by Van ©2013
course of the next several days everything stayed the same—and
spent one night with the Horrible Steel Mask covering her face.
The next morning two maids appeared with a breakfast tray,
unlocked and removed the mask, then watched as Morena dragged
her chastity-belt chain to the loo alcove and performed her
morning toilette. Thankfully, the added encumbrance of the
bondage mitts still cuffed to the back of her chastity-belt was
less of a problem than she'd feared it would be. This was
a good thing, as the maids were the very picture of detached
professionalism. They leered as they watched her
successfully empty her bladder and endure the cold, wet
cleansing of her steel-clad nether regions by the commode's
bidet function, but did nothing to help. Afterwards, they
hand fed Morena her breakfast and left, but returned in an hour
to take her to her daily exercise. Today, this consisted
of running on a treadmill at various speeds for more than an
hour. Then, they took her to the castle courtyard for her
daily tanning session. The mitts were finally unlocked and
removed, as was the steel "chastity-bra" that had covered her
breasts. Chained to the wall as before, with only the
chastity-belt between herself and the hot summer sun, slathered
with a generous coating of oil, Morena dozed on the courtyard's
A half-hour into her "ordeal," about the time she expected the
maids to appear and return her to her dark (and blessedly cool)
dungeon, Morena had a visitor, and that visitor was Lady Jane,
herself. Dressed in one of her hideously expensive and
beautiful designer sundresses (with matching/complementary,
broad-brimmed hat), Her Ladyship smiled down at her
guest/prisoner. "The program for my party?" she inquired
Shielding her eyes with one hand, Morena gazed up at her
hostess/captor. "Either Khatchaturian's violin concerto or
Wienkawski's number two. Both are in D-minor."
"You are prepared to perform either?"
Morena shrugged. "Given a couple of days' practice."
Lady Jane pursed her lips in thought, then her smile
returned. "You have four days.
Khatchaturian." With that, she turned and strolled towards
the courtyard's southernmost door.
"Wait!" Morena called after her. "Tell me more about the
party!" Her Ladyship made her exit without
answering. Morena heaved a sigh, lay back, and closed her
eyes. Almost immediately the maids appeared and returned
her to her cell.
Morena began practicing the Khatchaturian concerto that very
afternoon. That night she was bathed by several maids, but
other than scrubbing and rinsing her body they did nothing to
relieve her sexual tension, which had settled into a chronic
"ache" she found she could ignore. And ignore it she did,
not having much choice in the matter.
The mitts and steel bra were locked on her hands and over her
breasts when she wasn't sunbathing, practicing, or being
bathed. And the chastity belt was removed only for
bathing and for infuriatingly chaste full-body massages at the
well-oiled hands of the maids. At night she was chained to
her bed on her back, in a loose spread-eagle. She always
had plenty of wiggle room, but her leather-encased hands
couldn't possibly reach her steel-clad breasts or pussy—not that
she could have done much to help herself "relax," even if the
spread-eagle chains had been absent. Only her mind was
free... and try as she might, Morena found she couldn't will
herself to orgasm.
Her dreams were very wet, but her waking hours were
not—not counting the bath, the sweat of exercise, or the sweat
of sunbathing, of course. Her Ladyship's plan was
evident. Morena was being "tortured" with an insidious
itch she couldn't scratch. And now the maids weren't
helping, not even a little. There were no more orgies—not
in the sunlit courtyard, the candlelit bath, or anywhere else.
Morena's only release was her music, and she put everything she
had into practicing for the party.
The Salamandras Musica artificial intelligence and the
castle's state-of-the-art sound system which it controlled would
be her accompaniment. The music stand and iPad in her
dungeon cell had been replaced by a large flat-screen monitor
and a photo-realistic animation of a female human conductor now
appeared above the endlessly scrolling sheet music of her
part. Specifically, she/it was a fully interactive
computer simulation of Sigourney Weaver dressed in the male
costume of white tie and tails! The simulation spoke with
the famous actress' voice, as well, and they—Morena and the
simulation—ironed out the details of the various passages of the
concerto's three movements as she practiced. However, all
of Morena's efforts to engage "Sigourney" in conversation about
topics other then her performance were met with silence—and a
polite, amused smile.
The four days passed, equal parts Cruel Captivity and hard
practice. Finally, the day of the party dawned.
night spreadeagled face down on the soft, comfortable bed of her
"immurement cell" turned out to be less of a hardship than
Cressida had feared. The two crashing orgasms her Personal
Handmaiden had extracted from her helpless, naked body before
leaving her alone probably had something to do with the ease
with which she had drifted off to sleep. In any case,
Cressida opened her eyes to find morning light flooding her
cell. "Flooding" was an exaggeration, but it was
morning, and the Honorable Cressida Tydwell made the decision to
sleep in. The steel, custom-fitted cuffs chaining her to
the bed by the wrists and ankles had something to do with that,
of course. The breather-ball-gag strapped in her mouth was
a bit of a downer, but one was required to take the good with
the bad—especially when one found oneself naked, gagged, chained
face down on ones bed, and had no choice in the matter.
Corky appeared only a few minutes after Cressida awoke.
The diminutive redhead was dressed in her maid's uniform, of
course, and was carrying a wooden breakfast tray.
"Good morning, Mistress," Corky chirped in an irritatingly
cheerful manner. "Rise and shine."
'Rise and shine,' Cressida mused. Hilarious.
She watched as Corky first set down the tray, then walked around
the bed, unlocking the chains binding her in place one by
one. Cressida was soon "free," not counting the steel
cuffs still locked on her wrists and ankles, the steel belt
still locked around her waist, and the chain attached to her
steel collar. She climbed to a sitting position, unbuckled
the strap of her gag, and eased the ball from her mouth.
Why not? If "Mistress Corky" wished her to remain gagged,
she'd have said something... or would have padlocked the buckle.
"Eat and take a tinkle," Corky ordered as she headed for the
door, "and be quick about it."
Cressida smiled as the iron gate and door beyond closed and
locked. Corky was so cute in the role of jailer.
Cressida dragged her collar chain to the loo alcove, emptied her
bladder and splashed water on her face, then trudged back to the
bed. Breakfast was scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with
butter and jam, and coffee. Cressida ate with deliberate
speed, motivated more by hunger than obedience.
She needn't have bothered hurrying through the meal so as not to
invoke the wrath of Dread Dominatrix Corky. It was
something like an hour before Corky returned, and this time she
was carrying a rather heavy wooden chair. The chair was
portable, but only just for a petite little thing like
Corky. She set the chair midway between the bed and the
barred window. On its seat rested several coils of
Cressida eyed the chair... then Corky... then the chair.
"What?" she said, finally.
Corky's answer was to smile, pick up the coils of rope, and nod
at the now empty seat.
Cressida heaved a long-suffering sigh, then strolled to the
chair and delicately planted her naked rump on the hard
wood. She noted it was sculpted to receive her, and while
it wasn't padded, it was, nonetheless, comfortable. In
point of fact, the chair was perfectly sized for her body.
She suspected it had been commissioned as part of mother's
"Arms behind the back of the chair," Corky ordered.
Cressida complied. Click, click. Some sort
of clamps were built into the back of the seat, and Corky had
used them to bind Cressida's wrist cuffs together and to the
chair. Her armpits rested on the well-rounded top edge of
the chair back—Click, click—and now her steel belt was
clamped in place, as well. Next—Click, click—her
ankle cuffs were clamped together and to the cross-brace of the
chair's front legs. Her toes and the balls of her feet
were on the stone floor, but her heels were not. She
watched as Corky released one of the coils of rope, found the
center, and formed a doubled loop.
Over the next several minutes, Corky bound her already helpless
Mistress to the chair. The ropes were totally unnecessary,
but the result was aesthetically pleasing. Corky
tied the final knot, then took a step back, rested her hands on
her hips, cocked her head to the side, and smiled.
Neat horizontal bands of rope bound Cressida to the chair above
and below her breasts, cinched her elbows together behind the
chair back, lashed her thighs to the seat, and bound her knees
together. Lateral bands yoked her shoulders and
crisscrossed her upper body and legs, reinforcing the other
Cressida heaved another sigh, then squirmed and struggled.
This imparted a slight oscillation on her rope-framed breasts
and a sway to the collar-chain still linking her to the handling
machine overhead. That was about it, not counting the thrill
Cressida's futile struggles sent through Corky's pussy.
Courtesy struggle complete, Cressida gazed up at her handmaiden,
her lips curled in a pouting smile. "I assume you're doing
this on mother's orders," she muttered.
Before answering Corky sauntered forward and sat on Cressida's
lap, her skirt hiked up, her stocking-clad legs to either side,
and face to face with her Mistress/Prisoner. "Her Ladyship
has an entire week's worth of entertainments scheduled for
Mistress," she purred, then cupped Cressida's breasts in her
freckled hands and gently squeezed.
"A week?" Cressida asked.
"A week," Corky confirmed, toying with Cressida's erect
nipples. "I've been assured other entertainments
and diversions will follow, but detailed instructions will be
issued one week at a time."
Corky's smile widened. "I've been granted some
degree of discretion." She gave Cressida's nipples a
playful tug. "But only a little."
"I see." Cressida was trying not to squirm. Corky's
weight on her lap was negligible, but what the little vixen was
doing to her breasts was less easily ignored.
"Thank you for being such a well-mannered distressed damsel,"
Corky whispered, leaned close, and kissed her Mistress' smiling
lips. Her hands continued kneading the firm flesh of
Cressida's breasts and teasing her pointing nipples.
Cressida returned the kiss, then smiled when Corky came up for
air. "Your safe word is 'tallyho,' Little Fox."
"My safe word?" Corky giggled. "You're the one that
needs a safe word... not that I'm going to give you one, of
Cressida's response was to lean forward to resume the kiss and
Corky met her halfway. In fact, she took her Mistress'
head in both hands and the kiss was deep and wet, with tongue.
"Your safe word," Cressida confirmed, once given the
chance. "If ever you need my cooperation and I seem
disinclined, simply say tallyho and you shall have it."
"That's very kind of you," Corky purred, and the kiss
continued. Finally, their lips parted and she cupped
Cressida's breasts, once again.
"So..." Cressida said, "mother's instructions were to tie me to
a chair and snog?"
"The snogging is my idea," Corky giggled, then covered her mouth
with one hand, suppressing a yawn. "Sorry."
Cressida smiled. "Up late receiving instructions from
Corky blushed. "Uh, Mistress Edna, actually. And
yes, instructions." She climbed off Cressida's lap,
strolled to the bed, and retrieved the ball-gag. She then
turned, smiled, and sauntered back to Cressida and the chair.
Cressida sighed, one last time, then opened her mouth and
received the hollow, multiply vented rubber sphere. Corky
buckled the strap tight enough to make her cheeks bulge, in
proper Castle Tydwell fashion, then strolled back to the
bed. Cressida squirmed in her tight ropes and inescapable
steel bonds, then frowned. Corky had began to
undress. This was unexpected.
Corky removed her apron, uniform dress, uniform cap, and
shoes. Her costume reduced to stockings, garters,
knickers, and bra, all in white, she stretched and smiled at her
charge. "If you rattle your chain and wake me up," she
warned, "I'll be very cross." She then slid
between the sheets, rolled over so her freckled back and ginger
curls were to Cressida, and squirmed for comfort.
She's taking a nap? Cressida wondered. Seriously?
Corky did, indeed, take a nap, and over the course of the next
four days she subjected her Mistress to several different
bondage "ordeals." None were especially harrowing, nor
could they be formally classified as predicaments. There
was more snogging, as well as "tension relief" for Poor
Cressida—and for Personal Handmaiden/Handler Corky
Finally, the day of Lady Jane's party arrived...
day dawned like any other.
Since "Dread Dominatrix" Corky had "Mistress" Cressida's parole
(or tacit cooperation so as not to get the little redhead in
trouble with Edna and/or mother) Cressida had only spent the
night of her first full day as a prisoner chained to the
bed. Mother's custom-made cuffs and belt remained locked
on her wrists, ankles, and waist, as did the rounded collar with
its attached chain, but she was otherwise free. Cressida
knew it was all part of mother's Evil Plot, of course. She
(mother) was reinforcing and complicating her (Cressida's)
feelings for Corky by making her inclined to obey the adorable
little Yank and...
Cressida heaved a sigh and shook her head. She was
over-thinking the situation—mother's plan, Corky's role in
mother's plan, everything. But what else did she
have to do? What else but worry about what Corky (on
orders from mother) was going to do to her today? She'd
finished her morning toilette and breakfast and was sitting on
the bed, waiting for her handmaiden/handler to return.
What would it be? Hogtie? Ball-tie? Full
suspension in a flying spread-eagle? Cressida
shook her head, again. No, she wouldn't do that... not
Finally, the wait was over. The door was unlocked and
opened... then the inner gate. It was Corky, of course,
but rather than entering the cell, the little redhead stepped
back. Seconds passed. Cressida considered leaving
the bed to try and investigate. The collar chain wouldn't
let her exit the cell, but she could drag it over and
look down the corridor or into the adjoining chamber and
discover whatever lay beyond the gate and door. It
occurred to her that this intelligence alone would be worth the
trip—but then it was too late.
To the accompaniment of the quiet squeal of metal-on-metal,
Corky wheeled a tall, upright metal frame into the cell.
It barely fit through the twin thresholds, and suspended
by taut chains inside the frame was—
"A gibbet-cage!" Cressida gasped.
It was stainless steel, like Cressida's wrist, ankle, and waist
bonds, a grid of horizontal, vertical, and diagonal bands.
All were narrow, no more than a half-inch in width, and there
were a lot of them, at least a hundred. The shape
of the cage was that of a female standing on her toes with her
arms folded behind her back in the box-tie position—and there
was no mistaking the intended gender of the hypothetical
occupant. The flare of the hip region, the wasp-thin
waist, the bra-like cups waiting for the occupant's
breasts... The cage was for a woman. For me,
Cressida realized. It's for me!
Meanwhile, Corky had been busy with a small barrel-key,
unlocking the bands on the back half of the cage. Some
opened to the right and some to the left. Most came away
as single bands, but some were interlocking groups of two or
three. The final band unlocked and opened, Corky took a
step back and smiled.
Cressida realized she'd been watching the process with wide-eyed
amazement. "Uh... it looks too small."
Corky's smile widened. "Mistress Edna assured me it will
be a perfect fit. After all, every design house in London,
Paris, and Milan has your exact measurements. It was easy
to provide the required information."
Cressida was still staring. "Who made it?"
Corky shrugged. "Someone named Kilborn. She signed
it with an etching pen, somewhere near the feet."
"Maggie Kilborn, the sculptor?"
Corky shrugged again, then nodded towards the open cage.
"This isn't going to be our first 'tallyho' moment, is it?"
Cressida managed a grim smile. "I'm thinking about
it." Seconds passed with Corky waiting patiently.
Then, Cressida heaved a smile and stepped behind the
frame. She gingerly planted a foot inside the cage, then
grabbed the sides of the supporting frame with both hands.
She stepped inside, planted her other foot, and leaned
forward. The base was like a pair of open-toed sandals—stainless
steel open-toed sandals. She felt Corky close a pair
of bands across the back of her ankles—Click, click—and
she was committed. There would be no stepping back out of
the cage now. "This is a very close fit." she
muttered. Click. "Oh!" A set of three
bands had closed against the small of her back.
Corky continued closing the bands. Each time there was an
accompanying click, and band-by-band the cage engulfed
Cressida's naked form. Slots and pins in the bands closest
to Cressida's existing steel bonds integrated them into the
"sculpture," interlocking with the rings of her ankle cuffs and
waist belt and making them part of the rigid structure.
Cressida was still holding the sides of the wheeled frame
suspending the cage with her face turned to the side and trying,
without much success, to look back over her shoulder and watch
Corky secure the lower bands. The envelopment process had
reached the closed bands at the small of her back. Any
further and Cressida would have to surrender to the
inevitable—the already inevitable. "You might as
well test the fit of the rest of this thing," Corky suggested
"Might as well," Cressida agreed, turned her head to the front,
and pressed her forehead against the band waiting in the
front. Click. Corky had closed an assembly
of several bands in the back and her head was in to stay.
She felt her arms being folded into the expected box-tie, then a
series of clicks and tightening bands closed, pinning her upper
arms against her sides, her lower arms against her back, bracing
her elbows, and locking her wrist cuffs to the cage. A few
more lateral bands clicked closed, then Corky strolled to the
front and smiled.
There was a hinged plate that would close over her mouth, but
for the moment it was open. "So," Cressida sighed, "I'm to
spend the day locked in this thing? I can barely
move." It was true. There was only the merest
fraction of an inch between her body and each and every band, as
far as she could tell.
"Hold that thought," Corky said, then reached under her uniform
skirt and pulled down her knickers. She stepped free of
the frilly, white undergarment, then wadded it up and gave it a
delicate sniff. A coy smile on her coral lips, she sniffed
the wad, again. "I wore these all day yesterday," she
announced, "and last night." She took a third sniff.
"And I masturbated in them, as well. Once in the
afternoon, and once just after lights out."
Cressida knew what was coming. "Mistress Edna would hardly
approve of such slovenliness. I'm afraid I'm going to have
to report you."
Corky stepped forward and pressed the silky wad against
Cressida's closed lips. "In that case, I guess I'll have
to keep you gagged when or if she decides to
visit. Open." Cressida stared daggers at her
handmaiden/handler and stubbornly kept her mouth closed.
"Must I invoke the tallyho promise," Corky purred, "or would you
rather I give you a titty-twister and make you howl?"
Cressida could smell Corky's musk on the knickers. After
all, they were just below her flaring nostrils. She opened
her mouth—"Mrrrf!"—and the wad was inside. Corky swung the
mouth-panel closed, the lock clicked, and the cool steel
was pressed against her lips. The panel incorporated a
curved flange then pressed against and under her chin.
Opening her mouth was now impossible, to say the least.
"So?" Corky inquired. "What's the verdict? Too much
salt? I did sweat a lot yesterday. Being
your handler takes up most of my time, but I'm still assigned
dusting and sweeping chores."
The crumpled mass filling her mouth and pressing against her
tongue did have a flavor, but it wasn't especially
strong. Cressida was disgusted, repulsed, and aroused.
Being topped by her favorite devilishly cute and mischievous
ginger munchkin was a hoot, although she realized her opinion
might change later in the day.
"Oh by the way," Corky said, "Her Ladyship is hosting one of her
Victorian parties tonight, and you're invited."
A party? Cressida wondered. Corky stepped out of
sight behind the cage, there was a click, and the collar chain
swung around the cage framework and hung, perfectly vertical, a
few feet in front. Obviously, it had been unlocked from
the back of her collar. A seemingly endless series of
clicks followed, and with each click a band or group of bands
tightened. "Mrrrf?" The cage had been a close fit
before, but as the clicks continued Cressida found she wasn't as
much inside the cage as she was wearing the thing.
"The bands all lock on their own," Corky explained as she
continued tightening the bands, "but a turn of the key recesses
the locking pins an additional quarter-inch."
Now, the steel bands seemed to press against every part of
Cressida's helpless body. They dimpled her flesh, ever so
slightly, including her breasts. The cage's chest cups
were very much a steel bra, as perfectly sized to Cressida's
boobs as the cage was to the rest of her body.
Corky stepped back to the front and smiled at her utterly
helpless Mistress. "Courtesy struggle?" she
suggested. "Or are you already trying and can't move at
Cressida tried to move, and found she could, in fact squirm
inside the steel encasement. It was more trying to
move than actually moving, but her muscles were straining and
she could feel minor changes in her confinement.
Corky shook her head. "Tsk, tsk, Mistress. You call
that struggling?" She heaved a decidedly theatrical sigh
of disappointment. "Well, we don't have any more time to
waste. I have to get you situated for the party and the
rest of the staff are already in Victorian drag."
Cressida watched as Corky stepped behind the frame, again.
Then, she was wheeled towards the open gate and wooden door,
cage and all.
wheeled Cressida down the hallway, she confirmed that the
"immurement cell" was, indeed, in the same tower as mother's
private study. They passed the closed door of the study in
question, then continued to an elevator which took them to the
courtyard level. Cressida, her cage, and its frame were
then wheeled towards the Main Keep, the largest structure in the
castle. The ballroom and formal dining room comprised most
of the ground floor. They crossed a small side court,
entered a hall adjacent to the ballroom, and Corky opened the
door of a small closet, one of the hundreds of small rooms in
the castle put to various purposes.
Against the closet's back wall was a wardrobe, a tall wooden
cabinet with double doors. Cressida watched as Corky
reached behind the wardrobe. There was a click and
the wardrobe swung open from the right like a hinged door.
In point of fact, it was a hinged door, and a thick, substantial
door at that. Beyond was a small alcove. Corky
stepped out of Cressida's rather limited field of vision and
behind the frame. Then, she rolled Cressida into
the alcove, cage, framework, and all. It was a close fit,
as close a fit as Cressida had found her cage to be for her
body. The sides of the framework slid into channels
mounted on either side and locked with a solid click.
She isn't going to just leave me in here, is she?
Cressida wondered. She heard a dry, slithering sound, a
curtain opened, and she found herself looking out on the
ballroom. The entire back wall of the alcove was a window,
and she surmised it was one-way glass, mirrored on the ballroom
side but transparent from inside the alcove. With the
exception of the row of windows opposite Cressida's staring
eyes, the entire ballroom was mirrored from floor to ceiling,
and had been since the 18th century. I wonder if there
are other secret vantage points in the castle, she mused,
other secret rooms for spying.
"Later, darling," Corky said cheerily from somewhere behind
Cressida's back. Then, the wardrobe closed with a solid thunk
and Cressida was sealed inside the alcove.
The ballroom was bustling with activity. Male workers from
the estate were positioning tables against the walls and
erecting a low platform in the center of the vast space.
Maids were bustling about, spreading tablecloths as quickly as
the tables were in place, then arranging rows of glasses,
champagne fountains, empty chaffing dishes, and stacks of china
and tableware. They were preparing for an informal buffet,
and soon the only things missing would be the actual food and
drink. Whenever the party was scheduled to start, Cressida
would have an unobstructed view.
The maids were in their Victorian uniforms: high-button,
high-heel ankle-boots—long sleeved and long skirted black
dresses with wasp-thin waists and high collars—frilly white
aprons and caps—and underneath, the appropriate knickers,
camisoles, and corsets. Finally, those with long hair had
it up and coiled in tight buns. The workmen were in their
usual denim and wool work clothes, and soon they were gone,
leaving only the maids.
Cressida could hear nothing from inside the ballroom. She
suspected the glass was very thick and in at least two layers,
with a gap in between. Two of the maids were standing and
chatting, more-or-less right in front of her. She could
see their lips moving, but there was no sound, none at
all. Suddenly, the maids' faces snapped to the right, then
hurried apart and began straightening forks, repositioning
stacks of plates, and generally making a show of working just as
hard as the rest of the staff.
The House Mistress had arrived.
Edna strolled from table to table, inspecting the continuing
preparations. Then, she walked to the center of the
ballroom and gazed at the platform. It was circular, about
five feet across, two feet in height, and was carpeted in a
deep, antique gold, slightly darker than the ballroom's parquet
floor. Projecting from the base of the platform was a
large flat-screen monitor canted at a shallow angle.
Anyone standing on the platform would be able to glance down at
the monitor while still having an unobstructed view of their
Suddenly, Corky scampered into the ballroom, apparently to
report to Mistress Edna—and yes, she scampered. Cressida
smiled, despite her tight encasement and the the cloying
knickers stuffed in her steel-covered mouth. When Corky
was in a hurry to get someplace, she was adorable. Of
course, she was always adorable, but especially when
Corky's lips moved as she made her report. Cressida noted
that Corky wasn't nodding or pointing in her direction, and Edna
didn't glance her way, either. Also, none of the maids had
taken special notice to her particular section of the mirrored
wall. Cressida was helpless—totally helpless—and
trapped—and probably only Corky and Edna knew she was
there. A wave of mild panic passed through her immobilized
body. Her predicament was truly horrible!
She was impressed.
Meanwhile, based on Edna's frown and pointed gestures, the
silent conversation—silent to Cressida, that is—seemed to have
turned to the topic of Corky's attire. She was the only
maid present not wearing Victorian garb. Even Mistress
Edna was in an appropriately wasp-waisted, long-sleeved, and
long-skirted version of her usual Staff Mistress outfit and her
hair was up. She was the very picture of Late Victorian
fashion. Edna barked an order, Corky's eyes popped wide,
and she began undressing. Edna barked another order and
one of the maids curtsied and hurried from the ballroom. A
second maid hurried over and took each article of Corky's
uniform from the nervous redhead's trembling hands as quickly as
it was removed.
The other maids paused in their labors to watch this unexpected
development: the disciplining of cute, adorable little Corky
O'Brien. There was a great deal of giggling when it was
revealed that Corky's wasn't wearing any knickers—giggling that
abruptly ended when Edna barked yet another order. The
maids returned to work, but were still smiling and stealing
glances at the unfolding drama.
Soon, Corky was nude (with a blush coloring her freckled
cheeks), the maid with her uniform departed, and the first maid
had returned with a generous coil of thin rope. She
proceeded to bind Corky in a stringently tight reverse-prayer
box-tie that included a crotch rope and cinched horizontal bands
that lashed her legs together at the thighs and just above her
knees. More orders were given, and a crumpled handkerchief
was stuffed in Corky's mouth and a narrowly folded second
handkerchief tied as a cleave-gag to keep it there. Then,
Corky's hair was quickly and rather sloppily gathered atop her
head, secured with a thin black ribbon, and she was lifted onto
the center platform.
Corky sighed through her gag and watched as a third maid
approached Edna with a tablet computer. The maid and House
Mistress exchanged words, and the maid began tapping and sliding
her index finger across the tablet's screen.
Abruptly, apparently in mid sentence, Edna's voice sounded
inside Cressida's tiny prison. "—ighting test," she was
saying, "and leave the concert spotlights on afterwards.
She's a short little thing and her complexion differs from Her
Ladyship's guest, but Miss O'Brien has 'volunteered,' so
we might as well take advantage of it." Cressida had flinched
inside her cage, but only from surprise. The volume wasn't
Edna's eyes were on Corky as the maid tapped the screen and
groups of lights set in the ballroom's high, arched ceiling
flashed on and off. She tapped a final time, and only the
lights directly over the platform remained. They were
bright enough to compete with the sunlight shining through the
ballroom windows and from Cressida's perspective, her
handmaiden's nude, bound and gagged form was both brightly lit
and in silhouette.
Corky's bonds were tight, and while each strand was doubled,
they were not redundant. It was a mildly punishing tie,
and even at this distance Cressida could see how the thin ropes
dimpled her freckled skin. Poor little Corky,
Cressida thought, then wiggled in her steel encasement. And
Edna's eyes were still on Corky, and the little prisoner's sad
green eyes were on her. "She's to stand there until just
before Her Ladyship's guests are scheduled to arrive," Edna
ordered, "then bring her to the side pantry office. I'll
have further instructions at that time."
"Yes, Mistress." The maid curtsied and returned to her
Edna focused her frown on Corky. "You were well aware
of the uniform of the day, Miss O'Brien," she said. "Your
new duties do not give you carte blanche to
flaunt staff rules and instructions." With that, she spun
on her high-button, booted heels and stalked away.
Cressida watched as Corky heaved a pitifully tragic gagged
sigh—"Mrrrrf"—which the sound system delivered to Cressida's
alcove prison. Then, Corky shuffled a few degrees on her
bare feet, and gazed at Cressida—or rather, she gazed at the
section of mirrored wall behind which Cressida was hidden—and
sighed, again. "Mrrrf."
Poor little Corky, Cressida thought, again, then
settled in to wait for the party... which wouldn't start until
after dark. Mother's parties are always after
dark, she thought, except her garden parties, of
course. She wasn't at all sure who had things worse;
herself, encased in a very nearly skintight steel cage and
hidden in a tiny cell; or Corky, cruelly bound and forced to
stand on the raised platform for hours while her gloating and
giggling fellow maids scurried about completing their assigned
Tomorrow, Cressida thought. We'll have to
compare notes tomorrow.
| Chapter 9