprisingly short time, Jillian was as nude as Caroline, but for her gloves, her diamond-studded and ruby-padlocked cuff-bracelets, her pastel, rust-red opera gloves, the satin-white tape-gag with its coral, painted-on lips, and her borrowed jewelry.  Her hair was still up.

Jillian stood and watched as Polly puttered around, putting things away and turning down the bed.

Caroline was also watching, in the mirror, as she brushed her long, dark hair.  "You may retire for the evening, Polly," she said, as the smiling maid fluffed the pillows.

"Is madam sure she wouldn't like me to bind her guest to the bed," Polly suggested, "or perhaps secure her to the lacing bar?"

"Go," Caroline chuckled.

"Hogtie her on the floor?  Tie her across a chair with her naked tushie up in the—"

"Polly!" Caroline warned.

The maid curtsied, not bothering to disguise the saucy smile curling her lips, and quietly made her exit.

"The little minx was hoping for a repeat of this afternoon," Caroline said, winking at Jillian, "but sometimes I do need to put my foot down."

Jillian walked over to the dressing table, placed her loosely cuffed, gloved hands on Caroline's white shoulders, and began a gentle massage.

Caroline smiled with pleasure, closing her pale-blue eyes.  "I'd forgotten your magic fingers," she sighed, shivering with delight.  She let Jillian continue for several seconds, then rose from the bench.  "Sit," she ordered.

Jillian complied, and Caroline removed her guest's jewelry, pulled the pins from her hair, then unlocked her cuff-bracelets.  Jillian rolled down and removed her gloves, then reached for her tape-gag.

"Let me," Caroline purred, and lifted Jillian's chin.  They locked eyes as Caroline, slowly, gently peeled the tape from Jillian's lips.  The adhesive surrendered with great reluctance, stretching the redhead's mouth as it released its grip.

And then, of course, they kissed.  Lips smacked, tongues entwined, and they found themselves on their feet and arms around each other, their breasts, stomachs, and thighs pressed together.  The pair evoked the painting they'd posed for, so long ago—the painting in the bedroom where Jillian first awoke after her kidnapping—the painting that told her she was back at Silverberry.

Finally, the kiss ended.

"Polly won't be back 'til morning?" Jillian asked.

Caroline chuckled.  "She knows that if she does, I'll deal with her most harshly."

"What would you do?" Jillian whispered, and kissed Caroline again, this time using her white teeth to gently tug on her kidnapper's lower lip before releasing her hold.

"I'd make her watch our lovemaking, all night."  Caroline kissed Jillian's right ear.

"Tied to a chair?" Jillian muttered, "like this afternoon?"

"No," Caroline answered, "from the Secret Throne.  Polly hates the Secret Throne."

"Who doesn't?"  Jillian kissed Caroline, again.  "Okay, I'll bite."  And she did, gently, and this time it was Caroline's left earlobe.  "What is the 'Secret Throne'?"

Caroline grinned, broke the embrace, and strolled to a shoulder-height cabinet built into the wall opposite the foot of the massive, four-poster bed.  It had two panel doors with elaborately framed mirrored glass inserts, and above, a single horizontal drawer, also with a decorative mirror.  She thumbed a hidden switch, a motor hummed, and the cabinet opened. 

The horizontal drawer flipped up and the lower panels opened to either side; however, rather than being the simple wooden portals Jillian had expected, they were at least a foot thick, with sloping sides and numerous retracted bolts.  More the doors of a safe than furniture, the three parts obviously locked together into one very solid unit when the cabinet was closed.

Stranger yet, a large, bulky object was emerging from the cabinet on a metal track supported by heavy lever arms.  As it cleared the cabinet doors, it opened like a clam shell, revealing a chair constructed from thick, wooden timbers.  Numerous leather straps dangled from its arms, back, seat, and legs.

"As you can see," Caroline said, pointing at the deep, narrow slots in the horizontal section of the outer cabinet and the inner shell, " the top panel is a one way mirror, so the occupant of the Throne—"  She indicated the chair with a sweeping gesture.  "—has an unobstructed view of the bed.  The mirrors below are mere decoration."  She sat in the chair and buckled one of the straps, securing her left wrist to the left armrest.  "The chair is unpadded.  The inner encasement is inches thick and banded with steel, with only an inch or two of clearance for the occupant.  The entire arrangement is as secure as a bank vault."

Jillian smiled, strolled to the chair, and kissed Caroline's lips.  She then took hold of Caroline's right wrist and strapped it to the right armrest.

Caroline didn't resist, but simply watched, a smile curling her lips.

Jillian examined the chair.  "I see straps for the lower and upper arms, three straps for the torso, and straps for the thighs, knees, calves, and ankles, as well a neck strap and a gag-panel... or is it an integrated harness-gag?"

"Harness-gag," Caroline confirmed.  "It completely immobilizes the head.  Also, if you'll examine the inner encasement, the network of holes in the breast pockets house retractable, needle-sharp spikes, and the center cavities conceal nipple-stretching clips on spring-loaded chains."  She nodded at her lap.  "The seat conceals vibrating, penetrating probes, and it can be electrified."

"All computer controlled, of course," Jillian chuckled.

"Oh no!" Caroline said, gravely.  "It's randomly modulated by a Gibson Difference Engine down in the basement."

"I stand corrected," Jillian purred, then took a step back and smiled.  "So... once Polly's wrists are secured, you buckle the remaining straps, as tight as possible, set the controls to torment her naked, helpless body through the long, dark hours of the night, trigger the mechanisms that encase her in the claustrophobically tight embrace of the inner and outer shells—and then climb into your warm, comfortable bed and sleep like the proverbial baby?"

Caroline nodded.  "With Polly gazing at her slumbering mistress through the thick glass of the view-port as the machines work their magic.  Did I mention the night vision feature?"

Jillian smiled, reached down and unbuckled Caroline's right wrist, then strolled to the bed and climbed between the covers.

Caroline unbuckled her left wrist, stood, and triggered the Secret Throne's main switch.  The motor hummed, the chair slid back, the inner shell closed and retracted, and the outer doors closed.  She then strolled to the bed.  "When we were youngsters, you would have strapped me into that thing so tight I couldn't squirm, and set everything to maximum torment."

"With maturity comes wisdom," Jillian purred, "and restraint takes on all its meanings."

"A lesson your little sister has yet to learn," Caroline smiled.

Jillian nodded.  "I believe Hannah can help her in that department."  She held open the covers, and Caroline joined her in bed.

Caroline locked eyes with her guest, and smiled.  "Will Hannah require special handling to keep her on board?"

"Now you ask," Jillian laughed, and kissed her hostess.  "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think we'd have to sell Hannah and Sydney to billionaires on opposite sides of the globe to keep them apart.  All we have to do is bring them back together and get out of the way."

"Hannah doesn't need to get talked down?"

"Maybe," Jillian conceded, "a little... but we can discuss that later."

Caroline pulled Jillian into her arms.  "If you insist."

Kissing, more kissing, and other intimate activity ensued, and eventually... sleep.

Morning came very early for about half the maids.  Presumably, they were the shift responsible for helping Caroline's guests with their morning toilettes and/or were involved in breakfast preparations.  The remainder slept until the first rays of dawn reached the garret windows, and Hannah was allowed to "sleep in" with them.

Eventually, the others rose, made their beds, removed their nightgowns, donned terrycloth robes, and headed for the bathroom.

Hannah watched from the crib.

"What about her?" one of the maids asked, nodding at Hannah as they passed.

"What about her?" another responded, and they all giggled.

Hannah watched as the bathroom door closed.  She heaved a deep sigh.  They'd let her out... eventually.

The bathroom door opened again, immediately, and a dozen giggling maids padded to the crib.  "Just kidding," one of them said.  The crib was unlocked and Hannah was helped to her feet and hustled into the bathroom.

Far from being abandoned, Hannah was the center of attention, like the evening before.  She was led to the showers and several maids soaped her naked body and scrubbed her clean with washcloths.  They took their time, and were very thorough.  In fact, it soon became quite clear that hygiene was a secondary concern.  Hannah's wrists and arms were held in the firm but gentle grip of the maids, and her legs splayed and entwined with her fellow bathers' wet limbs.  Washcloths gave way to hands, and lips, and tongues.  Hannah's crotch received special attention, as did her nipples and neck, and face, and armpits, and... everything.

Hannah resisted like the brave Saxon Princess she was, of course (at least that was her story, and she was sticking to it).  However, as time passed, her reality slowly collapsed into a swirling maelstrom of warm water, gliding hands, wet bodies, and indescribable pleasure, until a crashing multiple orgasm coursed through her quivering body.

And then it was over... but for the multitude of soft, warm towels drying her skin... and the bask of the afterglow.

Hannah was led to a dressing table and a pair of maids fussed with her hair, using towels, a rather clunky hairdryer, and a comb and brush set to arrange her blond locks in a full, wavy ponytail secured at the nape of her neck by a wide, baby-blue ribbon tied in a large bow.  A contented (and somewhat goofy) smile curled her lips as she gazed at her reflection.  I could learn to like this place, she decided, as long as I stay out of the basement and away from Patricia's mad scientist lab and out of Jaclyn's torture chamber.  Of course, she didn't know for a fact that Jaclyn had a torture chamber, but it was a sure bet.  This place is like Foxwood—different, but the same.  It feels like Foxwood.  In fact, I think I could learn to love this place.

Her hair ready, Hannah was led back into the dormitory and dressed in what she was told was a "tea gown".  It was white, with a froth of lace and baby-blue ribbon decorations and a tight, baby-blue bodice.  Its yoke collar was low cut, its long sleeves puffed at the shoulder and buttoned tight at the wrists, and its skirts long and full.  Underneath, Hannah was wearing a camisole, knickers, white stockings with frilly garters, and baby-blue high button shoes. 

Hannah was no expert in Victorian garb, to say the least, but as she gazed at herself in a full length mirror, her impression was of a somewhat juvenile figure.  I look like Alice in Wonderland or Little Bo Peep, she fumed.  She turned to the watching maids, who by this time were all dressed in their uniforms.  "And now, I suppose you're going to tie me up, right?"

The maids giggled, and two of them came forward and kissed Hannah's cheeks.

Hannah recognized one of them as the fair-skinned blonde who had handled her rope leash, yesterday.

"We'll tie you up if you want, madam," the blonde giggled, "but wouldn't you rather go down to breakfast?"

Hannah's stomach growled.  "Breakfast sounds good."  She noticed the tiny maid Chloe in the crowd, and grinned.  "How's your butt?"

Chloe blushed and the others giggled.  "My butt is just fine, thank you," she answered, primly.

"Oh, it's more than just fine," a maid laughed.

"Like a pair of ripe, albino melons," another maid suggested.

"Mighty fine," yet another offered.

"Stop!" Chloe complained, blushing an even deeper shade of red.

The blond maid took Hannah's hand.  "Madam?"

"I could eat," Hannah said, and allowed herself to be led away.

Since she'd spent the night in the attic, Hannah expected to eat in the kitchen with the staff—like in Upstairs, Downstairs.  Instead, the blonde led her to a pair of sliding doors, opened a panel, kissed her on the cheek, and motioned for her to enter.

Beyond was a small dining room with a modest table.  A large window provided yet another view of the formal gardens.  Against the opposite wall, a long, narrow table supported a row of silver chafing dishes and a stack of china plates.

Only Jillian and Caroline were present.  Both were dressed in elegant tea gowns, costumes that bespoke privilege and sophistication.  Also, both were eating.  "Good morning," they both wished Hannah, and she returned the greeting.

"We breakfast country style," Caroline continued, gesturing towards the buffet.  "Please, join us."

You don't have to ask me twice! Hannah thought as she grabbed a plate.  There were three kinds of scrambled eggs (plain, with cheese, and with diced peppers), bacon, two kinds of sausages, ham, mashed potatoes, diced potatoes sauteed in onion and garlic, oven roasted potatoes, croissants, rolls, some kind of carrot cake, baked beans—  Beans?  —smoked herring, a thick, pudding-like mass of some sort (which Hannah did not add to her plate), and...

Whatever was in the rest of the dishes was moot, as Hannah's plate was already heaped to capacity.  She made her way to the table and settled into the chair next to Jillian.

Her boss and hostess (kidnapper) eyed the small mountain of food with amusement.  Jillian poured coffee into Hannah's cup.  Meanwhile, Hannah had begun to eat.

Jillian shifted her smile to Caroline.  "I take it you've been neglecting to feed my Saxon Princess?" she inquired.

"Hunger puts something of an edge on the abduction and ravishment experience," Caroline explained.  "She did receive some nourishment, assuming my instructions were followed."

Hannah ignored the teasing banter—and ate.

Eventually, Hannah was full.  I wish I was a Saxon, back at Foxwood, she thought.  There, heaving a loud belch wouldn't just be allowed, it would be polite.  In Caroline's elegant dining room, the opposite was true.

"All right, then," Caroline said, as they finished their coffee.  "Shall we get on with things?"

"What things?" Hannah muttered.

Jillian gave Hannah's hand a reassuring pat.  "Caroline has asked us to help entertain Pilar, and I accepted, on your behalf."

Hannah blinked in surprise.  "Entertain?  How?"

"No worries, Hannah," Caroline purred.  "Your role—"  She smiled at Jillian.  "—your roles, plural, will be entirely passive."  She lifted a small, silver bell from her place setting and gave it a shake.  "Of course, a little acting would be appropriate and appreciated."

Jillian smiled at her employee.  "Shock, terror, sympathy, nothing you haven't done before as a member of the Foxwood Players."

Hannah opened her mouth, but before she could demand further clarification, the sliding doors opened and four maids entered.  Between them they were carrying various brown leather straps and cuffs, all with shining brass buckles.

"Please don't resist," Caroline asked.

Hannah's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth again, this time to deliver a scathing rebuke—but Jillian's smiling face caught her attention.  Hannah sighed, rolled her eyes, and nodded.

The maids set to work, and in short order both Hannah and Jillian were bound in leather.  Wide cuffs, each with multiple small buckles, captured their wrists and their upper arms, above the elbows, and wide collars were strapped around their throats.  Their hands were behind their backs in the reverse prayer position, with each wrist-cuff clipped to its opposite elbow-cuff.  Leather straps linked the cuffs to the back of the collars and pinned their arms to their sides, yoking their shoulders and passing above and below their breasts.

"This is tight," Jillian noted as a maid tugged on the final buckle of her restraints.

"One of our simpler pony-girl arrangements," Caroline explained, "without the boots, corset, and hindquarter accouterments, of course."

Hannah caught herself before she could inquire as to the exact nature of "hindquarter accouterments".  At Foxwood, such questions often led to practical demonstrations, and it was a good bet Caroline's response might be similar.

"We'll also forgo the headstalls and training bits," Caroline added, then gestured to the maids.  "However..."

A pair of maids pulled rolls of white medical tape from their apron pockets and began applying strip after strip across the captives' mouths.  Jillian cooperated by pursing her lips and holding her head perfectly still.  Hannah did the same, but her expression made it clear she was not happy.

Finally, the maids snapped leather leads to rings in the front of the prisoners' collars and handed the end loops to Caroline.  They then curtsied and left the dining room, leaving the sliding doors open.

Caroline smiled at her helpless guests.  "By way of review, 'Pilar du Romany' is a Gypsy princess and highly skilled operative of the Illuminati Occidental, a secret organization dedicated to... something or other.  That's not important."  She walked towards the door, the leashes snapped taut, and Jillian and Hannah followed.

At least this time I'm not hobbled, Hannah fumed.  Jillie-bean better give me some sort of bonus for all this.

"What is important," Caroline continued, "is that Pilar penetrated my defenses in order to rescue one—"  She turned her head and winked at Hannah.  "—or more, of my guests, and she absolutely refuses to tell my staff who sent her... no matter how politely they ask."

They'd made their way to a back staircase and were descending to the basement level.

"Your role in this melodrama, Lady Foxwood," Caroline explained, "is that of the MacGuffin, the object of interest driving the plot."  She stopped and kissed Jillian's gagged lips, then the journey continued.  "The beautiful, red-haired, freckled object of interest, that is."  She smiled at Hannah.  "You, Hannah, are Her Ladyship's traveling companion.  Both are non-speaking roles.  No lines to memorize."

Hannah sighed through her gag.  Been there.  Done that.  'Bound and Gagged Damsel Number Two', got it.

The parade of three passed through a heavy door, down a dark hallway, through another door and down another hallway—passing the five holding cells with their hatch-like steel doors—and finally came to yet another door.

"Everyone in character?" Caroline inquired, smiling at her captives, then turned and opened the door.  They heard the quiet hum of machinery from beyond as the thick portal swung on its hinges.

They crossed the threshold and found themselves on the top landing of a set of stairs.  The room below was quite large and was cluttered with massive mechanisms of no apparent function.  Gears turned, counterweights on chains rose and fell, and lever arms rocked back and forth.  And in the center of the room, under the bright glare of several spotlights—

Hannah and Jillian forced gasps through their gags and their eyes popped wide as they stared at the spectacle below.

"Perfect," Caroline whispered to her captives.  "Just like that.  What a pair of troupers!"

Caroline started down the stairs, the leashes snapped taut, and Hannah and Jillian had no choice but to follow.