by Van ©2013
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
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!
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
Edna had been right. The acoustics of the dungeon were
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.
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
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
"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
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.
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 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
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
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
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
"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
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
"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
"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
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
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
"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
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.
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
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,
"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.
| Chapter 2