Castle Tydwell
by Van

Chapter 8



Cressida was getting seriously hungry.  By her best estimate it was now slightly more than twenty-four hours since her last meal, if one could characterize a few nibbles of cucumber sandwich and a cup of drugged tea as a meal.  Granted, she was experiencing what might be called ready-to-eat hunger and not the early stages of starvation, but still...

Adding insult to injury—or indifference to discomfort—Cressida's shoulders were beginning to ache from her wrists being cuffed behind her back and to the back of the steel belt locked around her waist.  Yoga was a part of her regular exercise regime—when mother wasn't treating her like one of her captured guests, of course—so the pain wasn't that bad.  It was more of an annoyance than anything else, the unpleasant icing on the distasteful cake that was the crushing boredom of uninterrupted confinement in a dreary cell.

Cressida was sitting on the floor in a half-lotus, halfway between her bed and the barred window.  She'd tried pacing, but shuffling back and forth with the machine overhead shortening and lengthening her collar chain as she hobbled from the window to the loo was a pointless exercise, but she could only lie on the bed for so long before her shoulders started to complain and she had to climb to her feet.

"The least mother could do is pop in and gloat now and then," she muttered under her breath, "or send Edna... or one of the senior maids."  Cressida didn't make a habit of talking to herself, but even the sound of her own disgruntled whining was better than total silence.  She heaved a heartfelt sigh dripping with self pity.  "And this is only the first day."  Mother hadn't divulged the full duration of her "immurement," but the portrait taken during her immurement had borne the label "the third month."  It was a safe bet Cressida was in for at least eighty-nine more days of imprisonment, and probably more.  "And all so I can learn empathy and complete some ancient family ritual," she sighed.

Mother and her games...

Just then—Finally!—Cressida heard the door of her prison being unlocked.  "That had better be breakfast, lunch, and dinner," she grumbled as she climbed to her feet.  The door opened, the gate was also unlocked and opened, and Corky O'Brien appeared, dressed in her maid's uniform and carrying a wooden tray.  "It's about time," Cressida huffed.  "I hope that tray is something I—"

"Sit!" Corky barked.  Okay, the "bark" in question was a little high pitched, but it was a command.  "Where you are now will do just fine," Corky added.  "Sit."

Cressida in chains!Cressida gazed at her personal handmaiden with amusement.  "Who do you think you're talking to, Miss O'Brien?"

Corky stooped and placed the tray on the floor, then stood.  "I'm talkin' to the damsel I've been ordered to handle," she replied, then pulled a riding crop from under the apron ties behind her back.  She slipped the crop's retaining loop over her right wrist, took a firm grip on the braided handle, and pointed the whip towards Cressida.  "You will speak when spoken to and do everything I say... or else."

Cressida carefully suppressed a smile.  Corky-the-Handler was adorable.  Her devilishly cute, freckled features were set in a determined frown, but the wavering tip of the riding crop telegraphed her nervousness.  Obviously, mother had put her up to this—another move in her game—and a good move, at that.  In terms of counter move, Cressida's options were to unleash her inner spoiled brat and take her anger out on Corky, or play along and make life easier for her handmaiden.

Noblesse oblige had been drilled into Cressida for as long as she could remember.  Servants were people, and in a very real sense they were as close as family, or could be.  Cressida's privileged birth was an accident, what one of her mathematics teachers would call a datum, a particular stochastic outcome.  In an alternate reality, their roles could just as easily be reversed.  Cressida Tydwell could be in service as a junior maid at Castle O'Brien—which would probably be someplace in Ireland.  In any case, making things unnecessarily difficult for the staff was very bad form.  Shenanigans associated with the Tydwell "family hobby" aside, being kind and helpful to the maids was a lesson Cressida had always embraced, and she wasn't about to let a little thing like being "immured" change her now.

Cressida settled to the floor and folded her legs into a semi-lotus, once again, following her "handler's" order—but she did allow the previously suppressed smile to curl her lips.

Ever so briefly Corky allowed her relief to show.  She wasn't going to have to use the crop on her beloved Mistress, and that was a good thing.  Then, immediately, she reasserted her fierce (and adorable) frown.  "All right, then."  She glanced at the still wavering tip of the riding crop, then let the grip drop from her hand, freed her wrist from the loop, and slid the crop back under the apron ties and behind her back.  She then carried the tray close to Cressida and sat on the floor, mirroring her charge's pose—not counting the hands-behind-the-back part, of course.

Cressida's stomach rumbled.  On the tray she beheld a small carafe of red wine next to a stemmed glass, a plate of finger-sized wraps—pita or tortilla-like bread rolled around various greens, vegetables, and savory meats—and a small bowl of some sort of dark, syrupy sauce.

Corky's coral lips curled in a shy smile.  "If you behave yourself," she mumbled, "I'll feed you."

Cressida smiled back.  "Excuse me?" she inquired.  "I'm afraid you'll have to speak up."

"I said, behave yourself and maybe I'll feed you!" Corky huffed, a blush coloring her freckled cheeks.  "And wipe that smile off your face."

"Oh, I most certainly shall," Cressida purred.

Corky's cheeks were still flushed, but her green eyes were determined.  "That would be... 'I most certainly shall, Mistress.'"

Cressida gazed into Corky's devilishly cute face for several seconds before answering.  "I most certainly shall, Mistress."

"Good," Corky responded, then leaned forward, picked up one of the small wraps, dipped it in the sauce, then popped it into Cressida's mouth.

Cressida chewed and swallowed.  Whatever the origin of the tidbit—Asian, Middle Eastern, or some form of Spanish tapa—it was delicious.  She knew, of course, that hunger had a lot to do with her assessment, but it was delicious.

Corky poured wine into the glass, then held it to Cressida's lips.  Her charge took a sip, then accepted another sauce-dipped wrap.  She's so beautiful, Corky thought, trying to keep her expression grim and... dominant.  Mistress Cressida was hot.  Naked, captive Mistress Cressida in chains was HOT!

Cressida locked eyes with her "handler" and continued to chew.  She's adorable... but I'm going to have to help her play her part.  She opened her mouth and accepted a third wrap.  Mother and her games...

 Chapter 8

Morena had had a full day.  After exercise and her tanning session (with orgy) in the castle courtyard, she'd been returned to her Practice Room dungeon.  A lunch tray had been waiting, and after eating she'd taken a brief siesta.  Then, she practiced.

Rather than play any one piece, she had improvised, mostly.  Many of her favorite passages from the works of various composers surfaced as she played, but mostly she improvised.

All the while, she considered the program for Lady Tydwell's party.  Mistress Edna had specified "three concert works," which suggested something between a half hour and an hour, but there were so many possibilities.  Should she go with three different composers or with one?  And if one, a single concerto or movements from different works?  Should she establish a theme and then make her selections?  It would help if she knew more about the party itself, but there was no one to ask.  Morena was alone in her dungeon... and even if Edna was here she wouldn't tell her anything useful... probably.

Finally, her muse was satiated and allowed Morena to return her viola to its case.  She was no closer to a program, and it was frustrating.  She splashed her face at the loo alcove's washbasin, then dragged her chain to the bed and reclined on her back on the soft, rumpled sheets. 

And speaking of frustration...

Morena's hands caressed the crotch-shield of her chastity belt.  The orgy in the courtyard—the horrible, wonderful things the six naked maids had done to her—had more than satisfied her erotic frustration, but only for the moment.  Although it may have been her imagination, she could feel a ghostly, low-level tingling beginning to return... if it had ever left.

Morena Velzen was not a slave to her out-of-control libido, but she was on vacation.  Yes, vacation, she thought, continuing to stroke the smooth, hard steel of her chastity-belt with her right hand.  I'm a damsel in distress... chained in an inescapable dungeon... prisoner of a cruel aristocrat... on vacation.  Her left hand began playing with her left nipple.  Both nipples were erect.  On reflection, she realized the flushed, sensitive nubs of flesh had been erect for some time... and her steel-caged pussy had been tingling for some time, while she was playing.  "Brutale nymfomane," she mumbled under her breath.  "Brazen nymphomaniac," she repeated, translating from her native Dutch to the language of her captor, Lady Tydwell.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Morena heard the now familiar sound of the dungeon door and iron gate being unlocked and opened.  She opened her eyes to find Mistress Edna and a pair of maids in uniform striding across the dungeon towards her.  What now?

Edna addressed one of the maids.  "A stage two restraint package," she ordered, and the maid curtsied and left the dungeon.  Edna addressed Morena next.  "Her Ladyship's desires have been made clear.  She does not want you playing with yourself and your genitalia are locked away from your fiddling fingers for that reason."  She gestured towards Morena's encased viola.  "You will confine your fiddling to your instrument, your musical instrument."

The watching maid giggled, then carefully composed herself when the House Mistress turned her head and she became the focus of her disapproving frown.

Edna turned back to Morena.  "I am forced to reinforce that lesson."

Just then the other maid returned with an armload of steel and leather... things.  Morena couldn't really tell what she was carrying—but she soon found out!

The maids encased Morena's fingers and hands in leather mitts.  She tried to resist, but the maids were well-trained and their actions perfectly coordinated, as always.  The mitts were somewhat like thinly padded boxing gloves and incorporated wide steel cuffs that closed and locked around her wrists.  Her fingers were trapped in individual channels and had very little wiggle room.  Fiddling of any kind was now impossible.

"With the exception of practice and daily exercise sessions that requires the use of your hands," Edna intoned, "those will remain in place until I decide otherwise."

Next came a brassiere, a very special brassiere.  Its shoulder and torso straps were inch-wide ribbons of chain mail, stainless steel and smooth to the touch.  The cups were also stainless steel, but edged with leather.  They covered but did not touch Morena's breasts, and over her nipples were small convex domes that made doubly sure the peripheral padding and the steel straps were the only things touching her skin.  The mitts and bra were both perfect fits, like the chastity belt already caging her loins.  In fact, as best Morena could tell without a mirror, her new "accessories" were similar in style.  Is all of this a matching set? she wondered.

The maids finished their task and stepped back behind their Mistress.  Morena returned their smug smiles with an angry pout, then focused on the equally smug and amused House Mistress.  "This is hardly necessary," she muttered, unable to stifle the complaint.

Still smiling, Edna met Morena's angry gaze for several seconds, then turned to one of the maids.  "Stage three," she purred, and the maid turned and scurried from the dungeon.  "I don't like your attitude, Miss Velzen," she purred.

"And I don't much care what you like or don't like," Morena huffed.  "You are being cruel for cruelty's sake.  I demand to speak with Lady—"  Her eyes popped wide.  "Oh!"

The maid had returned quickly, and in her hands was what was unmistakably a stainless steel mask! 

Morena backed away from Edna and the maids.  She couldn't help herself.  "No, please.  I-I promise to be good."  The maids advanced, one holding the mask and the other ready to assist.  This time, Morena was really going to struggle.  "No!"

Struggle or no, the maid unencumbered by the mask had little difficulty manhandling Morena's mitt-clad hands behind her back and somehow locking the wrist-cuffs together and to the back of her chastity-belt.

"Please, no!"  Morena continued to fight as best she could.  She tried kicking, but her handlers were already too close for that to be effective.  One maid was holding her head by the hair, and the other was moving the mask closer and closer to her face!  Its interior was also shining stainless steel, and was the negative of the generically beautiful female features sculpted on the front.  The mask's eyes were open.  That is, the pupils of the vacant, staring orbs were a pair of quarter-inch, circular holes.  On the outside, the mask's lips were demurely closed, but on the inside a two-inch plug of what appeared to be chamois or micro-fiber waited to fill Morena's mouth.  "No—Uuurf!"

The plug was in Morena's mouth, the mask against her face, and the maids were securing chain-mail straps to keep it in place.  They held her struggling head steady by continuing to grip her hair.  Finally, the tousled brown tresses were evenly distributed above and below the stainless steel ribbons and the straps clicked together and locked.

"Mrrrf!"  Morena tossed her head, tugged on her leather encased and steel cuffed hands, twisted her shoulders, stomped her bare feet, and tossed her steel-clad head.  "Nrrrrr!"

Edna and the maids watched Morena's futile, steel-restrained tantrum.  What Morena could only characterize as evil smiles curled her handlers' and their Mistress' lips.  Morena's eyes were wet, but she knew it was a safe bet the mask hid her tears.

"Leg irons, Mistress?" one of the maids suggested.

"No, I don't think so," Edna purred.  "She can't do anything to stimulate herself with only her toes."  She gestured towards the open gate and door.  "Go."

The maids curtsied and made their exits, pausing in the double threshold to giggle and take a last, gloating look at Her Ladyship's guest.

Morena stopped struggling, blinked back her tears, and glared at Mistress Edna.  Of course, her angry expression was also hidden by the mask.

Edna smiled for several seconds before she spoke.  "No supper tonight, Miss Velzen.  Perhaps your attitude will have improved by morning.  If not...  There are other options available... many other options."

Morena watched Edna turn and make her exit.  "Nrrrf!"  It was more a gagged whine than a protest.  In any case, she was ignored.  The iron gate closed and locked, the door beyond closed and locked, and Morena was alone.

The Maiden in the Iron Mask, Morena mused.  Okay, the mask was steel, not iron, but it was the same torment.  The Maiden in the Metal Bikini and Mask, she amended.  Yes, 'metal' is better.

Morena knew she was in for an uncomfortable night.  Her encased hands were still locked to the back of the belt.  The two-inch obstruction in her mouth proved to be somewhat soft and pliable, but it was still a gag.  The steel covering her face pressed against her lips and cupped her chin.  The mask was an effective gag.  She tried breathing through her mouth and discovered it was possible.  That was some small consolation, but the mask and gag were oppressive, even a little claustrophobic.  The barely adequate openings for her eyes exacerbated the effect.  She'd be able to find her way to the loo alcove, use the commode, and sleep on the bed, but that was all.  And it was many long hours until dawn.

Morena lay on her right side on the bed, settling in as best she could.  No supper.  Edna was being a real bitch.  Or is she following Lady Jane's orders?  She closed her eyes, willed herself to relax, and tried to sleep.

Eventually, Morena succeeded... but just before she drifted off, a final thought coalesced:  Will they keep me their prisoner... forever?

Morena had many vivid dreams that night.  Surprisingly—or perhaps not so surprisingly—many of those dreams were wet.

 Chapter 8

Corky was terrified—but it was a different kind of terrified from being naked and tied up and gagged and waiting for Mistress Edna or Mistress Cressida or a senior maid to do something nasty to her—very different.

Cressida was her Mistress!  And Lady Jane, her other Mistress, THE Mistress, had ordered her to do nasty stuff to Cressida!  And Mistress Edna had coached her on how to proceed, and with the promise, the ominous promise, of more coaching to come!

Granted, the stuff she was doing to Mistress Cressida was exactly the sort of "bad" stuff that were she on the receiving end would have Junior Maid/Personal Handmaiden Corky O'Brien cringing and/or screaming through a hypothetical gag—while simultaneously making her wetter than the paddling feet and feathery underside of one of Lady Jane's beloved swans out on the moat—but that was the point!  Corky wasn't on the receiving end, she was on the giving end!  And it was Cressida!  And if she messed up...

Okay, Lady Tydwell (and even Mistress Edna, surprisingly) had made it clear that all they expected of her was to do her best, and had promised she wouldn't be tortured or shipped to a sultan's harem if she failed.  Are there still sultans? Corky wondered.  And do they still have harems?  She shook her head and returned to the freakout at hand.  Anyway, she wouldn't be punished, per se, if she failed... but this was weird!

From Junior maid to Mistress Cressida's Personal Handmaiden to Prisoner Cressida's Official Handler in something like two days?  Weird!

Corky had finished feeding her naked, chained, and collared charge, then ordered her to use the loo.  And thank god Cressida had decided to comply, because Corky knew she would have started bawling like a baby if Cressida had made her use the riding crop to make her comply.  Anyway, comply Cressida had, and the commode's flushing and bidet functions had worked perfectly.  Afterwards, Corky had led Cressida back to the bed, quickly straightened out the rumpled sheets, then "made" her prisoner lie face down on the soft surface.

Next, she spreadeagled Cressida face down on the bed, changing her bonds one limb at a time as she'd been trained.  She took no chances.  Cressida's right ankle cuff was chained to the lower right bedpost before the hobbling chain linking ankle cuff to ankle cuff was removed.  Only then was her left ankle cuff chained to the lower left bedpost.  Similarly, Cressida's wrist cuffs were chained to the upper bedposts one at a time.  The steel belt remained locked around her waist.

Cressida found there was a reasonably generous amount of slack in her chains, something like two or three inches for each limb.  She smiled up at her "handler" as Corky finished securing her to the bed.  "Very good, Miss O'Brien," she purred.  "Mistress Edna has trained you well."  She tugged on her inescapable fetters and the steel links clicked and clanked as she tested her bonds.  "At the junior maid level, of course."

Corky stood erect, sighed, and reached into her apron pocket.  If I'm going to do this—and I AM going to do this—I'm going to do it right.  She pulled out a ball-gag, leaned over the bed, took hold of Cressida's ponytail with one hand, and thrust the ball into her mouth with the other.

Cressida's eyes popped wide and she gasped once she realized what was happening.  "No-urrrf!"  If she'd kept her mouth shut she might have made the process more difficult for her redheaded handler, but it was too late now!  "M'mmpfh!"  The ball was semi-hard rubber, two inches in diameter, hollow, and pierced by a dozen or so breathing holes.  Corky buckled the main strap at the nape of her neck, then buckled the secondary, much narrower strap under her chin.  "Mrrr!"

Corky stepped to the side and watched Her Mistress—her captive Mistress—pull on her chains, toss her gagged head, squirm her smooth, strong, naked body against the soft sheets, and mewl through her gag.  She's so beautiful.

Then, slowly and deliberately, Corky reached behind her back and pulled the riding crop from under her apron ties.  So beautiful... and she's mine.  All uncertainty and fear of failure faded into the background.  Front and center was a new feeling, or more precisely, what for Corky was an underdeveloped feeling: the joy of dominating a beautiful, helpless woman.  Corky had always thought of herself as a bottom, but topping Mistress Cressida was definitely something worth trying—and the fact that she was being ordered to do so was unimportant—at least while she was in this room... with Cressida in chains... naked and vulnerable on the bed.

Mistress Edna's "advice" was to keep the initial session personal, strictly one-on-one.  That is, she wasn't to mention Her Ladyship or Mistress Edna or to evoke their authority.  She wasn't to justify her actions.  "Mistress Corky" was in charge, and that's all Cressida needed to know.

A wicked smile curled Corky's lips.  She had no qualms about what she was about to do.  It was entirely different from the uneasiness she'd felt about the possibility of having to use the crop to make Cressida follow orders.  She was glad she'd not had to use the sting of the whip to enforce Cressida's obedience, but that might be required later—especially after what she was about to do.  She'd swan dive off that cliff when she came to it.  Anyway, this was different.  This was an expression of pure power.

Cressida flinched when the flat tip of the crop touched her left butt cheek.  She looked back over her shoulder, sending a warning glare at her "handler"—then her eyes widened and her entire body went rigid.  A somewhat unusual emotion welled up inside her, and that emotion was fear.  The expression on Corky's adorably cute, freckled face was disturbing.  Granted, Cressida wasn't really afraid.  She didn't fear for her life, but Corky O'Brien, lowly junior maid, was in control.  She watched as Corky raised her arm, the arm holding the riding crop.  She wouldn't dare!  And then...


"Mrrrpfh!"  The blow had landed on Cressida's left cheek, and it was not a playful, teasing smack, it was a seriously businesslike WHACK!


"Nrrr!"  The second blow was to her right cheek.

Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Whack!

It hurts!  It really, really hurts!  Six blows, three on each cheek.  Cressida waited for the seventh blow to fall... and waited... and waited.  Her eyes were wet and clenched tightly closed.  She realized her pulse was racing and she was breathing in deep pants.  Her bosom would have been heaving, had not the bosom in question been squashed into the soft bed.

Corky gazed down at her handiwork.  Six red, clearly defined, wedge-shaped patches graced Cressida's firm buttocks, three on each cheek.  The skin was unbroken and the marks would fade quickly (probably), but the "taps" had been what the junior maids termed "bitch-grade," or "six of the best" for the more traditionally inclined.  She felt terrible about it... and yet, the smile still curled her lips.  She waited for Cressida to recover—as per Mistress Edna's instructions—and mentally rehearsed her next speech and the actions that would follow.

On very rare occasions Cressida had played with being on the bottom, with the maids when she was a child and at school with her circle of closest friends, but all involved knew her "subservience" was a game, a lark, a hoot.  It was very rare indeed for Cressida to be the helpless player.  She was almost always the one doing the tying and gagging.  She'd been willing to go along with mother's game.  She'd even intellectually appreciated the fact that this was going to be something different.  But the truth had finally dawned.

I'm a helpless prisoner!

A trite observation, perhaps, but Cressida finally, truly understood that what she was or was not "willing to go along with" was totally irrelevant!  She had zero control of her fate!  Her newly chosen Personal Handmaiden was using a riding crop on her ass!  And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it!  She lifted her head, again, and gazed back at Corky.

Corky's smile broadened.  "Good.  I see I finally have your actual attention."  She sat on the bed, even with Cressida's hips, placed the riding crop within easy reach, then reached back into her apron pocket.

Cressida's eyes widened, again.  Corky had produced a "mini-rocket," a torpedo vibrator the size and shape of a broad-tip magic marker or a small electric torch.

"Your task will be the exact opposite of the task you once set for me," Corky purred.  She clicked the vibrator's power switch—Buzzzzz—then reached between Cressida's splayed legs and ran the business end across the spreadeagled captive's labia.  "I'm going to feed your hungry pussy and you're going to do you very best to cum."  She continued her light, oh-so-light teasing of the flushed, pink folds of the hungry pussy in question.  "Don't worry," she added, "I don't intend to make it easy for you.  You'll have every opportunity to demonstrate your complete obedience through diligence and hard work."


Cressida shivered, tugged on her bonds—"Mmmm!"—and moaned through her gag.  The vibrator felt good.  Oh god!  What's happening to me?


Cressida began grinding her hips and trying to lift herself off the bed, to press the slipping, sliding, vibrating shaft against her pussy, perhaps to nudge the tip against her clitoris—"Nrrr!"—but Corky was making the humming shaft a moving target.  She was lifting and lowering her hand in perfect rhythm to Cressida's efforts, never losing contact, but denying her the firm, steady, titillating pressure she needed—"M'mmpfh!"—that she craved to complete her task, to follow her Mistress' orders.


I am such a slut, Cressida thought.  I should be angry... but I'm not.  "Mrrrf!"  The tapered tip of the vibrator had, indeed, nudged her clitoris, but the contact had been fleeting.  The rocket had returned to sliding up and down her slit with firm, gentle pressure.  The nudge had been Mistress Corky's doing, not her own.  Cressida shivered, then moaned in renewed frustration.  Mistress had nudged her in just the right spot, again—but again, it wasn't enough!  The mini-rocket continued its teasing strokes, but they weren't enough!  "Nrrrf!"


The game continued.  Cressida was doing her best to ride the rocket to orgasm, and true to her word, Corky wasn't making it easy.

 Chapter 8

Corky made her way to the House Mistress' office.

She'd finally allowed Cressida to complete her task, to coax an orgasm from the buzzing mini-rocket.  Then, she'd set the vibrator aside and given her Mistress—her Prisoner—a full body massage, on her back side, anyway.  Cressida remained spreadeagled on her stomach, and Corky could tell her charge greatly appreciated the deep, gentle kneading of her shoulder and back muscles, her butt, and her arms, legs, and feet.  Corky had been tempted to tickle Cressida's soles and toes, but she'd kept her actions therapeutic.  Now was not the time for additional torment.

She noted the telltale marks of her Stern Discipline, the six red, wedge-shaped marks on Cressida's butt-cheeks, had already faded to almost nothing.  I got it right, she thought.  I got it right.

Next, she picked up the vibrator, clicked it on, and gave her precious prisoner another orgasm.

There was no playing around this time.  Corky did her very best to make the experience as memorable as possible.  She knew Cressida had had sufficient time to recover from her initial "ordeal," but her labia would still be somewhat hypersensitive.  For that reason, her initial probing, caressing strokes with the buzzing rocket were light and gentle.  Cressida had flinched at the sound of the vibrator, then flinched again at the renewed contact; but soon she was shivering, shuddering, and tugging on her steel bonds.  Corky gradually increased the pressure of the vibrator against the captive's flushed pussy.

As she walked the darkened corridor towards Mistress Edna's office, Corky heaved a deep sigh.  The memory of Cressida's whining moans as the second orgasm engulfed her helpless body would be with her forever.  'Urrrrrrrrf!'  It was the sound of surrender, or despair, or both—but what haunted Corky was the possibility there was an element of betrayal, as well.  In any case, fighting back tears—tears unnoticed by Cressida—Corky had prolonged the orgasm as best she could... then left the chamber, carefully locking the gate and door behind her, then switching the lights to night-mode.

Cressida remained—naked—spreadeagled face-down on her bed—locked in inescapable, custom-made fetters—gagged with one of Her Ladyship's best breather-gags—and alone.  Corky wiped a tear from her right eye.  Cressida was alone in the dark cell, with only a couple of weakly flickering LED "candles" to keep her company, up in the rafters, above the silent gears and chains of the collar-chain handling machine.

Corky arrived at Edna's office door, straightened her apron, wiped her eyes one last time—took an additional few seconds to compose herself—then knocked.

"Come," Edna called from within.

Corky opened the door, entered the office, and carefully closed the door behind her.  She took the five steps required to approach the House Mistress' desk, and stood, feet together, hands clasped behind her back, and chin up, as she'd been taught.

Edna was writing in a ledger.  Two computer screens were on her desk, one to either side.  The left screen displayed a spreadsheet version of the housekeeping ledger before her.  The somewhat larger screen to her right was divided into four windows, all of which displayed different angles of the same thing: Cressida Tydwell spreadeagled on her bed up in the tower cell.  All four images were monochromatic, in various shades of green, actually, but they were quite detailed.  The night vision cameras concealed in Cressida's dungeon were state of the art, combining both infrared and light amplification technologies.  The hidden daylight cameras were equally advanced, but at the moment they were turned off.

Edna noted Corky surreptitiously gazing at the surveillance images and carefully suppressed a smile.  "This will be the first fully documented immurement of a Tydwell daughter," she stated, continuing to write in the ledger.  "Lady Jane's immurement records include dozens of photographs, but only a few feet of motion picture film."  She closed the ledger, returned her pen to its holder, then focused on Corky.  "No doubt the immurement records of the future Lady Cressida's future daughter will include holographic recordings, or some imaging technology not yet conceived."

Corky stared straight ahead.  "Yes, Mistress," she answered.

Silence stretched for several seconds before Edna continued.  "Is something wrong, Miss O'Brien?"

Corky's chin was threatening to start trembling.  Then, it was trembling.  She couldn't help it.  And her green eyes were welling.

The House Mistress' reaction was the last thing Corky ever would have expected.  Edna rose from her chair, stepped around her desk, and pulled Corky into a warm, gentle embrace!

Corky flinched at first contact.  Then—in the second complete surprise in nearly as many seconds—she returned the embrace, pressing her face against Edna's blouse and bra-covered bosom, her arms squeezing the House Mistress' strong, warm body as tightly as Edna was squeezing her.

And then, the dam broke.

Corky cried and cried.  In fact, she bawled, blubbered, and wailed.  And all Edna did was hold her tight, continuing the embrace and letting her cry.

Finally, after more than a minute... perhaps as much as two or three... Corky's lamentation wound down.  "I-I-I'm s-sorry Mistress," she sobbed.

"Think nothing of it, Miss O'Brien," Edna purred, continuing to hold the shivering little redhead close.

"Y-your b-blouse!" Corky objected.  "I'm g-getting it w-wet!"

Edna smiled.  "It's due to be laundered, anyway," she chuckled.

Corky's eyes popped wide.  "Oh!"  Mistress Edna had lifted her into her arms and was carrying her towards a door to the left of the desk.

Edna smiled down at Corky's wide, wet, green eyes.  "Don't act so surprised, Miss O'Brien," she purred.  "I know my reputation among the junior maids is somewhat, shall we say, negative; but the 'Dragon Lady' does have a heart."

All Corky could manage in response was a wide-eyed nod.  Then, they were through the door and she found herself in a large, well-appointed bedroom—Mistress Edna's large, well-appointed bedroom.  Corky was deposited on the neatly made bed.  Then, Edna gently turned her onto her stomach and began releasing the buttons and fastenings of her uniform.  "M-mistress?" Corky gasped.

"Hush," Edna ordered, and continued undressing her flabbergasted subordinate.  She didn't stop until Corky was completely nude—wide-eyed, amazed, and nude.  "Stay," she ordered, then turned and strolled to a closed door.

Still on her stomach on the bed, Corky watched Edna open the door and enter what was now revealed to be a walk-in closet.  Corky glanced down at the floor.  Her uniform, bra, knickers, stockings, and shoes were in a disordered pile.  She'd been ordered to stay on the bed, but Corky's domestic training took over.  Keeping one leg on the bed, she retrieved her clothing, folded everything, then deposited them where they'd been before, only now in a neat pile.  She then flopped back down on the bed—and just in time.

Edna had returned.  And she was naked!  And she was beautiful!  Okay, Corky had always know Edna was beautiful, but beautiful like a prowling tigress, or an alpha she-wolf, not beautiful beautiful.  Edna's skin was smooth and fair, her body lithe and athletic.  Her breasts were modest, but firm and well-formed and in perfect proportion to her waist and hips.  And her high-cheeked, smiling features were—"Exquisite."  Corky blushed bright crimson, realizing she'd spoken aloud.

"Thank you, Miss O'Brien," Edna laughed.  "Consider the compliment returned."  She strolled to the bed and dropped two generous coils of what Corky recognized as braided microfiber rope on the bed.  Castle Tydwell used several different varieties of rope for "hobby activities," but this was the good stuff.  It stretched a little under load and was smooth as silk against the skin.  Yet, it held a knot something fierce.  On the flip side, if improperly tied, knots had to be cut free, sacrificing at least part of the rope's expensive length and requiring the new ends to be whipped with thread to prevent the strands from unraveling.

As Edna lifted her to a sitting position, Corky opened her mouth to ask the obvious question—but closed it immediately.  The answer was also obvious.  A doubled loop of rope passed over her head and was cinched tight, pinning her arms to her sides and passing under her breasts.  Box-tie, Corky thought, and she was right.  Quickly, efficiently, and with no wasted effort, Edna passed additional horizontal bands above and below Corky's breasts, yoked her shoulders, and lashed her crossed wrists in the elevated or "advanced" position, just below her shoulder blades and against the nexus of the other ropes.  Corky sighed as the remainder was passed under the loop at the nape of her neck, back down to her wrist bonds, then pulled taut, tightening everything.  The final knots were tied well away from Corky's useless fingers.

"Down you go," Edna purred, and eased Corky onto the bed.  She lifted the second coil of rope so that Corky could see it.  "You're going to stay on the bed, aren't you?" she asked.  "I'd hate to have to bind your ankles."

Corky heaved a sigh before answering.  "I know my place.  I will follow Mistress' commands—Oh!"  Edna had reclined against the pillows piled against the headboard, and she'd taken Corky with her!

Edna embraced her red-haired captive from behind, cuddling her close and wrapping her left leg around Corky's left leg.  Her left hand was caressing the little maid's labia and ginger bush and her right hand was squeezing Corky's right breast.  "You are a good maid, Miss O'Brien," Edna whispered in Corky's ear.  "Young and inexperienced, but loyal and hardworking."  She kissed Corky's cheek.  "Not counting allowing yourself to be caught leering at Her Ladyship's guests now and then."

Corky shivered and squirmed against her bonds and Edna's naked body.  At the same time, despite her emotional turmoil and physical weariness, she couldn't help but smile.  "Mistress is a tease," she sighed.

This time Edna kissed Corky's lips, and it was a long, wet, deep kiss.  Finally... after more than a minute... Edna came up for air.  "We will not let you fail," she said softly.

Corky's eyes were wet, again.  "W-whether I f-fail or succeed... she'll hate me."

Edna smiled.  "She loves you, Little One.  We all love you."  She released her embrace, leaned over the side of the bed, and returned with Corky's knickers and stockings.

Corky watched as Edna tied an overhand knot in one stocking, thrust the wadded knickers down the stocking until it was stopped by the knot, then tied a second knot to keep it there.  It was no great mystery what Mistress was up to.  Corky opened her mouth and took the nylon-covered wad inside.  Edna cinched the ends of the stocking at the nape of her neck, under her ginger hair, then tightened and completed the knot.  Finally, she stretched the second stocking over Corky's mouth and tied it in the back, as well.  Stuffed, cleaved, and covered, Corky thought.  A good gag.  It probably looks cute.

"She'll always love you, Little One," Edna continued.  "How could she not?"

Corky was on her back, semi-reclined against the pillows.  She watched with wide eyes as Edna took hold of her ankles and with gentle, irresistible force, spread her feet apart.  The House Mistress was on her stomach and between Corky's legs, her smiling face inches from Corky's pussy.  Weird-weird-weird!  This is WEIRD!

"I know you're tired and need to rest," Edna purred, "but this will help you rest.  Edna knows best."  With that, she extended her tongue and gave Corky's labia a slow, wet lick.

Corky shivered in her bonds.  Oh, god!  Weird!

"What is it, Little One?" Edna chuckled.  "Why are those pretty green eyes wide and staring?  Did you think the Dragon Lady's tongue was forked?"  She licked the glistening pink folds of Corky's labia, again, and Corky shivered, again.  "As you can see—"  Lick.  "—and feel—"  Lick.  "—it's just a tongue."  Lick.  "But a very experienced tongue, Little One."

And then, Corky O'Brien, Handmaiden and Handler of Her Ladyship's captive daughter, learned that the House Mistress' tongue was indeed experienced—and very talented.


 Chapter 8

Chapter 7
Chapter 9