by Van ©2013
you are a great deal of trouble," Mistress Edna scolded as she
led Morena back to the castle. "Either I shall have to
hire additional staff or tolerate the fact that the maids simply
can't keep their hands off of you."
Morena didn't respond. Her gag made articulate speech
impossible. In fact, in made anything above the level of
moaning and mewling impossible. She placed one weary,
sneaker-clad foot in front of the other and trudged in Mistress
Edna's wake. The single-sleeve binder encasing her
fingers, hands, and arms and rolling back her shoulders had
overstayed its welcome. The shoulders in question were
beginning to ache, and her pussy ached as well. Okay,
"ached" was inaccurate. The chastity belt was tight, but
more-or-less comfortable, despite the recent treadmill run and
brisk hike to the stables under the control of the maids Alice
and Mary—the maids who even now were being outfitted as
ponygirls back in the stables. The chastity belt wasn't
the problem. The starving pussy it caged was the
problem. Morena was horny.
I'm horny, Morena mused. She'd never been a prude,
but wasn't used to thinking of herself as horny.
"Perhaps I should assign you a dedicated handler," Edna
continued, "one with the strength of character to comply with
Her Ladyship's wishes." The journey continued for a dozen
more paces. "No, that is unacceptable. I've already
lost four maids to the general roster and losing a fifth would completely
disrupt the entire rotation." Edna shook her head.
"This seduction must stop," she muttered. "I have no
choice but to speak to Her Ladyship."
Morena rolled her eyes. 'Seduction?' It's MY
fault the maids can't keep their hands to themselves?
It was something of a compliment, of course, but Morena wasn't
in the mood.
Edna led Morena back to the service gatehouse. A
middle-aged gentleman and two significantly younger men were
unloading the last of several crates of produce from the lorry
Morena had noticed on her way to the stables. They stopped
to watch the House Mistress and Her Ladyship's guest pass.
All three were dressed in canvas trousers or denim jeans, cotton
work-shirts, and dark green jackets bearing the Tydwell
crest. The forty-something supervisor smiled, opened a
side door leading into the main keep, and tipped his cap to
Edna. The lads stared at Morena in slack-jawed
amazement. One was in his twenties and the other a little
younger, about eighteen. Morena suspected they might be
brothers. She blushed in mortified
embarrassment as she shuffled past. How could she
"Back to work, you lot," Morena heard the older gentleman
chuckle as Edna led her through the door. "You act like
you never seen a naked bird before."
The door closed and Edna led the way along a back hallway, down
a spiral staircase, along a stone passageway, and Morena
realized she was being returned to her Practice Room. Maybe
I'll finally get to take that nap, she thought, sighing
through her gag.
The Practice Room was unchanged. Mistress Edna herself
locked the ring in the back of Morena's chastity belt to the
long chain attached to the dungeon wall and removed her
arm-binder, corset-collar, panel-gag, running shoes, and
anklets. That is, she didn't magically summon a giggling
gaggle of maids to do it for her. Maybe she really
is afraid I'll seduce them, Morena mused. Without
a word Edna bundled Morena's former restraints and footwear,
tucked the roll under her arm, and made her exit. Morena
didn't say anything either. The iron gate and oak door
closed and locked, and Morena was alone.
Her Ladyship's Prisoner sighed and performed a long, full-body
stretch, arms raised and back arched. A shaft of sunlight
had managed to find its way down to her dungeon through the
south-facing window-shaft. "How terribly Romantic," Morena
muttered under her breath. She considered fetching her
viola for a little Fauré, Delibes, or Grieg—or maybe a
melancholy improvisation on the theme of Some Day My Prince
Will Come—but decided on that nap, instead. She
dragged her chain to the "bathroom alcove," emptied her bladder,
and let the bidet function rinse her steel-encased nether
region. She then trudged to the wall fountain, drank, then
splashed water on her face. She needed an actual bath, but
apparently that wasn't on Mistress Edna's schedule.
Finally, she dragged the chain (and her tired self) to the
sleeping pallet, settled between the soft, faux burlap sheets,
rested her weary head on the soft, faux burlap encased pillow,
and closed her eyes. She also pointedly ignored
the sad, pathetic meowing of her hungry, neglected pussy.
and snuggled against Cressida's side. After she'd used her
lips and tongue to pleasure her Mistress, Mistress had returned
the favor. Corky shivered in delight at the memory, proud
of the fact she'd managed not to scream at the top of
her lungs when Cressida paused in her efforts and gave her
permission to cum. It had been a near thing. Then,
Mistress had released her thumbs-to-toes hogtie, and here they
It was mid afternoon, a time when Corky was usually bustling
around finishing the last of her share of the day's
cleaning. Then, if so assigned, she'd turn to helping with
preparations for and the serving of the evening meal. That
would be followed by prepping the bedrooms for the family's
retirement. Anyway, afternoon was not a time that
would ever find Corky in bed. Maids didn't take
afternoon naps. But Corky was in bed now, and it was wonderful!
Corky was totally relaxed and fully recovered from her ordeal on
the automated rack—including all that insidious
tickle-torture—but she couldn't sleep. Corky was too
excited. Personal Handmaiden Corky O'Brien!
Personal Handmaiden Corky O'Brien! It kept running
through her head. Yesterday she was the most junior of
Lady Tydwell's junior maids, and now she was... Mistress
Cressida's Personal Handmaiden, Corky O'Brien! Mistress
had decided to keep her! And it was wonderful!
Just then the bedroom door opened a crack and Brandy, one of the
senior maids, peeked into the bedroom. Maids never knock,
and good maids know when to be discreet and when to
intrude. "It's ready, Mistress," Brandy announced.
Cressida yawned and sat up in the bed, using the top-sheet to
cover her breasts. Corky peeked around the edge of the
sheet with open curiosity. "Over by the bookcase,"
Cressida ordered, "but allow for access to the shelves."
"Yes, Mistress," Brandy responded. The door opened—a
second, camouflaged door panel that was painted and paneled to
match the hallway and bedroom decors was also unlatched and
opened—and a total of four maids wheeled a large object shrouded
by a dustcover into the bedroom. Whatever it was, it was
three or four feet on a side, about the size of a stove or
washing machine—or maybe a little bigger—and by the maid's
huffing and puffing it seemed to be quite heavy.
Corky watched her fellow domestics maneuver the whatever-it-was
next to the bookcase, then carefully tip it off its dolly.
It settled onto the carpet with a dull thud.
Clearly, it was heavy.
Cressida smiled. "That will do for now."
"Yes, Mistress." The maids curtsied and made their exit,
taking the empty dolly with them and re-latching the second door
panel. Brandy was the last to depart. She smiled at
Corky, grabbed the dustcover, pulled it from the object, then
hurried after the others, closing the door behind her.
Corky's curiosity turned to amazement—and possibly alarm.
The object was a cage! "Oh!" Corky gasped, then
blushed when she noticed Mistress was smiling at her.
Granted, it was a very nice cage. It was
rectangular and Victorian in style, the sort of thing that might
have graced period parlors if the keeping of chimps and apes as
household pets had ever been in vogue. Its mostly vertical
bars had an attractive bronze finish, as did the decorative
metal flourishes and cross-braces welded to the bars as
reinforcement. One end of the enclosure was obviously the
door, and a key protruded from what appeared to be a quite
"Well, I'm nearly late for tea with mother," Cressida announced,
climbing off the bed. "She'll no doubt lecture me on the
importance of keeping a regular routine and not
indulging in frivolous activities, especially with the junior
staff." Totally nude (Yum!) she strolled towards
the loo. "I suppose I could shower and be late,"
she said, "but I'll simply freshen up, instead." She
smiled at Corky over her right shoulder. "You're a wicked girl
for making me lose track of time." She entered the loo,
but left the door ajar. "I shall take the time to
brush my teeth!" she chuckled, her voice carrying back into the
bedroom. "I believe something curly and quite possibly ginger
may be trapped between my incisors!"
Corky's coral lips curled in a rueful smile. Mistress was
"Make the bed while I'm gone!" Cressida ordered.
"Of course, Mistress," Corky muttered, somewhat
petulantly. As if I have to be told!
She made quick work of straightening the rumpled sheets and
restoring the bed to a pristine state that met the House
Mistress' high standards. She glanced at the cage, then at
the loo. She could hear water splashing in the sink and
the sound of Mistress brushing her teeth. Corky wasn't
stupid. The purpose of the cage was obvious. Also,
she remembered Lady Tydwell and Mistress Edna's conversation
while she was helpless on the rack. What was the word Her
Ladyship had used? 'Immurement.' She
scampered to the bookcase, scanned the shelves, and located a
paperback dictionary. She might not have time to use it
Corky grabbed the dictionary and moved it to the lowest shelf
and next to the cage. She hurried back to the bed and
smoothed the bedspread (unnecessarily). With any luck,
when Mistress returned she wouldn't notice such a trivial detail
as one of her books being out of place—and then Mistress did
Cressida strode from the loo to the walk-in closet. Corky
followed and helped her Mistress dress in clean underwear, a
sundress in a pretty, pastel shade of primrose-yellow, and
white, open-toed, high-heeled pumps. Cressida then left
the closet, walked to the dressing table, and sat on its
bench. Corky hurried after. Cressida regarded
herself in the mirror. "The braid is inappropriate," she
"Yes, Mistress." Corky untied the ribbon enforcing the
braid in question, then began unraveling the long, brown,
plaited strands. She kept stealing glances at the cage as
she worked, then noticed Cressida smiling at her in the mirror
and blushed. The braid was history and she brushed
Mistress' hair with strong, even strokes, using her free hand to
keep the brush from tugging on Mistress' scalp. Soon,
Cressida's hair was its usual deceptively tousled but actually
well-ordered self and Corky returned the brush to the dressing
Cressida stood and strode to the cage. She turned the key
in the lock, swung open the door, and smiled. "In you go,
Little Yank," she purred.
Corky swallowed nervously, then nonchalantly strolled to the
cage. The cage floor was padded with what appeared to be a
thick cushion covered in brown leather. Corky gazed at
Cressida, then back at the cage. "Uh, you want me to,
"Inside," Cressida chuckled.
Corky dropped to her hands and knees and crawled inside the
cage. By the time she'd turned herself around to face the
door, it had closed with a clang. Mistress turned
the key and tucked it down the front of her dress, under her
brassiere and against her left breast.
The cage was smaller on the inside than on the outside.
Okay, that was silly, the thing wasn't magic, but Corky
found she had even less room than she'd expected. The
cushion was comfortable, but there wasn't nearly enough space
for her to stretch out full length. Maybe if she
straightened her legs with her back against the back bars, the
soles of her feet would just miss the bars of the door,
but that would be it. She felt like a large cat in a
medium pet-carrier, or possibly a small
pet-carrier. She grabbed the bars of the cage door with
her hands and gazed up at Mistress' smiling face, mustering her
best Pathetic Pout.
Cressida spun on her elegant, hideously expensive heels, and
headed for the bedroom door. "I know you're probably
hungry," she said. "I'll bring you a doggy bag."
Corky heaved the appropriate Tragic Sigh, then, a mischievous
smile curled her lips. "That would be a personal
handmaiden bag, Mistress."
Cressida laughed as she opened the door. "Cheeky
monkey." The door closed and Corky was alone.
Corky waited several seconds... just to be sure she would remain
alone, then squirmed towards the bookcase, reached through the
bars, and pulled the dictionary from the shelf and into the
cage. Lady Tydwell had used the word "immurement" and
while Corky thought she knew what it meant, she wanted to be
sure. She opened the paperback, thumbed to the appropriate
page, read the entry for "immure," and her green eyes popped wide!
"Oh. My. God!" Corky gasped.
immure (î-myŏr´) verb,
'To entomb in a
wall.' The butterfies in Corky's tummy were going insane
and her heart was pounding. 'To entomb in a wall.'
The dictionary fell from Corky's hands, she grabbed the cage
door, and shook it with all her strength. It didn't even
rattle in its frame. 'To entomb in a wall.'
immured, immuring, immures
1. To confine within or as if
within walls; imprison.
2. To build into a wall:
immure a shrine.
3. To entomb in a wall.
Corky retrieved the dictionary, reached through the bars, and
returned it to the bookshelf. Corky's heart was still
pounding. She curled up in a ball on the cushion and
forced herself to think. Time passed. 'To entomb
in a wall.' There was only one course of
action. Her freckled face set in grim determination, Corky
stared into space. "Somehow, someway," she muttered to
herself, "I've got to get out of here."
breezed into the conservatory. Her mother and Edna were
already there, seated at a small table for four.
The Tydwell Castle conservatory was an unusual structure.
It was a typical greenhouse or sun-room, as might be
found in any fashionable Victorian estate, a place where family
and friends could lounge among potted plants and dwarf trees and
pretend they were communing with nature. However, it had
been constructed against the outside of the Castle's
south-facing curtain wall, on pilings driven into the
moat. An old postern gate in the base of the wall provided
the only access.
Cressida planted a kiss on Her Ladyship's lips. "Mother,"
she said in greeting, then turned her smile to the House
"You look beautiful, darling," Lady Jane said as Cressida
settled into the chair on her right. Mistress Edna nodded
politely in acknowledgment. She was seated on Her
Ladyship's left. Lady Jane was wearing a dusky rose
sundress similar in style to Cressida's. Edna was in the
usual sensible shoes, black skirt, and white blouse; her
self-imposed uniform when she wasn't required to dress to
entertain one of Her Ladyship's guests.
"As do you," Cressida purred. "And before you say
anything, I'm keeping her."
"The little American ginger?" Her Ladyship inquired.
Cressida nodded. "I like her, and I believe she's
"A good thing," Edna muttered, "as Miss O'Brien had no
experience whatsoever as a personal maid."
"But you'll soon set that right, won't you?" Cressida responded,
beaming at the unsmiling House Mistress.
Before Edna could respond, Lady Jane picked up the tiny silver
bell on the table and gave it a shake. Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting.
"I'm sure Miss O'Brien will make a capital handmaiden,
Just then, Ulfa—the blond senior maid from Iceland whom the
junior maids had nicknamed Frost Giant—wheeled a serving cart
into the room. On it was a tea service for three and a
tiered platter laden with finger sandwiches, pastries, and small
cakes. Ulfa was in her maid's uniform, of course, but it
was unusual for the tall (very tall), well-muscled, yet very
feminine senior maid to be serving the family at tea. That
was usually a task for a junior maid, or a very junior maid with
a senior maid supervising. Cressida glanced at Edna.
The House Mistress shrugged. "The staff roster is in
disarray," she explained. "Four of my best trained maids
now require additional training.
"Discipline, actually," Lady Jane chuckled.
"Let me guess," Cressida chuckled. "Miss Velzen?"
"It would appear to be my fault," Her Ladyship
purred. "I decreed that Miss Velzen should experience a
period of sexual frustration, but Mistress Edna's staff simply
isn't up to such an impossible task."
Cressida's smile turned coy. "I take it her handlers
indulged in excessive handling?"
"I'm dealing with the situation," Edna huffed.
"And I'll deal with Miss Velzen," Lady Jane chuckled.
Ulfa had been busy pouring tea and she began delivering the
delicate china cups and saucers to Her Ladyship, Mistress
Cressida, and the House Mistress, in that order. All three
cups already held tea and milk, and the usual two lumps of sugar
were on Cressida's saucer, next to a tiny silver spoon.
Cressida dropped the white cubes into her tea, gave it a stir,
then took a sip. "Nice," she said, then frowned, "but with
a slightly bitter aftertaste."
"A new blend," Lady Jane explained after taking a sip of her
own. "I quite agree, but we should give it a chance."
Edna sipped from her cup, as well. Her eyes were on
Ulfa transferred the tower of comestibles and the tea service to
the table, then wheeled the cart a few paces away and stood at
its side, ready to serve as needed.
The cups were drained and sandwiches delicately consumed, then
Her Ladyship lifted the teapot and replenished all three
cups. High tea continued with minimal conversation.
Cressida gazed through the glass of the conservancy wall and
watched a pair of swans glide across the surface of the
moat. Suddenly—the swans began to drift out of
focus. Everything was drifting out of focus.
"I..." She found it difficult to form words. The cup
and saucer slipped from her hands—and would have fallen if Edna
hadn't been prepared to take them from Cressida's suddenly weak
fingers. "M-mother..." Cressida slurred, gazing at Lady
Jane with glazed eyes.
"You know I love you, Honeybee," Her Ladyship said.
"Remember, I love you."
"Honeybee" had been Lady Jane's term of endearment for her
daughter since she was a toddler "buzzing" around the castle
with one or more exasperated maids in hot pursuit. "I
know," Cressida whispered (or tried to whisper), "but..."
Her confused, brown eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped
This time, Ulfa was the one that was ready. She caught
Cressida before her head and shoulders landed among the
half-empty teacups and plates of half-eaten sandwiches, then
lifted her limp and apparently unconscious body from the chair
and cradled her in her arms.
Edna rose from her chair. "With your permission,
milady?" Lady Jane nodded and Edna gestured towards the
open postern. "Follow me." She led the way into the
castle and Ulfa followed. Her Ladyship's daughter was no
more of a burden for the Frost Giant than Corky had been earlier
in the day.
Lady Tydwell replenished her cup, turned to the moat, and
smiled. The swans were still gracefully crossing the still
waters. Her Ladyship sighed, then sipped her tea.
"The immurement has begun," she whispered under her breath.
from her nap feeling somewhat refreshed. She splashed her
face at the bathroom alcove's wall fountain, then went to the
music stand and uncased her viola. The iPad on the stand
wasn't ordering her to practice, but that didn't matter.
At the moment, Morena's muse was in charge. The next hour
passed with the music of Mussorgsky and Mendelssohn. Then,
she returned the instrument to its case, and sighed.
Morena dragged her chain to the south-facing window-shaft, as
close as the iron links would allow, anyway. The shaft was
no longer admitting direct light, but it was the brighter of the
two. She gazed up at the heavy bars with their cruel
spikes ready to punish any damsel who somehow managed to escape
her chain and make the impossible leap to attempt to somehow get
past the obviously unbreakable bars and wiggle up the obviously
too narrow shaft, only to be stopped by the even heavier and
stouter bars at the very top. "She knows how to make a
dungeon," Morena announced to the empty air. She meant
Lady Tydwell, of course. Morena knew her prison had
probably been commissioned by a long dead Lord or Lady Tydwell,
but the faux medieval modern amenities were probably the work of
the current Lady Tydwell. Credit where credit is due.
A maid delivered a tray with dinner in the form of a chicken
salad sandwich, some sliced fruit, and white wine in a stoneware
jug with a stoneware cup for a cap. Morena was puzzled by
the behavior of the maid. She'd avoided eye contact,
deposited the tray on the floor in the center of the cell, and
exited the dungeon as quickly as possible without saying a
word. I guess she's afraid Mistress Edna will send her
to the stables just on general principles, Morena
mused. She ate the sandwich, munched the fruit, and drank
the wine. Everything was delicious, as always. Lady
Tydwell's cooks were as competent and professional as the rest
of her staff—recent boob-related events aside, of course.
The light from both window-shafts was fading.
Apparently... the day was over. Morena dragged her chain
to the bed, flopped down atop the soft, rumpled sheets, stared
up at the vaulted ceiling, and sighed. "So... what to do?"
she muttered to herself. Her hands cupped her breasts...
and squeezed. A thrill rippled through her
steel-caged pussy and she stretched her legs and pointed her
feet. Her fingers toyed with her nipples as she closed her
eyes and moaned through her tightly closed lips. This
is doable, she decided. It might not be the most
thunderous of orgasms, but she was sure that eventually she'd be
Morena was interrupted by the sound of the dungeon door being
unlocked. "Oh, what now?" she huffed. The door
opened, the iron gate was unlocked and opened as well, and four
maids entered the cell. They strode towards Morena with
"What are you going to—Mrrrf!" Two of the maids grabbed
Morena and dragged her to her feet. A third popped a
ball-gag in her mouth. Meanwhile, the fourth was binding
her wrists behind her back with a leather thong.
"M'mmmpfh!" It was no nonsense handling, gagging, and
binding—without groping, gloating, or teasing. A cloth
sack dropped over Morena's head—"Nrrr!—a drawstring was pulled
tight (but not too tight), and was knotted around her
neck. Then, she felt the chain linking her to the wall
being unlocked from the back of her belt.
A maid maintaining a firm grip on each arm, Morena was hustled
from the cell and down the passageway. She heard the gate
clang closed behind her, followed by the thud of the dungeon
door, and the bound, gagged, and hooded journey continued.
There was a left turn, a right turn, and the ascent of a spiral
staircase. A hundred paces turned into two—not that she
actually counted, of course. Finally, a door was opened,
they crossed an intervening space with what felt like a tiled
floor, another door opened, and Morena found herself in a hot,
humid space. Even through the cloth hood she could feel
the heat and moisture in the air. She could certainly
feel it on her bare skin. Wherever they were, it was
almost like a steam room.
Morena was handed off to two different maids, led across the
room, and plunked down on a soft cushion of some sort.
"Mrrrpfh!" A maid held her hooded head, the two others
continued holding her arms, and a collar was locked around her
throat. It was padded with what might be leather.
The hood was loosened and lifted above the collar, and Morena
could now tell the padding was definitely leather. She
suspected the collar itself was iron or steel, and it was
attached to something rigid. Next, Morena's ankles were
spread apart and locked in padded cuffs. At the same time,
her wrists were untied, pulled from behind her back, and locked
in similar cuffs. She was in a sitting position with her
rump on the cushion. Her bare feet were on smooth, hard
stone or tile, and about two feet apart. Her wrists were
at her sides and about eighteen inches apart with her elbows
bent. The hood was whisked from her head and she blinked
in the sudden light.
Morena was locked in a triangle of iron bars. The collar
was at the vertex, an ankle on either side of the base, and her
wrists between her ankles and the collar. Her knees were
on the outside of the vertical segments. Between the ankle
cuffs and the way the triangle blocked her knees, her crotch was
completely exposed—but for the chastity-belt, of course.
She tugged on the cuffs and wiggled her body, but it was
hopeless. Several naked maids were surrounding her, and
It was a subterranean bath. There weren't any windows,
anyway, so the place might be underground. The
chamber was superficially similar to her dungeon, both in size
and architecture; however, it was decidedly wetter and hotter
than the Practice Room, and was much better lit.
In addition to lanterns and candles, actual torch light (or gas
flames) flickered in several arched niches set in the stone
walls. In the center there was what amounted to a modest
swimming pool. Around it were several smaller pools,
ranging from kiddie-size to small spas. Steam rose from
the spas. A dozen naked maids, some of whom Morena
recognized, lounged in the water or were clustered around her
helpless self—make that two dozen—and in one of the
larger spas... "Mrrrt?" Morena's eyes popped wide
above her gag.
It was Lady Jane herself! And she was also naked, and she
was bathing! More precisely, Her Ladyship was being
bathed. A pair of naked maids were scrubbing her body with
sponges and ladling water over her lounging form. Jane
Tydwell might be in her late fifties... possibly even her early
sixties... but her body was exquisite. She's a
sorceress, Morena thought, or maybe she's an immortal
"Good evening Miss Velzen," Her Ladyship purred.
Morena didn't attempt an answer. She simply stared at her
hostess (captor) and tried not to fidget.
"Ladies," Lady Tydwell said, "gather 'round, if you
please." The maids formed a circle around her spa, some
kneeling, some sitting, and some standing. More than a few
were holding hands or were otherwise in intimate contact.
"Wait for us, please, milady!"
It was the four maids who had taken Morena from her cell.
They were hurrying from a side door and were now as naked as the
Lady Tydwell smiled while the latecomers joined the crowd.
She cleared her throat and a goblet appeared as if by
magic. She took a sip... then smiled at the gathered
maids. "As you all know, Mary, Malee, Alice, and Judy will
be spending the next fortnight in the stables assisting Pippa
with her duties." Quiet giggling ensued and every face
turned towards Morena. She blushed in response. "You
obviously know why they've been temporarily reassigned,"
Her Ladyship added. The giggling rose in a tittering
crescendo, then all was quiet.
Morena squirmed and continued blushing. They were all
still staring at her.
"I expect my orders to be followed," Lady Jane intoned, "but I
strive to keep them within the realm of possibility.
Mistress Edna has no choice but to be uncompromising. I,
on the other hand, am allowed a degree of flexibility."
The maids giggled, again.
Lady Tydwell took another sip from the goblet, then smiled at
Morena. "Ladies, Miss Velzen remains off limits."
"Ahhh..." It was a quiet sigh from the disappointed
"But not tonight," Lady Jane continued. "Tonight, I want
you to make her cum." Morena's eyes popped wide,
again. "She is to remain in the Scavenger's Daughter for
at least an hour, but then you may release her, bathe her, and
continue making her cum. She is to remain under your
complete control at all times, of course."
The maids smiled and whispered among themselves.
"Put her to bed satiated and exhausted," Lady Tydwell
purred. "Tomorrow, her frustration will begin anew...
until the next time I decide to reward my giggling
girls." The giggling returned, in spades. "Tonight,"
Lady Jane smiled, "make her cum."
The maids slowly strolled towards Morena, twenty or more naked
women of every color and complexion, all beautiful. Lady
Jane remained in her spa, as did her two bathers. Morena
watched as Lady Jane pulled one of the maids close and kissed
her cheek, and the little blond shivered, smiled, and returned
the kiss. The other maid affected a wounded pout, then
laughed when Her Ladyship and the blond pulled her close and
began planting kisses on her wiggling, giggling body—and then
Morena could see no more. The other maids were upon her!
Hands, lips, and tongues were gliding over Morena's body,
squeezing her breasts, kissing her ball-gagged mouth, licking
her arms and legs, probing her ears, and sucking her toes.
Her chastity-belt was unlocked and removed. The maids
lifted her, iron triangle and all, and their hands, limbs, and
bodies were now her support. The triangle—Her Ladyship had
called it a Scavenger's Daughter—locked her in the same posture,
but she was floating on a bed of writhing, moving flesh,
caressing hands, and gliding fingers.
The exploration of her entire body continued, but now that
included her thighs, tummy—and pussy! And Morena was
ready! Morena was more than ready!
"Mrrrf?" The hands backed off! They were still
there, but not where she needed and wanted them the most!
A whining wimper escaped her gagged lips, eliciting giggles and
coos of sympathy from her tormentors (lovers).
And then, a face pressed against her pussy and a tongue began
exploring its depths! Morena couldn't see who it was,
which maid was pleasuring her starving beast. Too many
smiling, kissing faces, strong hands, and firm breasts were in
her way, pressing against her and caressing her flushed
skin. She was dripping with sweat, as were all the
maids. And the tongue was teasing her in all the right
places and—MRRRRF!—she shuddered in orgasm, then shuddered
again, and the waves of pleasure went on, and on!
Morena opened her eyes. It would appear the intensity of
the experience had actually caused her to swoon.
The gag was gone from her mouth and a dozen smiling maids were
holding her close, still supporting her helpless body. A
goblet touched her lips and she drank. It was red wine,
cold and pleasantly fruity. Hands were still gliding over
her flushed, sweat-slick skin, and she was still locked in the
Scavenger's Daughter—but there was no strain on her neck,
wrists, or ankles, not at the moment. Her handlers knew
how to handle her. "Wonderbaar," she sighed.
"T-that was wonderful—Oh!" A tongue had just licked her
flushed and very sensitive labia. "No!" she
protested. "Let me rest, please! I must rest!"
"Don't be silly," a voice whispered in her left ear. "No
rest for the wicked."
"No rest for a wicked temptress who lures poor, innocent maidens
to their doom," a maid on the edge of the crowd added, and
Morena's lovers giggled.
"It's either feast of famine," a maid whispered in Morena's
right ear. "Isn't that always the way?"
"Drought or flood," another sighed, and licked her right nipple.
"Chastity-belt or orgy," a grinning blond added.
This elicited more giggling, and the hands continued
caressing Morena's skin!
"I'm hot!" Morena sighed.
"Ya got that right."
"No, I..." Morena realized her field of vision was
beginning to narrow, a buzzing sound was rising in crescendo,
and—Cool water splashed her face. "Ah!—Mrrrf!" A
tongue was in her mouth, and other tongues were in her ears, and
her pussy, and gliding between her fingers and toes! More
cool water was being ladled over her body, even as the hands
continued to slide, caress, and tease.
It was going to be a long night. A long, hot, sweaty, glorious
opened her eyes—and knew exactly where she was.
She was in "Teaching Room B," the North Tower chamber in which
new maids received instruction in basic bondage techniques and
the proper handling of Her Ladyship's guests. Cressida
herself had participated in such instruction. The new
hires were bound and gagged with rope, leather, and chains, so
they could see what it was like. Then, they were required
to do what had been done to them with another maid in the role
of "guest." Cabinets and racks all around the room held
coils of rope, cord, and string, leather cuffs and binders of
various designs, and steel cuffs, fetters, manacles, limb-cages,
Junior maids needed to learn how to restrain and entertain a
"reluctant" guest without causing injury. Of course, no
one was recruited to work for Her Ladyship without some
experience in BDSM, but new maids needed to learn the Tydwell
way of doing things. They also had to become familiar with
the Castle's standard inventory of restraints and learn to
quickly and accurately size a guest's wrists and ankles.
The wrong-sized restraint could be painful, and might even cause
Instruction occurred around a bondage table of heavy timbers
situated in the center of the room. A student-maid would
be bound on the table, or to the table, or in a predicament
position on and/or above the table. And it was on this
table that Cressida found herself.
Her Ladyship's daughter was naked and spreadeagled, her arms and
legs flung to the table's four corners and locked in steel
cuffs. The cuffs, in turn, were linked by heavy steel
chains to steel rings embedded in the massive table legs.
The rings were below the level of the tabletop, but Cressida
knew they were there. She also knew everything there was
to know about the style and construction of her restraints.
The cuffs were thick-walled, wide, and made to follow every
curve and contour of their wearer's anatomy, with rounded edges
and a smooth finish, inside and out. Steel rings on
swivel-joints on each cuff were attached to the chains by means
of figure-eight locks, a cunning design that was more or less
two padlocks with two staples and two keyholes joined
end-to-end. They were custom made and hideously
expensive, but mother prized their aesthetic value.
Conventional padlocks would have served just as well, but
figure-eights were much more elegant. Cressida tugged on
her right cuff. The lock, like her current chains, was
strong enough to tow an automobile, and even if the fingers of
her cuffed hand could reach the keyholes—which they could
not—figure-eights were devilishly difficult to pick. That
assumed, of course, that Cressida had access to a set of lock
picks—which she did not.
Oh-by-the-way, a ball-gag was strapped in her mouth.
Cressida could tell by feel that it was a standard "breather
gag," a hollow, thick-walled, four-centimeter rubber ball,
usually black, pierced by a dozen or more one-centimeter
holes. The gag's attached strap was buckled at the nape of
her neck, under her hair and—again, by feel—she knew it was
secured by a tiny padlock. As per standard practice, the
gag had been secured tight enough to make her cheeks bulge above
Cressida realized her condition was entirely in
accordance with Castle Tydwell standard practice.
Cressida was naked. Prisoners were always naked.
Mother didn't indulge in silly costumes; except for rare
occasions such as fancy-dress balls.
Cressida's restraints were inescapable—manifestly
inescapable. Expensive, expert craftsmanship had made them
Cressida was more-or-less comfortable. With time, the hard
table and near immobility of her limbs would become onerous, but
the cuffs fit perfectly and her gag was as comfortable as such a
thing could be. Not comfortable, exactly, but a
five-centimeter ball or a hard bit would be worse.
Cressida was Her Ladyship's prisoner—mother's
prisoner—just like Miss Velzen, just like any of the parade of
mother's famous and/or talented friends who had "vacationed" at
the castle for as long as Cressida could remember. She was
helpless, and vulnerable, and her fate was completely in
mother's hands. She tugged on her cuffs, squirmed against
the smooth, hard wood of the table, and waited.
She tugged on her chains, again. What the HELL is
going on? Mother had drugged her and caused her to
be put in this condition. What is she up to?
What is mother's game?
| Chapter 5