TALES OF THE FOXWOOD B&B _¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯by Van © 2009		_
		Chapter 3

Hannah sighed through her knotted cleave-gag, which was still Sydney's sweaty, musky, and now saliva-soaked loincloth.  She was chained against the wall of a stark, bare cell on the third floor of the Stone Tower, up on her toes with her arms raised high.  And speaking of stark and bare, she was still naked, of course.  Sydney would probably make 'naked' the standard Foxwood uniform for all Saxon Maidens, if Jillian would let her, the "suffering" prisoner thought.  The connecting chain of the shackles on her ankles passed through an iron ring set in the wall, down near the floor.  There was substantial slack in this part of her restrants, about three feet for each ankle, in fact.  However, there was no slack in the chains linked to the manacles on her wrists.  They traveled up and through an iron-rimmed hole in the ceiling, and were as taut as iron bars.  Her condition was the result of a recent "improvement" in the accommodations that Hannah, herself, had installed.  Thanks to her craftsmanship, an Evil Villainess (Sydney, at the moment) could vary the degree of stretch imposed on the Languishing Damsel (Hannah, at the moment) by turning a small hand crank recessed in a convenient niche out in the hallway.

Hannah sighed, again.  Her evil, pernicious, harpy bitch girlfriend had left her—quite literally left her—only one or two clicks short of full suspension, announcing that she was going down to the Common Room for "a cold one".  It was the pose Connie had specified for Hannah's first scene in the scenario, the first time she would be seen by one of their orange-banner customers.  (Hannah made a mental note to "discuss" the matter with Connie the next time she helped her "meditate", perhaps with the little bookworm naked and stretched out on the Spanish Rack, to see how she liked this sort of thing.)   Adding insult to injury, this wasn't scripted to actually happen until tomorrow, but Sydney had been "helping" her practice the pose for days, to "strengthen the Saxon's toes", as Sydney put it—but for a full hour??  It had to have been at least an hour since Sydney had chained her up, felt her up (the bitch!), and abandoned her!

Just you wait, Syd, Hannah fumed.  What goes around...

Her thoughts of revenge were interrupted by the sound of the cell door's lock turning, and then the heavy portal creaked open on oil-hungry hinges.

"Mmrrf!" Hannah growled as Sydney strolled into her cell.  She was wearing one of her standard Evil Baroness costumes, but not the skimpy variant she had worn earlier for the bike trip.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Sydney chuckled, then untied Hannah's gag.  "How are your toes?" she inquired.

"Killing me, thank you," Hannah huffed.

Sydney took a step back and smiled (her most evil, gloating, infuriating smile).  Seconds passed.  "No pitiful begging?" she finally inquired.

"Bite me!" Hannah growled.  She knew full well that begging only provoked the Evil Baroness to new heights of "cruelty".

"Oh, I intend to," Sydney purred.  "Well... nibble, anyway.  Can't risk damaging the merchandise before the big auction scene, now can we?"  She turned and strolled back through the door and into the hallway.

Hannah heard the metallic clicks and clacks of the crank being turned, and simultaneously, her manacle chains began rattling from the hole in the ceiling.  She sighed, came off her toes—Aaah!—then, as more and more of the chains rattled down, sat on the floor and rested her back against the wall.  The rattling continued until two or three dozen links of each chain were pooled on the floor.  The cranking stopped, and Hannah had as much freedom as the system would allow.  She couldn't reach the door, of course, but she was able to sprawl on the floor and make herself "comfortable".

"I'll bring you some supper, later," Sydney announced from the doorway.  "Do you want your gruel hot or cold?"

"Very funny," Hannah muttered.  "Is this really Jillian's idea, or are you just being—"  She was cut short by the slamming door.  "—a bitch?  Sydney?"  The key turned in the lock, and she heard, just barely, the sound of the bitch in question's boots tapping down the stairs.  "Orange-haired freak!!" Hannah shouted after her... but Sydney was gone... and she was alone.

Hannah gathered as much of the straw scattered around the cell as she could reach, which was most of it, and arranged it into a single pile.  It wasn't much, but it was better than lying on the hard floor, a great deal better.  By the angle of the sunlight streaming through the cell's heavily barred window, she judged it would be at least another hour before Kayley would even start to get serious about the evening meal.  I bet gruel isn't on the menu for Lady Jillian, Hannah fumed.  Syd's only teasing.  Kay-bear wouldn't waste time and food cooking a pot of gruel just so Baron Bitchiness can torment her girlfriend... probably... I hope.

Hannah lifted her manacled hands... and let them drop into her naked lap.  Okay, the Captured Saxon Maiden is Languishing in Chains and wondering what Fiendish Fate her Cruel Cymric Captors have in store for her.  She lay on her side and curled up on the straw.  Window dressing—that's all I am—window dressing, a damn prop!  Hannah closed her eyes.

She better come back with more that 'gruel', Hannah mused, and she better stay for a while, a looong while... and she better do something, a lot of something, to make up for all this... and she better bring a blanket.

The Arrival at Foxwood Keep
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{ & }~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---

Pilar trudged along in her captor's wake.

The previous night, after the shared and welcomely delicious meal of meaty stew, fresh bread, apples, and berries, the Wood-Elf had played with her "Desert Nomad toy", as she called Pilar, until midnight.  The grinning mercenary watched, comfortably sprawled on her bedroll on the far side of the campfire and sipping her wine.  It had been humiliating (and pleasurable, Pilar had to admit) to be bound hand and foot and naked, with the equally naked little elf squirming against her body, running her hands over her breasts, raining kisses on her lips (both sets of lips), and generally demonstrating her ability to caress, finger, and tongue all the right places on Pilar's writhing, captive form.

After several shivering orgasms, Pilar had finally been allowed to rest—and then, far too soon, it was dawn.  The sell-sword shook her awake, gave her a swig of water, and then restored her gag.

"You don't have to do that," the elf remarked.  "There is no one to hear her cries, not for many miles.  This is my people's forest.  I can tell."

"Pay me in full, right now," the mercenary growled, as she checked the knots of Pilar's bonds, "and I'll be on my way.  Otherwise, don't tell me how to handle my catch."

"As you wish," the elf giggled.  She helped Pilar to stand, then wrapped her loincloth around her waist and through her crotch.  The grinning little fey deftly tucked the ends secure, tightening and refining the fit with gentle, intimate adjustments.

"Since you enjoy handling the merchandise," the amazon said, "you can do her sandals.  And make sure you lace them tight.  We still have miles to go."

"But not too many," the elf replied, and laced Pilar's sandals on her feet.

Her captor and their guide quickly broke camp and packed their gear, and then they were back on the trail, with Pilar still box-tied and gagged, and still tethered by her neck with the end of her leash in her captor's hand.

They continued their journey, following the trail as it climbed up and down the wooded valleys and ridges.  And then it was mid-morning.

They emerged from the trees on the edge of a flowery meadow, an open slope on an otherwise forested hill.  On the far side of the clearing, overlooking a wide valley, was a magnificent (but strangely unfortified) holding.  A mix of stone and timber construction, it had three soaring towers, one of which was entirely of stone, a windmill spire with multicolored sails, and a mill house with a turning waterwheel.  An orange banner flapped from a pole atop the paramount tower.

The party walked across the clearing, crossed an arching bridge of interlaced logs spanning the mill stream, and approached the Keep.  A side door opened and two figures emerged.

The first was a Lady of perhaps two-score years, with the red hair and freckled features common among the Cymric and Gæls.  She was dressed in an emerald gown of soft velvet, with rust-brown, embroidered trim.

The second was another Wood-Elf.  She had long brown hair and was taller than the giggling guide with the busy hands who had bathed, fed, and extensively "sampled" Pilar the night before.  She was dressed in the manner of a human retainer: knee-boots, a leather kilt, and a sleeveless jerkin with a leaping fox badge stitched over her left breast.  Of course, most humans would have also worn tights and a linen shirt, but elves did tend to show more skin than was considered proper among the humans of this region.

Both women were very beautiful, the Lady and the Wood-Elf.

"So, you've finally arrived," the redhead observed, addressing the mercenary, "and very nearly too late to do me any good."  Her manner was one of authority; however, despite her harsh words, she didn't seem to be particularly upset.

"It took longer than expected," the amazon responded.  "I had to shadow a caravan for more than a week before one of the guards got sloppy and I could sneak past the picket line."

"I told you I needed at least two captives," the Lady continued, "and you bring me one.  I have buyers that must be satisfied."

"Not my problem," the sell-sword huffed.  "Pay me and I'll try and find you another.  Your buyers can wait."

"No, they cannot," the redhead sighed.  "The selections will be made tonight."  Her gaze shifted to Pilar.  She stepped forward, lifted the captive's chin and turned her head, examining her face.  "She'll do," she said, then cupped Pilar's left breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "She'll do quite nicely."

Pilar locked eyes with the red-haired Lady.  She hid her fear (she hoped) and tried to appear unconcerned, and perhaps a little... interested?  Defiance would probably be met with punishment, to break her spirit and make her easier to control.  Training of some sort was probably inevitable, but only a fool would provoke unnecessary pain.  Far better to make her captors (and would-be owners) think of her as docile.

"Hmm... something of a flirt," the redhead purred.

"She's a dancer, M'Lady," the little elf said.

"A dancer," the redhead repeated, then smiled at the tiny guide.  "Welcome back, Cricket."

The short-haired fey bowed.  "It is good to be back at Foxwood, M'Lady," she giggled.

Foxwood, Pilar thought.  So this is the famous Foxwood Keep.  A neutral holding, above feud and war, by agreement of all races and powers.  That explains the lack of walls.  I never heard they were also slavers.

"Cody, please see to our newest acquisition," Lady Foxwood said.  She was addressing the long-haired elf.

The mercenary took a step and placed herself between Pilar and the elf-retainer.  "My pay," she demanded.

"In good time," Lady Foxwood responded.  "Ashley, do you doubt my honor?"

"No, Your Ladyship," the sell-sword growled, "but I've learned to be careful."  She stepped back and tossed the end of Pilar's leash to the long-haired elf.

Ashley, Pilar mused.  My kidnapper finally has a name.

"You will be paid," Lady Foxwood said to Ashley, "but first, come join me for the midday meal.  Afterwards, we can relax in the Bath and you can tell me the full tale of how you caught this dancing beauty."

"I could use some food and a soak," Ashley answered.

Sandwiched between the two elves, Pilar was led through the open door and into the Keep.

Like the Keep's exterior, the interior was a mix of stone and wood, and was richly appointed.  Pilar was usually unimpressed by Borderland architecture.  Her tastes ran towards the ornate scroll work and airy arches of the palaces and temples of her native Desert Nomad cities.  Early in her career, she'd been privileged to dance in the houses of various nobles (and had managed to avoid finding herself a captive in one of their harems).  With their pastel, plastered walls and splashing water-gardens, they had been beautiful.  By comparison, Borderland "palaces" were barbarian hovels.  However, in the case of Foxwood Keep, Pilar was pleasantly surprised.  Obviously, Lady Foxwood had good taste and the resources to indulge it.

They quickly left behind the wax-polished paneling and intricately woven tapestries and entered an area comprised entirely of stone.  They began climbing a set of stairs, and passed two landings with heavy wooden doors.  Pilar realized she was in what could only be described as a prison tower.  They reached a third landing and paused while the long-haired elf unlocked another door.

Cody, Pilar reminded herself.  Lady Foxwood called her Cody, and the other is Cricket.

"Wait 'til you see what our mistress acquired in your absence," Cody said to her fellow-elf.  "Her Ladyship has kept me busy, teaching her her place."

"A feisty one?" the short-haired elf asked.

"We'll see," Cody purred.  "I may have succeeded in taming her, a little."  She opened the door and led Pilar into a hallway with three more doors.  "Hold this for me," she said, and handed Pilar's leash to Cricket.

Cricket took the leash, and placed her free hand on Pilar's rump.  "It will be my pleasure," she giggled.

"Don't get carried away," Cody chuckled,  "We don't have time."  She unlocked and opened the first door.

Pilar's eyes popped wide.  The space beyond was a stone cell, lit by a narrow, heavily barred window.  It was bare, except for the loose straw scattered on the floor, and for its occupant.  She was human, with blond hair parted down the middle and fashioned in long braids.  She was nude, and silenced by a knotted cleave-gag of rough-spun linen.  Her arms were raised and she was stretched up on her toes, with manacles and shackles on her wrists and ankles.  Her skin was smooth, tan, and glistening with sweat... or perhaps her skin had been oiled.  The blonde lifted her chin and gazed at Pilar with tired, blue eyes.

(And Pilar de la Calva, guest of Jillian Foxwood and the Foxwood B&B, had absolutely no idea who this beautiful blonde might be.  The appearance of a stranger in the scenario was totally unexpected... and exciting!  She recovered her composure.)

Poor thing, Pilar thought.  She looks exhausted... and she certainly is a beauty.

"A Dane?" Cricket inquired.

Cody shook her head.  "A Saxon.  In fact, a high-born Saxon by the quality of the gown I cut and ripped from her body."

"How?" Cricket inquired.

"She was delivered by fellow Saxons," Cody explained, "a pair of burly, ugly warriors.  Intrigue among the Saxon kingdoms, I suspect, but that's unimportant.  She's Lady Foxwood's property, now, and our responsibility, at least until she's sold."

Cricket strolled into the Saxon's cell, taking Pilar with her.  "Spirited, you say?"  She slid her hand between the blond captive's legs and clutched her sex.  The Saxon flinched and moaned in complaint.  "She doesn't seem all that spirited to me."

"You should have seen her yesterday," Cody purred, "before she spent the night in taut chains."

"I see," Cricket whispered.  Her lips were curled in a cruel smile.  She massaged the Saxon's labia, and the prisoner began shivering and tugging on her chains.  "She's ruttish enough," the little elf purred.

"Enough," Cody agreed, then turned and unlocked another cell.

Pilar locked eyes with her fellow prisoner.  Beautiful, she thought.  Whoever she is and whatever her story... she's beautiful.

The Saxon's eyes popped wide and she squealed through her gag.  Cricket had penetrated her sex with a probing finger and was tickling her clitoris.

Cricket withdrew her hand and gave her finger a slow, delicate lick.  "Delicious," she purred.

The Saxon's blue eyes narrowed and she forced a growl through her gag.

"Not completely broken, I fear," Cricket giggled, then led Pilar from the Saxon's cell and into the now open cell across the hall.  "Down," she ordered, and forced Pilar to her knees.

Cody lifted an iron collar and locked it around Pilar's throat.  Its attached chain trailed to a heavy staple embedded in the wall.  She then began untying the dancer's tether and bonds.

In short order, Pilar was completely free, but for her gag and collar.  The elves stepped back and she climbed to her feet, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders.  Finally!

"Strip," Cody ordered, as she coiled the ropes and slung them over her shoulder.

Strip, Pilar mused.  That's not much of a challenge.  She peeled off her loincloth, then untied and stepped out of her sandals.  She pointed at her gag with both hands.

Cody nodded.  "Speak when spoken to, and you may remove your gag."

Pilar untied the cleave-gag, then pulled the wad of cloth from her mouth.  She worked her jaw and licked her lips for several seconds.  "Thank you," she whispered.

Just then, they were joined by a redhead.  She was as short as the elf, Cricket, and was lugging two sloshing wooden buckets.  She was dressed in a dirty, sleeveless shift of burlap, and it was so ragged and torn it did little to hide the chastity belt locked around her waist and through her loins, or to cover her full breasts.  In fact, one of her nipples was peeking through a tear in the tattered frock.  A thrall's collar was around her neck, manacles on her wrists, and shackles on her ankles, all joined by a central chain.  Her feet were bare, her copper-red curls were an unruly mess, and her freckled body and pixie face were smudged with dirt and grime.

(A thrill rippled through Pilar's sex.  She very nearly dropped out of character, but managed to maintain her composure.  'Cinderella Alice' is absolutely adorable! she thought.  I could eat her right up!)

"Mistress orders that the new thrall be cleaned," the newcomer said, in a sad, tired voice.  Her chin was lowered and she gazed at the floor, in careful submission.

"She can clean herself," Cody said.  "Gather her rag and sandals," she ordered, then turned, left the cell, and relocked the cell holding the Saxon.

Cricket joined her fellow handler in the hall.

The little redhead stepped forward and placed her buckets on the floor at Pilar's feet.  One was half-filled with clear water.  The other held soapy water and a rough sponge.  "Do as they say, without question," she whispered to Pilar, "or they will punish you."

"Thank you," Pilar whispered back.  "What is your name?"

"Alice," the redhead responded.

"Mad Alice," Cricket giggled.  Obviously, she had overheard.  "The poor, demented little thing thinks she's a princess."

"Are you talking, again, Alice?" Cody inquired.

Alice's eyes popped wide, then she dropped her gaze to the floor, as before.  "No, Mistress,' she answered.

Cody stepped back into the cell, grabbed Alice by the hair, and tilted her head back.  "Talking and lying," she purred, smiling down at the little thrall's frightened face.

"I-I'm sorry, Mistress," Alice gasped.

"Bend over," Cody ordered.

"No, Mistress, please," Alice whined.

"Do it, thrall," Cody said, "or are you disobedient, as well?  You know what happens to disobedient thralls."

"No, Mistress!" Alice gasped, then bent at the waist and grabbed her shackled ankles with her manacled hands.  Her chains clinked and rattled as the links pooled on the stone floor.

Cody put her left arm around the thrall's tiny waist, then lifted the ragged hem of her shift, exposing her firm, pale butt, cleaved by the steel band of her chastity belt.  "You know what's expected," she purred, and gave Alice's right butt cheek a resounding slap!

"One!" Alice gasped.

Slap!

"Two!"

The spanking continued to a count of twelve, six on each cheek, and by that time the pitiful thrall was crying.  Her butt was now flushed a rosy pink.

Pilar stared in horror (and arousal).  She knew there wasn't any lasting damage, but that had to have hurt.  Brave little Alice, she thought.  I owe you for this, Little One.

Cody released Alice's waist, grabbed a handful of copper-red curls, and dragged the weeping thrall upright.  Alice's face was wet with tears.  She was trying to rub her butt with her hands, but her chains only allowed her to caress one cheek at a time.  "Get back to work," Cody growled, and released Alice's hair.

"Yes, Mistress," Alice sobbed, then stooped and grabbed Pilar's loincloth, sandals, and the makings of her former gag, and scurried out the door, as quickly as her chains would allow.

Cody pointed at the buckets.  "Get yourself cleaned up.  And don't make a mess, or you'll lick the floor dry."

"Yes, Mistress," Pilar whispered, and stared at the floor, mimicking Alice's submission.

"A quick learner," Cricket giggled.

"Not that it will do her any good," Cody chuckled, and strode through the door.

Pilar watched the door close and listened to the lock turn.  The collar and chain around her neck were heavy... but not too heavy.  She reached into the soapy bucket, wrung out the sponge, and began scrubbing her face.  She paused when she heard the faint sound of what was probably the clatter of rattling chains, from somewhere beyond her cell, then went back to scrubbing her naked body.

God, I love this place, she mused.  And who is that gorgeous 'Saxon' creature?

Sampling the Saxon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~{ or  }~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cody & Cricket’s Excellent Nookie Break
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{ & }~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---

Hannah settled to the floor as her chains continued rattling down.  Not too bad at all, she thought.  That was probably shorter than any of the practice sessions Syd put me through.  She was just being a bitch.  Big surprise.  She loosened her gag and pulled the knotted cloth from her mouth, letting it hang around her neck like a coarse and rather unattractive scarf.

The door opened and Cricket and Cody entered the cell.

"None the worse?" Cricket asked in a whisper.

"I'm fine," Hannah whispered back.  "Uh, you don't think she can hear us, do you?"

"Not through two doors," Cody whispered, as she closed the cell door.  "But why take chances?"

"Aren't you two supposed to be downstairs in the Bath?" Hannah asked, still whispering.

"Plenty of time," Cricket answered, settling into the straw on Hannah's left.

"They'll still be eating lunch," Cody added, "so we decided to take a break... and a snack."

Hannah frowned.  "A snack?  Hey!"

Cody had produced a padlock with a long, eight or nine-inch shackle, and was threading it through the first link in the chain attached to Hannah's right manacle.  With Cricket's assistance (and greatly helped by Hannah's lack of any meaningful resistance), the captive's hands were pulled behind her back and her ankles close to her butt.  Then, Cody threaded the padlock shackle through the first links of both ankle shackles and the left manacle, and snapped it shut.  Hannah was now kneeling in a rather stringent hogtie.  Cricket's arms were around her waist and the little fey was supporting her from behind.

"What's this for?" Hannah demanded.

"Whisper, Hannah," Cricket admonished.  The elf eased back against the wall, crossed her legs in a semi-lotus, then settled Hannah's head and shoulders down onto her lap.

"Okay, I'll whisper," Hannah huffed, "but I'm supposed to be on break 'til things get going this evening.  Hey—Mrmpfh!"  Cricket's left hand was over her mouth in a tight hand-gag.

Cricket smiled down into Hannah's face.  "Whispering, remember?"  She lifted her hand away.  "We can always use your gag, if you're having trouble controlling yourself."

"I'm not the ones with the control problems," Hannah hissed.  "What is this?"

"We told you," Cody purred.  She pulled Hannah's knees apart... and smiled down at the Saxon's exposed sex.  "We're taking a snack break."

"Pausing for Saxon Sushi, to be precise," Cricket giggled.

"Sushi?" Cody asked, with a skeptical smile.

"I think I'm turning Japanese," Cricket said, perfectly deadpan.  "I really think so."

Cody rolled her eyes and shook her head, then her gaze returned to Hannah's crotch.

Hannah sighed.  "Uh, look," she objected, "I'm supposed to be 'Captive Number Three', in this farce, not 'Nonstop Orgy Participant Number Three'."

"Same thing," Cricket giggled, "more or less."

Still smiling, Cody leaned close and gave Hannah's labia a slow, wet lick.

Hannah shivered and opened her mouth to "complain"—and was immediately "gagged" by Cricket's probing tongue and sucking lips.

"Don't worry," Cody purred.  "We'll make it quick... no more than two or three orgasms.  We do have to get down to the Bath."  She set to work, licking and nibbling Hannah's sex in earnest—while Cricket and Hannah continued their face-sucking, with an enthusiasm worthy of Kayley.

Naked Treachery!
~~~~~~~~~~~{ & }~~~~~~~~~~~

---

Ashley sighed and settled into the bubbling water of the hot tub.  Lady Jillian was already in the tub, occupying the seat opposite.  Both were naked, of course.  The noon meal had been delicious, although Ashley had drunk more of the excellent mead than she knew was prudent.  She didn't like being separated from her broadsword (or her belt dagger, or the dagger in her boot, or the mini-dagger concealed under the back edge of her corset-belt), but everyone was naked (and therefore disarmed) in the Roman Bath.  Even servants went naked.

As if confirming the point, the door to the changing room opened and the little red-haired thrall, Alice, entered the Bath.  She walked around the main pool and towards the lounging alcove, balancing a tray with wooden cups and a jug of wine in her hands.  In truth, the little thrall wasn't quite naked, as she was locked in a chastity belt and a full set of serving chains.  She knelt beside the tub and set the tray on the stone floor, then poured wine into a cup and handed it to Lady Jillian.  She filled a second cup, and presented it to Ashley.

"Your thrall is filthy," Ashley observed.

"I let her bathe when she starts to smell," Jillian purred, "but she's having a difficult time learning her place, so I don't indulge her with luxuries."

The door to the changing area opened, again, and Her Ladyship's elf retainers entered.  They were totally naked, of course.

"How do you get the fey to work for you?" Ashley whispered, sipping her wine.

"Cody and Cricket enjoy life at Foxwood," Lady Jillian answered, "but I realize that they are elves, and might run off and gather flowers or chase butterflies on a whim—but they have been loyal retainers, and none can match them in the forest."

Ashley watched the elves draw near the tub.

"A towel to cushion your head, M'Lady?" Cody offered.

"Please," Lady Jillian purred.

Both elves walked to a row of baskets against the far wall.

"Ashley," Lady Jillian said.

Ashley focused on the Mistress of the Keep.  "M'Lady?"

"I wish to discuss our agreement," Jillian said.  "I made it quite clear that I wanted two captives, did I not?"

"I've already explained what happened," Ashley huffed.  "I'll accept a lesser fee.  I must recover my costs and make some profit, but I won't ask for the full amount we agreed upon."

The elves had returned and were kneeling at the edge of the tub, Cody on Ashley's right, and Cricket on her left.  Cody leaned over and handed a folded towel to her Mistress, while Cricket turned and accepted a cup of wine from Alice.

"All of which doesn't help me satisfy my customers," Jillian sighed, then her face brightened.  "Ah!  I have a solution."

"A solution?" Ashley muttered, reaching out with her cup for a refill.  Suddenly, hemp nooses tightened around her wrists and snapped taut!  "Hey!"  It was the elves, and they were hitching the ropes through lashing points carved in outer rim of the tub.  At the same time, Jillian had surged forward and she was sitting on Ashley's lap.  Her Ladyship tossed the towel away, revealing a dagger.  She leaned forward, until their faces were inches apart and their nipples touched under the hot, bubbling water, and pressed the blade against Ashley's throat!  With her left hand, she clutched a handful of the mercenary's sodden, auburn hair.

"The solution is quite obvious," Jillian whispered.

"I'll kill you for this," Ashley growled.  I'll kill you all—Rrrf!"  The elves had finished knotting the ropes and were cramming a coarse linen cloth into Ashley's mouth.  They then tied a second cloth as a tight cleave-gag to keep the stuffing in place.

Jillian locked eyes with her newest acquisition and her lips curled in an evil smile.  "I told you I wanted two captives," she repeated, "and at Foxwood Keep, I always get what I want."