by Van ©2013
		Chapter 1

It was one of Lady Jane Tydwell's favorite diversions.  She was comfortably seated in the shade and dressed in an elegant fuscia gown appropriate for one of Her Majesty's garden parties (with matching, wide brimmed hat, of course), and she was enjoying afternoon tea.  With her at table were her daughter, Cressida, and Edna Morris, the Mistress of her household staff.

Their current location was also one of Her Ladyship's favorites: a courtyard of Tydwell Castle, her ancestral estate in rural Somerset.  The northern end of the venue was a broad alcove tucked against the castle's curtain wall and between two defensive towers of the ancient fortress.  The stone walls were covered with flowering vines and the ground between the widely spaced paving stones host to lush strips of well-trimmed grass.  The southern end of the courtyard was similar, but with varieties of vines and grasses more suitable to the shade.  At this time of the year the micro-climate of the northern, sunny end was pleasantly Mediterranean, even North African on a cloudless day like today.  The shady side was also quite comfortable, warmed by the heat radiating from the ancient stones opposite.

"More tea, mother?" Cressida inquired, indicating the Royal Worcester service on the table.

"Thank you, my dear," Lady Jane smiled.  She watched as her daughter lifted the pot and refilled her cup, spilling nary a drop, as expected of a graduate of the Institut Villa Pierrefeu near Lake Geneva.  Cressida was also an Oxford graduate. Lady Tydwell had made sure her daughter had both the academic and social educations expected of her station.

Cressida's gown was purple, and as always, the twenty-something brunette was simply stunning.  Granted, Lady Jane viewed her only offspring through the eyes of maternal love, but in purely objective terms, Cressida was stunning.  Her brown eyes sparkled and her firm, smooth skin glowed with health, as did her athletic but very feminine body.  The dusting of freckles across her pert nose might have been considered less than ideal in times past, but she was the perfect 21st Century English Rose—the perfect 21st Century English Country Rose.  She was, if one would forgive a mother's pride, the perfect daughter in every way.

"Edna?" Cressida offered.

"Yes, please," Edna answered and Cressida refilled her cup.  Edna then added a splash of milk and took a sip.

Edna's gown was bone-white and her complexion fair.  She was perhaps ten years older than Cressida, and while also a brunette with brown eyes, her hair and eyes were darker.  Many would say her entire demeanor was darker, perhaps even slightly... sinister?  In any case, her features were quite attractive and her well-toned physique slender and feminine.  It might be considered unusual for a servant, even the senior manager of Her Ladyship's entire domestic staff, to be joining the family for tea, but the familiarity was one of many eccentricities Lady Tydwell's social peers were willing to overlook.

And speaking of eccentricities...

A large, rectangular framework of heavy timbers was positioned in the southern courtyard.  It was low to the ground, canted at an angle of perhaps twenty degrees, and pitched towards the tea-drinkers comfortably seated in the shade.  A network of taut ropes stretched across the frame, and spreadeagled on this rope bed was a naked woman.  Her wrists and ankles were locked in wide cuffs of polished steel and linked to the four corners of the frame by taut runs of steel chain.  In addition, she was gagged by the two-inch, black rubber sphere of a ball-gag.  It was held in her mouth by a narrow strap of black leather buckled at the nape of her neck, under her tousled brown hair.

The helpless damsel was Morena Velzen.  Aficionados of the Classical viola would be shocked and scandalized by her predicament, of course, but would have recognized her instantly.  The Dutch beauty was quite famous, having been a guest soloist with the great orchestras of the world since she was a teenager.  Now in her early thirties, Morena's career was still on the ascendant; however, she was currently on hiatus and taking a needed rest from her hectic and demanding concert schedule.

And speaking of hectic...

Morena struggled and tugged on her inescapable steel bonds and forced gurgling, well-muffled protests past the gag.  Her blue eyes flashed with outrage, or was it fear?  She tossed her head, causing her long, brown locks to flutter in the still, hot air.  All of this was in direct response to her captivity, of course—but there was more.

Morena had been dressed in a summer gown of slate-blue and dove-gray that perfectly complimented her blue eyes.  She'd been invited to afternoon tea and was quite enjoying participating in the English ritual, playing dress up and chatting with Her Ladyship, Cressida, and Mistress Edna.  Then, suddenly, five of Lady Jane's maids had appeared.  All were barefoot and dressed in white robes, as if about to take a dip in the castle moat.  This was not unprecedented.  The previous day Morena had watched from her bedroom window as members of the staff skinny-dipped in the moat.  It had been... charming.  However, what the maids did next was anything but charming.

The maids opened their robes and let them drop to the paving stones, then grabbed Morena and dragged her from the table!  Her protests were ignored as the naked maids stripped off her hat, gown, and underwear.  In fact, Lady Jane, her daughter, and Mistress Edna watched with open amusement as the gag was forced into Morena's mouth, buckled tight enough to make her cheeks bulge, and she was dragged to the cloth-covered object across the courtyard she'd taken for some sort of low stage.  The cloth was jerked aside and neatly folded while the maids held her helpless; and Morena's eyes popped wide as she beheld the waiting rope frame and open steel shackles.

Despite her vigorous resistance, Morena soon found herself to be completely helpless, stretched across the taut hemp net with her wrists and ankles locked in cold steel.  The maids departed, taking her gown, underwear, and hat with them, and there was a brief respite.  She blinked in the hot sunlight, glared at her hostess, and tugged on her bonds.  The elegant trio at the table continued to smile, sip tea, and nibble on sandwiches.

Finally, three of the maids returned.  Like all members of Her Ladyship's domestic staff, the young women were quite attractive.

Two were carrying small, clear glass bottles of some sort of amber liquid.  One was a blond with tan skin.  The other had her brown hair cut in a short, Lulu-style bob.  Freckles dappled her somewhat fairer complexion.

The third maid was African.  As Morena had learned earlier, she was of the Kikuyu tribe of Kenya.  Her hair was closely cropped, her skin very dark, and she was carrying a silver tray draped with a white towel.

The two White maids unstopped their bottles and poured dollops of the contents onto their palms, then set down the bottles and rubbed their hands together.  And then they began spreading what turned out to be floral-scented oil on Morena's skin, starting with her breasts.

"Mrrrrrf!"

"Does she think she's fooling us," Cressida inquired, speaking quietly so Morena couldn't hear.

"Hers is quite the common reaction," Lady Jane purred.  "Our pretty guest knew something like this was going to happen, but is playing the reluctant victim, nonetheless.  Morena now has precious few choices.  Let her have whatever fantasies she might find pleasing.  Her body will be mine for the next few weeks, regardless."

The White maids continued rubbing oil on Morena's writhing form, enlarging the scope of their sliding hands and being quite diligent in giving Morena's entire body a generous, glistening coat of oil.  Meanwhile, the Black maid lifted the towel, revealing a safety razor, a tin of Geo. F. Trumper's Rose Shaving Cream, a shaving brush, a ceramic mug, and a carafe of what turned out to be hot water.  With practiced skill she produced a mug of white suds, then used the brush to give Morena's crotch a generous, soapy coating.

"Nrrrrm!"

"Now that is certainly unexpected," Edna chuckled.

"Yes," Lady Jane agreed.

"Wicked," Cressida whispered, her lips curled in a coy smile.

The Kenyan maid picked up the razor and gave it a playful twirl between her brown fingers.  And then, her laughing brown eyes locked with Morena's horrified blue orbs, she leaned close and began shaving Morena's pubic bush with slow, careful, deft strokes.

"Mfff!"

Cressida lifted her cup to take a sip of tea—and happened to focus on a window in one of the towers flanking the courtyard.  Reflected in its glass panes she could see another window, this one set in the wall at her back.  She knew the second window had a perfect view of the unfolding melodrama in the southern courtyard, and Cressida could just make out the distorted image of a face gazing down at Morena and the naked maids.  Cressida's smile broadened.  She also noted the orange hue of the hair framing the watcher's visage.  "Excuse me, mother," she said as she set down her cup.  "I have something to which I must attend."

Lady Jane's eyes were on the slow, deliberate defoliation of Morena's crotch.  "What could you possibly find more compelling than the erotic humiliation of our beautiful, supremely talented guest?"

"I believe it's a matter of staff discipline, milady," Edna chuckled, "something which would normally fall within my purview.  However, in this case I have no objection to delegating the matter to Mistress Cressida."

"Most kind," Cressida purred.  "Mother?"

Her smiling gaze still on Morena and the maids, Her Ladyship waved a dismissive hand.

Cressida rose from her chair and disappeared through a nearby door.

"Her loss," Lady Jane shrugged.

"Perhaps," Edna responded.

Across the courtyard, the African maid had finished shaving Morena's crotch and was wiping away the remaining suds with the towel.  Meanwhile, her fellow maids continued oiling the gagged, spreadeagled, and weakly struggling musician's body.

Corky gazed out the window at the courtyard three floors below.  The last seven weeks had been... dreamy.

Since joining the ranks of the Tydwell Castle staff, the twenty-something American had witnessed many shocking and wonderful things.  She'd watched (discretely) a half-dozen times as Lady Jane had entertained her friends—and by "entertain" she meant Her Ladyship sipping tea and watching as three or more of the senior maids stripped and bound one of her famous and/or rich female guests into some hideously uncomfortable position, then ravished their helpless bodies in various ways. 

And then there was what happened in the maids' dormitory at night.

On infrequent occasions—okay, make that frequent, as in usually three or four times a week—one of her fellow maids would be grabbed, bound, gagged, and diddled.  And the term "diddled" was the chosen vernacular among the maids for having one's boobs squeezed, nipples sucked, licked, and tweaked, and pussy pleasured while bound and gagged, thus unable to resist or protest.  Corky could think of a few different words she might have used to describe the experience, but "diddle" was the accepted jargon.

Anyway, one or more of the senior maids would appear, make a seemingly random selection from among the "slumbering" junior maids, and the binding, gagging, and diddling would commence.  It was quite frightening to cower under the covers in one's bed, dressed only in a skimpy nightie, as the selection was made and the "terrible ordeal" began for one of her fellow domestics.  And the truly terrible thing was—Corky was never the chosen victim!

Hence the dreamy part, as all Corky could do was dream about being tied to her bed and ravished while the others watched in "horror."  There were only so many members of the junior staff, but in seven weeks it had never been Corky's turn.

It was obvious what was going on.  Corky was the newbie and she was being hazed.  But how could not being bound, gagged, and diddled be considered hazing?  The answer was in an old joke.  Question: how do you punish a masochist?  Answer: you don't do nasty things to her.

Not that Corky O'Brien was a masochist, of course, but you weren't recruited and hired as a Tydwell maid if you didn't have a demonstrated propensity for, shall we say, restrained fun.  Yes, Corky was being hazed.  It was the only explanation, and it was confirmed by Tippi, one of her fellow junior maids.  While they were dusting the library together the previous Thursday, the gorgeous blond from Uppsala had explained (in her lilting Swedish accent) that she'd suffered through a diddle drought of four months before she was selected by the senior maids for the first time.  Making the new maids wait for it was something of a tradition.

So... all Corky could do was hang in there and diligently perform her assigned tasks, covertly observe Her Ladyship's diversions whenever she could, and cower in her bed and listen as other junior maids were diddled.

It was frustrating, but other than making Corky responsible for her own orgasms, everybody couldn't be nicer.  Even the "Big Bad Wolf," Mistress Edna, was nice... after a fashion.  Tydwell Castle was a wonderful place to work and everyone couldn't be friendlier, just not friendly in that way... not yet.

As Corky was on duty and supposedly dusting the hallways, she was dressed in staff uniform: a short-sleeved, mini-skirted version of the traditional black linen dress with frilly, white lace trim and generous décolletage.  The outfit included black high-heels (with ankle straps), smoky black nylons held up by black garters trimmed in white lace, a flouncy white underskirt, and "traditional" undies in the form of camisole, frilly knickers, and bra.  ("Knickers," of course, is British slang for "panties," a fact Corky found to be quite amusing.)  Finally, a white lace cap was pinned atop her long, ginger hair and a black ribbon with yet more white lace was tied around her throat.  She looked ridiculous, in her humble opinion... and HOT, also in her humble opinion.

But then, all the maids looked hot, in or out of uniform.  The entire Castle staff was a United Nations of Hotness, beautiful, mostly young women from across the globe.

At least today isn't a designated 'Victorian Day,' Corky thought.  On the not infrequent occasions when Lady Jane hosted one of her fancy dress Victorian parties, Mistress Edna decreed the staff would also wear period costume, and for the entire day, even though the guests wouldn't even start arriving 'til after dark.  Corky and her fellow domestics would lace each other into tight linen corsets (with synthetic whalebone stays), then climb into wasp-waist, long sleeve, full skirt, high collar versions of their maid uniforms.  The only other change was the usual high heels being replaced by high-button boots.  It had only happened once since Corky joined the staff, but once had been enough.  Tottering around with a feather duster, barely able to breathe, "Victorian Days" were an ordeal... and also kinda hot.

Corky liked "hot."  She liked it enough that she was taking the risk of neglecting her dusting duties to covertly watch as three of the senior maids diddled Mistress Velzen, Lady Jane's current guest.  Corky wasn't much of a Classical Music fan, but even she had heard of Morena Velzen.  The musician's gorgeous, girl-next-door looks and dimpled smile were very easy on the eyes.  It had always been obvious that Morena had a hot body, but now that body was on full display in the courtyard below, spreadeagled on the rope net, shining with oil, ball-gagged, and writhing in taut, inescapable steel chains.  Janice, the blond maid from Dover, was sucking on Morena's right nipple while Margo, the Glasgow lass with the pageboy, was sucking on her left.  Angavu, the Kenyan maid—who was very nice, by the way, even to Corky-the-new-girl—was between the viola player's splayed legs and diligently diddling Morena's freshly shaved pussy with her lips and tongue.

Corky reversed her grip on her feather duster, lifted her short, lace-trimmed skirt and frilly underskirt, reached between her legs, and pressed the hardwood handle against the seat of her knickers.  She slowly slid the rounded, fluted dowel against her pussy.  Yes, she liked "hot."

Suddenly, Corky heard the swish of cloth from somewhere behind her back.  She started to turn and—  "Mrrrpfh!"  The duster fell from her hand and her green eyes popped wide as she was grabbed from behind!  Her elbows were crushed together behind her back and a strong, feminine hand was clamped over her mouth.  "Mmmf!"

"Quiet, you little slacker," a voice hissed in Corky's right ear.  She recognized the voice of Mistress Cressida, Lady Jane's only daughter.  She also recognized the younger Tydwell's perfume, from the times when it had been her turn to change Cressida's bedsheets.

"Pleasuring yourself as you spy on Mother's guest," Cressida purred, "when you should be about your work.  The very idea.  Explain yourself."

The hand left her mouth and Corky licked her lips before answering.  Her heart was pounding.  "N-no excuse, Mistress," she stammered.  "I'm very sorry."

"You should be sorry," Cressida responded, "you shameless little Yank.  Hold still."

"W-what are you going to do?" Corky gasped.  Cressida was binding her crossed wrists behind her back, using some sort of very thin cord... a great deal of very thin cord.  "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Not as sorry as you will be," Cressida promised.  "Now, stop wiggling."

Corky tried to hold still.  More cord was tightening around her upper arms, just above her elbows, at least a dozen doubled turns... make that two dozen.  Then, the neat, flat bands were cinched several times.  With her wrists crossed, her elbows couldn't be bound touching without causing her significant pain, but they were close, separated by only an inch or two of tightly wrapped cord.  The bondage rolled her shoulders back and caused her breasts to bulge against the confines of her bra and the low-cut dress.  Next, Cressida lifted the hem of Corky's uniform and began tugging down her knickers!  "Mistress!" Corky complained.

"Shut it," Cressida chuckled as she continued pulling down Corky's knickers.  Her left arm was around the maid's waist, holding her steady as she stepped out of the silky white garment.  "Here, let me help you hold your tongue."

"No, Mistress—Nrrrf!"

Cressida had crumpled the knickers into a wad and was stuffing it in Corky's mouth.  The lace-trimmed undergarment were big, nearly a pair of "granny panties," so it was a tight fit, but she managed to cram most of the white mass between the wide-eyed maid's coral lips.  "Don't you dare spit that out," Cressida whispered in Corky's right ear.  "Blink twice if you understand."

Corky blinked twice, as ordered.  Truth be told, she was quite sure she couldn't spit out the wad if she tried.  By working her jaw and wiggling her tongue she should be able to eventually dislodge the cloying mass, but a single forceful expulsion was out of the question.  "Mmpfh!"  Cressida had clutched a handful of her red hair and was pushing her down the hallway.

"Stop squirming," Cressida ordered.  "If you make me rip this gown you'll be very sorry."  They were approaching a back staircase that led up to the family and guest bedrooms.  "Amend that," Cressida chuckled.  "You'll be even more sorry."

Corky's heart was still pounding and her green eyes wide with "terror," but in addition, her naked crotch was... tingling.

Junior Upstairs Maid Corky O'Brien very much suspected her hazing was about to become a thing of the past.

Morena's breasts heaved as she panted through flaring nostrils and forced air past the ball-gag plugging her mouth.  Her skin was flushed and shining with oil and sweat, and her brown locks hung in a damp, tousled mass.  She was still spreadeagled on the taut web of rope and fettered by her ankles and wrists to the four corners of its heavy timber frame.  She was also still recovering from the experience of being forcibly stripped and restrained, not to mention the humiliation of having her pubis shaved and her breasts and pussy licked, suckled, and tongue-teased until she'd screamed through her gag as an incredible multiple-orgasm engulfed her mind and body.

Slowly, Morena's breathing and heart rate returned to normal.  A shadow blocked the sun and she opened her eyes, blinking away stinging beads of sweat.  Lady Tydwell was gazing down at her pinioned form.  A smile curled the aristocrat's lips and her eyes danced—her mesmerizing, mismatched eyes.  Lady Jane's right eye was brown, and her left blue.  In ages past the anomaly would have marked her as a potential witch, but in the enlightened present, mismatched eye color, or complete heterochromia, was simply exceedingly rare.  And in Her Ladyship's case, it blessed her already great beauty with a touch of the exotic.  Morena tugged on her steel bonds and glared at her captor (and carefully ignored the frisson of delight rippling through her crotch and up her spine).

Mistress Edna was at Her Ladyship's side, as was the maid Angavu, and the Kenyan beauty was back in her white robe.

Lady Jane continued smiling at Morena.  "Remove her gag after I leave," she said, addressing Edna.  "I don't want the strap to leave a tan line.  If she starts screaming, punish her until she learns some manners."

Edna nodded to Angavu and the maid curtsied.  "Yes, Mistress."  She reached into the pocket of her robe and produced a shock-wand, a rechargeable model the size of a small electric torch.  Morena stared at the two blunt copper studs at its business end.  Still smiling, Agavu turned the device in her hand, making sure Morena got a good look, then returned it to her pocket.

"Morena's practice room is prepared?" Her Ladyship inquired.

"Yes, milady," Edna answered.  "The northwest dungeon has excellent acoustics, thanks to its large size and high, vaulted ceiling.  A straw palette for sleeping has been placed in a side alcove and there's running water and a stone commode in the alcove opposite.  Once fitted with full chains, Miss Velzen will have the run of the cell, but will be unable to approach within ten feet of the barred gate, much less the main door beyond."

Morena's heart was racing again.  She suspected Mistress Edna wasn't telling Lady Jane anything she didn't already know.  The description of the "practice room" was for her benefit.

"Excellent," Lady Jane said.  "At least for now, the wrist and ankle fetters may remain.  Eventually, I want them removed for her daily tanning sessions."

"I assume you want her belted?" Edna asked.

"Of course," Lady Jane nodded.  "I don't want her pleasuring herself at night.  I don't want her pleasuring herself ever, not until after the concert."  She gestured to an iron ring embedded in the south-facing wall.  "And she has to be chained in some manner while she takes the sun.  A belt will do nicely."

"Diet and exercise?" Edna inquired.

"Slop, if she's difficult," Lady Jane purred.  "Normal fare otherwise.  She'll take some meals with the family, suitably restrained, of course."

"Of course," Edna nodded.

"As for exercise," Her Ladyship continued.  "The usual.  The staff gymnasium, the treadmill in the south torture chamber, the dog-paddling cage in the moat—make sure she remains fit."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And practice," Lady Jane continued.  "Make sure she's properly motivated."

"Yes, Mistress."

Lady Jane turned and left the courtyard.

Morena lifted her gagged head and watched her go, then focused on Edna.

"The gag," Edna ordered, and Angavu leaned across the frame, turned Morena's head and unbuckled the ball-gag, then plucked the glistening rubber sphere from her mouth.  It came free with an audible pop.

Morena worked her jaw and licked her lips, her pale blue eyes on Edna.  "Please," she gasped.

"Silence," Edna ordered.  "Unless you enjoy pain, you will speak only when spoken to and will follow every command."  She turned to the grinning maid.  "Be sure and renew the tanning lotion on her face before leaving.  Return in one hour with sufficient help to take her down to her new quarters without incident.  And make sure all of her possessions are packed and placed in storage.  Miss Velzen will have no further need of clothing until Her Ladyship decides she may leave the castle."

"Yes, Mistress," Angavu curtsied.

The maid and spreadeagled captive watched as Mistress Edna made her departure.  Then, Morena focused on Angavu and licked her lips.

"Yes, I know," the Kenyan beauty chuckled.  "You are thirsty.  I will bring you something to drink, something cold and potent."  She then unstopped one of the bottles of oil, poured a dollop on her palms and rubbed them together, then slowly, gently, spread the oil, which Morena now knew to be tanning lotion, on the captive's already glistening face.

"Thank you," Morena whispered, hoping her politeness wouldn't lead to punishment.

"Hush, pretty one," Angavu purred as she stopped the bottle and set it down, then walked towards the doorway at the shaded end of the courtyard.  Without another word or even a glace back at the helpless captive basking in the hot sun, she left.

Morena sighed and relaxed in her bonds.  It was exactly as she'd hoped it would be.  She was a captive of Her Ladyship, and could do nothing about it.  She was a damsel-in-distress, with no Prince Charming coming to rescue her.  The frisson returned to her pussy and butterflies fluttered in her tummy.  It was a delicious fantasy, and of equal importance, it was real!  She tugged on her chains.  The steel fetters were real, the skill with which the maids had handled her was real, and she had no doubt the thick, subterranean stone walls and steel and timber doors of her "practice room" would be very real.

So, she mused, is all of this fantasy?  She tugged on her chains, again.  Or not?  And does it matter?

Corky squirmed on the soft carpet, testing her bonds for what felt like the millionth time since Mistress Cressida had dragged her to her bedroom, stripped her of her uniform, bound her so tightly she could barely twitch... then abandoned her.

All elements of Tydwell Castle staff attire have a curious common feature, not counting their skimpy, sexy designs, of course.  Every sleeve and strap is held closed by tiny ribbons, thin laces, or hidden fasteners.  This meant a fully clothed maid could be rendered fully unclothed, even if her wrists and elbows were bound behind her back, as had been the case with Corky.  Cressida had made short work of Corky's dress, underskirt, camisole, and bra.  She then divested Corky of her shoes, removed her garters, and peeled off her stockings.

Next, her knickers still crammed in her mouth and filling it to capacity, Corky watched as Cressida strolled into her walk-in closet.  She supposed she could scramble to her bare feet, pad to the closed door, get it open, and run naked down the hallway, making a break for it... but to where?  What was the point?  Any staff she encountered would return her to Cressida.  And then...  A delicate thrill quivered through Corky's pussy.  After such an escape attempt, who knew what "horrible" things Cressida would do to her?

In less than a minute Cressida returned, now without her gown or her elegant, hideously expensive open-toed shoes.  Clad only in stockings, garter belt, very French-cut, thong-like knickers, and strapless bra, she opened the lowest drawer of her bedside table and produced several distressingly large bundles of the same thin cord already lashing Corky's wrists and elbows.

And then, the binding commenced.

Corky's ankles were crossed and tied.  Then, her legs were folded back until her heels touched her butt, her thighs were bound to her lower legs, and her wrists to her ankles.  More cord tightened around her forearms and waist and was cinched between her arms and between her arms and waist.  Next, cord bands tightened around her upper arms and torso, above and below her breasts.  They also yoked her shoulders and were anchored to her elbow bonds.  In each case, Cressida used dozens of strands of doubled cord, as she had with Corky's wrists and elbows.

Cressida stood and smiled down at her naked prisoner.

Corky rolled onto her side and returned her captor's gaze.

After several seconds, Cressida turned and strolled back to the closet.  She returned almost immediately with a tangle of brown leather straps and steel buckles.  She shook it out and it was revealed to be a head-harness, somewhat like an equestrian headstall.  It buckled at the nape of Corky's neck, pressing a wide panel of chamois-thin leather across her stuffed mouth and firmly against her lips, then buckled under her chin, around her forehead, and across the crown of her head.  Ancillary straps and buckles were secured, turning the harness into a tight, veritable cage of thin straps.  Corky's flushed cheeks bulged against the top of the gag-strap and against the pair of straps framing her button nose before they met at the center of her forehead.

Finally, Cressida tightened the hogtie by knotting a cord through a D-ring riveted to the top of the harness, stretching it back to her ankle bonds, pulling out the slack until Corky's chin left the carpet, then tying a neat, redundant knot.

Corky squirmed and tested her tight, incredible bondage.  Expelling the knickers from her mouth was now totally impossible, and her fluttering fingers could touch nothing of consequence, certainly not any knots she could even attempt to untie.

Cressida padded to the closet a third time.  In about a minute she returned, having changed into sandals and a sundress, appropriate for the season and the castle day-wear preferred by her mother.  She smiled down at the naked, hogtied redhead.  "Mother has taught me to be sporting, even with disobedient servants.  Therefore, you have one hour to escape.  If you succeed, you may dress and resume your duties.  But if you fail, you will be my plaything until I tire of you.  I quite enjoy binding and gagging members of the staff, as well as using their bodies to explore the various features of the torture engines in the chambers below."  She strolled to the bedroom door, pulled it open, then paused in the threshold.  "It's only fair to warn you that the last time a maid was able to free herself from my ropes... I was twelve."

The door closed and Corky was alone.

The naked, hogtied, and harness-gagged captive fought her bonds for a full minute, with all her strength.  The results were entirely predictable.  One hour, two hours, it didn't matter.  Corky wasn't going to be dusting any hallways or performing other domestic tasks anytime soon—unless it was naked and in chains, for Cressida's amusement.  She relaxed in her bonds as best she could.

Well, on a positive note, the helpless maid thought as she settled in to wait for Cressida's return, the hazing is definitely over.