by Van ©2013
		Chapter 5

"Miss Velzen, 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 not?

"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.

Corky sighed 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 were... cuddling!

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 substantial lock.

"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 teasing.

"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 now, so...

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 return.

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 stated.

"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 table.

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, uh..."

"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, transitive
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.

'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.'

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."

Cressida 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 Mistress.  "Edna."

"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 trainable."

"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, my dear."

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 Mistress Cressida.

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 forward.

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.

Morena awoke 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 able to—

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 determined steps.

"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 beyond them—"Mrrrf?"

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 fey.

"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 rest.

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 maids.

"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!

"Mrrrf!"

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.

"M'mmmpf!"

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!

Blackness.

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."

"I'll say."

More laughter.

"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 night.

Wonderbaar!

Cressida 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, and collars.

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 damage.

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 the strap.

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 so.

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?