by Van ©2013
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
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
And speaking of eccentricities...
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
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
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
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
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.
"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.
"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
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
"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...
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
And then there was what happened in the maids' dormitory at
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
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
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
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."
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.
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
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
"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
"And practice," Lady Jane continued. "Make sure she's
Lady Jane turned and left the courtyard.
Morena lifted her gagged head and watched her go, then focused
"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
"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
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
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
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
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
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
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
| Chapter 1