by Van ©2013
		Chapter 3

Corky was still tired.

Last night, after Mistress made Corky cum—and it had been REALLY GOOD, quite possibly the best orgasm of her life—Mistress had untied her exhausted, aching body.  The last of the cords melted away and—her naked, shining, peachy-pink, freckled body crisscrossed with rope-marks—Corky cuddled with her beautiful Mistress.  The question of her impending punishment for the disobedient, inexcusable act of cumming without permission (while Mistress was repeatedly sliding a buzzing torpedo vibrator set on high in and out of her flushed and well-lubricated pussy) hung over Corky's head like the proverbial sword of Damocles.

Colossally unfair?  Duh!  It was like being sentenced to punishment for the crime of willfully occupying three dimensions of space without a license.

But for the moment... Mistress was strong and warm in Corky's embrace, her perfume was wonderful, and Mistress was returning her embrace.  For now, everything was perfect, and Corky could rest.  They both drifted off to sleep, still in each others arms.

Morning arrived, Corky opened her eyes, and found herself alone in the bed, still naked and unbound.  She yawned, stretched, and threw back the covers.  Her rope-marks had faded to almost nothing, a tribute to Mistress' unquestionable brilliance as a rigger.  The bondage Corky endured had been very stringent, and yet, her skin wasn't covered in rope-burns and/or bruises, not anyplace she could see, anyway.  Corky was still sore and tired, but she had to admit she was somewhat refreshed.

Where Mistress Cressida had gone, Corky hadn't a clue.  The bedroom had an attached loo and shower, but its door was ajar and all was quiet.  Corky was alone... but not for long.

The bedroom door opened and one of the senior maids, Ulfa, entered, and there was no mistaking Ulfa.  A native of Iceland, Ulfa's blond, fair-skinned beauty was somewhat distinctive, but then, all of Her Ladyship's maids were beauties.  It was a job requirement.  What really set the blond apart were her stature and build.  It was difficult to gauge Ulfa's exact height, given the varying height of the Castle's doorways and ceilings, and especially because of the high heels that were a part of her uniform, but the general consensus among the junior maids was that Ulfa was about 6' 2" (1.83 m).  And in terms of physique, her junior maid nickname (her secret junior maid nickname) was "Frost Giant."  Ulfa wasn't exactly a bodybuilder, but if so ordered she could probably handle any two of the junior maids at once without help and without breaking a sweat.  It was very easy to imagine Ulfa striding towards the dungeons with a kicking and struggling junior maid under each arm.  That said, in Corky's opinion Ulfa was very nice, like all the staff.  Beautiful and strong, Ulfa was a blond warrior-princess, a very tall, very blond warrior-princess—in a maid's uniform.

And oh-by-the-way, Ulfa filled out her uniform as much like a Vegas showgirl as a female wrestler.

"Uh, good morning," Corky mumbled, and it was morning, something like eight o'clock by the angle of the sunlight shining through the bedroom window.

"Good morning, Corky," Ulfa answered.  "I am to take you below."  She strode to the bed and lifted Corky into her arms.

"Eeek!"  Corky was startled, not alarmed.  "I can walk," she objected.

Cradling Corky's naked, petite body as if she were a child, Ulfa departed the bedroom.  "You aren't heavy," the smiling blond answered.

Corky put her arms around Ulfa's neck.  Ulfa's arms were supporting her knees and back.  They descended the back stairs, dropping story after story until they reached the first basement level.  Corky was relieved that they didn't continue to the sub-levels, and even more relieved when she was carried into the "Maid's Spa," the showers, soaking tubs, and massage tables the staff used to recuperate from the trials and tribulations of service at Tydwell Castle.

A gaggle of junior and senior maids were waiting, some naked and some in uniform, and Corky was the instant center of attention.  Her fellow domestics giggled and demanded she tell them everything, and she did.  Blushing and smiling, Corky told the tale of how Mistress Cressida had grabbed her, stripped her naked, and placed her in a punishing hogtie.  She also related the other events of the evening, like Mistress hand-feeding her delicious little sandwiches, using a pussy-rocket to make her cum, and then cuddling with her until dawn.

"Oooooo!"  "Ahhhhh!"  Corky's saga was an instant hit.

While she talked, Corky received a thorough and gentle sponge-bath followed by an equally thorough and gentle full-body massage.  The giggling and sighing continued, as did whispered conversations Corky strongly suspected were speculation about her looming punishment, but she didn't let it spoil the moment.  Corky basked in the attention and enjoyed a delicious breakfast, hand fed by her fellow maids.  Everyone was being very nice, and Corky was touched.  There had to be some degree of jealousy that the most junior of the junior maids had been singled out for entertainment (erotic torture) by Her Ladyship's daughter, but zero resentment was on display.  The castle staff really were a remarkably amiable bunch.

Flat on her stomach on the massage table, her arms folded and her chin resting on her hands, a happy (goofy) smile curling her coral lips, Corky fought the urge to purr like a ginger kitten as Ulfa's strong hands kneaded her shoulder and back muscles.  The back massage continued...  Nice...  Then, Corky realized a pair of maids had gently pulled her hands free and stretched her arms to either side.  She assumed they were going to massage her biceps and triceps, but she was wrong.  "Hey!"  Corky's eyes popped wide.  Click, click.  The maids had snapped wide, heavy steel cuffs around her wrists!  She tried to rise off the table—"Oof!"—but Ulfa's hands put an immediate stop to that.  Meanwhile—Click, click—a second pair of similar cuffs had closed around her ankles.

Ulfa leaned close and whispered in Corky's ear while the others pulled her hands behind her back and locked the cuffs together.  Click.  "We have our orders, little Corky," the blonde explained.  "Also, some of us know what is coming and agreed you shouldn't have to suffer the temptation to try and run away."

"That's silly," Corky huffed.  "I won't run."  Her ankle cuffs were also locked together—Click—and running anywhere was now impossible.  Next, leather straps tightened across her upper body and legs, pinning her to the table on her stomach (and slightly squashed boobs).  Corky heaved an appropriately pathetic sigh.  "What's she gonna do to me?"

The maids giggled as they buckled the straps.  "That would be telling," Ulfa chuckled, then kissed Corky's freckled back, between her shoulder blades.  "Rest while you can," she purred.

Ulfa and the others left the spa.  One of the maids paused to give her tushie a gentle pat, but she didn't see which one.  And so... naked, bound hand and foot with steel cuffs and strapped face-down on the massage table... Corky was alone.

"Well," Corky muttered to herself, "it could be worse.  I could be gagged."  A gag would have been pointless, of course.  Countless tons of earth and stone, additional watery tons of moat, and then hundreds of yards of forest and fields separated Corky from any hypothetical rescuer not in Her Ladyship's employ who might respond to her hypothetical screams for help.  In any case, gags were part of the game, and the fact that Corky was not gagged was a slightly ominous move.  The only likely explanation was that her fellow maids really did want her to rest and marshal her strength.  Either that or Mistress had ordered them not to gag her because she wanted her to rest... which was even more ominous.

Butterflies fluttered in Corky's tummy.  Also, a thrill—a decidedly weak and frightened thrill—rippled through her pussy.

She willed herself to relax.  It seemed a good idea not to waste this interlude on pointless fret and worry.

Morena never did cum.

That is, Her Ladyship's game of requiring Morena, her guest, to participate in a formal, multiple-course dinner with the appropriate decorum—while totally naked and encased in a wooden cabinet from the waist down with unseen and anonymous hands teasing her lady-bits and tickling her bare feet—concluded without Morena experiencing an orgasm.  She wasn't sure if this was a win for her or for Lady Tydwell, but she was very sure the experience had been embarrassing, humiliating, and above all, frustrating in the extreme.

Lady Tydwell and Mistress Edna had made their departures.  Her Ladyship had paused to plant a goodnight kiss on Morena's lips while Edna favored her with a rather disturbing, predatory smile from the doorway, and then they were gone and Morena was "alone" with the servants.

With quiet efficiency several maids cleared the table.  Simultaneously and with equal efficiency, other maids bound Morena's wrists behind her back, popped a ball-gag in her mouth, and buckled the strap tight.  "Mrrf!"  They also unraveled her French braids, removing the intertwined ribbons and leaving her brown curls a tousled mass.

Next, they unlatched the leaves and panels of the cabinet encasing her lower body, the back of the bizarre piece of furniture was opened, the top halves were pulled apart, and the saddle and steel framework supporting and restraining her ankles, legs and thighs was rolled from within.  Morena managed a glimpse inside the open cabinet as the frame spun on its wheels 180° and she was rolled out the door, but the trapdoor in the floor under the cabinet—the means by which the anonymous pranksters had disrupted her efforts to be a well-mannered dinner guest—had already been closed.

There followed a brief, rolling journey down the corridor to the service elevator, then a descent to the lower levels.  The doors opened and Morena was rolled down a dimly lit stone corridor—and the vibrations transmitted from the slightly uneven floor through the wheels and framework did nothing to relieve her frustration problem.

Finally, they arrived at a dungeon door of heavy timbers banded with iron straps.  A maid unlocked and opened the door while the others released Morena's ankles and thighs from the frame, lifted her from the split saddle, untied her wrists, and unbuckled and pulled the ball-gag from her mouth.  Totally naked and with a maid maintaining a firm grip on each wrist and arm, Morena was led across the threshold, through an open gate of heavy iron bars—and she found herself back in her guest accommodations, the "Practice Room."

Two of the maids maintained their gentle but businesslike holds while a third knelt and locked the steel chastity belt she'd worn before around her waist and through her crotch.  Click-click.   The kneeling maid stood, kissed Morena's lips, then relieved the maid holding her right arm.  That maid lifted the end of the long chain that had previously tethered Morena's collar to the wall and locked it to a ring in the back of her belt.  Click.  She smiled and kissed Morena, then relieved the maid holding the prisoner's left arm.  That maid also kissed Morena, then gently cupped her breasts. 

"Ah!" Morena gasped in response.

"Good night, Miss," the maid said.  She had blue eyes, like Morena, and her brown hair was cut in a straight, Lulu-style bob.  A smile dimpling her cheeks, she kissed Morena's erect nipples—first the left and then the right—then released Morena's breasts, turned, and strolled towards the door.

The other two maids kissed Morena's cheeks from either side, then released her arms and strolled after their fellow domestic.

"Goodnight," Morena sighed as the iron gate was closed and locked, followed by the dungeon door.

Morena was alone in the Practice Room, her loins encased in steel but otherwise unrestrained.  The only light in the chamber was from a small, flickering lantern glowing from a niche above the iron gate.  Her additional former restraints—collar, cuffs, and chains—were nowhere to be seen.  The only other change in her accommodations was the addition of a music stand of heavy iron that looked as if it had been hammered out by a medieval smith.  Resting on the stand was the iPad that had ordered her to practice and displayed scrolling sheet music as she played.

The chastity belt was tight but comfortable, as she'd noted earlier.  It might as well have been custom made to her exact measurements—although how Lady Tydwell might have obtained said measurements she had no idea.  Maybe she has an extensive collection and decades of experience matching guests to individual belts, Morena posited.  That seemed the most likely explanation.  The belt's crotch panel was an effective barrier to her questing fingers.  She could just barely manage to brush the inside margins of her labia with the tips of her fingers through the vertical, sawtooth slit, and she couldn't wiggle her fingers under the panel from the sides.

Oh-by-the-way, her efforts were counterproductive.  They exacerbated her sexual tension rather than providing relief.

Morena wasn't quivering with lust, but she very much wanted to finish the job started by the hidden hands in the dining room—but that wasn't going to happen.  The game continues, she realized, then sighed and dragged herself and her chain to the "medieval commode."  She emptied her bladder, allowed the bidet function to drench her nether region, including the belt, then drank from the wall fountain and dragged herself to the sleeping pallet.

Morena lay on her back on the soft bed, reflecting on the events of the day.  She was tired... and horny.  If a direct assault on Her Ladyship's belt wouldn't work, perhaps she could try the mental approach.  Her hands gently squeezed and stroked her breasts and she toyed with her erect nipples.  That felt good.  That felt very good.  And she was helpless, and locked in a real dungeon, and Lady Tydwell was beautiful and cruel and... and...

In the end, fatigue overpowered lust and she drifted off to sleep before achieving anything she could call an orgasm.  During the night Morena did have many vivid, erotic dreams—and more than one may have been of the wet variety—but the details faded rapidly as she came awake.

A glow brightened the dungeon, morning light from the heavily barred, sloping tunnels that served as windows.  She noted a crude tray had been delivered while she slept, and under its rough-spun cloth cover she found a tea service of unglazed, hand-thrown pottery and a matching plate holding a selection of pastries and sliced fruit.

Morena's first full day as Lady Tydwell's prisoner had begun.

Corky snapped awake.  Someone was unbuckling the straps pinning her face down on the massage table.  "Wha?"  She looked back over her shoulder and identified her rescuer as Ulfa.

"Relax, Little Corky," Ulfa chuckled.  "It is time."

Corky's wrists and ankles were still locked together in steel cuffs and she was still naked.  "Time for what?"  She felt a blush touch her cheeks.  Her voice had been a nervous squeak, and it was bad form to have even asked the question.  "Never mind."

Ulfa smiled and ignored the question and its negation.  The straps were free and dangling from the table and Ulfa had produced a key and was releasing Corky's fetters.  Click, click.  Click, click.

Corky rolled over on the table and sat up.  "Thank you, Ulf—oh!"  Ulfa had picked her up in the same manner as before.  Corky sighed, put her arms around Ulfa's neck, also as before, and rested her head against the amazon's ample bosom.  "Sorry for the stupid question," she said.  "I'm a little scared."

"Only a little?" Ulfa teased.  She was already out the door and was striding down the stone corridor.  She kissed the top of Corky's head.  "I would be very surprised if you were not scared, barnið refur."

"Huh?"

"Baby fox.  Barnið refur means baby fox."

"Oh."

The journey continued.  They descended a spiral staircase and Corky realized she was being carried down to the dreaded Lower Levels.  The first basement was mainly storage and utility spaces, with only a few chambers devoted to the Tydwell family "hobby."  Under the basement, however, was rumored to be a veritable labyrinth of dungeon cells, oubliettes, and torture chambers, some containing complex, elaborate, and hideous torture engines!  The junior maids knew few details and the senior staff wasn't exactly forthcoming; however, a handful of the juniors did have limited experience "Down Below" and had shared what they'd learned (meaning had endured and/or suffered).  That said, Corky suspected more than a little of what she'd been told had been exaggerated and embellished, that they were trying to scare the new girl.  Anyway, Corky was about to learn firsthand what was waiting in at least one of the Forbidden Chambers!  She would soon have her own tale to tell... assuming when she was finally dragged or carried back up to the junior maid's quarters she wasn't suffering from post-traumatic amnesia.

The stairs ended in a junction of three corridors and Ulfa headed down the left-hand passageway.  They passed niches with iron and blown-glass lanterns flickering with orange-yellow light.  Corky knew the lanterns only looked like they contained open flames.  All the "medieval" lighting fixtures in Tydwell Castle had been electrified decades ago and were in the process of being upgraded to specialized and no doubt very expensive LED bulbs that simulated burning candles.  They also passed several closed and bolted wooden doors banded with iron. 

Finally, Ulfa paused before a door, managed to pull back its bolt despite the naked, red-haired, freckled, and self-admittedly scared burden cradled in her arms, and eased the heavy portal open with her hip.

They entered the space beyond and—"Oh!"—Corky's green eyes popped wide and her lips formed an "O" of surprise.

The chamber was a large, stone-walled dungeon with a vaulted ceiling and several flickering medieval lanterns set in niches similar to those in the passageway.  Nothing unexpected there.  What had surprised Corky was the large, complicated machine it contained.  The bulk of its huge wood and metal gears, chains, and massive iron counterweights were mounted in a frame of heavy timbers and was tucked against the left hand wall and back-lit by more of the lanterns.  The thing was like the workings of a medieval clock—maybe Renaissance or later—the sort of mechanism you'd find housed in an old clock tower.  Corky wasn't an expert in such things.  In any case, the mechanical workings weren't the major source of her surprise.

Projecting from the machine was a long, narrow horizontal trestle, a bench or table set at waist height.  It was something like three feet wide and nine or ten feet in length and was made of thick, heavy timbers joined and bolted to equally thick and heavy vertical and diagonal supports.  At the end opposite the machine was a set of stocks, also thick and heavy, with two openings.  Finally, resting on the trestle lay a pair of dark steel chains ending in wide steel cuffs lined with what appeared to be strips of fleece.  The chains stretched to the inner workings of the machine, where they were wound around a massive wooden drum.

"It's a rack," Corky whispered.

Ulfa kissed the top of Corky's head, again.  "I am only a maid," she said.  "It is not my place to remind a poor, frightened little damsel about to experience her first trial that Mistress would never allow real harm to befall any of her staff, even the most junior of her junior maids."

Corky's heart was pounding as she visually examined the deep, well-padded openings of the stocks and the wide, well-padded cuffs.  The heavy weights and huge gears of the machine looked strong enough to pull an elephant limb from limb.  But the device wasn't waiting for an elephant.  It was waiting for her.  Corky would be the poor unfortunate restrained on its hard, narrow bed as the gears creaked and turned, the weights slowly fell, link by steel link the chains were drawn onto the drum, and she was slooowly stretched until...  until...

"Oooh."  It was a pathetic, whining moan she could no more prevent than the orgasm Mistress Cressida had coaxed from her traitorous pussy last night.  She shivered in Ulfa's arms and buried her face between the giant blond's beasts.

Ulfa waited.  She could easily have carried the little redhead to the rack and secured her in place, no matter how she struggled... but she waited.  Her naked, freckled burden continued shivering, and she could feel Corky's pulse hammering where her throat rested on her left breast, even through her bra and uniform.  Ulfa had her orders... but still she waited.

Finally, Corky lifted her frightened face and locked eyes with Ulfa.  "Okay," she sighed.  "I'm ready."

"Brave Baby Fox," Ulfa smiled, and carried Corky to the rack.

About an hour after Morena finished her breakfast, a pair of maids came for her.

She offered no resistance as they pulled her hands behind her back and laced and buckled her into a single-sleeve arm-binder of brown leather.  Instead of shoulder straps, this particular model incorporated a posture-collar with stiff vertical stays, a "neck corset."  She also didn't resist when the plug of a brown leather panel-gag was thrust into her mouth and its main strap buckled at the nape of her neck, under her hair.  This was followed by a second, much narrower strap that buckled under her chin.  The binder rolled back her shoulders, making her breasts more prominent, and it nearly caused her elbows to touch.  The gag caused her cheeks to bulge above its tight panel as it compressed her lower face from chin to nose and ear to ear.

One maid fussed with Morena's hair while the other clipped the end of a leather leash to a ring in the front of the collar, then knelt and locked iron fetters joined by a foot of hobbling chain around her ankles.  Click, click.  The collar didn't allow Morena to lower her head far enough to visually examine her new shackles, but it was clear what had happened.  There was another click and the chain tethering her to the wall fell away from the back of her chastity belt and rattled to the floor.

Hand in hand and smiling, the maids stood facing Morena.  One was Asian, possibly Malaysian, with almond-shaped, brown eyes and delicate, exquisite features.  The other was blond with pale blue eyes, honey-blond hair, and well-tanned skin.  The blond's features were also attractive, but she was more saucy tomboy than exotic princess.

"She is very pretty," the blond said.

"She is," the Asian agreed, then reached a tentative hand towards Morena's left breast.  "Do you suppose the House Mistress would mind if we—"

"Ahem."

The maids turned to find Mistress Edna standing in the threshold of the open iron gate.  Behind her, beyond the open timber door and waiting in the hallway, was the Mistress, Lady Tydwell herself.

Edna stepped forward and took hold of the end of Morena's leash.  "I'll deal with you later," she said to the maids.

The maids curtsied and hurried from the dungeon, pausing only to render even deeper curtsies to Her Ladyship.  Morena only manged a quick look at their expressions as they made their exit, but the phrase "caught with their hands in the cookie jar" seemed appropriate.

Lady Tydwell joined Edna in the dungeon and they both smiled at Morena.  Lady Jane was wearing a sleeveless summer frock in a sunny shade of yellow.  The House Mistress was in a simple black skirt and white linen blouse.  Her Ladyship cupped Morena's breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze.

Morena flinched at the contact, then forced herself to relax.  This was the first time Lady Tydwell had touched her since they'd shaken hands and exchanged polite pecks on the cheek on the occasion of Morena's arrival at the castle.

Lady Jane's eyes were on Morena's erect nipples and firm breasts.  "Hmm, no tanning session for my Dutch beauty today.  I don't want her to develop a serious sunburn."

"Morena's skin is rather fair," Edna purred, "and she still shows a little color from yesterday.  I'll double her exercise period.  I'm sure she can handle it."  Her smile turned disturbingly evil.  "If properly motivated."

"Excellent," Her Ladyship smiled, "but be sure she isn't too tired to practice.  Tanning can continue tomorrow."

"Yes, milady," Edna bowed.  "Are you sure you want to involve her in... the other matter?"

Lady Jane's smile widened.  "At the very least, she may find the experience instructive.  Come."  She turned and gracefully strolled towards the dungeon door.

Edna followed, Morena's leash went taut, and she had no choice but to mince in their wake, her steps restricted by the leg irons.  She had no idea what the "other matter" Edna had referred to might be, but apparently she was about to find out.

The bed of the rack was hard, but at least there weren't any rough spots or splinters.  The thick, tightly joined timbers were comfortably smooth, possibly even waxed.  Corky looked down her naked body, willed her toes to wiggle and they did, but she couldn't watch them move.  The top half of the stocks blocked her view.  The channels gripping her ankles were tight and deep, but well-padded with a thick layer of fleece lining the openings and nailed into the wood.  She lifted her chin and looked up her raised arms to the steel, leather, and fleece-lined cuffs locked around her wrists.  She wiggled her fingers and could see them move, but the wooly padding, leather inner cuffs, and steel outer cuffs were as tight as the stocks gripping her ankles.

In a word, the rack and its restraints was comfortable, which Corky appreciated but did not find reassuring.  The wrist restraints amounted to suspension-cuffs, well-engineered but medieval in style, and the ankle stocks exerted an even grip.  If the rack tightened...  The butterflies in Corky's tummy fluttered.  When the rack tightened, the pressure on her wrists and ankles would be uniformly distributed.  She'd be fine—right up to the point her joints started pulling apart and she died in agony! 

Now the butterflies were panicking, poor things.  Corky tried her best to calm them down, with only limited success.

Corky would like to ask Ulfa to repeat her reassurance that she was not going to be tortured until she passed out from the pain, but...  (1) Ulfa had abandoned her to her fate something like an hour ago, and...  (2) before planting a kiss on her forehead and making her exit, Ulfa had strapped a wooden bit-gag thickly padded with leather in Corky's mouth and buckled it tight at the nape of her neck.

While she waited (and the butterflies fluttered) Corky tried to reason out the operation of the huge machine.  She supposed the various weights dangling from various chains would rise and fall, the massive gears would grind, the drum around which the wrist cuff chains were wound would turn, and her body would be stretched.  It was obviously a rack, and she supposed the complex arrangement served to somehow regulate the process... but how?  What exactly would happen when the mechanism was activated?  She was very much afraid she was going to find that out all too soon.

As if on cue, the torture chamber door opened and Corky had company, but to her surprise it wasn't Mistress Cressida.  It was Lady Tydwell, herself!  And right behind her came the House Mistress and Her Ladyship's guest (prisoner), Morena-the-sexy-musician.  And Morena was sexy, indeed!  She was naked, gagged, a posture collar was strapped around her throat, a tight binder encased her hands and arms behind her back, and a really pretty steel chastity belt was locked around her waist and through her crotch.  The rattle of chains as she walked suggested leg irons, but Corky's position on the rack precluded visual confirmation.

Her Ladyship strolled to the right side of the rack and smiled down at Corky.  Edna led Morena to the left side.  Lady Jane was radiant, as always.  Mistress Edna's smile was disturbing, also as always.  Morena's expression was masked by her gag, but based on her staring, blue eyes, the fiddle player was horrified by Corky's plight.  You and me both, Corky mused.

Lady Tydwell placed her right hand on Corky's left breast.  Even with Corky's arms stretched over her head the pale, freckled globe had volume.  Her Ladyship gently rolled the coral-pink flesh of the erect nipple between her thumb and forefinger and Corky shivered in response.  "Poor thing," Lady Jane purred.

"That is hardly a stretch," Edna stated.  "Would you like me to take in a few links?  Perhaps seven?"

Corky's butterflies had a very negative opinion of the House Mistress' suggestion, as did Corky, but she limited her overt reactions to eye-rolling, bosom heaving, panting around her mouth-filling gag, and the flaring of her nostrils.  In truth, Corky couldn't prevent any of that from happening, but at least she managed not to moan into her gag.

"No, I think not," Her Ladyship decided.  "We'll leave that to Cressida."

Corky sighed in relief (sort of), then her eyes popped wide when Her Ladyship's hand left her breast, slid down her stomach, and came to rest on her pubic hair.

"I so enjoy gingers," Lady Tydwell sighed.

The House Mistress smiled.  "As well as blonds, brunettes, and raven-haired beauties, but especially gingers?"

"I didn't say especially," Her Ladyship purred, "now did I?"

Mistress Edna's smile faded.  "I still think she's too young and too inexperienced.  Especially too inexperienced."

"Especially," Lady Tydwell agreed with a mocking smile.  "We will, of course, monitor the immurement and you will direct her actions as needed."

Corky's tummy rose and fell as she continued panting, causing Her Ladyship's hand to rise and fall.  'Immurement?'  Her eyes darted from Lady Tydwell, to Mistress Edna, and back again.  What the hell is an 'immurement?'

"Any one of the senior maids would be better suited," Mistress Edna said.

"Cressida has made her choice," Her Ladyship responded.  Her hand continued to rest on Corky's tummy, the rising and falling its only movement.

Mistress Edna was still unsmiling.  "She made her 'choice,' as you put it, without knowing she was doing so."

Her Ladyship nodded, still smiling at Corky.  "Yes.  Nonetheless, I have made my decision."

Mistress Edna nodded.  "Yes, milady."

Her Ladyship shifted her smile to the House Mistress.  "Oh, don't pout.  I said we will monitor and nurture.  All will be well.  You'll see."

"Yes, milady," Mistress Edna sighed. 

"Don't be like that," Lady Jane chuckled.  "The senior maids will assist, as always.  This is going to be a smashing success."

"We'll make it succeed," Mistress Edna responded, the ghost of a smile curling her lips.

"There's my Edna," Lady Tydwell chuckled.

Corky continued looking from face to face.  She was more confused that ever.  What are they talking about?  What's an immurement?  And what does it have to do with me?

Lady Tydwell gave Corky's bush an affectionate pat, then turned towards the door.  "Cressida will appear soon.  You need to arrange for Morena's exercise, and I could use a cup of tea."

Mistress Edna smiled down at Corky's naked, helpless form.  "May I start the machine?  I'll lock the timing chain on its slowest setting."

"And deprive Cressida of the pleasure?" Her Ladyship chided.  She was already striding towards the door.

"Not to worry," Mistress Edna purred, smiling at Morena.  "I'll vent my frustrations elsewhere."  She strolled after Her Ladyship.

Corky only had time to share a brief commiserating sigh with Morena before the leash went taut and Her Ladyship's guest stumbled in the House Mistress' wake.  The torture chamber door closed, Corky heard the bolt slam, and she was alone... again... in the grip of the giant, sinister machine.

Immurement...

Some sort of game was afoot—some sort of great-big-hairy game—and Corky had landed right in the middle of it.  She tugged on her wrist cuffs and wiggled her unseen toes, again.  From now on she'd listen closely to everything anyone said and try and piece together what was going to happen, but at the moment she had more immediate concerns.