by Van ©2013
		Chapter 2

Castle Tydwell's southwest dungeon, Morena's "practice room," was everything she feared it would be.  It was truly horrible (meaning wonderful), and was quite roomy.  As Mistress Edna had promised, it had a high, vaulted ceiling.  Morena suspected the chamber comprised most of the foundations of one of the castle's largest towers.  Massive arches supported the many, many tons of stone structure overhead.

There were two windows, one at either end of the chamber.  They began somewhere above as tall, slit-like openings protected by grids of stout iron bars.  Their long, angled, tapering shafts carried light down to the depths, where the interior openings were set high in the dungeon walls.  They were also covered by grids of iron, and these bristled with what looked like dagger-sharp spikes, one placed wherever a vertical and horizontal bar met.  The spikes posed no danger to Morena as they were beyond the reach of her chains, assuming their weight and drag would have even allowed her to make the leap required to grab the bars.

And speaking of chains...

Morena's wrists and ankles remained in steel cuffs—wide, heavy, well-rounded cuffs—only now they were attached to chains running to a ring mounted on the back of a steel chastity belt.  The ankle cuffs weren't too restrictive.  A vertical chain lifted their horizontal hobble-chain off the floor and made it easier for her to shuffle around.  The wrist cuffs were even less restrictive.  Their connecting chains were quite long.  The weight of the iron links was the greatest encumbrance to the use of her arms and hands.

A steel collar was locked around her throat and the end of its long, attached chain padlocked to an iron ring set in the dungeon wall, equidistant from the windows.  The collar matched the belt and fetters in weight and style and the connecting chain was quite long, but not long enough to let her explore the far reaches of the dungeon.  Neither the collar nor its chain were attached to the belt.

And speaking of the belt...

Upon being dragged to the dungeon by five of Lady Tydwell's maids, Morena had been outfitted with what amounted to a thong of cold steel.  It encircled her waist with an inch-wide and half-inch thick ribbon of rounded, dark gray, elegantly curved steel, and included a vertical component that passed through and completely covered her crotch.  A saw-tooth lined, vertical opening in the crotch panel allowed her to relieve herself without making too much of a mess, as did a circular opening over her anus.  It was a tight fit and was designed to prevent her fingers—or anything else for that matter—from reaching her pussy.  It locked in front and was hinged in the back, cleaved her butt cheeks and hugged her hips, and had something of a naturalistic, Art Nouveau style, as opposed to the more traditional look of something that had been hammered out by a medieval smith.

Being forced to wear the belt was humiliating—and, Morena had to admit, quite arousing—not that she could do anything about said arousal, not right now.

Returning to the layout of the dungeon...

Also as promised, a straw pallet was on the floor of an alcove to Morena's left.  She'd already given it a try and found it to be surprisingly comfortable.  She suspected the straw was synthetic and was there as camouflage for what was probably a thick pad of memory foam.  The "primitive" sleeping arrangements also included top and bottom sheets of soft, faux burlap, a "straw" pillow with matching pillowcase, and a wool blanket.  Everything was appropriately ratty, frayed, and stained, but actually quite clean.  It was more camouflage.  All in all, the pallet was a rather nice bed.

The alcove to the right was Morena's bathroom.  A stone commode rose from the floor, and a few feet to the side a stone basin was set in the wall.  A continuous, tinkling stream of water fell into the basin, suitable for drinking or washing, and on the single occasion Morena had used the commode thus far, it had automatically flushed and splashed her steel-encased nether region with a jet of warm water.  An auto-flush toilet and bidet might be decidedly anachronistic, but she wasn't going to complain.

The far side of the dungeon was not only beyond the reach of Morena's collar chain, but was fenced off by a floor-to-ceiling wall of thick iron bars.  Centered on the bars was a heavy iron gate, and directly behind the gate and at a distance of about ten feet was the dungeon door proper.  It was constructed of the traditional heavy oak timbers reinforced with iron bands and featured an eye-level viewing port with a hinged cover on the outside and a heavy iron grill on the inside.  Gate, door, and viewing port were closed and presumably locked.

At the moment Morena was sitting on the stone floor with her back against the wall, just to the right of the iron ring, and was feeling very sorry for herself.  That is, she was marveling at the wonderfully sinister ambiance of her surroundings, reveling in the authenticity of her medieval captivity (with minor concessions to modern comfort), and wishing the belt wasn't shielding her loins so she could really enjoy her "misery."  The still air, the floor under her naked rump, and the wall at her bare back were comfortably warm.  The dungeon either had radiant heating, was serviced by forced-air heat pumps, or both.  In any case, she was locked in chains, her pussy was locked in steel, she was locked in a dark (okay, semi-dark) dungeon, and...  she was a naked and helpless damsel-in-distress, prisoner of the notoriously cruel and evil Lady Tydwell!

Suddenly, her miserable musings were interrupted by a melodic chime.  Next to her on the floor was a case containing one of her practice instruments, including bow, spare strings and bow hair, rosin, and tack-cloth.  And next to it was a tablet computer.  It had been the source of the chime, and glowing on its gray-green screen was a text message.

Morena sighed (and ignored the thrill rippling through her steel-encased pussy).  The screen cleared and numbers appeared and began counting down:  59, 58, 57, 56...  "Her Ladyship's torture chambers" sounded ominous (and intriguing), but ravishment in the courtyard followed by being dragged down to the dungeon and locked in chains was probably enough "fun" for her first day as Lady Jane's prisoner.  Morena opened the case, freed the bow from its clips, lifted viola and bow, stood, took a step away from the wall, and prepared to play.

She decided on Ralph Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending.  It seemed appropriate, even though she knew she probably wasn't going to be ascending from Lady Tydwell's dungeon anytime soon.  She started playing, but after only a few bars was interrupted by another chime from the computer.  She paused and glanced down to read the screen.

The screen cleared, there was a brief pause... then the sound of a full orchestra filled the chamber.  The volume was appropriate, far from overwhelming, but the fidelity was startling, almost as if an invisible orchestra was locked in the dungeon with Morena.  Obviously the "practice room" had hidden speakers—advanced, full range, perfectly balanced, hidden speakers.  Morena almost missed her cue, but managed to rise to the occasion.  She noted sheet music of her part was scrolling on the tablet's screen.  Also, her chains weren't interfering with her ability to play.  Eventually, the weight of the cuffs and pull of the swaying chains might become an issue, but for now they weren't a problem.

Edna had been right.  The acoustics of the dungeon were superb.

And although Morena didn't fully realize it, the music was setting her free.  As she played, her spirit flew between the bars of the brightest window and soared among the towering cumulus clouds of the cerulean heavens.  Of course, her tan, beautiful, chain-encumbered body remained behind in Lady Tydwell's dungeon.

Corky managed to doze off at some point.

She awoke to find herself still hog-tied, her uniform knickers still stuffed in her mouth, and a harness of thin straps still caging her head and pressing a chamois-thin leather panel against her lips.  Also, she was still naked, the Persian carpet under her semi-squashed boobs and taut tummy was still scratchy, and Cressida's bedroom was still empty, not counting Corky herself.  Still, still, still, the helpless redhead fumed.  Why can't Cressida come back so things aren't so damn STILL?

By the angle and brightness of the light shining through the bedroom window, Corky guessed it was very late afternoon, possibly even early evening.  Her stomach grumbled and she realized she was quite thirsty.  She'd missed lunch and the silky wad in her mouth seemed to be absorbing moisture like some kind of super sponge.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and a pair of junior maids entered.  Corky recognized Mei, a cute, petite native of Macao, and Riva, a tall, tan beauty from Montevideo.  Riva was carrying a tray, which she set on a bedside table.  Mei went straight to the bed, pulled back the covers, and fluffed the pillows.  Meanwhile, Riva gathered the scattered elements of Corky's uniform.

Corky closed her eyes and sighed through her gag... then opened her eyes and realized she was staring at two pair of high heel, strap-on shoes, black hose, and legs.  Apparently, Mei and Riva had finished their immediate tasks and were standing close and gazing down at her.  Corky didn't even attempt to lift her gaze to stare daggers at her fellow domestics.  In the first place, they were both very nice and really friendly, like all of her fellow maids.  And second, were their roles reversed, Corky would totally be leering at and/or gloating over the spectacle of a naked, stringently hogtied, and tightly gagged Mei and/or Riva—totally!

"Pretty skin," Mei remarked.

"Yes," Riva agreed, "very pretty."

Seconds passed with Corky squirming in her tight bonds and wiggling her pink toes and useless fingers.  Might as well give them a show, she decided.

"She has been tied a long time," Riva continued.

"She has," Mei sighed.  "I hope she isn't in too much pain."

Corky rolled her eyes.  Mei was either being a gloating little bitch, or she was genuinely concerned.  For the record, Corky's money was on genuinely concerned.

"What's this?" an amused voice demanded from the doorway.  "More maids neglecting their duties?"  It was Cressida, of course.

Corky watched the owners of the shoes turn to the door and drop a curtsey.  "No, Mistress," Mei and Riva responded in unison, then started for the door.

"Stop!" Cressida barked, and the maids froze.

Corky turned her head, to the extent the taut, head-harness-to-ankles cord would allow, and watched Cressida plant a quick kiss first on Mei's lips... and then on Riva's.

"I know the staff never gossips about the family," Cressida chuckled, "but please reassure all downstairs that I'll be taking very good care of our little Yank."

"Yes, Mistress," Mei whispered, curtsied again, then scampered away.

"Yes, Mistress," Riva echoed, curtsied, and made her exit as well, taking Corky's uniform with her... not counting the knickers still crammed in the hogtied captive's mouth, of course.

Despite her current distress, Corky was touched.  'Our little Yank?'  That's kinda sweet.

Cressida closed the door, then strolled to Corky.  "I'll be dining in my room this evening," she announced, "and if you're a good girl, I won't put you to bed hungry."  She lifted the hem of her sundress, knelt on the carpet, and began untying the cords enforcing Corky's hogtie.

Morena had assumed one of Her Ladyship's servants would bring her the evening meal, and hoped it wouldn't be a bowl of room temperature gruel.  It had been a long day—a long first day.  Between the "sunbathing incident" in the courtyard, being dragged to the dungeon and locked in chains, and the hour-long practice session—and her wrist cuffs did get pretty heavy towards the end—Morena was tired.

In any case, it would seem Morena's energy level and expectations were not a high priority at Tydwell Castle.  Three maids appeared, unlocked her collar, and dragged her from the cell.  She started to complain and was threatened with a nasty looking gag, a medieval device with an iron bit wrapped in leather and a pair of hinged, curved iron straps that would latch together at the nape of a hypothetical wearer's neck and lock with a small padlock—and Morena very much wanted the wearer to remain hypothetical.  She followed the maids' orders and kept her mouth shut.

Morena was dragged down the stone-walled passages to another dungeon-like chamber, but this one was equipped with modern plumbing fixtures.  It was a bathroom, albeit a medieval-themed bathroom.  Still in chains, Morena was ushered to a large alcove with multiple shower heads.  She turned to find the maids had taken several steps back, leaving her alone in the alcove.  A handle was turned, the shower heads sputtered, and Morena was drenched from different directions.  "Eeek!"  The water was cold... but in seconds the stream become comfortably hot.  The deluge continued for several seconds... then the water stopped.

A maid carried forward a bucket half-filled with soapy water and set it at Morena's feet.  Floating in the white suds was a large sponge.  The implied order was clear.  A blush touched Morena's cheeks as she scrubbed her skin.  The maids were enjoying the spectacle of a naked, dripping-wet captive bathing herself, her wrists and ankles locked in steel cuffs and a steel chastity belt locked around her waist and through her crotch.  The chains linking the cuffs and belt rattled and swayed as she ran the sponge over her body and used her fingers to work the soapy suds into the sopping, tangled mess that was her hair.  Yes, the maids were leering at her in open appreciation.  It was humiliating and embarrassing—and flattering.  A hint of a smile curled Morena's lips.  She couldn't help it.

After a long, hot rinse, the maids dried Morena's skin with thick, fluffy towels.  Then, she was led to an alcove with a dressing table and mirror and plunked down on a padded bench.  With practiced efficiency the maids used a hand dryer, brush, and comb to bring order to her hair, then arranged her shining brown tresses in a French braid.  It trailed down her back and was intertwined and secured with silver-white ribbons.  Minimal, tasteful makeup was applied, then Morena was led to a large, dustcover-shrouded object off to the side of the bath.

The cover was removed and Morena's eyes widened.  The object was a leather saddle resting on a wheeled frame—no, the frame and saddle were one, and the seat of the saddle was split down the middle with something like a ten centimeter gap between the two halves.  That is, there was empty air where the rider's crotch would otherwise rest.  Also, in place of stirrups there was a pair of horizontal troughs padded with leather, one attached to the frame on either side of the seat.  They were clearly intended to support the rider's lower legs.  Finally, a plethora of straps waited to secure said rider in place.

Morena swallowed nervously, but "allowed" herself to be helped onto the saddle.  Her ankle cuffs were unlocked and removed and their function immediately taken by buckled straps.  Morena was now kneeling on the saddle with straps pinning her in place at the ankles, above and below her bent knees, and around her upper thighs.  Her steel manacles were removed and her wrists crossed and bound with a silver-white ribbon that matched those in her hair.  Finally, her chastity belt was unlocked and removed and the maids used damp washcloths and small towels to scrub away any residual soap that had been hiding under the steel bands.

Next, the maids unlocked the frame's wheels and Morena found herself rolling out of the bath and down the passageway.  Their first destination was a wood paneled service elevator.  There was a brief ascent... then Morena was rolled down a hallway decorated in the Victorian/Edwardian style.  They made a right turn... followed by a left... and entered a cozy dining room, also decorated in the Victorian/Edwardian manner. 

Edna Morris was waiting, dressed in a long, black, formal gown with spaghetti straps.  She said nothing, but watched as the maids rolled Morena and her frame forward.

A small table was set for four, and the settings were formal, appropriate for a full-course dinner; but there was something decidedly curious about the arrangement.  What appeared to be a closed wooden cabinet was either built into one end of the table or had been shoved against its side, and it was nearly as wide and deep as the table itself.  Morena watched as two of the maids released a series of latches, pulled on the top from either side, and it split into two halves, rolling apart on telescoping tracks.  The vertical side panel away from the table was opened, and Morena beheld a pair of U-shaped metal rails at floor level.  The maids rolled her forward and the frame's wheels slid into the rails.

Semicircular inserts in the top halves were removed, and the top slid closed and locked in place with a solid click, closing around Morena's waist.  One of the maids was "helpful" enough to lift her bound arms so her hands or wrists weren't slammed in the closing table halves.  There was some form of padding lining the hole, but Morena had very little room to spare.  She was now encased in the cabinet from the waist down and her upper body was like some sort of bizarre, living bust—with arms.

It was now clear the saddle, frame, and cabinet were all part of a single system designed to position her before the table and at the perfect height for dining.  All elements of the formal place setting before her were within easy reach, or rather they would be if her wrists weren't bound behind her back.

Edna stepped forward and cupped Morena's chin.  "Guests at Her Ladyship's table are expected to comport themselves with the proper decorum.  You will speak when spoken to, always responding in a polite manner.  Failure to do so will result in no supper and punishment in the morning.  Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Mistress," Morena answered.

"You will address me as House Mistress," Edna corrected.

"Yes, House Mistress."  Edna was staring at her breasts, but with her wrists bound, there was no way she could cover them, even if she dared.

Just then, a door opposite Morena opened and Lady Tydwell entered the room.  She was also dressed in long, formal gown, but hers was a shade of deep purple and was strapless.  She looked stunning, as always.

"Please, don't get up," Her Ladyship chuckled as a maid pulled back the chair opposite Morena.

Edna smiled as a maid seated her to Her Ladyships left (Morena's right).

All Morena could do was blush, that and try and ignore the exposure of her naked breasts.  In light of the day's events she didn't know why she should be embarrassed, but she was.

"I'm afraid Cressida won't be joining us this evening," Lady Tydwell said as she shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap.

"I still wish you'd let me intervene in the matter," Edna said in a near whisper.  "There is such a thing as too much familiarity.  Staff discipline—"

"Is the purview of the House Mistress," Lady Tydwell interrupted.

Edna frowned.  "None of us are above indulging Mistress Cressida, on occasion, but when it comes to neglecting a guest of the castle..."

"I'm sure Morena doesn't mind," Lady Tydwell purred, smiling at Morena's blushing face.  "We'll try and make up for my daughter's absence."

Morena wasn't sure how or even if she should respond.  Also, she was distracted by something that was happening under the cabinet.  A series of vibrations were resonating through the saddle, frame, and cabinet.  They were over quickly, but now Morena could feel a breeze blowing across her thighs and crotch, a breeze inside the closed cabinet.  She suspected a large trapdoor in the floor under the cabinet had opened.

"We'll dispense with the hors d'oeuvres and go straight to the soup if you don't mind, Morena," Her Ladyship said.

"T-that will be fine, Your Ladyship," Morena answered.  She was still blushing, but did manage a smile.

Maids appeared with bowls of soup.  Simultaneously, a maid stepped forward and untied Morena's wrists.

"Cream of Barley," Edna smiled.  "One of my favorites."

"One of Cook's specialties," Lady Tydwell noted as she took the appropriate spoon in hand and enjoyed a delicate, elegant sample of the soup in question.  "Delicious."

Morena picked up her own spoon, dipped it into her soup, lifted it to her lips, and—"Ahhh!"—promptly dropped it back into the bowl where it landed with a wet clatter.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" Her Ladyship inquired, a coy smile curling her lips.

Morena was shuddering and shivering, and for a very good reason.  Inside the cabinet, hands—human hands—multiple human hands—were caressing her thighs and stroking her labia!

"Just look at what you've done," Edna scolded.

Morena had, in fact, splattered a little soup on the white linen table cloth.  Eyes wide, she stared at Lady Tydwell, panting and her breasts heaving as she struggled to control herself.  The hands were still stroking and teasing her thighs and pussy.  "H-hands!" she blurted.  "Hands are... ahh!"

"Hands, my dear?" Lady Tydwell purred.

"You've been warned that ill-mannered behavior will not be tolerated," Edna said evenly.

It's a game, Morena realized, another game.  Obviously, a trapdoor had opened and two or more maids were reaching up into the cabinet from the floor below to tickle and caress her thighs and pussy.  "I-I apologize.  Ahh!"  Now, a buzzing vibrator had joined the hands.  It was teasing her labia and nudging her clitoris, and now she was panting in earnest.

"Enjoy your soup, Morena," Lady Tydwell ordered.

"Your soup," Edna warned.  "Now, Miss Velzen."

With an unsteady hand Morena managed to spoon more soup into her grimacing mouth, and without spilling any more on the tablecloth.  The ravishment under the cabinet continued, and Morena was aware her nipples were now erect in response.  She managed to limit herself to a little quivering and shivering, but couldn't hide all of her reactions to what was happening down below.

Soup was followed by a course of poached salmon with mousseline.  It was also delicious, but Morena's enjoyment was lessened by the continuing stimulation of her nether region.  The hands and vibrator were still at work, but her unknown "lovers" were clever enough and skillful enough to allow brief, unpredictable rest periods and to vary the intensity of their erotic activities and keep them at a low level.  It was now clear their goal was to tease her and, if possible, keep her on the edge without granting the release of orgasm—and they were succeeding!

Salmon was followed by filet mignon, which was followed by lamb in mint sauce accompanied by baby peas and boiled new potatoes.  Each course came with a new wine, and Morena managed to gulp a little between bites without making a mess.

Also accompanying each course were new under-the-table diversions, such as delicate tongues licking her wiggling toes and what were probably feathers gently stroking her labia even as the vibrator continued to glide along their flushed and glistening length.  Stifled giggles joined Morena's suppressed fidgeting as the ordeal continued, and she could do nothing to control the blush coloring her cheeks and breasts or the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead and shine on her upper body.

All the while, Lady Tydwell and Edna chatted and discussed various matters, including a planned redecoration of one of the towers and a possible future visit of someone referred to as "Madam Z."  Clearly, that was a code name.

In any case, Morena's predicament was ignored—without being ignored.  Her fellow diners smiled and leered at her shivering body, bobbing breasts, and distressed face.  Even the maids were smiling.  It was... horrible... and wonderful... and Morena was very much afraid she would scream and cum like the proverbial bunny before dessert, regardless of whatever punishment would ensue.

That was their plan.  That was the game.  And Morena had no choice but to play.

"Please, Mistress," Corky whined.  "Please."

"Quiet, you little minx," Cressida purred.  "If you cum without permission you'll be very sorry."

Corky was still in the same stringent hogtie, but her gag and the hateful cord that had linked the head-harness to her bound ankles was gone.  She was still completely helpless, of course.  She was also on the bed, and Mistress Cressida, as naked as Corky but not bound, was cradling her against her body, back to front.  Her right leg was splayed across Corky's right thigh, her left arm across Corky's upper body, pressing against her breasts, and her right hand was using a torpedo vibrator (called a "pussy-rocket" by the maids) to tease her pussy, meaning Corky's pussy, and she'd been at it for some time.

Dinner had consisted of about two dozen mini-sandwiches, various combinations of savory meats, smoked fish, sliced vegetables, and leafy greens between slices of different breads.  That, and a delicious red wine.  Corky didn't know wines, but it was delicious, whatever the variety.  Cressida had shared the repast equally, food and wine, hand-feeding her captive and holding the glass to Corky's lips at regular intervals.

And now it was time for dessert, which appeared to be a course of slow, deliberate, protracted sexual frustration.  Cressida was using the weakly vibrating rocket to tease and tickle Corky's labia.  After several minutes, the helpless maid was flushed and shining with sweat, weakly squirming in her tight, inescapable bonds and her tormentor's (her lover's) embrace.  She panted through flaring nostrils with her eyes clenched tightly closed.

"Please," Corky begged between panting whines.  "Please."

"Disobedient," Cressida purred, "neglectful of her duties, and a shameless flirt."  She slid the vibrator between Corky's labia, nudged her clitoris, and thumbed the vibrator to its medium setting.  "I can tell you're going to require a great deal of discipline."

Corky's eyes popped wide and she screamed—"Ahhh-mrrrf!"—which was immediately muffled by Cressida's left hand.

"Quiet, you," Cressida whispered in Corky's right ear.  "Don't you dare cum."  She then thumbed the vibrator to high and began sliding it in and out of Corky's flushed, glistening slit.

"MMMMPFH!"

"Very disobedient," Cressida chuckled.  Corky was bucking and struggling for all she was worth, in the throes of what was quite obviously a violent multiple orgasm.  Cressida continued frigging the bound and hand-gagged redhead, and Corky continued mewling and struggling.

Finally, Corky went limp in her arms and Cressida released her hand-gag, thumbed off the vibrator, and tossed it aside.

Corky continued to pant, drawing precious air into her lungs with audible gasps.  Her flushed, coral-pink, freckled skin was almost dripping with sweat.  "I'm sorry, Mistress," she finally managed with an exhausted sigh.

Cressida hugged Corky's helpless form and kissed her flushed cheek.  "I'm sure you are, my little vixen," she chuckled, "but I'm going to have to punish you anyway.  You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Mistress," Corky whispered.  "I know."

Yes, it was now crystal clear.  Corky's hazing as a new maid was over.  Either that or it had inverted and reached a new and active level.